#Astarion and shadowheart getting hammered

[perkeleen-lavellan]

Holy shit I need to play Karlach's origin while romancing Minthara!!!

they're both a lil intense

[twi-liight]

Hi! I suffer from Baldur's Gate brainrot. I just stumbled upon your blog and love your writing! Could you do some Astarion, Gale and Karlach headcanons for taking care of Tav after they're badly injured in battle?

Reckless Attack ❣

Grieve, weep, and agonize over a corpse - but know that death is never final in Faerun. The burden of injuries will instead always be present: pain is eternal, no matter how numb. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Karlach/Tav. ❥ TW: Descriptive mentions of injuries and gore. ❥ Act 2 spoilers. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you!

An Absolutist cult has gathered deep in the bowels of the forests of Rivington. Nothing out of the ordinary... Other than the sheer numbers they possess, creating a dense population of Absolute extremists gathered in stone ruins.

Adventuring parties that dare to end their machinations perished slowly and painfully. Their corpses - what is left of them - are displayed pierced from the gnarled branches of the trees, where they bleed out on the forest ground.

Tav, Astarion, Gale, and Karlach had a plan: throw a barrel full of smoke bombs into the middle of the ruins, firebolt, and profit. Except things didn’t go according to plan (they never do). That barrel was supposed to be at their rendezvous point, but the cultists found it before they did and thought it a gift from their Goddess.

Trapped in hiding, Tav decided to do what they do best: attack.

A potent necromancy curse was successfully cast on Tav, negating any healing spells thrown their way.

Well.

Fuck.

ASTARION

"As always, you refuse to listen to me. And now look at you: a mess. What did I say about running afool to the vanguard?" Astarion does not wait for their response. “Don't do it. It is smarter to be in the shadows in this instance. And what did you do? Ran alone into a quarry of cultists with no sense of self-preservation!”

Anger, pure anger, is present in his voice, sharpening his typical melodic lilt into daggers. If he cared about the present company - Shadowheart, Halsin, and Gale crowded into a tent, surrounding Tav upon their cot - it is nonexistent in his wine-red eyes. They could get lost in those bloody depths for hours. But not now. Not when seething rage roils off of his body like a cloud of darkness.

They look away.

"Nothing to say for yourself, darling?” he mocks. Astarion’s visage twists into a sneer, sharply turning his face away from them. He finds an unused rag, wets it, wrings it of excess water, and then moves past Shadowheart. “Allow me,” he murmurs to her, gentler.

Shadowheart’s inquisitive green eyes understand the depth of the situation immediately. She sighs, clearly annoyed he has taken over her job, but is dissuaded by Astarion’s next string of words: “I’ll clean them up. Magic and healing and all that wonderful nonsense are not necessarily my area of expertise. A firebolt here and there, surely, but I wouldn’t know where to begin with a curse that... Negates healing magic.”

“Sure,” Shadowheart replies, eyes flicking to Tav. Worry is evident over her features. Worry hangs heavy around everyone. Emerging out of battles victorious and grievously injured is commonplace; nothing a mass healing word couldn't fix along with a good night’s rest. Open wounds would be closed scars, ailments would be cured, and broken bones would be unbroken. Rinse and repeat.

This time, it is different.

They, and they alone, were cursed with a necromancy spell that makes all healing magic useless to their wounds.

Their wounds are appalling: Broken ribs evident with the pain swelling in their chest and labored breathing, purple and black blotchy bruises from the hammer blows they took to the shoulder, an open laceration across their chest, their ankle snapped in two, burns on their left leg crawling up their thigh. Blood all over their face from their own and from the enemies they felled.

“Hey, it’s fine,” they wheeze out. "Nothing I can't handle. The cultists are down and dead and buried - everything else can come after."

Hesitantly, Gale opens his mouth to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Astarion snapping out: "No."

"No," they echo. Their brows furrow.

"What a saint you are," Astarion snarls. His lips are down-turned, fangs bared as he speaks, but his ministrations upon their face are soothing. Gently, he rubs off the blood with a cool washcloth, eyes focusing on the task at hand as he cannot bear to look at them.

"Throwing yourself into the heat of battle like that, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Tell me, my dear, do you enjoy watching rational fly past you when you make your impulsive decisions?"

They flush with humiliation and hurt. Broken and battered, they dig their elbow into the cot to prop themselves up and face Astarion head-on, but Halsin presses a hand into their shoulder and pushes them down.

Fuck. Their head spins in circles.

"You're one to talk. Impulsivity is your middle name; you said yourself that planning is not your forte." Even raising their voice hurts but they do it anyway. Their eyes, threatening to slip into oblivion, flood with frustrated tears. "What the fuck is your problem, Astarion?"

"Must I really spell it out for you, sweetheart? You go around, telling everyone exactly what they need to hear. You tell them they aren't alone. That you will help them, that you will ensure they see the future that they want." The words are venom: petty and spiteful and yearning to be understood. "You," Astarion hisses out, "are so blind."

Tempers rising to fever pitch, Halsin tenses from his spot at the foot of the cot. From the corner of Tav's eye, they see Gale murmur something to him, something like, Let this play out. Astarion would never hurt them.

"I am the only one who will take the first step!" Tav cries. The words explode out of their broken chest faster than they realize, flying like an arrow straight toward Astarion's unbeating heart. "I risk my life - every day - for all of YOU! For all the people that need me! For all that I am because-"

"Because what?" He taunts. "Because it is the right thing to do? Look at yourself, Tav! You are on death's door if not for everyone in this room!"

"Because no one else will do it! Not anyone in this damn camp cares enough to- to help the people we could-" They cough violently, but they slam their elbows into the cot to prop themselves up. No one stops them this time as they meet Astarion's burning eyes. "No one cares but ME-"

"WE care about you!" Louder. Vicious. Astarion's voice splits in the air in two in one fell swoop, striking them down like lightning into silence.

He's breathing heavily, panting, as if exhausted. The adrenaline pumping in his veins is begging him to swoop Tav up and run away with them. Away from all of this bullshit and into hiding within the shadows. Maybe the Underdark. Maybe the Shadowcursed Lands. They can descend into madness together.

At least there, they will be safe.

"I care about you," Astarion chokes out before he can stop himself. "More than anything. Do you know that? I hope you know that."

Their mouth forms the words to reply, Of course I do, but it doesn't leave their throat. Instead, it stays stuck there like a fluttering butterfly, forced into silence. It hurts to speak. It hurts to talk. It hurts to see him like this.

He calls out their name so quietly it could have been a trick of the wind.

"Astarion," they plead.

He shakes his head, stubborn and unconvinced. "You don't owe these people anything. You certainly do not owe them your life for their burdens. I," he breathes out, voice as shaky as a leaf in the wind. He screws his eyes shut and clenches his fist around the rag, where their blood stains his palm.

"I almost lost the sun of my life today."

When Astarion opens his eyes, they are steeled with resilience and fury as they gaze into theirs. It is hypnotic. It is lonely. They yearn to comfort him.

"It will not happen again."

GALE

"Easy," Gale murmurs, a strong arm laying them down in his tent. Soft blankets and pillows meet their back, and the cushy grass beneath makes for a cool and comforting sleep. Their breath stutters, but Gale gazes at them so fondly as he pushes their hair from their face that the pain eases.

He does not miss their labored breathing. "Shhh shh shh. I've got you. Just focus on me."

His thumb lingers on the swell of their cheek. His eyes flutter close. A gentle glow of purple surrounds him, and eventually, that gentleness extends to Tav. The agonizing, piercing sensation in their chest numbs into a cool, muted nothingness. They gasp - then exhale in relief, slower than their panicky, short breaths from before.

"That's it," he encourages. "Well done, my love. How are you feeling?"

"So-so," they reply. Their voice aches and croaks, but for some reason, it makes Gale smile.

Oh no. He knows that look.

They study his handsome, tired face, looking for any signs of alarm. Is he hungry? Does he need to feed on another artefact? Was there an envoy telling them they missed another Absolutist hideout? Did they miss something? Did they do something wrong?

No. Nope. "Enough of that." He takes their hand, kisses their knuckles, then sighs. "You're the last person who should be worrying about someone. Such a pest, hm? Always buzzing around me like I'm seconds away from disappearing in front of your eyes..."

"You are," they say. Their brows furrow, and they pant out, "The-- your burden to carry, the--"

"The orb, I know. I know." His heart twists. It aches. He failed Mystra before and that was painful. But this is another subject entirely; it couldn't come close. Watching sheer heartbreak in their expression because of him? Oh, Goddess forgive him, he has failed them.

Gale can scarcely celebrate his victory, too. He undid the damned curse that affected Tav's ability to receive magic. The necromancy spell was so potent that Tav rejected any healing spells thrown at them. Late into the hours of experimentation, he, Halsin, and Shadowheart considered allowing the effects to wither and die rather than exterminating it outright. It was Jaheira who told them it would be inefficient, because how long would they have to wait in camp while Tav rode out the effects of the curse? Ideally? Hours. But days? Weeks? Months?

He spent the long night following and feeling out the curse with the Weave. It was a complicated hex - a tangled knot of magic that had to be unwoven carefully, thread by thread. Every connotation, every intent was traced back to the heart of the curse, and he followed it with abandon.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble, then," they whisper.

"You should be," he jests. "Nearly made my heart collapse, seeing you like that."

The image is still burned into his mind. He can't stop thinking about it. His mortality has always been a dreadful afterthought pushed into the further recesses of his tadpole-addled brain, but was he so taken with Tav that he never realized how mortal they were, too?

No. No. Gale tightens his grip on their hand, giving them a comforting squeeze as they breathe in and out, in and out. It's not that he never realized how susceptible they are to death and danger. He just never wanted to confront it.

"You are changing the very premise of my life," he says softly. An exasperated chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head, adding, "as always. I don't know what I would have done if I actually lost you, back there." What wouldn't I do? "No scrolls of revivifies, no Withers to bring you back. I wouldn't be able to accept it."

He understands Ketheric Thorm all too well, now.

"Come here," they whisper. Gale lets their hands press into the back of his head. He thinks, absently, that he would let them do much of anything. In their care, he is no grand wizard with a plethora of achievements under his belt. No. He is as humble as the Weave itself, and their hands compose music and art for him to simply bear witness to.

They rest his head upon their chest, where his ear can listen to the comforting sound of their beating heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud thud.

"Good night, my love," Gale says, when their breathing evens and they have finally fallen into peaceful slumber. He does not sleep at all.

KARLACH

"Oh gods. Oh gods!" Karlach clasps Tav's left hand between hers, holding tightly and vowing to never let go. Their blood stains her hand and chest and clothes. It's everywhere. Sickly sweet and sticky, drawing all of her attention from the room to the sensation of it dripping down her skin.

They've lost so much blood. It's nauseating, like an unsettling reality has just settled in her stomach.

"Tav!" She exclaims, helpless and pathetic. "Why did you do that, you big idiot? You seriously could have gotten killed out there, why-- why aren't you..."

Responding? Where are their quips, their sass, their brightness she fell so fast and hard for? Tav lays there upon the cot, broken and battered. Karlach has seen the remains of her enemies after she has slaughtered them and has barely flinched. She can barely stomach the sight of them bloodied, bones twisted in the wrong way, bruises so purple they're as black as a chasm.

All they can do is breathe. Their eyes focus distantly above them to the roof of the tent, but nothing else.

Panic seizes her faster than she can control it. "Are they breathing?! Are they going to survive this?! Fuck," she growls, running a frustrated hand through her dark hair, matted with blood. "I should have made those sons of bitches suffer."

"Karlach," Shadowheart says, firm but gentle, her hands bloody too as she applied pressure down on Tav's wounds, "it was important that you returned them to camp as fast as you did. Sometimes, we do not have the luxuries to let our enemies die in pain."

Right. Right. Karlach watched an Absolutist barbarian slam his warhammer into Tav's back. Once to knock them down. Twice to keep them plastered on the ground. Once more to keep them unconscious. She saw red, then: the rage she slipped into boiled her veins so hot, the howl she let out sent her surroundings enemies into a frightened frenzy. She hacked her great axe into the barbarian over and over and over until he was nothing but a bloodied pulp of a man, more gore than flesh.

She scooped Tav up from the ground. Karlach never let anyone else touch them. She snarled and snapped at the others who tried to come too close and dead sprinted as fast as she could back to camp.

She heard their choked sobs of pain in her arms. They choked out her name, and Karlach couldn't offer them much of anything other than an, "We're going home, bubs, just hang on. 'Kay? You just focus on me."

"Can I stay here?" She begs Shadowheart. "I won't get in the way. Just let me hold their hand, please."

Shadowheart exchanges a conflicted glance at Halsin. He nods, and she sighs. "Fine," she says. "But - I need you to stand to the side for now. You can hold their hand after we're done figuring out how to undo this curse."

"A fine specimen of a curse, really," Gale adds, his hand curled under his chin. "I'm almost impressed."

"I would be too," huffs Shadowheart, "if our reckless leader wasn't caught up in this mess. Really, what were you thinking?"

"Right?" Karlach shoves off into the corner of the tent, doing her best to keep herself as small and as out-of-the-way as possible. Tears flood her eyes, and she chokes out, "Of all the things to do, why did it have to be that? I thought you said you trusted me! To have your back! I have your back, don't I? Don't I?"

"Of course you do," Halsin croons. He hooks his finger into a bottle of salve, and spreads it on Tav's burns. Tav visibly winces and tenses, whimpering in pain.

"Stop whatever you're doing right now!" Karlach wails. "You're hurting them! I'll kill you, Halsin, I swear it!"

Gale exchanges a look with Shadowheart. He ponders deeply for a moment as Karlach sobs devastatingly behind them. He opens his mouth, then shuts it promptly.

"Just say it," Shadowheart urges impatiently.

"We should play a game," he suggests. "The quiet game."

"No way," Karlach hiccups. "I'm dogshit at that game. Anyway, focus on Tav or I'll gut you, seriously."

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[meanbossart]

Hi! I'm almost certain you've answered asks regarding Drow being a companion love interest before, but I'm not sure if my question was specifically discussed. If so, I apologize!

Say I wanted the smelly, gore lusting man (God the things I'd do), what would the player find themselves needing to do to gain that relationship with him?

HMM good question, lets see!

Generally speaking, to gain approval you would have to:

Show ruthlessness during dialogue and interactions (succeed intimidation checks or jump straight into combat)

Be kind towards animals, and honest/patient with children (He will be neutral if you just coddle them)

Oppose the absolute and antagonize mindflayers, gith, and drow.

Be nice to Shadowheart.

Pick a lot of the joke/playfully mean dialogue options.

Be a little hard-to-get in romance interactions until act 3.

Responding to his advances with more mellow, romantic dialogue will earn you more points than overt sexuality (In some cases, the latter may even get you disapproval).

Make him laugh.

To trigger his romance, you have to have good approval and sleep with him once. Following that, pressuring him to sleep with you again or shaming him for not putting your life in danger by trying will earn you disapproval, and an eventual break-up if you continue to insist. He enjoys being wooed, but not chased, and dislikes when you misunderstand his visceral attempts to emotionally reach out as sexual propositions; he will play along either way, but it will put him on a Bhaalist path.

Some quest choices that will get you on his good side:

ACT 1 -

He's indifferent if Arabella dies, but you gain approval if you save her.

Let him take on the Loviatar Priest when he requests it.

Don't get the Absolute's mark from Priestess gut.

Save Mayrina, but then either break or keep the wand.

Let Astarion kill Gandrel.

Help Karlach.

Either let Shadowheart kill Lae'zel, or stop the fight.

Don't kill the owlbear mother or cub.

Send Barcus flying (He doubles over laughing)

Kill Minthara.

Side with the mercenaries at Grymforge.

Kill the gith student refusing to fight.

Refuse to give the inquisitor the artefact.

ACT 2 -

Help Arabella find her parents.

Don't release the pixie from the moonlantern.

Help Mol cheat against Raphael.

Let him massacre the goblins at Moonrise Towers.

Get the Thorm bosses AND yurgir to kill themselves instead of fighting any of them (again: You are rewarded with him laughing his ass off about it)

Don't comply with Araj.

If you save Zevlor at the mindflayer colony, shame him for giving into the Absolute's call.

Antagonize the emperor after his reveal and refuse the astral tadpole.

ACT 3 -

Help Yenna with either gold or food, but don't invite her to your camp.

Kill Arfur once you find out about the explosive toys.

Forge an alliance with Gortash.

Win the Laff riot contest.

Don't surrender Dame Aylin to Lorroakan.

Don't sign the contract, but agree to get the Orphic hammer through other means later. (Anything to not rely on the Emperor anymore)

If she hasn't become a Dark Justiciar, don't surrender Shadowheart to Viconia (He will fight the party unless you leave him at camp and succeed a deception check later). He doesn't care what you do if she's a DJ.

Vanra's quest can get you either approval or disapproval at different points. He approves of you agreeing to help her, then also approves of you killing her for the money, but he disapproves of you letting the child die or of siding with Ethel.

Agree to the Avenge The Drowned quest (He just thinks they're hot)

Don't let Astarion Ascend, or kill him if he does.

Kill Sarevok.

Let him take on Orin by himself.

Don't turn into a mindflayer (he will break up with you later), nor let Karlach do it.

If he's become a chosen of Bhaal, let him control the Absolute.

[justporo]

Opening chests - A guide by Astarion Ancunín

As someone who's been merely seen as a body to use in the worst kind of ways, Astarion enjoys being needed for just about anything else.

You first noticed this when the rest of the party struggled to open a promising looking treasure chest which you all hoped would contain some direly needed riches - or at least something to make for a good dinner.

You were just about to step in and offer your expertise when Astarion made an entrance.

“By all the gods above and below! You bunch call yourself adventurers and can't even pick a simple lock such as this?” he exclaimed as he strode over with a swagger and a viciously teasing smirk. Gale moaned. He knew just like any of the others that Astarion was about to be insufferable when he put on a tone like this - more insufferable than usual that means.

“All these books and not a single one to be useful, just as always? Am I right - oh great Gale of Waterdeep?” the vampire barked back at the wizard's annoyed reaction.

Gale just pressed his mouth into a thin line, not willing to hand his pale companion more opportunities for snide remarks.

“I could always smash it with my axe,” Karlach chimed in and immediately grabbed for her martial weapon and took an enthusiastic step towards the chest.

Astarion threw out his arms to hold her off: “NO!” The tiefling just shrugged and casually hammered her weapon into the ground and leaned against it - an impressive show of her strength.

“My dear Karlach,” Astarion began “your uhm… enthusiasm is deeply appreciated.” (The sarcasm in his voice told another story. But Karlach still beamed at him) “But stuff like this is in need of a little more finesse,” the rogue finished and wiggled his long fingers.

You watched all of this as you crossed your arms over your chest. The lock really wasn't that big of a challenge. You could have probably done it in the middle of the night, with no light source and drunk out of your mind. But Astarion was keen to make a show of it seemed - and by now you were too interested to watch it play out as your less roguish companions watched.

Astarion produced his thieves tools out of his pocket with an artful flip and a wink he aimed specifically at you. You grinned at him. Despite his sometimes goofy or weird mannerisms and the cheesy lines he dropped on about everyone ( but especially on you), you couldn't helped but to be charmed by the vampire.

Astarion made to get to work.

“Now watch,” he exclaimed cheerfully “and take some notes,” he finished dryly with a pointed look at Gale who just threw his hands in the air at another unneeded jab towards him.

It was merely the blink of an eye and suddenly the lock made an very audible a click and fell to the dusty ground.

Astarion jumped up again almost as quickly as he had kneeled down in front of the chest. “Hah!” he exclaimed, twirled around to the party and made an obnoxiously gracious bow.

Karlach clapped, honestly impressed.

You just smirked.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes.

Gale immediately went to open the chest and- “It's empty,” he declared. “What a grand treasure you have revealed to us, oh great Astarion of Know-it-all,” the wizard spat. “It was all for nothing.”

The glance the vampire threw at Gale couldn't have been more sharp had he used his dagger on the wizard. “You all got a great learning opportunity. You should be grateful!” Astarion answered and pursed his lips

“Learned what exactly, Astarion? We could see nothing,” Wyll commented dryly, earning another dagger glance.

Astarion clicked his tongue and strode off as the others seemed to have lost interest in the damned chest now that it had proven worthless.

“Don't come to me again then, crying for help,” the vampire snarled as he walked off, shoulders slumped a little. There might have been just the tiniest tinge of hurt in his voice.

“No one asked him,” Gale muttered. But now he earned sharp looks from the others too.

“What?” the wizard asked offendedly looking around the others.

“Every once in a while even a Know-it-all like Astarion deserves a little praise,” you said as you looked after the vampire. “The next time he opens a lock up for you, you better give him a little pat on the back. We all should, actually,” you closed and then went to go after Astarion.

The others muttered in quiet agreement.

And in fact, from there on out, Astarion became the designated lock picker of the party. And you were happy every time you saw Astarion's ruby eyes sparkle a little with pride when you asked for his help.

[leighsartworks216]

Migraine Pain

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Wrote this for me bc I have a migraine rn and I want Astarion to act as my personal cold pack. Beginning of Astarion's dialogue taken from the vid Neil did of an Astarion wake up call lol

Not proofread bc brain hurts

Warnings: migraine descriptions, pain, light angst if you squint, swearing, OOC Shadowheart

Word Count: 1,839

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The two knocks at the door split your skull. Each one like an iron spike hammered into your temples. All you could do was hide deeper under the covers, hoping they would muffle the sound enough to stop hurting.

“Darling, get up,” Astarion called through the wood. Two more knocks accentuated his annoyance. He groaned when he didn’t hear any movement. “Get the fuck up!”

You wished you could tell him what was going on - really you did. But the slightest twitch from your tadpole was enough to have you wishing for death. Hells, you’d make a deal with Raphael with unbalanced terms just so it would go away! Instead, all you could do was wait it out. It would be a long wait indeed.

With another irritated sigh, you could hear the familiar scrape of his lockpicking tools working at the lock. Even the quiet metal-on-metal grated right against your eardrums. Fortunately, he was exceptionally skilled, because with a click the door was swinging open.

He rolled his eyes when he saw the lump of your body underneath the blankets. “My gods, you’re so lazy. Just like Gale.” His footsteps, even as an elven rogue, were too damn loud. You pressed your nose into the mattress, willing the thumping pulse in your head to stop. It thudded behind your eyes with each step.

In one swift motion, the blankets that provided the small mercy of darkness were whipped off of you. You curled as tightly into yourself as possible, covering your head with your arms to block out the sunlight streaming into your room. Astarion scoffed.

“Get out of bed and get up!” He gestured to the window. Even though you couldn’t see it, you could hear the rustling of his shirt. “It’s the morning. Listen, I might be a vampire that’s been away from the sun for 200 years, and I can actually now walk in it thanks to a tadpole that’s induced my mind,” he rambled, before huffing indignantly, “but even I don’t rest in!”

Now was the worst time for his dramatics. You usually adored how sassy and silly he could be, but now it just drove a stake through your brain. Even the Absolute couldn’t cause a pain this agonizing.

You whimpered, reaching out with one arm to swat him away. You missed. “Please, stop,” you whined. “Head hurts.”

He clicked his tongue. “Nothing the cleric can’t fix. C’mon, she can do whatever it is she does on our way out of here.”

You shook your head slowly, burying your face further and further into the bed. Gods, why did it have to hurt so fucking bad? Your chest tightened as the burn of tears stung at your eyes. Even crying hurt. Your body trembled and shook, your hands tangling into your hair to press at your affliction, as choked sobs suffocated you. Each gasp for air felt like a vice gripping your brain.

“Darling?” Astarion spoke, much softer. You couldn’t answer. He sighed softly, no longer annoyed. Well, a little annoyed. He dragged the blankets back up to your shoulders. “I’ll get Shadowheart.”

His footsteps were much lighter as he rushed out of your room. Was… this the work of the tadpoles? But wouldn’t they be affected, too? Ugh, why couldn’t anything be simple in this damn group of weirdos?

Shadowheart rushed in a moment later, remembering to keep her steps light halfway to you. She knelt down, frowning at the sight of the group’s leader so shaken. “Is it a migraine?” she whispered.

A sharp pain bolted through your temples as you nodded. You whimpered.

She sighed quietly. There was nothing her magic could do; migraines weren’t something she could just heal. “I’ll tell the others and whip up some tea, alright?”

She didn’t wait for your answer and set to work closing the curtains over the windows. Astarion frowned, missing the golden light already. “What’s wrong with them?”

Shadowheart put a finger over her lips with a glare. He scowled, but didn’t say anything. She only spoke when she was right next to him in the doorway. “They have a migraine. They’re extremely sensitive to light and sound right now.”

“Can’t you do something?” He glared impatiently at her, crossing his arms.

“There’s nothing for it. All we can do is wait. I suggest getting comfortable - we’re not leaving today.” She slipped past him, back down the stairs to the rest of your anxious companions.

He tapped his arm as he watched the lump under the blankets shift slowly as you finally uncovered your head. Baldur’s Gate was so close. Cazador was so close. They couldn’t deal with these delays when he was so damn close to being honestly, truly free.

He hadn’t moved from his post by the door when Shadowheart returned with a steaming cup of tea. She placed it carefully on your bedside table. “Drink this,” she whispered. “It should help with the pain.”

You nodded slightly, wiping at your face. She offered a little sympathetic smile. She gave Astarion a stern look as she passed. “Don’t try taking a nibble, vampire.”

He forced a sweet smile. “Offering yourself up instead?”

She scoffed, scrunching her nose up at the mere thought. “They need rest. And you leering over them isn’t going to help.” She left once more, with a last cursory glance over her shoulder to see if he’d leave.

Once she was out of sight, Astarion stepped into the room, softly closing the door behind him. His feet barely made a sound as he found his way back to your side. At least you weren’t curled up into a little ball anymore. Or crying. Small mercies, he supposed. He had no idea how to deal with someone being sick, let alone someone crying.

You looked at the cup on the table. Liquid salvation. The real trick was being able to drink it.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to sit up, wincing and whimpering with every jerky motion. He was honestly shocked you didn’t jump when he grabbed your arm to help, but perhaps you really were that out of it. Or you knew he was there. Either way, you thank him in the smallest, most pathetic voice he’s ever heard.

Comfortably propped up on a stack of pillows against the headboard, you reached over to try grabbing the cup. He caught your hand just before you knocked the cup over.

“Careful, darling,” he chastised quietly. With a put-out sigh, he sat down at the edge of the bed and picked up the cup. He brought the rim to your lips. “Since you’re so incapable…”

You carefully took a sip. Your whole face relaxed at the warmth, and the soothing herbs mixed in. It wouldn’t be an immediate remedy, but it was a very pleasant one. After you eagerly drained half the cup, he set it back on the table. You sighed with relief, content in the knowledge even a single percentile of your pain could be eased away.

“You don’t have to stay,” you mumbled, watching him through squinted eyes. Even the dimness of the room was too bright for you.

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Least I could do after such a rude awakening.”

You chuckled, but the sound was cut short with a strong wince. You sat there for a moment, face pinched and brow tight as you waited for the sting to pass. Once it did, your face softened once more.

“How bad is it?”

“Like Dwarves are taking pickaxes to my temples in search of gold.” You took a breath. “And like an ogre is sitting on my head.”

He huffed a laugh. “Not much I can do to help with that, love.”

You hummed, shaking your head ever so slightly. You didn’t want to go jostling the miners when they were so damned hard at work.

With a small gesture toward the cup, Astarion helped you finish off the last half of the tea. A small dribble fell from the corner of your mouth down your chin. He caught it with his thumb quickly, the knuckles of his closed hand brushing your cheek. You leaned into the touch immediately, without even thinking about it. You sighed with relief.

“You’re cold.”

“Mm. Comes with being undead.” He set the cup aside, but allowed his hand to linger. In fact, he opened it up so he cupped your cheek with his palm. A sharp chill raced down your spine, but you didn’t pull away.

It was curious, how easily you placed yourself in his care. Watching as your eyes shut in easy tranquility as you indulged in the coolness of his hand, how relaxed you became - it surprised him. You always found new ways to amaze him.

Slowly, not wishing to jostle you, he moved to press his hand to your temple. If he thought you were relaxed before, this was utter bliss. “Gods, don’t stop,” you begged.

He glanced at the door, half expecting Shadowheart to burst in and yell at him for disturbing you. But nothing happened. Still, it would be better to avoid being told off. He pulled away, but kept a hand on your arm. “Lay down, dove.”

Whether out of desperation to have him acting as a cold compress once more or just to take the pressure off your brain, you complied in a heartbeat. Slowly, you shimmied back down into the covers, head situated on a pillow once more.

Astarion thought for a moment. Did he really want to keep sitting here, back tiring out, arms reaching for hours? You whined, placing a hand over his on your arm, asking without words for relief. He hushed you.

As quickly as he could without shaking the bed, he stood, rounded it, and slipped in under the covers beside you. You gravitated toward him immediately, even as you winced. Head on his chest, arms clinging to him like a babe holding onto its mother, you relaxed into the natural chill he offered. He rested a hand back on your cheek, but slid the other to the back of your neck. That was the sweet spot, it seemed; you practically melted in his arms.

It wasn’t long before you were fast asleep, lulled into peace with the aid of the tea. He stared at the dark curtains blocking out the sun. One more day couldn’t hurt, surely. Not that they really had a choice, but…

You stirred in your sleep, turning your head to press your nose further into the ruffles of his shirt. Like this - bags under your eyes, hair a mess, a bit pallid - he was sure. He would Ascend. You’d never have to suffer like this again. Neither of you would. He’d be the most powerful man in the lands, with you at his side. Never again would he have to live in fear, bound in chains to someone else.

He sighed and rested his cheek lightly on your head. Gods. Just a few days now.

---

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[doomhamster]

Having Thoughts about the BG3 origins and the climaxes of their stories, and whether/how they're tied into the main storyline.

Astarion's final confrontation with Cazador is wholly separate from the Big Brain situation. Really, his entire storyline is, but the ending makes it very obvious; nothing else happens in Szarr Palace, nothing you do there affects the rest of the story beyond whether or not you get the Gur as allies in the final battle.

Shadowheart and the House of Grief battle is also separate from the Big Brain. You can get Sharran allies but it's dependent on either letting Shadowheart go dark (which means you miss out on Isobel and Aylin/Lorroakan) or selling her out and missing out on HER. However, she is much more strongly tied to the main story earlier, especially in Act 2.

Lae'zel is a bit of an edge case because the trip to the House of Hope and the Orphic Hammer are definitely part of her storyline, but there IS another reason to do it even if Lae'zel doesn't even WANT to free Orpheus - namely, if you don't, you have no option but to trust the Emperor.

Wyll also occupies an in-between position here because while the search for Ansur does involves a whole separate area and everything just like Astarion or Shadowheart, it really doesn't end up being ABOUT Wyll. The Emperor steals the scene. Larian have even acknowledged this and disconnected the Ansur quest from Wyll's main storyline (but haven't given him anything else to make up for it, grumble). The climax of Wyll's story, then, is the rescue of Ulder from the Iron Throne... which is optional, and there are two other quests that take you there.

Karlach wants revenge on Gortash, who is a key part of the main story... though one you can deal with in two ways. If you fight him, that's satisfying enough, but if you ally with him and stick to it? Karlach's story just kind of fizzles out. Either way, no separate areas or NPCs for Karlach.

Gale's story ends with claiming the Crown of Karsus from the Nether Brain, which is pretty much the distilled essence of "well, since we had to do that anyway". No separate areas for him, and I don't think you even get to see his discussion with Mystra unless you play as him?

Anyway, I've seen the argument made that Astarion and Shadowheart being so far ahead of the rest of the party in terms of speaking time and number of lines recorded - Astarion is #1 in both, with Shadowheart being a close #2 - is because of these separate areas.

I don't think this argument holds, for several reasons.

Lae'zel has an area that is "hers", but is still #3 by a significant margin in terms of number of lines (8904 as of Patch 6, the average is 8603) and #4 in terms of speaking time (JUST under 11 hours of dialogue recorded, perfectly on the average).

Gale does NOT get a special area but is still #4 in terms of lines (8400) and #3 in terms of time (11 hours 14 minutes).

Wyll technically has a special area, but is dead last when it comes to both time and lines, significantly short of Karlach who is #5 in both - and while this is often blamed on Wyll's late rewrite, as @euryalex pointed out the other day, Karlach got bumped up to full origin status AFTER Wyll's rewrite was started and his new voice actor hired.

[littlejuicebox]

Camping for beginners.

Written to sort of kill two birds with one stone. @coyote-mint this isn't Astarion soothing a baby, but it is Astarion giving Tav a break as she goes on a little, well-deserved vacation! @davenswitcher I also worked your storybook prompt in! Hope you two both like it; thanks for prompts! Special thanks to @chickywickers for helping me name the twins. :)

Summary: Tav/You are out of town and Astarion is full-time daddy duty without the nanny. In an effort to keep three children entertained, he decides upon camping in the backyard.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, parenthood, children, dadstarion, the mildest reference to sexual encounters, mildest reference to bg3 events and trauma

Word Count: 2.5K

*

Astarion is pitching a tent in the ground, cursing to himself every few moments as he goes about the task. Once upon a time, he’d had Tav or Karlach… or perhaps even an unenthusiastic Lae’zel or an overenthusiastic Wyll to assist him.

But now, it’s him and three little boys in the midsummer heat. Tav won’t be back until tomorrow morning, after a week away visiting Shadowheart and Lae’zel in the Dalelands. It’s a sunny Sunday, and Winifred, the nanny, has weekends off.

So it’s all up to papa for a day longer. He’s sweaty, tired, and pulling from deeply hidden reserves of patience he didn’t know he had until now.

Astarion thinks he has never missed his wife more in all their time together. One more day. He can do it, right?

“Gale, hold this for me,” The frustrated father directs, guiding his ever-obedient and sometimes now shockingly stoic six year old to one of the tent poles.

Gale nods and follows his father’s instructions as his little brothers scream and run around the orchard with toy swords, wreaking havoc as usual. The younger Ancunins are a tornado of scraped knees and sticky fingers at any given time. Their parents consider it a win if the twins make it an entire day without breaking something.

Evander and Finnick are naturally more wild and unruly than their older brother ever was. Astarion is painfully aware that the streak of disobedience in the duo comes entirely from him. The twins test his patience far more than Gale ever had, and in the absence of their mother, the two have become almost completely unhinged.

Tav is the twin wrangler; they are softer with her – but then, she’s always had a way with the more surly, roguish types. Her unique charm somehow soothes them into compliance. Astarion lacks the same skills and is, unfortunately, paying for it this weekend.

The younger boys are straying too far away for Astarion’s liking, and as he hammers a stake into the orchard’s fertile earth, he shouts at the twins, “Evan and Finn, you two had better get your little behinds back—“

He stops and sighs; the twins are too interested in their make-believe and paying absolutely no mind to their father and his chastisement. Astarion resumes his task and without even looking back up at his eldest asks, “Gale, will you please contain them for a moment until we finish this?”

A lazy wave of Gale’s hand, reminiscent of Astarion’s own flippant movements when he speaks, and vines spring from the earth. The tendrils wrap around Evander and Finnick, holding each of them by the torso. A second tendril springs to life from the soil and wraps around the brothers, pulling them into its embrace just as the first tendril recedes. This process continues in a domino effect until the twins are but a few feet from their father, struggling against the vines and expressing their displeasure with grunts and screams.

Astarion lifts his head from the stake and watches the scene in a mixture of amusement and amazement, and when the boys are sufficiently contained he turns to smile at his eldest, “You really are exceptionally talented, you know that, don’t you?”

Gale smiles and nods before he looks down at the ground, unable to meet his father’s proud gaze as he says, “I know, Papa.”

The eldest Ancunin boy struggled in school all last year. His fragile confidence took a huge tumble, which his parents were working to restore to the best of their ability. Gale always required softer hands in comparison to his brothers; Astarion was still learning how to navigate this difference.

“Let go!” The twins shout in unison, short limbs flailing against the vines gently containing their three year old bodies.

They look like mirror images of one another, down to the dark wavy hair parted in opposite directions and vitiligo patches splattered across opposing green eyes. Evander’s is on his left eye, Finnick’s is on his right. Together, they look like a Rorschach Test.

Astarion’s patience is gone; part of him considers leaving the duo trapped in the vines until Tav returns. He narrows his eyes at the youngest Ancunins, pointing accusingly at them with the hammer, “You two asked to camp outside, and after very insistent pleas, I agreed. So if you don’t want daddy to pack up this entire thing and take you both back into the house, you are to stand there. Quietly.”

Finnick, the younger of the twins by a few minutes, wrinkles his nose in displeasure at his father, “Mean, daddy.”

A slow, long exhale escapes Astarion as he stares at the surly three year old with furrowed brows.

“My child, you have no idea how mean I can be, now hush so that your brother and I can finish this,” Astarion instructs, and then returns to work pitching the tent, ignoring the frustrated whines and protests from the twins all the while.

*

Around the small campfire, the Ancunin boys roast marshmallows on sticks as Astarion reads a tale from one of their story books. Apple is, as almost always, curled up next to Gale. The eldest Ancunin boy sneaks the dog marshmallows and his father pretends not to notice.

If that’s the most rebellious Gale ever is, so be it. The twins are a different challenge, entirely.

The story is all about slaying dragons, knights in shining armor, damsels in distress… the usual. The topic is exceptionally boring to the father of three, given all he’s experienced, but he’s gotten used to pretending this ridiculous droll is highly entertaining and throwing his voice for his kids amusement. 

And, plus, if the twins are entertained, they aren’t causing mayhem, which is all Astarion can ask for tonight. Tav will be back in less than twelve hours, he reminds himself.

All hail his wife, Lady Ancunin, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, and the hero of this household. 

This weekend has Astarion regretting any moment he might have taken her for granted or not shown enough appreciation for her.

While the father of three continues to read, a sudden rustling at the edge of the orchard catches everyone’s attention. The three-year-old twins instantly cling to one another in fear and Apple’s head snaps up to peer towards the possible threat.

“Werewolf!” Evander shouts.

“Vampire!” Finnick continues.

Gale giggles and shakes his head, “No… it’s a raccoon. I can hear her. She smells the food.” 

Astarion’s nose wrinkles in distaste as his silver-haired son takes his plate of leftovers and meanders toward the edge of the property, but he chooses to remain silent and let his son feed the vile creature. With Gale around, it’s a wonder they aren’t overrun with vermin and rodents galore. Though, the feral cat colony the little boy single-handedly created is likely keeping the other animal population at bay.

Gale places the plate down, whispers something to the raccoon, and returns back to the campfire, nestling his head into Apple’s side as he settles back into the dirt.

“Papa… there aren’t really vampires and werewolves out in the woods… right?” Gale questions, his eyebrows shooting up into his forehead in concern as he thinks.

“Perhaps not in the woods right here…” Astarion responds, trying to figure out how to be honest with his children without frightening them entirely, “But they do exist… I’ve killed a vampire before.” 

At this the two younger Ancunins gasp and Gale shoots back up to sitting, his green eyes widened in shock as he asks, “You’ve killed a vampire before?” 

Astarion chuckles. Sometimes he forgets how little his children truly know of his past. He shuts the storybook in his lap closed and nods, a small smile crossing his face, “I have. Your mother helped me. Would you three like to hear about it?”

“Yes!” The boys all shout in unison, all coming as close to their father as they possibly can.

“Very well,” Astarion agrees with a grin, and then he launches into the tale of fighting Cazador, mindful to keep everything as child-friendly as a gorey battle can possibly be and leaving his enslavement entirely out of the picture. The children will learn about that later, he thinks, but now is not the time.

The boys are wholly captivated by their father’s tale until the twins begin to drift off, slumped against one another. Gale is the only one still awake when his father finishes the story. There is a moment of quiet at the end as his eldest reflects upon all that was revealed to him.

“Were you scared, Papa?” He finally asks, his fingers threading into the curled fur on Apple’s back.

Astarion nods in response, “Of course, Gale. But… I think you cannot be brave if you don’t feel a bit scared, first.”

The eldest Ancunin boy sighs. He has feelings about this that he has not yet been able to put into words. Gale’s general kindness and gentleness is such a stark contrast to many of the kids at school; he’d gotten himself into more than one scuffle. He was perceived as an easy target, because he knew better than to use his powers on the other children. As a result, Gale often simply let the other children attack him, not ever wanting to hurt anyone, even if it was in his defense.

Astarion had, more than once this year, gone to the school and threatened to retract their donations if the issue was not resolved. One of the child’s parents had been hit with a lawsuit after Gale returned home with a black eye. But come the start of next term, there was a strong chance this behavior would continue.

He and Tav had both lost countless hours of sleep over this very topic.

“How do you know…” Gale starts, and then stops with another sigh, staring up at the stars as he tries to find his words, “How do you know when it’s time to fight back?”

There is a moment of silence as the older elf considers this question. How do you know?

“If someone doesn’t listen when you ask them to stop, that is how you know, Gale,” Astarion responds, finally, his hand coming to ruffle the curls upon his eldest’s head, “And if someone is hurting you or someone you care about, and they refuse to stop when you ask them the first time, that is all the permission you need. Your mother and I will always agree with you if you are protecting yourself or your brothers in defense, little prince.” 

The silver-haired six year old nods with a yawn, his fingers still curled in Apple’s fur.

“Now come on, let’s get you and your brothers inside the tent for the night,” Astarion directs, picking up one of the twins and holding the flap open for Gale. He gets the two boys settled before returning to retrieve the remaining one and calling for Apple to join all four Ancunins. 

The fire is left glowing its final embers as the men all drift off to sleep.

*

You find the tent in the orchard after returning to a house filled with only your regular employees. Winifred, the nanny, and Pascal, the steward, are both clueless as to where your children and husband are this morning. When you enter the backyard, a snuffed fire and Apple keeping guard outside the tent not more than ten feet from the manor signal you’ve found your family.

You crouch and open the tent flap, only to be greeted by an adorable image. Astarion is on his back, one twin clinging to each leg and Gale nestled into the crook of his arm. All four of the Ancunins are still sleeping, seemingly exhausted from the night before. 

“Good morning, my little loves,” You greet in a soft murmur.

Astarion is the first to open his eyes and smile at you as he sits up, expertly maneuvering himself around three sets of other limbs.

“Welcome back home, Tav. We missed you. I think that perhaps I missed you the most.” Astarion greets, leaning forward to press an affectionate kiss upon your cheek and grabbing your hand to give it a squeeze.

“No, me!” Evander protests through a yawn as he scrambles to wrap his arm around your arm.

“No, me!” Finnick echos, sitting up and pushing a cluster of curls from his face to grin at you.

“I think it was me, mama.” Gale calls softly, his head still resting upon the pillow, eyes still shut.

You chuckle in response to this ridiculous argument before standing and lifting the tent flap entirely, “I missed you all, too. Alright everyone, let’s get inside for breakfast. I’m making pancakes.” 

A clamor of excitement from the Ancunin boys fills the orchard as your children exit the tent and begin the short journey back toward the house. Apple is running after them, her tail wagging excitedly because she knows she will get whatever leftovers the boys cannot finish.

As the children disappear into the house, Astarion grabs your hand with a mischievous grin, insistently pulling you into the tent with him.

“My love, the boys–” You begin to protest, but your husband cuts you off with a kiss pressed against your lips as his nimble fingers quickly shut the tent behind you.

“It’s Monday, surely Winifred is already in, hm?” Astarion questions, his mouth already trailing kisses along your neck, “She can handle the trio for… oh, twenty minutes?”

You gasp as the elf’s fingers slowly trail under your dress and up your thighs to grip at the flesh around your hips. And then you turn to meet your husband’s face as he pulls you into a kiss. Being in the tent reminds you of old times out on the road, all those years ago, and you quickly fall under the Astarion’s spell, just as you had back then.

Your husband breaks away from the kiss and begins to pull your dress over your head. He grins and roams his eyes over your body when you’re left in nothing but your underclothes, “And… not that it’s a competition, little love. But I maintain I missed you the most.” 

He doesn’t leave room for response as he pounces upon you, eager to show you just how much he missed you this past week. 

Less than twenty minutes later, the twins are back outside the tent, screaming impatiently for pancakes as an apologetic Winifred calls after them from the porch. Astarion groans and is forced to throw his trousers back on with a whispered, “We’ll finish this later tonight, hm?”

And then he’s climbing out of the tent, corralling the two younger Ancunin’s back into the house and buying you a moment to throw your dress back on before exiting yourself. 

When you enter the kitchen, Astarion has thrown his crumpled shirt back on and is already starting the pancake batter among a chatter of excited storytelling from the boys. Winifred is forcing the twins to wash their hands as they speak about the raccoon they thought was a monster and Gale asks you to confirm the two of you really killed a vampire.

At this last part you shoot Astarion a questioning look and he shrugs while flashing you an apologetic smile. He looks like the twins when they’ve been caught breaking something. You know you’ll have to follow up later, but for now, all you want to do is focus on your little loves.

They all missed you, and you missed them just as much. Perhaps more.

But it’s not a competition.

[transkingcobra]

Astarion: So, when does Wyll get to see your greatsword?

Wyll: *panicking*

Isk: What? I use a hammer, Lae’zel has the sword.

Wyll: *ohthankthegods*

Shadowheart: *dying*

Astarion: Oh gods you’re hopeless

Isk: ????

[roguishcat]

Clumsy

Summary: Tav has always been a little clumsy, but it was nothing too inconvenient until Astarion came along. Since then, whenever Tav’s blood would spill, he would be there.

Rating: Mature (nothing explicit but MDNI)

Tags: Blood drinking, dry humping, mild nudity, Astarion being terrible at hiding that he is a vampire, humour and moments of awkwardness

Pairing: Astarion x unnamed female Tav

One-shot, 3.8k words

Set in Act I, before Astarion confesses to being a vampire. An alternative take on the first time Astarion feeds on blood of a thinking creature.

It was mortifying and beyond ridiculous. Tav has always been a little clumsy, but it was nothing too inconvenient. Just the occasional uncooperative limb and misjudged step that had sometimes resulted in her falling rather gracelessly. And with healing potions readily available in the city, it was hardly an issue.

But then came the kidnapping, and the tadpole, and the journey. Suddenly, what was only a minor issue in the past became a real problem as her clumsy habits worsened. The lack of smooth surfaces that weren’t riddled with protruding roots and clutching vines, rock faces and the like, meant that Tav was constantly finding herself in a bit of a bloody situation. And taking on one quest after another whilst fighting off enemies certainly did not help one bit.

Yet, it wasn’t until they came across the abandoned blighted village that her clumsiness almost cost Tav her life.

They were ambushed by goblins, and it was during that fight that she stumbled backwards, almost impaling herself on her own sword as she landed heavily on the ground. The disgusting and pungent mass were quick to take advantage of that, one of the attackers taking a swing at her arm with a piercing shriek. She parried at the last moment, only the tip of the blade slicing into her skin. Then the goblin’s screech became a gurgle as he clutched at the arrow sticking out of his neck, the creature falling onto the ground and breathing its last. The rest of her companions made quick work of the goblins and then there was silence. A brief reprieve that allowed them to access damages and check up on each other.

Tav peeled her sleeve back with a wince to examine the long cut, hissing as it began to sting. She looked up when a shadow fell over her.

Astarion stood near her. His shoulders were tense, and his fingers were twitching, like he was restraining himself from something. There was a leaf stuck in his usually impeccable hair and his eyes seemed a slightly darker shade that normal.

Something was off.

“Can I help you with something Astarion?” she said wearily, seemingly thrown off-balance by his sudden appearance and the eerie, strange way he was looking at the cut on her arm.

For a moment, Astarion did not even glance at her face or give any indication that he heard her speak. His tongue darted out from a small opening in his mouth to wet his bottom lip. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared beside her, Astarion seemed to snap out of it, giving her a mocking smile.

“Really, darling? Is this biting tone necessary? Is this the thanks I get for saving you from that filthy goblin, hm?”

She looked away, feeling a little chastened by the comment and regretting being short with him. He did save her, and she was treating him quite abhorrently. But then Tav looked at her companion again. His eyes were borderline feral, once again trained on her wound. She fought the urge to run. Astarion’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, leaning over her, Tav’s heart hammering inside her chest at his proximity.

He slowly circled the injured woman, paying no heed to Lae’zel and Shadowheart as they bickered whilst the cleric got to work healing the wizard.

His eyes devouring her form, Astarion lifted her arm with almost reverent gentleness. The way his eyes traced the contours of her body and then snapped back to her wound made her breath hitch. Tav shivered slightly at the feeling of complete exposure. His eyes trickled over her face, carefully mapped the contours of her legs, slid over her waist, absorbed the fragile column of her throat and the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the cloth and finally came to caress her bloody wrist.

“Um... thank you for helping me, I guess,” Tav said sheepishly and pulled away, cradling her injured arm that was still bleeding sluggishly.

She felt his eyes fix on her face but dared not look up at him; she didn’t want to find out what those eyes could do to her.

“Be more careful next time, darling” he handed her a potion of healing, his words more gravelly than usual. And then, just as suddenly as he appeared by her side, Astarion vanished.

That had been the first bizarre encounter with Astarion but not the last. Since then, whenever Tav’s blood would spill, he would be there with the tracking precision of a beast. Her own personal blood hound. She was not sure whether to be flattered or concerned.

Each time Tav would stutter out some excuse for why she was bleeding. He would circle her slowly and inspect the damage like she was a piece of meat and then he would vanish. But not before dealing his favourite parting line, “Tsk, so clumsy.”

Tav blamed the tadpole. Because surely her senses became duller the longer their wriggly problem was left unattended? She also blamed the wilderness. Because she certainly could not remember herself kissing the ground with such frequency back in the city. And even with trying extra hard to stay upright she found herself landing awkwardly far too often. She also blamed Astarion. Because if his words and looks weren’t enough of a distraction, the constant featherlight incidental touches would definitely be the death of her.

Tav tried not to let her treacherous mind stray. She tried to focus on the matters at hand, that is getting rid of the tadpole, saving the Emerald Grove, rescuing Halsin, and last but not least, keeping her companions from murdering her or each other. Quite understandably, her smiles were becoming more strained as they continued on their journey and she could swear that she could feel her eye twitch whenever Shadowheart and Lae’zel, Astarion and Lae’zel, Astarion and Shadowheart, would open their mouths to have their daily invigorating conversations. And to top it all off, she was alarmed to realise that what she felt for Astarion was most definitely attraction.

Astarion would constantly make sure that he was near. Setting up his tent right next to hers in the evening. Brushing past her as she went foraging. Trying to engage her in conversation whenever time allowed for a short rest. And the best Tav could do for the sake of what was left of her sanity was lie to herself that she was not attracted to him in the least. She wanted to throttle him. She wanted to kiss him. And this was starting to take a toll on her.

However, it wasn’t until they reached the Risen Road that the Tav lost her composure.

Lae’zel was becoming increasingly sullen and angry, understandably worried that it has been a while since they got infected but there was little promise of a cure on the horizon. She lashed out at the slightest thing and Astarion was not helping with his taunting, catty remarks. The hostility between the two was coming to a boil and Tav was in no mood to entertain other people’s moods.

“Can I help you?” Tav demanded as Lae’zel glared at her for at least the twentieth time that day. They were sitting around the campfire basking in the last rays of the evening sunshine. It was her time to relax and unwind as much as anyone else’s.

“Chk!”

“That’s not a reply,” Tav quipped tersely.

“Fine,” Lae’zel huffed, putting herself in Tav’s space imposingly, “Your mating rituals with the elf are a hindrance and a distraction.”

“Huh?” Tav asked, a little lost and not sure how to react.

The other members of the camp winced and wondered whether taking shelter in their tents or pulling out snacks was appropriate. They chose to settle on the latter and stayed put.

“Don’t play innocent, you know what I’m talking about,” the githyanki insisted.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Tav commented, “but you have glimpsed as much of his behaviour as I have, what in the world makes you think that I understand this any better than you do?”

“I cannot abide stupidity or feigned ignorance,” she growled, obstinately clinging to her belief that this was part of some peculiar flirtation between istiks. Undignified and uncouth as it was, it seemed to be proving effective, judging by the way Tav’s cheeks would flush, and her heartbeat would quicken whenever Astarion approached.

“Well, then you have my blessing to go converse with someone who is your intellectual equal. Seeing as you find us lacking, may I recommend a mirror?” Tav smiled sweetly.

Lae’zel scowled and stormed off, entering her tent and throwing the flap back into place roughly.

Tav winced. She really could have handled that conversation better. But she was feeling on edge and, quite frankly, a little tired from having to always act the mediator whilst everyone else bickered and fought with each other.

“I’m going to the river,” she told Karlach, pointedly ignoring the looks others were giving her. She knew that Shadowheart would be pleased by the spat between her and Lae’zel, whilst Gale and Wyll would look at her with barely concealed concern and disappointment.

“Sure, soldier! Go and cool off a little. I will take the first watch,” the tiefling nodded.

Upon arriving on the riverbank, Tav kicked off the wretched boots that were hurting her feet all day with about as much finesse as a drunken sailor after a night at a tavern. Quickly divesting herself of her clothes she prodded the surface of the water with a toe. It was cold but the night was balmy, and hopefully the cool water was enough to soothe her poor bruised and abused muscles.

Stepping into the river, she flinched as a startled bird flew from the bushes behind her. She supposed her annoyance was making her jumpy. Deciding not to think about it, Tav hastily dropped into the water and swam. For a second it seemed freezing-cold before she adjusted and relaxed, submerging herself completely and then resurfacing a moment later. Brushing her sopping wet hair away from her face, Tav started making her way back towards the shore to take her soap and shampoo. She made her way to the shallows and stood up. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain in her foot. Tav inhaled sharply as an unseen rock scraped against the flesh on her foot.

She dunked herself under the surface up to her chin and waited for the inevitable. Waited for him.

Astarion all but burst from the bushes that encircled the shallower part of the river. He caught a brief glimpse of Tav looking at him owlishly, her large doe eyes staring at him over the surface of the water. A moment passed, then another. And then she started to laugh. Astarion was so uncharacteristically dishevelled, with his eyes wild and curls not falling into place, that it immediately alleviated whatever annoyance she felt.

Recovering a little, Tav blinked at him, trying to suppress a giggle. “What in the world happened to you?” she asked, “I can safely assume you weren’t ambushed on your way here.”

Ignoring her last remark Astarion brushed his hair back and answered. “Well, obviously not. I was out hunting.”

“Of course,” she said, not commenting on the fact that he had no bow or weapons on him, “and you ran all the way here?”

“Yes.”

She saw the direction he took when he left earlier this evening. He should have been miles away from the river. Unless he deliberately misled them by making a show of going far away from camp, then choosing to take the scenic route instead of coming directly back, and going as far as possible from any big game to completely accidentally walk by the exact spot that she would be bathing at. She could scarcely believe that Astarion would do that. Except apparently, he did.

“What were you really doing, Astarion?”

“Trying to protect you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you are constantly bleeding, you silly fool!” He glowered at her like it was her fault. He was desperately trying not to give into temptation with this woman, but that was becoming near impossible!

“So, what does my bleeding have to do with you?”

“Oh, nothing,” he chuckled humorously. “But let’s suppose there are predators out there, my sweet,” he took a step towards her, and then another, beginning to tread water, uncaring that he was still completely clothed. “And your blood calls to them, calls out to be feasted upon.”

He was moving with dangerous, hypnotising grace, his movements purposeful and eyes trained on her. It was unnerving and exciting to be the sole subject of his attention.

“And let’s say, one of these predators would approach you at a moment of vulnerability. When you couldn’t defend yourself, couldn’t run away. What would you do then?” he flashed a smile that she could swear was all teeth.

“You mean like a vampire?” she blurted out, her eyes widening at the realisation.

She could have smacked herself. How could she have been so stupid, so blind? Astarion, no matter what he thought about his ability to conceal it, wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to hiding his uncanny vampiric ways.

He growled and she flinched but stood her ground. She may have been the clumsiest, most accident-prone individual in all of Faerûn, but she refused to be intimidated by him! Especially in the middle of her damn well-deserved bath!

“And you have come here to what? Suck me dry?” she flinched, belatedly realising that she could not have chosen a more unfortunate way to word this but choosing to soldier on. “Take advantage of me being alone and unprotected?” she hissed, eyes narrowing as she lifted herself above water. Modesty be damned, there was no way that she would cower before anyone!

“Because if that is the case, Astarion, I’m going to blast you to hells and back before your fangs get anywhere near my neck,” she promised. She didn’t need weapons to kick his ass and he knew it.

 “No, no!” Astarion blinked, taking a step back, looking at her a little sheepishly. “This is not- I’ve never-” he breathed out and paused, seemingly trying to find the right words to deescalate the situation.

“I apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you. But try to understand. I have never had blood from any thinking creature. And I’ve tried to control myself around you, I really have,” he said quietly, but what he lacked in volume he made up with intensity with which he confessed to the truth.

“Not once?” she asked, feeling inclined to believe Astarion in spite of the predicament she found herself in.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I- I was forbidden from doing so. Was taught control through pain and torture. But with how often you bleed… Let me tell you, my dear, being good has been quite a challenge and I found myself wanting… Wanting to have a taste.”

This was it. It was now or never. He knew that there was very little chance of Tav agreeing to let him feed off her, no matter how generous and selfless she was. But he already royally fucked up the conversation from the moment he showed up, so what was the harm in trying?

“Will you let me? Please?” he pleaded.

There was a pause as she considered her choices. She could scream. Her voice would carry far enough for the others to hear her. And she had no doubt that they would come running, whilst she could see herself fending off Astarion’s attacks long enough for Lae’zel to reach the river and run Astarion through with her sword. They all knew that she was looking for any excuse to do so. And Tav knew without a sliver of a doubt that even with their recent argument, Lae’zel would protect her.

On the other hand, Tav could choose to trust him. He did, after all, hold back all this time. Not once did he try to take advantage of her vulnerability. If he truly just wanted her for his meal, he could have let the goblins kill her and then had his fill. No. He deserved the benefit of a doubt.

“Not one drop more than needed, are we clear?” she was amazed at how calm she sounded, but disregarded the fact and focused on him.

“Really?” he looked taken aback, yet hopeful. “I promise. Not a drop more,” he assured her, taking a step back and letting Tav walk past him.

Astarion did not follow her as she walked to the shore, her feet dragging through the sand and making smaller pebbles descend into water as it lapped at her ankles. He heard the rustle of fabric next and assumed she was getting dressed.

Tav shot furtive looks over her shoulder as she quickly pulled her underwear, shirt and trousers on, but Astarion did not look at her once, giving her as much privacy as he could. Him turning his back on her like that could have been a prime opportunity for her to attack. He would have no way of preventing it. She supposed it was fitting for Astarion to show that her putting her trust in him was enough for him to return the favour.

“I- I’m ready,” she gulped. “But remember, take only what you need.”

Astarion turned, advancing on her slowly and stopping right beside her. He didn’t bother to hide the predatory smile that spread across his features when she backed away.  “Of course, darling! Besides, if I kill you, I doubt you will be quite as accommodating next time I find myself feeling peckish,” he grinned.

“So, what is going to happen?” her voice was getting more panicked as he crowded her even more and forced her to back up against a rock.

“I will feed,” he hoisted her up so she sat on the rock and moved himself to stand between her thighs “and I will try to make the experience as pleasant as I can.” His eyes briefly flashed, but she was almost certain it was the moonlight playing tricks on her frazzled mind.

“On my neck?”

“There are other places where blood pulses,” he whispered into her ear, “but I think we will save that for another time. When you are ready.”

A moan almost bubbled up and Tav had to bite her lip. It took a lot of effort on her part not to let the damn elf know how ready she was.

“This will sting at first, but it will hurt less if you try to relax,” he promised, running his fingers down her neck and laying a kiss against the spot he chose.

And then his fangs clamped down around soft skin as he bit hard. She tensed as she felt them puncture her flesh. Briefly she realised that it hurt much more than she expected and almost pushed him away, and then all sensible thought abandoned her.

There she was. In the middle of nowhere with a vampire between her thighs holding her neck in a vice-like grip as he took gulp after gulp of her blood. It was not exactly the way she thought her day would end. Fleetingly, she wondered if her clumsiness caused her to fall and bang her head so hard that she was knocked unconscious, and her mind conjured up the image. Was it a secret kink that her subconsciousness chose to thrust to the forefront of her mind? Not that she had anything against it per se.

Belatedly, her poor befuddled mind reminded her that losing herself in the moment could end very, very badly. Tav pushed against Astarion’s chest. He did not budge.

Astarion continued his onslaught, completely lost in the overwhelming sensations that almost made his knees buckle, the hand that wasn’t supporting Tav’s head kneading the flesh of her thigh as he ground against her centre with a whine.

It was pure bliss. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced and Astarion was absolutely sure that he would never experience anything even remotely close to this with anyone else. Her blood was something he could certainly become addicted to. It tasted even better than it smelled, something that he wouldn’t even think was possible. He could taste her arousal in her blood and that was enough for him to go borderline feral. And so he drank greedily and thrust into her, enjoying the quiet mewls of pleasure the act elicited.

Far too soon for his liking, Astarion noticed that Tav pushed against his chest again and realised it was time to stop. If he took anymore, she would surely not allow for this to happen again. And he would make damn sure that there would be a next time.

Very reluctantly, Astarion let her go and pulled away. Tav’s breathing was ragged and her eyes were unfocused as she put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He gently lifted her off the boulder, steadying her before taking a step back.

“That was amazing,” he admitted. “Thank you. This was a gift. I will never forget it.”

He sounded sincere and, to his surprise, Astarion found that he really did mean it. This was the most precious, welcome gift he has ever got from someone.

“However, as delicious as you were, I have to find something more filling. Will you be able to get to camp without my help?”

She nodded and he was glad that he did not need to accompany her. The truth of the matter was that this was a thrilling and rousing experience in more ways than one. At another time, with a different person, Astarion would go a step further and offer to relieve the tension that they were both experiencing. He could tell that she wanted him, hear her sighs and moans as she got lost in him.

But now was not the time. He had to tread very carefully and give Tav space. That, and he had a very urgent, pressing matter that he would prefer to take care of privately. He knew that self-loathing and disgust would come, but for now he had his post-feeding bliss to distract him from being a prisoner within his own body.

“Oh, and Tav?” he waited until she turned to look at him, “try not to be so clumsy next time, my sweet. You never know which monster might want to go bump in the night.”

And with that he was gone. Satisfied that he was full. Satisfied with how the day ended. And on his way to satisfy himself in a way that he had no wish for in many years.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900, @ayselluna,

@dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale, @clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9, @hellethil,

@khywren, @maeryls-journal, @larvasmoon, @xxnashiraxx

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 28 - What the Fuck

This goddamn fucking place.

On AO3.

Unkillable fucking Pawpaw has a stitched-together brother. Or had. Maybe a brother. You ain’t super sure on that part, aside from the last name (the first part lost in a wet gurgle). They might’a looked something alike back when big boy wasn’t the size of an elephant—most of it the world’s largest beer gut literally straining at the seams of a line running right up his front. And with a Bane from Batman mask, connected to what absolutely has to be some kinda redneck moonshine still on his back. That he just wears around.

Hillybilly Steve, you decide, smells like a chemical factory on fire, if said chemical factory on fire was somehow stuffed into the week-dead corpse of a roadside possum carcass. Every time he grunts out a word—his mouth hidden under that Bane mask—the stink wafts out and you gag.

“Not a good indicator of any other talents of yours,” Astarion says.

It takes you a solid minute and a half of the group debating before what he said clicks and you turn to glare.

He’s watching the group huddle. Still notices you, and gives you an innocent look. “Did you need something, my dear?”

Fucking ass.

At least he’s still talking to you.

Hillybilly Steve knows about Pawpaw. He natters a bit about other things as you watch an actual, half-rotted corpse try his best to bus down a nearby table. It’d help a whole lot if he was a few feet to the left and actually like, over the table? But having one eyeball turned to jelly probably makes depth perception something of a challenge. Bless his heart.

“Fucking place,” you say.

Then Hillbilly Steve all but challenges one of y’all to drink with him.

It ain’t the liquor lining the walls he’s offering, neither. He wants one of y’all to sample whatever’s gurgling around in that keg on his back.

You can’t say for sure, but judging from his very mummified-looking skin and the decomposition stench, you’re pretty sure drinking that shit’d kill any of y’all dead.

He refuses to talk until somebody agrees.

Everybody looks at each other.

Gale’s out. As is Shadowheart. Lae’zel meets your gaze and lifts her chin all expecting. But you need somebody with the constitution of a sasquatch and a James Bond kinda charm.

You look at Astarion. He looks at Hillbilly Steve with a curl to his lip, and a muttered, “Ugh, we should just kill the porcine publican. I could take a go at questioning his corpse.”

Hillbilly Steve really looks like a beer-bellied, half-mummified corpse with autopsy scars. You don’t know much about magic, but you got a hunch that any spell ain’t gonna work on somebody who probably got embalmed.

Astarion does have nimble fingers. Can talk his way around an angry bull, you’d reckon.

Blood congealing in his hair out of his eyes ear mouth slack-jawed and gray and not moving—

No. No, you can’t. You just…can’t. He’s whole. On his feet. In one piece under that armor of his and he was fucking dead less than twenty-four hours ago. The image of Hillbilly Steve grabbing him, shoving that rancid hose down his throat so hard it cracks his jaw in half as fluid spews out around it…

You already seen him thrashing as he died.

“Hey.” A warm voice and a warmer hand on your shoulder. Wyll.

There’s a set to his jaw. A steadiness in his gaze. You can feel it in that split second, why the man is a folk hero. Why people trust him. He’s all solid calm and reassurance.

“I think I may be able to get our new friend talking,” he says.

The Blade of Frontiers who’s survived a devil contract since he was a teenager. Roamed the countryside killing monsters and saving people.

Who also looks like he’s maybe twenty-years-old.

Hillbilly Steve has tiny eyes, clouded like a dead fish. Overwhelmed by the flesh of his head and that horrible Bane mask. His skull is shaped like a war hammer (you seen a couple around here by now) and they stare out at nothing in particular.

Until they flick to y’all and away again.

He’s doing possum shit. Playing big and slow and stupid. But Pawpaw didn’t strike you as no fool, and you’re willing to bet Hillbilly Steve shares that in common.

Man’s a hippo. Big. Bulky. Most people think they’re cute or gross, but most not familiar with them don’t treat them as particularly dangerous. But hippos have the second-highest human body count of any animal except a mosquito, you read. Them jaws can crush a man in half as easy as they do them melons in the zoo videos.

Astarion ruptured.

He’s watching this. Face blank, eyes unreadable. Couple days ago, you would’a asked him to use his clever hands and blade of a tongue to try to finesse open this lock.

But he thrashed as he died. His eyes was so scared. You could feel it. Taste it, sour and acidic in the back of your throat.

Wyll is basically an infant. A college kid. Thrown into a shit mess and holding his ground, but still a fucking kid. You shouldn’t…it ain’t right.

He cups your elbow with that strong, steady hand of his.

“Trust me,” he says. “It won’t be the first time I’ve talked my way out of a bad situation. I got caught up in a debate with a sphinx a few years ago. I can hold my own.”

You blink at him. “Y’all got sphinxes?”

“They’re rare, but yes. Beautiful creatures. Very nasty claws. Let me handle this.”

He doesn’t once look to Astarion, whose mask slips around the edges a second. You can never tell exactly what’s under that—it’s too complicated, too tumultuous.

This is a chicken shit thing to do. It ain’t right.

The last time you tried to do something right…

“You’re sure?” you say, knowing you just folded. You’re taking the coward’s way, and the shame of the relief burns hot on your cheeks.

Wyll gives you the most reassuring smile you ever seen. You understand the whole firefighter swoon all the sudden.

“Careful, eh?” Karlach says, reaches out for his shoulder.

He turns that smile on her and puts a hand over her own. The way she perks up—a sunflower to the light—and she seems to remember all over again that she can touch people.

“I’d love to share a tankard with you, saer,” Wyll says and gives Hillybilly Steve a very jaunty bow.

So it begins. Starts cordial—Hillybilly Steve bellowing, “DRINK.”

Wyll takes a swig, but you catch a tiny wrist flick and oh hey, the man’s primary weapon is a rapier, huh. A small puddle of what looks a fuck of a lot like sparkly antifreeze forms under the stool. He’s running it under his shirt and down a pant leg, ain’t he.

Oh jesus.  That’s gotta be so gross. You make a note to donate whatever you get in the future to a clothing fund for him.

“He looks fit to burst,” Shadowheart says.

Hillybilly Steve does look to be stitched up the front with twine. That stretches and strains against the flesh barely holding it.

Neither she nor Astarion try to hide their wrinkled noses.

“Tell me a story,” Hillybilly Steve says. “Tell me a fable. A saga. Delight me.”

Wyll plays with his drink. Considers. Then launches into his sojourn through the hells, running down an awful devil (Karlach beams beside you). You ain’t heard this in all the details, despite knowing it happened. He’s a damned good storyteller. Mimes a meeting with something called a night hag. Hunches his shoulders and curls his fingers into claws. Even changes his voice to go all gravely. And if some of his drink slops out until it’s almost empty, well, the man’s getting really into it is all.

Hillybilly Steve stares rapt. Roars a literal, “Ha! Ha! Ha!” at the end of it.

Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear up under her bangs. “He’s quite good at this.”

“I know,” Karlach sighs. Does she…she’s got a tone.

Astarion catches your attention and then rolls his eyes all theatrically. Like y’all’s group didn’t try to give you a sex talk in front of everybody over his ass the other day.

It’s another two rounds—How did this place come to be cursed? How do the Thorms maintain it?—before Wyll leans in, props his chin on his hand. Looks up at the big old boy with very sincere admiration and earnestness (sweet fuck he’s good at that). “How did you come to be the strong specimen you are, anyhow?”

But Hillybilly Steve pauses. Slumps a little and looks into his now-empty mug. Says, “Father’s laughter. Not joy. Not ever. Only laughter.”

There’s a couple things to untangle in that, the first being, “Pawpaw is his fucking dad?”

The others look at you. Gale mouths “pawpaw.”

You ain’t sure about the rules of Faerun, but Pawpaw looks like an elf. And Hillybilly Steve has them same ears. He’s just…he looks like. Someone…did this to him. Made him into this. On purpose. And that purpose was a father?

“What the fuck,” you say.

Laughter. Not pride. Not love. Not even some kinda fucked up, misplaced, like, ownership. But laughter. As if that fucker Pawpaw saw this man, before he became all of that, and saw him as so much nothing he just…he did this. Or let someone else do it. To his own fucking son.

This goddamn, motherfucking place.

Hillybilly Steve—his name is fucking Thisobald—forces another mug at Wyll. Seems angry, now.

“Drink up, little man,” he says. “And no tricks.”

Fuck.

Wyll plays it cool, though. Takes an actual sip and you startle, but then he smiles.

“How did he do that?” you whisper.

“Oh, it’s not that difficult,” Astarion murmurs.

Wyll continues on about adventures. Cruising around on a pirate ship so he could gain their trust before taking out their captain. Escorting a noble bride through a fairy wood to meet her intended, and then breaking the groom out when it turned out the bride was a shape-shifting man-eater.

Even Astarion watches, now.

Then, once Thisobald is slurring, Wyll says, “What about your father? The legendary general?”

“Father,” Thisobald says slow and low. “Father is eternal. Invincible. Forever. Except not.”

It’s like somebody plucked a cord only y’all could hear. Seven dogs scenting a squirrel at the same time. The air seems to crackle.

“Ah, even the noblest and strongest of us do have their weaknesses, eh?” Wyll says. “Gods know I do.”

“No. No. Not weakness. Father is father. Don’t mention her.”

Shadowheart stands at alert.

“Oh?” Wyll says, chill as glass. “He has a lady friend, does he?”

But Thisobald shakes his head. A horse trying to throw a bit. It sends the hoses connected to his mask flopping heavily.

“I…I know you. Am knowing. You want father’s mysteries. No. Not ever. Father said. Ordered! Don’t say, don’t say. Not her cage! I’ll wake in the crypt. Not again! No talking again!” His clouded eyes fix on Wyll. “No. You drink, little man. You drink.”

He shoves a refilled mug. But instead of letting Wyll take it, he grabs Wyll—meaty paw covering the entire back of the smaller man’s skull—and shoves that mug into his face.

“Wyll!” Karlach says. Reaches for her ax.

Wyll throws up a hand. His throat moves as anti-freeze pours down his throat.

A second later Thisobald drops him. Wyll coughs. Gasps. Sways and slides off his seat.

This time, Karlach lunges forward to catch him, Gale swooping in beside her.

“It seems out friend has partaken too much,” Gale says. “Do excuse us.”

Thisobald grunts. His hippo eyes gleam. Then he raises his own mug, bigger than Karlach’s head with the horns. Lifts the bottom of his mask to slam it down. His stomach gurgles. But he don’t stop. Just drinks more. More. More.

“Not ever!” he bellows in between chugs. Let’s out a sickly-sweet belch. “I am strong! Too strong! Can’t! No talking! Never!”

The horrible gurgling continues. His body makes sounds ain’t no organic thing should ever make.

“Oh no,” Shadowheart says.

You turn, but Astarion is already gone.

Thisobald Thorm explodes.

[amysgiantbees]

Mizora is TERRIBLE!

She prayed on a seventeen year old, a child.

She isolated him from his family and community.

She manipulated him into taking a bad deal because she knew he'd be too stressed at suddenly having the fate of his city (and maybe the world) on his shoulders to argue over his contract.

Never allows him to keep a copy of said contract which he couldn't possibly memorize. It seems like every time she shows up she pulls another clause out of her arse so this thing sounds long and complicated. Plus, legal documents are famously complicated and dry and would not be easy to remember.

She further isolates him by not allowing him to explain himself and their relationship to others but popping up whenever she wants. So he HAS to be the kindest most goody toe shoes person possible otherwise people will just reject him or worst when she shows up. Like it's great for Wyll that he's incredible at deception but is not a deceptive person otherwise you mightn't trust him when she shows up but there's truly no question that he's not a good person.

She replaced his eye with a sending stone. He literally can't escape her. That would make me feel so paranoid, incapable of feeling truly alone. It's so violating. She replaced part of his body with something of hers. He literally has a part of his abuser imbedded into him. It kind of reminds me of Astarion's scars.

She treats him like a slave. He is her slave essentially. He has to work for her with no real way out. And she hammers home his powerlessness by comparing him to an animal and her pet.

She tries to seduce his friends, driving a wedge between them and making him more isolated.

She owns his soul. He will be her property for all eternity in the Hells in whichever form she chooses, probably a lemur and definitely still a slave. He probably felt a little relived to be illithud because if he turned he wouldn't have a soul she could take.

She tricks him into saving her, the person he most wants dead.

Ransoms Wyll's only family for his soul.

She WILL NOT LEAVE your camp. Can you imagine if Cazador or Shar just hung around Astarion or Shadowheart's tents for WEEKS. It would be insane. They would be traumatized. But Wyll doesn't even get to react to it because of his lack of content due to the rewrites!

The cherry on the cake. The thing that got me thinking about all this in the first place. I'm playing an evil route atm. So I killed Karlach hoping to turn Wyll to a darker path like they promised in this article https://gamerant.com/baldurs-gate-3-wyll-early-access-story-change-karlach-explained/. But Larian would rather fix a million tiny issues than their black main character's story. But the point is Wyll killed Karlach and Mizora comes to reward him for a job well done. And she rewards him with THIS:

The infernal robe. A rare piece of CLOTHING not ARMOUR CLOTHING. Default Wyll can wear light armour so this isn't that useful for him but do you know who works really well if she wears clothing instead of armour? Karlach. Mizora rewards Wyll for killing Karlach with something useless for him but would of been great for her.

[katreneebug]

I'm Okay (Trust Me) (Part 1/3)

Summary: Defeating Rapheal, and subsequently obtaining the Orphic Hammer, had gone exceptionally well. At least in comparison to how things usually go. However, as the companions move forward with their plans of parasitic liberation, Astarion can’t help but notice that their leader, and his lover, isn’t quite herself. Despite Tav’s assurances, the vampire spawn can tell that the events befalling The House of Hope still haunt her in more ways than one.

Parings: Tav x Astarion, Minor Shadowheart x Lae'zel

Warnings: Explicit content, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Slight Victim Balming, Sexual Trauma, Eventual Smut

A/N: I decided to write this after I got through the House of Hope on my first playthrough. At first I was really excited at the prospect of getting to bed an incubus in the game but after everything was done I kind of felt off about the whole thing. Especially given that the player, after deciding not to fight, is given the choice to either let Haarlep use their image to have sex with a bunch of strangers or straight up die. It hit a little too close to home in regard to my own sexual trauma and how that has affected my self-esteem, relationships, and mental health.

I want to stress that there are some aspects of the story that don't match with the gameplay. An example of this would be going beyond the party size. You can pretend that this story is based on that no-limit companion mod lol.

Link to AO3: Here

            No last-minute begging had left Rapheal’s lips when Karlach raised her axe above him. The fact that it had been the final stroke came as a surprise to Astarion and, based upon the silence that drenched the room, the others. Not too far behind her could hear Tav panting, her magic practically drained to its limits. In the peripheral of his eyes, he could see Shadowheart’s armor move up and down as she too sought to catch her breath.

            Hope, who appeared the most worn out of the bunch, stood frozen to her spot by the door. Karlach noticed her immediately and moved to check on her, weapon still sunk deep within Rapheal’s chest. Astarion took the opportunity to walk over to him, caution obvious in the way he gripped his dagger.  

            There was no final spook to be had, though. Rapheal was dead, eyes wide and mouth slightly a gape with no more theatrics left on his tongue.  Good Riddance, he thought. A smirk danced onto his lips as he decided it was okay to turn back towards his companions. Hope was no longer a statue, the erratic motions from before returned vigorously as she took in their victory.

            The memory of Cazador lying vanquished on the ground materialized in his mind. He brushed it away quickly as Tav’s eyes landed on himself. A half-smile was the most she could muster before Lae’zel garnered her attention, talks of the next step towards freeing Orpheus’ flew from the githyanki’s mouth in rapid, yet precise, order. The lines in Tav’s forehead creased as she let her friend speak. Deciding to take pity on his lover, Astarion moved to stand beside her.

            “—The Emperor will know of what we have done, we must act fast upon our return.”

            “I—”

            “Surely you can’t expect us to go straight into the undercity of Baldur’s Gate after quite literally killing a devil.” Lae’zel sharp glare snapped up to meet his eyes. “I for one am not doing anything till I’ve had time to clean up, all of this.” His hand, the one not resting centimeters away Tav’s lower back, motioned to the state of his armor. Rapheal and his friends had left the floors of the foyer dripping in all sorts of blood and guts and, while Astarion’s body was happily intact, his outfit begged to differ.

            “He’s right, we should get some rest before meeting with Voss.” Lae’zel’s head snapped to see Shadowheart approaching. “It would be foolish to confront a mind flayer and a devil on the same day.” Lae’zel didn’t reply immediately, though the answer for what they should do was clear, she was not any happier to admit it.

            “All right,” she spat. “Prepare for an early departure by dawn, I will not wait for anyone.”

            “Of course,” he hummed with a dismissive wave.

. . .

            “I’m just saying we should take some more time to discuss our next course of action.” Gale instinctively backed up as Lae’zel stalked his receding form. “It would be unwise to go in all wands blazing without considering the effect this might have.”

            “I am not leaving my Prince at the hands of a ghaik any longer.” Astarion had no interest in interfering on the wizard’s behalf. Watching the man sweat was more than amusing. “The only thing unwise would be for you to continue talking.”

            “What if freeing Orpheus leads to us losing our only protection from the absolute.” It was Wyll who stepped in between the two. No surprises there, the vampire thought. Lae’zel had burst through the doors of their room at the inn with an attitude ready to fight the next person who dared to go against her plans.

            “It will, I’ve already told you that freeing Orpheus will only result in him—”

            “Will someone please get the squid to shut up.” Astarion winced, feeling the pain of The Emperors telepathy within his mind. How lucky Halsin and Jaheira were to not feel such an annoying headache.

            “Gladly,” Lae’zel sneered.

            “There are still other issues that we need to address.” Halsin’s voice passed by Astarion from behind, he could feel the bear of a man coming closer to the group before passing the vampire all together to aid Wyll and Gale from the Lae’zel’s wrath. “Orin and Gortash are still alive, it would be best to get rid of them before going to the astral plane.

            “Agreed, we cannot allow the absolute to draw more power from the city. It’s time we faced them.” Halsin nodded an acknowledgement at Jaheira, her argument adding to the growing resistance.  

            Quickly the room devolved into a mass of bickering, Lae’zel mostly fighting alone on her side. It took Astarion a few moments to realize that there was something off about the whole scene. It stumped him briefly but the soft steps of someone else moving about in the background was the answer.

            “Not going to step in, dearest?” Tav jumped a bit as Astarion walked towards her, his back now to the group. “It’s very unlike you.”

            “It’s been a long day,” the bed bounced slightly as she dropped her pack onto it. “And I don’t feel like picking a fight with Lae’zel.” If only the rest were that smart, he thought. “She’ll see reason soon enough, anyways. We really do need to usurp Orin and Gortash while we can.”

            “I’m sure she will,” his lips curled. “Right after she breaks a couple of Gale and Wyll’s ribs, of course.”

            “Shadowheart will fix them up,” her body joined the bag as she sat down onto the covers. “Or Halsin, either way they’ll be fine.”

            “I love this newfound ‘compassion’ of yours,” he briefly glanced away, catching sight of a smaller person far from the argument occurring. Either Yenna was blissfully unaware or was doing a great job at pretending everything was okay. “I just wish you had acquired it earlier.” Then maybe they wouldn’t be stuck worrying about every little orphan who manipulated Tav’s kindness.

            “They’re adults, they can take care of themselves.��� He raised an eyebrow at this. Was she really letting things go for once. “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, choosing to instead dig around into her bag that she never organized, even at his insistence.

            “Fair enough,” a level of trepidation lined his voice. Before he could ask if she was alright, a loud clang hit the floor behind him, silencing the bickering voices. He turned away instinctively, catching sight of Lae’zel stomping away towards the door. A dagger, no doubt previously aimed towards the other men, laid forgotten at Halsin’s feet.

            “Fine,” she spat, casting one last glance towards them before nearly kicking the door off its hinges. “Cowards, all of you.” With that, she was gone. Shadowheart moved a few steps, considering the possibility of going after her, before ultimately stopping. Even from her his spot, Astarion could see the way her jaw clenched, hands balled at her sides.

            The rest of them dispersed to their own spots in the room, silence hung in the air uncomfortably. Karlach’s, he noticed, took a moment to collect Lae’zel’s dagger. She rarely used such a small weapon in combat, opting for her painfully heavy sword and bow. The little thing glinted in the light briefly before the Tiefling went to place it neatly on Lae’zel’s bunk.

            Such a mess they were, he thought with a shake of his head.

. . .

            He tried not to stare too much at Tav. His own bed had been placed directly next to hers and it was becoming harder to ignore the way she shifted and squirmed under the covers. Sleep came easily to the girl, at least most of the time. Her experience with combat and adventuring was limited before the parasite, her body unuse to such strenuous work. She rarely complained, though. The only indicator that this was tough for her especially being how quickly she tuckered out at the end of the day.

            There was a chance that some of the chatter was keeping her up. The silence hadn’t lasted too long before Karlach, Shadowheart, and Jaheira set up some type of card game. They weren’t particularly loud, save for whenever Karlach gained the upper hand in the game. Gale had tried shushing her a couple of times before ultimately giving up. The book in his hands had eventually engrossed him enough to tune it all out.

            When moonlight began to seep through their windows, Tav snores still not filling the air, Astarion decided to forsake his own spot. Standing over her crumbled form brought back the memory of the first time he had attempted to drink her blood. The few nights before that had been increasingly painful as he watched her lie so sweetly under the stars. Over time she felt less like a person and more like a beautiful feast, all set out for him alone. It was a shock, looking back, how long he held out on partaking.

            Her reaction to noticing him looming over her this time around was much less frantic. A little bit of surprise played on her parted lips as she slowly sat up to speak. There was still a hint of innocence in her eyes whilst meeting his gaze. Scores of monsters and cultists had perished under her spells and blades and yet it didn’t jade her the way it would for other humans.

            So precious, he thought.

            “Is something wrong?” It came out as a whisper, her eyes glancing left to confirm that Wyll remained unmoving in his bunk.

            “I was actually just about to ask you that, darling.” He wasn’t as quiet as her, unafraid that the Blade of Frontiers would wake up easily. “You’ve been acting peculiarly since we got back, care to enlighten me?”

            “I told you I was tired,” she looked away. “It’s been a very long day.”

            “And yet you’ve been tossing and turning for nearly an hour.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a little too much like a scolding parent than a partner.

            “I . . .” She trailed off, knees moving up to support her chest as she leaned forward. “There’s just a lot on my mind right now. Between the netherstones and Orpheus, it’s just overwhelming.”

            “Anything I can do to help,” the bed dipped as he took a seat. There was little space between the two of them now and a part of him buzzed pleasantly at the thought of pulling her into an embrace. They hadn’t been all that touchy as of late. His confession at Moonrise had practically halted most forms of intimacy between them. An outsider looking in wouldn’t have guessed how close the two of them were in comparison to the others. Feather light touches and the occasional hug made up most of the relationship now. Sometimes he would steal a kiss, a usually quick action that ended before Tav had much time to register the affection.

            They had on occasion shared a bedroll back when they were out in the wild. She’d curl up against his side, a hand resting on the part of his chest where his heart once beat. He’d count the constellations whilst listening to the change in her breathing, the obvious indicator that she had plunged into a deep sleep. There, hidden from Cazador and the absolute, a flutter would come and go underneath his ribs. Perhaps he wasn’t all that dead.

            “No, I’ll be okay.” She shook her head, hair rustling against the sides of her face. “Don’t worry about me, please.”

            “Easier said than done, my dear.” The little pout that appeared on her lips decided his next move for him. “Now, scout over.” Tav’s eyes widened, gaze snapping back up to his face. She was still for a few moments, studying his features with an intensity one might have for a major test.

            Little voices scrapped against the back of his mind as he exalted all his control in keeping a calm demeanor. Any doubt or uncertainty would have Tav pushing him away. She was always so concerned about his comfort. It was welcomed graciously most of the time but, as much as the sentiment warmed his icy body, it could also sting. He was not nearly as fragile as she seemed to think he was.

            She only puts up with you because she pities you.

            “O-Okay,” Astarion almost breathed out a sigh of relief when she complied with the request. He wasted no time in joining her under the covers, lest she change her mind at his reluctance.

            She was rigid against him, even after he comfortably adjusted against the mattress. Instead of holding him, like she used to, Tav rolled over so that her back was facing him instead. Both of her hands clenched the sheets rather than his clothes. It unnerved him even more than the silence that passed between him.

            “You know,” he whispered. “I was afraid that your droopy mood had something to do with vanquishing our old ‘friend’, Rapheal.” Acidity coated his pronunciation of the devil’s name. Tav’s body twitched when she heard it, somehow tensing even more than before.

            “I’m glad he’s dead,” disdain leaked from her mouth as she sought to relax her body. “I wish I had cut out his tongue earlier, though. I can still hear his stupid, dramatic voice in my head.”

            “Perhaps I can take your mind off of it?” The sly words fell out of Astarion’s mouth without him even having a chance to think it over. Flirtatiousness was an instinct after two centuries and getting rid of it wasn’t something easily undone. A heaviness set within his chest, an all too familiar panic that he may have gone too far. She shook in his grasp and that heaviness gave way to bitter bile. Swallowing it down with a cough, Astarion placed a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, I didn’t—”

            “It’s fine.” Her statement, spoken quicker than before, felt like a cut. “I’m not in the mood, anyways.”

            Not in the mood for you, at least.

            She thinks you’d break under her touch.

            Besides, why would she want you when she just had him.

            He inhaled sharply at the memory conjured up by the swirling voices. He would have kicked himself for carelessness had she not been lying next to him. Amid their quest within the House of Hope, Astarion had been able to push down their interaction with Rapheal’s favorite toy. Now, with her distant yet so close, he could no longer.

. . .

            “I beg your pardon,” the snap of Astarion’s voice rang within the chamber. The marble floor beneath his feet nearly crumbled under the stomp of his boots. A hand kept him from getting closer to the bed before them. “Would you like to repeat that little request?”

            “I said,” the incubus’ eyes looked only at Tav. “Take off your clothes.”

            “Uh, why?” Her voice bordered on cracking. It was her fingers that kept him from throwing a dagger between Haarlep’s eyes.

            “Do you or do you not want my help,” playfulness dripped from the incubus as he rolled softly against the covers of the mattress. “I at least deserve something from you, seeing as you’re asking for so much.”

            “And you’re asking for an arrow through the throat.” Astarion grumbled, fingers flexing and ready for Tav to give the orders to fight.

            “Hypothetically, what were to happen if I did take off my clothes.” His jaw clenched as the human woman spoke slowly.  

            “Well,” he drawled, lips curling in a cat like smirk. “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.”

            “A surprise from an incubus? I wonder what that could possibly be,” Astarion’s mocking voice did little to faze the other man.

            “No need to be so jealous, little spawn.” The grip on Astarion’s shoulder tightened, Tav accurately guessing how restraint was practically peeling away from him. “I have only the best of intentions in mind.”

            “Oh really—”

            “Gives a moment, if that’s okay.” Tav began to pull against him, trying to bring him back towards the group. Haarlep nodded his head which was answer enough for Tav to motion for the companions to form a huddle of sorts.

            “We’re killing him, right?” An unsureness plagued Tav’s face as she shied away from his intense gaze.

            “Honestly, taking up his offer might be the best option.” He made a point to glare at Shadowheart. She looked only at Tav though, not bothering with the pissy vampire. “As much as I want to avoid it, a fight with Rapheal is practically inevitable at this point. Especially if we go through with freeing Hope. I’d rather we save up our resources for that fight instead of wasting it on him.” She motioned towards the incubus with a jerk of her chin.

            “If it were me, I’d rather gut him.” Lae’zel chimed in before Astarion could retort. “But I am not the one he is asking for.” Her gaze fell to Tav.

            “I’m completely fine with ripping his annoying face off,” Karlach glanced back at the Rapheal look-a-like. “But yeah, it’s up to you soldier.”

            “I mean,” the human’s face contorted as pros and cons weighed back and forth within her mind. “If we go against him, who knows what other cronies he’d bring into the fight. Plus, it can make it that much harder to get back to the hammer in time.”

            She wants to say yes to him, the offer is rather tempting.

            “Exactly, I say we get the hammer first with as little complications as possible.” Very few times had Shadowheart’s neck looked so perfectly ready to be ripped out in Astarion’s eyes.

            “Why don’t you take her place, if the choice is so easy.” She rolled her eyes at him.

            “I don’t see why not,” her lips curled up in a bitter smirk. “I’m sure he’s all sorts of fun.”

            “Such a tempting offer,” Haarlep’s voice broke into the group. Apparently, the huddle was pointless if he could hear everything from his side of the room. “But I have my sights set on your little leader. She’s stirred up Rapheal quite a bit with how passionately she denied his deal.”

            “Pity,” the former Sharran mumbled.

            “Now if you lot are somehow able to survive this little trip, I’d be more than happy to pencil you in for a play date, half-elf.” A silent chuckle left Shadowheart’s lips as she shook her head. Astarion couldn’t tell if she’d be against such an offer in the future.

            “Fight or Fornicate, make up your mind before we’re out of choices.” Lae’zel turned back to Tav as the human seemed even more indecisive than before.

            “I . . .” Her eyes met his then, as the rest of the group waited in bated breath for an answer. They stared at each other as each passing second felt even slower than the last.

            She wants your permission.

            You’ve left her longing for too long.

            The answer to her needs is practically begging to relieve her.

            He could do so, so much more for her.

            She’s tired of waiting for you to get a grip. So tired of holding your pathetic hand.

            I’d be cruel to deny her such an experience.

            “. . . It’s up to you, my love.” Throwing the façade of acceptance on his face wasn’t too hard to do. He had done it so many times before, he had practically become a master of it at this point. “I won’t hold it against you, whatever you decide.”

            She was quiet, facing smoothing at as her decision was made within her mind. She turned back to Haarlep first, prompting the others to do the same. Astarion, though, kept most of his attention on her and not the creature he wanted to eviscerate.

            Something inside him shattered as her lithe fingers went to the hem of her shirt. The realization that she was about to disrobe in front of Haarlep and their friends hit him like a pommel strike. The voices in his head were twisting wildly within his mind and somehow, throughout the horror of it all, he found himself bitterly thankful for Tav’s choice in today’s team.

            It was no secret that all their companions had, at one point, made a pass at Tav. Her rejection of them always had a sliver of satisfaction rolling up his spine. In Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel’s case, they had taken her no rather well. It was easy enough for the later two who had begun ‘sparring’ away from the eyes of the camp sometime after their interaction with the creche. Their excuse was that they needed more space to fight and that they didn’t want to ‘accidentally’ hurt someone during the intense training.  

            Hate sex is the best sex, Tav had muttered one night as she and Astarion caught the two women glaring at each other whilst walking off into the woods. He had curled his lips at the scandalous statement, deciding silently to remember the tidbit for a possible future tryst.

            Karlach, Astarion realized, was just happy to have the embrace of a friend. Romance had been easily forgotten by the Tiefling. The same couldn’t be said for Gale and Wyll. They had assured her that it was alright before and Tav had taken it at face value. Astarion knew better though, could see it in the way their eyes followed her. When she spoke, they would glance at her lips and look away as if caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. The vampire spawn sometimes basked in the longing he could see within them every time he displayed even the smallest of Tav’s reciprocated affections.

            “Could you all go guard the door,” snapping out his trance, Astarion watched as Tav put a pause on removing her clothes. “The last thing we need is Rapheal waltzing in.”

            “Of course,” Shadowheart was the first to comply. Lae’zel quirked an eyebrow for a moment before leaving as well. He could feel Karlach looking back and forth between him and Tav. Reluctantly she placed a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to walk away with her. Though her engine had been fixed, her palm was practically scalding against the thin fabric of his disguise.

            “We’re just across the room,” he murmured. “In case you need us.”

            With a nod of Tav’s head, Astarion finally complied with Karlach’s touch. The two turned around to trail after the other members of their party. He focused on the echo of the grand faucets flowing hot water into the pool between them. Anything to keep from catching the sound of whatever surprise the incubus had in mind.

            “You okay?” Astarion growled lowly at the question. He knew that Karlach’s concern was genuine, deep down, yet he couldn’t help but feel only irritation.

            “Of course I am.” He sneered; he wasn’t the one stuck staring at Rapheal’s stupid face. He considered telling them to not talk to him, as he was in no mood. Yet the little chatter that passed between the other three was something to hold onto. Very little went by the doorway of the boudoir, just a couple of miserable waifs limping about. A wonderful reminder of what might happen to them sooner rather than later.

            “—Must we waste time freeing her.”

            “Are you suggesting we leave Hope chained to this asshole.” He didn’t want to look behind him to watch their argument.

            “The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to join her.” Shadowheart’s voice was farthest away. A little too far for his liking, more likely to see what was happening past the pool.

            It must be quite a show, maybe she’ll tell you all the gory details later.

            Or maybe Tav will, how long will it be before his name passes those luscious lips.

            She won’t want you after this.

            What’s the point of a pretty face when that’s all it is. She’ll get sick of looking at it when she realizes she could have more.

            He didn’t know how much time had passed when Shadowheart’s voice cut through the mess in his head.

            “It looks like they’ve stopped,” gods he was going to throw up. “Come on.”

            Luckily the half-elf was correct. By the time the four of them had come to the other end of the room, Haarlep was already off the bed and looking starkly different from before. Instead of the near perfect imitation of Rapheal, he had shifted into a woman. An improvement, yes, but still too like the devil in looks. Tav was shimmying her shirt back on, something black and tight coverd the rest of her body. She hadn’t worn it before.

            Haarlep, noticing their return, locked eyes with him particularly. The ends of his lips twisted higher than they had before. In the blink of an eye the new feminine form shifted into something all too familiar. Instead of the Rapheal look alike, a copy of Tav now smirked at him.

            To his utter displeasure, the incubus was gone before the shock could lift. Tav didn’t waste time in collecting the contents of the safe. The portrait of Rapheal broke in half under her hands as she pried it off the wall. It was tossed unceremoniously across the floor. If only they had time to destroy more of the devil’s tacky décor.

            “Let’s go,” Tav was striding past them. Determination set within the crease of her forehead. There were questions on the tongue of each one of them. Ultimately their curiosity was left unspoken.

[eclecticmiasma]

Down Comes the Claw Ch. 1 (Raphael x GN!Reader)

Doomed, detected, and caught.

SFW (For now)

[Warnings/tags: gn!reader, not much in this chapter for warnings just general Raphael scariness, noncon/dubcon, ownership, imprisonment]

[Ch. 2]

Artist credit: @wrroniec on twitter

The Archivist’s curiosity isn’t well hidden underneath his thin veil of distrust. A mortal, alone, simply wandering the halls of one of the Hells’ most powerful Cambions because they wanted to...peruse his private collection of artifacts? Even a troll would smell treachery miles away.

Were it any other being, the Archivist would have had you sent screaming to holding cells until the master of the house could decide what plane of torment to shuttle you to next, but Korilla had been rather forceful in her instructions not to intervene.

“He’s got a plan for this one,” She’d grinned, the gleam in her dark eyes devilish in its own right, “Let them play while they can.”

Your lips are split from worrying them between your teeth. As if the Hells aren’t hot enough, the Archivist’s gaze has you sweating buckets. He alone could rip your throat to shreds with those fangs the minute your presence has been deemed unsavory, you’re sure of it. As a gleaming ruby locket catches your eye, you try to regard it coolly. You are nothing more than a purveyor of incredibly rare goods, and not at all trying to make your way toward the glittering contract sat front and center of Raphael’s trophy room. The phrase is a mantra you desperately wish to believe.

“Worn by Lumi, a cleric beholden to twilight…” Gods, is your voice trembling? You repeat the name again as if you’re trying to search your vast religious knowledge for the origin of this treasure. Not a single snippet of information comes to mind. Internally, you brace for the house itself to eat you alive.

Instead, Korilla barks out for the Archivist’s attention. Something about another contract ready to be sorted. The man regards you with a final furl of his brows before turning his back to you and attending to his duties. Adrenaline floods your veins and your fingers flex with anticipation. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out.

Hope herself appears out of thin air and parrots your thoughts giddly, “Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, and get out!” before nipping out of existence once again.

You don’t give yourself another chance to think. Without a sound, you prowl towards the center of the grand room and beeline straight for the contract. This is why they agreed to send you alone- Karlach, Shadowheart, the others. Years of prowling the streets of Baldur’s Gate made you nearly undetectable when you wanted to be, so much so that you had even startled Astarion for a laugh on long boring treks. Sure, Gale and Lae’zel nearly came to brawl over the decision, but after two days of quarrels the answer was final.

It could only be you.

The contract before you almost hums with power. Anxiety gnaws at your stomach as you check it over thrice for traps. Nothing. It seems wrong, somehow. A piece of parchment that potentially dictates the fate of Faerûn itself guarded by nothing but a few words. Something tells you to leave it and run, perhaps remnants of the Emperor’s hold on your psyche. Images of your companions, the Hammer, Hope’s face quickly override your doubts and you close your eyes, prepared.

“Give me my heart’s desire,” The words fall from your lips with ease, but nagging trepidation constricts around your heart. Without a sound, the glittering sphere surrounding your contract dissolves away. Before the Archivist can sense what has occurred, before you can convince yourself to turn heel and dash away from all of this, you snatch the page and tear it in two.

Everything plunges into silence. The eternal screams of the damned beyond the gilded walls, cries and whimpers and babbling of long-gone debtors, Korilla’s nagging- all of it gone in an instant. The air around you becomes oppressive, constricting, increasing degree by degree. Ashes fall from your fingertips as the shreds of your contract disintegrate. Get the contract, smash Hope’s chains, get out. You repeat it again and again in your head until your mantra is a scream, but your legs will not move.

“Fools...fools...how hard you have fought,” A familiar baritone echoes out across the empty archive accompanied by slow clapping. It can’t be, you want to shriek. Hope said he was planes away, that you had time.

“Brave, brave, but it's all been...for naught,” You can’t tell from where his voice is coming. It sounds both far and near, across the hall and right in your ears all at once. Even his footsteps, slow and commanding, don’t betray his location.

“True Souls that couldn't be bought,” He’s mocking you now, a gleeful lilt in his otherwise menacing tone. True Souls...the faces of your companions flip through your mind’s eye like pages of a tome. This isn’t how it’s all supposed to end, is it? Your lungs start to burn, unable to expand or contract to the fullest.

“Doomed...” Raphael himself is in the room now, you feel it. As he takes his sweet time sauntering up to you from behind, the magic that holds your limbs in place begins to be revealed. A holding spell, tendrils wrapped around your legs and snaked up your torso through your fingertips. It pulsates with a blinding purple glow. Sweat drips down your temples as the heat of the Hells becomes sweltering, as fear settles in your bones.

“...detected…” Gods, you will. Tyr, Mystra, Shar for Hells’ sake, you pray to every last one. Anything to bid your body run. As the screams of the damned filter back in, growing louder and louder with each step Raphael takes, it becomes devastatingly clear that not a single deity can hear you.

Raphael’s hands land on your shoulders. His fingertips, though gently splayed, might as well be digging into your skin. If you could move an inch, you would have jumped ten feet in the air. Instead you tremble like a rabbit held in the canines of a much larger beast. He leans down and aligns his lips with your ear, breath ghosting across your flesh, “...and caught.” If you could sob you would, but the fear won’t allow it. Instinct of prey that’s well and truly done for. Instead you tense, bracing for the impending pain of retribution.

“So,” the Devil muses, mile wide grin easily detected through the undercurrent of excitement in his tone, “this is the path you have chosen. Anything you and your group of sorry souls could have wanted would have been yours. Your names would have gone down in history as the heroes that saved Faerûn. Yet, you squandered it with a flick of your wrist. What do you have to say for yourself, oh fallen hero?”

Your mouth opens, but not a sound escapes. Nothing that surfaces in your reeling mind feels like it could ever be enough to reverse the tide of ruin you’ve brought upon yourself. Raphael waits patiently as you flounder. Your terror is a wine finer than any bought, and he has all of eternity to savor it.

“Please…” The pitiful, squeaking word escapes your throat more so than it coming out on purpose. Raphael chuckles darkly and moves to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind your ear.

“Oh, I do so love to hear you beg, little mouse. However, I think we can both agree that ‘please’ isn’t an answer. Perhaps if I tell you a story, you’ll be more inclined to...talk.”

Raphael pulls away from you and steps lithely to your front. With a snap of his fingers and a puff of flame, he transports the two of you to his dining room. Roaring flames lick the inside of the fireplace before you, silhouetting the Devil as he prepares to speak. The holding spell wraps tighter.

“You see, the Devil is a rather busy man. When I’m not gracing your merry band with my presence, I’m often attending long meetings with prospective clients, or checking up on those that have already promised me their souls. Perhaps I’m even doling out a punishment or two to a cheeky human that thinks it’s found a loophole. It’s all very important work, and requires quite a bit of cunning and concentration.”

The oppressive heat is getting to you. Raphael’s deep voice sounds like it’s ringing in your head, almost akin to the Emperor’s presence. He paces back and forth before you, gesturing his arms in theatrical movements as if performing a monologue. Each word sends your psyche farther into disarray.

“Hero,” Raphael claps loudly, bringing your attention back to him, “Since my tales seem to bore you, I’ll get straight to the point. I had a fairly important event to attend right before your flagrant disregard for our agreement. Now, imagine my surprise when right in the middle of securing a rather rare and valuable contract, I feel a...shudder, wrack my entire body.”

Glowing eyes level with yours as he leans in close. His brows are furrowed now, genuine anger contorting his features, “My skin began to feel hot, clammy. My concentration waned. Before I realized what was happening sheer ecstasy pooled in my abdomen and then-” He’s so close to you that you hear his breath catch, “It became apparent that someone was using my body.”

Your heart drops. It was the only way. The Archivist had given you access to Raphael’s bedroom with a little cunning, and the only thing standing between you and the contract was a rather familiar looking incubus. What harm could there have been in trading your body for the fate of your companions, your home? The incubus had warned you, though, in its own way. If everything it did with your form meant you would feel it on a different plane, it should have been obvious that Raphael’s form would feel it too.

“I...I didn’t-”

“I knew you would betray our agreement,” Raphael spits, lips hovering just in front of your own, “I knew that eventually I would find you here in my home, remnants of your misdeed in hand. Korilla and I machinated thousands of ways to tear you asunder, to torment you for breaking my one, most cardinal rule,” Raphael catches himself in his rage, and pulls back. He looks to the fire, light reflected in his eyes. Inhale, exhale. When his gaze meets yours again, all remnants of fury are gone.

“I was ready to kill you in an infinite number of ways. But I should have known better. The moment I met you, I knew you were...special. Of course you would throw a wrench in my plans, and do so beautifully. I almost commend you.”

As he smiles, your skin crawls. He moves in circles around you, thinking, plotting. After some time he comes to a stop, once again behind you.

“So, I propose a better solution. I’ve decided that I rather...enjoyed indulging in your body,” You swallow a protest as his chin rests in the crook of your neck, his left hand sliding down the curve of your waist and along the front of your thigh, “Form a new contract. Submit to me, and I won’t touch a hair on your companions’ heads. As much as I would love to take the place of that poor spawn’s master, I can control myself- for you.”

He squeezes your thigh and drags his lips across the straining muscles in your neck. Your sweat slicked skin sticks to his own, and you feel a deep rumble at your back as he revels in the sensation, “For all they know, the contract is still intact. I’ve captured you here,” He kisses your neck and you squirm, fighting back a gasp, “and their only option is to use the hammer,” another kiss, “or you perish.”

“No…I won't...” The answer comes as a piteous whimper. Raphael cackles against your skin, squeezes your body tight to his own, and tuts like he’s caught a naughty child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Wrong answer, little mouse.”

[Chapter 2]

*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!

[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]

[meanbossart]

Ok, so, I love your work (clearly as I am also a Patreon member). I have A Novel Experience open in one of my many ADHD tabs (so many tabs *sob*) and I very much want to read it. The problem that I seem to be having is that my OCD brain knows there is so much previous content (the game) that I NEED to know before I read it and I don’t know where to find that content? Or if you’ve even written it down? Is your in game journey somewhere that I haven’t noticed? Or is there just not a fully written account? If it is somewhere, I’d love to read it, please point me in the right direction!

Hey! Well, playing the game (or at least watching a walkthrough of it) and understanding the Dark Urge storyline is kind of required for ANE. You will be very lost otherwise.

Knowing every detail about DU drow's campaign, on the other hand, is absolutely not required to enjoy it - or at least I don't think it is, and I have definitely had people read through it without having prior exposure to this blog. Events are referenced with proper context, there's instances of backstory exposition, and information is fed to you (in a hopefully organic manner) throughout the course of the first few chapters. Indeed, you won't learn about every little minute occurrence or DU drow's opinions about every single person he met throughout the game - but that's what the #du drow lore tag is for and hardly ever relevant to the plot. You learn about his character THROUGH reading ANE as well as you would through browsing the asks in this blog!

BUT, If it eases yours or anyone else's conscience, here's a quick list of some significant events from the game - once again, many of these are either revealed throughout the course of the fic or entirely irrelevant (most are, I'd argue), but I guess it might be fun flavor-text all the same.

ACT 1: -He kills Lae'zel very early in the game. -he saves Mayrina. -He kills Barcus. -He kills Minthara, saves Halsin and helps the tieflings in act 1. He did not help Kagha or unravel her shadowdruid scheme. -He didn't spend the night with anyone at the tiefling party. -He did not visit the creche or go through mountain pass at all. -Astarion's romance triggered late in act 1. He first tells him about being vampire through dialogue after they had sex, and only after that did he try to bite him during a long rest. (Apparently a bug and no longer possible to pull off since patches, but this is the "canonical" order of events for DU drow's story.) -He sides with the duergar mercenaries at grymforge, kills Neere, and lets the gnomes die/remain enslaved.

Act 2: -He was supportive of Shadowheart and her DJ aspirations, though not ecstatic about it. -I got a bug where Gale kept coming onto me despite not being in a romance with him. This is also canon. -He didn't kill Isobel nor let her be kidnapped by Marcus. -He didn't save the imprisoned tieflings or gnomes. -He killed Yurgur after Astarion struck up a deal with Raphael. -He never met Araj. -He let Shadowheart make her own choice during the Nightsong's face-off and she spares her. -He didn't help Halsin cure the land and left him behind. -He recruited Jaheira. -He stomps the Astral Tadpole dead.

Act 3: -He's always antagonistic towards The Emperor. -He helps Shadowheart kill Viconia and she chooses to sacrifice her parents. -He is opposed to Gale pursuing the crown of Karsus. -He strikes up a deal with Gortash. -He convinces Wyll to break his contract AND saves his father from the Iron Throne. -He convinces Astarion to not Ascend and the Spawn are all freed and sent into the Underdark. -He saves Minsc and goes through the whole Nine-Fingers thing (clueless all throughout but hey, he likes Jaheira.) -He steals the Orphic hammer from Raphael's house. -He kills Gortash. -Yenna is the one that gets kidnapped, she dies at Orin's altar. -DU drow refuses Bhaal's gift after killing Orin, dies, and is resurrected by Withers. -He frees Orpheus and makes him turn into a Mindflayer. -Him, Shadowheart, Astarion and Gale kill the Netherbrain. -DU drow kills Orpheus. -Karlach dies at the docks. -Gale restores the crown and Ascends to Godhood (In ANE, this is a process that takes time - so he is not the God of Ambition yet in that timeline.)

Also, I completed the game prior to the Epilogue Party Patch and do not consider anything said or done in it to be canonical in ANE's timeline.

[bg-brainrot]

Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 2: After Fighting Grym

Chapter 2: After Fighting Grym

Each chapter can be read as a standalone hug.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Rogue!Tav)

Genre: Fluffy, Filling in Canon

Rating: Teen

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Act 1, Canon-typical violence

WC: 1.3k words, 2/18 chapters

Summary: Their second hug takes place after a tough battle. A painful hug, but comforting nonetheless. Rogue!Tav has begun to catch feelings, Astarion is none the wiser.

Ao3 | [Hug1][Hug3] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

You don't think you've ever been this sticky– sweat is dripping from pores you didn't even know you possessed. The Grymforge needs to be this hot to operate, but any hotter and you may cease to function.

As if the oppressive heat isn't enough to protect this deathtrap, the forge's guardian is currently looming over you. Its giant back obscures your view of the rest of your team, but if all is going to plan, they should be in position. A wave of lava gushes out around you, surrounding the platform that you’re on and splashing onto the metal monster in front of you– Karlach has turned the valve.

Now you just need to complete your task: be bait.

"Come and get me, you piece of junk!" you yell, as if this mechanical construct could understand what you say.

"A bard you are not, darling," comes a verbal jab from Astarion. He's positioned opposite you as the two of you have been kiting this behemoth back and forth in a clunky, messy dance. It hasn't been your best work, but you can see sparks emitting from the creature's joints, starting to wear down.

"Yes, well," you start, quickly surveying your surroundings. "At least I'm good at stabbing." You jerk an arm forward, piercing the glowing superheated carapace of the guardian with one of your daggers. It emits a sharp keening before refocusing its entire attention on you, turning toward you in pre-programmed aggression. Job done, you move to leap onto the platform behind you.

The metal monster has other ideas, reaching a gargantuan hand out to swipe at you. “Argh,” you grunt, as a searing hot claw makes contact with your side. It feels as though you’ve been hit by a cart and you stumble back, barely catching yourself before you hit hot, molten lava. You may still be reeling from the blow, but you know that you’re in a world of pain if you don’t get off this platform now.

Taking advantage of the creature’s slow swing, you finish your leap from before, scrambling onto one of the platforms on the edge of the forge. “NOW!” you yell so that Shadowheart can hear you across the cavernous room.

She doesn’t respond, but the satisfying ‘click’ of a lever and the impressively loud ‘KA-CHUNK’ of the forge’s hammer are a clear indicator that she heard. You watch as the massive construct in front of you is flattened, steam hissing off of it as its body cools.

It lays there motionless for a moment, and the hammer shoots back up into the forge. You vaguely register an adamantine piece of armor shooting out of the contraption– the forge’s instructions finally completed.

You feel a sense of vast relief, the grueling battle finally won. Your team is safe now, carefully avoiding the remaining lava flows to make it to your platform. But underneath that feeling of relaxation, you feel a much more annoying, much more urgent, sense of pain.

It’s always a drag when the adrenaline dies off. Between the heat of the forge continuing to wear down on your tired body and the blistering wound at your side from the forge’s guardian, your legs begin to wobble against your will. “Ah hells,” you mutter, placing a sweaty palm to your forehead. “Is this what it feels like to get a hug from Karlach?”

The large woman laughs, almost having made it to your platform. “I think you’d be a puddle if you attempted that.” Then, with some concern to her voice, “Are you alright, soldier?”

“I’m…” your voice trails off and, as your vision begins to blur, your follow up comes out as more of a question, “Fine?”

Your team is quick to answer your question, all picking up their pace to reach you. Astarion, moving with the speed of a practiced predator, is the first to make it. Just in time too, because you’re teetering precariously off the edge of your platform, inches away from molten death.

“Easy there, darling,” he says, an arm wrapping around your torso. He pulls you toward him, away from the lava. However, as he pulls, he tugs along the side where you got swiped, eliciting a sharp, pained breath from you.

“Astarion,” you gasp, seeing spots of white in your vision from the pain. “It hurts.”

He looks momentarily flustered, “What hurts?”

“My side,” you manage, eyes dropping down to see a massive burn mark across your leather armor where the construct struck you.

“Oh,” Astarion says in surprise, releasing you immediately. Your body sways at the sudden loss of his arm and he’s back on you again in a panic. One arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you to him tightly, the other presses a surprisingly gentle hand on your forehead. “What do you say we get you some healing and a nice flask of water?”

You nod into his hand gratefully. It’s somehow several degrees cooler than everything else and you don’t think you’ll be able to leave its cooling touch until you’re out of this damned forge.

For his part, Astarion doesn’t seem to mind, holding you and his hand in place while Shadowheart arrives. He doesn't say anything while Shadowheart inspects the wound and calls upon her divine healing, just continues to hold you, steady. This is the closest you’ve been since that night after the tiefling party and, as the fog of pain lifts, you suddenly become incredibly self-aware.

I’m quite possibly the sweatiest person in Faerun right now, how badly must I smell, you think. The heat is most certainly getting to you, because you feel a sudden urge to jump into the lava to avoid finding out. You resist the temptation, thanking Shadowheart as the pain subsides, “Thank you, now let’s get out of this hells hole.”

“I happen to think it’s quite agreeable,” Karlach says from your side. “Though a bit toasty for you all, I’d imagine.”

Astarion, who has not let you go yet, chimes in, “If you so much as breathe on me, I may burst into flames, Karlach. Please stay far, far away.”

“Oh fine,” she says, taking a step back from you both. “But I am the one carrying the water.”

Astarion gives an annoyed click with his tongue, and removes his hand from your forehead to hold it out expectantly toward Karlach. You try not to let your disappointment show at the loss of its chill balm. “Very well, as long as you don’t throw it at us this time.”

The tielfing moves to hand him the flask, but you can see the mischief in her eyes before she makes her decision. One loud shattering of glass later and both you and Astarion are drenched from head to toe in water. “Shouldn’t have reminded me, Fangs.”

Honestly, you don’t mind it. It’s quite refreshing in the otherwise hellish heat. But from the way that Astarion’s arm around you tightens, you can tell he doesn’t quite share your mindset. “Karlach,” he says, slowly, his tone deadly. His eyes are narrowed, leveled at Karlach under a mop of wet curls. “Have you ever wondered if you could withstand lava?”

He releases you, and his absence brings you a sudden pang of sadness. Luckily, you don’t have much time to consider why that is because Astarion is quickly stalking after Karlach, murderous intent rolling off of him.

“Well, that was… fun,” Shadowheart says walking up to you, her face looking anything but.

“Yeah,” you respond, stretching out your side carefully. “I guess we should stop them from killing each other?”

The cleric shrugs, looking at your companions. “It’s up to you, really. I wasn’t the one melting in Astarion’s arms.”

You hold back a surprised cough. “I was not melting. It’s just hot in here.”

She gives you a knowing look. “Sure it is.”

You ignore her remark before setting off– you have enough problems. You don’t feel like adding ‘the comforting feeling of Astarion’s arms around you’ to the list.

[archivallyfound09]

All You Could Want (Baulder's Gate 3) pt. 2

Part 1

Pairing: Raphael x reader (afab), no y/n

Rating: Explicit (descriptive sex, cursing, mature themes)

Plot: Raphael is known for his deals. You were one of those deals. What happens when you become more than just a signature? What happens when others intrude on that relationship?

“I still don’t understand why we are going through with this!” Gale whined, “I’m not exactly too fond of breaking into devil’s lairs and trying to steal precious artifacts from them.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes, “You wouldn’t be saying that if you were still eating the fucking artifacts…” he muttered under his breath, shooting Gale a glare before continuing to explore just outside the new portal that had been created. Gale opened his mouth to rebuff the vampire snarky commentary, when his mouth closed abruptly.

A small, dwarf-like apparition appeared in front of the group, her crazed commentary immediately drawing all to her plight in the House of Hope. The group listened and transformed, attempting to break in and steal more than just the Orphic Hammer. Hope, as she was called, made mention of freeing her physical form before leaving- she also teased something about a new visitor, but it seemed that only Astarion caught the comment.

As they traipsed through the ominous and tortuous halls, the group was faced with more than just the cruelty of the cambion they were after- they saw the absolute destruction of the human soul. Entities around them begged for freedom, some screaming, some crying, but the most hauntingly awful ones only begged half-heartedly, already resigned to their eternal damnation. Astarion felt a tug on his once-beating heart, he could imagine the pain, but blocked it out best he could as he continued towards the library with Gale, Shadowheart, and Karlach. 

This certainly wasn’t the group he was planning on joining with his newfound freedom, but he was glad to have at least a few other damaged beings along with him for the ride. As he rounded a corner, a small flutter of fabric caught his eye in the darkened hallways. He held his hand up to stop the group, Karlach all but crashing into him as he did so. She gave him a sheepish look and shrugged as he rolled his eyes.

“There’s someone here,” he held up his hand to silence Gale while he finished his thought, “ and she,” he emphasized, “does not smell infernal.”

-------

When you awoke, your room had transformed back to the way it always was. Reds and golds decorated the high-vaulted ceilings all the way down to the ornate floors. You smiled and stretched a hand over your head as you let out a satisfied yawn. The bed, no longer opalescent, but now scarlet red, was just as comfortable as it had been before you had gone to bed. With sleep still heavy on your eyes you sat up slowly and then noticed the figure standing with his back to you.

You tried to stifle another yawn, but failed, a chorus of chuckling meeting your sleepy facade as he turned around, hands clasped behind his back as he looked you over, enjoying and basking in your humanness for a moment.

You gave him a heartfelt smile. “Good morning,” you said quietly, eyes now bright. He couldn’t help the smirk that now decorated his face.

“I should think that any morning where I get to see you wake up like that should be,” the honeyed words were sweet, but you saw the honesty behind them. He continued, “I do hope you enjoyed your little paradise yesterday, “ you nodded happily, reminiscing of the warm pool and seaside breeze. He hummed in approval. “I knew you would. I do hope you are rested and looking forward to another day here…” 

His voice trailed off a bit as you noticed he stepped closer to the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight as he sat alongside your legs. You nodded and sat up on your knees, leaning in a bit closer to him. He smiled and wrapped you in his arms, the warmth emanating from his skin was deliciously hot as you felt his hands slowly glide up and down you back, pulling you closer to him. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in and immediately smelling burnt wood and cherries, and you let out a small yelp as he quickly changed positions and you found yourself on his lap.

“Raphael! You startled me!” you couldn’t help the almost girlish giggle that escaped your lips. To him, it was sweeter than any wine, more delicious than any torture- your laugh was the one thing keeping you here, safe, in the cambion’s arms. You smiled, pressing your forehead to his and closing your eyes.

“Tell me that today you will be able to spend time here today...” you quietly begged, cracking an eye open to try and convince the man under you to agree. He smiled- you liked his human smile, even though you knew there was another more natural side to his being. The wrinkles around his eyes were clear to see up close and you wanted to kiss every one of them to make him stay. He chuckled, his chest and shoulders shaking under your forearms as they found purchase around his neck.

“I’m terribly sorry, apple of my eye, there seems to be a bit of an intruder issue that I must attend to,” you noticed the slight snarl on ‘intruder’ but decided to let him finish his thought, “‘tis nothing more than a few rodents, I’m sure.” You smiled, deciding to forego mention of your experience from the night before. After all, he was already on their scent- surely that would make for the end of any issues.

You smiled sweetly and kissed his nose, pulling your forehead back and then finding your lips completely captured by his. He tasted of aged brandy and hot smoke and you couldn’t help but melt into his grasp as his hands now traveled up your sides. He pulled away far too quickly for your liking.

“Soon, my dear, “ he promised, standing and effortlessly placing you on the bed, “soon.”

--------

You had spent your morning as you usually did, lounging in the pool, reading, trying to learn and enact certain spells that you had read earlier (it was all going horribly), but you continued to entertain yourself until Raphael’s business was wrapped up.

As you went to the library to return yet another spellbook, you noticed voices emanating out from the main foyer. The table that once held a feast was now empty, but the chairs were filled with four others and Raphael’s back was to you. You quickly tried to pull yourself behind the pillars, not wanting to be spotted, but remained endlessly nosy about the intruders. 

You immediately recognized two from the intrusion in your room, but you noted that what you had thought to be a barbarian male was clearly a woman and she appeared to be on fire. The other two men were dressed in shabby clothes, as was the small woman to the left of the cambion. You craned your neck to try and hear their dialog, only picking up a few comments here and there. 

“We can make this so much easier,” you hear Raphael’s business voice ring out, “a simple contract. You get what you want and all you have to do is return something small to me and the end of your quest.” You saw the others in the group look at each other, debating in hushed tones. You watched as Raphael pretended to pick at his nails, allowing the deliberation for a bit before he grew impatient.

“Or,” he interrupted jarringly, his aggravation palpable, “I could end all of you for breaking into my home uninvited.” He stood, his hands slamming to the table, causing you to jump and cover your mouth from an inevitable squeak of surprise. You quickly pulled back fully behind the pillar, but not before the small white-haired woman caught your eye. You dared not look back at the group as deliberations continued- you slunk back to your room as fast as possible, terrified of interrupting Raphael’s business dealings.

------

“My dear,” his voice was smooth like velvet as he interrupted you walking around the room, a book in one hand, an apple in the other. You paused your steps, finished your paragraph and looked up at him adoringly. He couldn't help the slight swell he felt in his chest at your glance.

“My dear,” he started again, walking towards you, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting for my time; my business seems to have taken far too much of my attentions,” he snaked an arm around your waist as you stood, still poised with a book and fruit in hand. You smiled. This was nothing new. 

“I do believe I owe you time in paradise, and soon I will be able to accomplish that like never before,” he stepped behind you, your back flush against his chest, soft lips pressing searing kisses to your neck and shoulders. You dropped your hands to your sides, barely holding onto the items grasped within, and closed your eyes, leaning your head back against his shoulder. He chucked and you felt your body laugh along with his. His fingers traced your collarbone and rested flat across your decolletage, his pointer finger and thumb lightly at the base of your throat.

“I am sure if anyone can accomplish that, it’s you,” you sighed. Raphael felt his ministrations pause as he took in your sincerity. You were not just another contract to him. Sure, you fit the bill- wandering hero, monster-slayer, desperate to make mankind better, but unable to do so without sacrifice and help. It was in all those years of watching you and offering contract after contract that Raphael decided to help tip the scales in your favor during a battle or two…he also may have helped a bit in prepping you before negotiations and by offering you some extra health and strength when yours was spent. 

Raphael closed his eyes, breathing in your scent, as he remembered watching you for that long decade. Denying his wishes, making him go mad with fury, worrying about your pathetic life span- he had become a cambion he didn’t recognize. His memories began to float back instantly. 

It wasn’t until Harleep’s incessant teasing stopped that he knew he was in trouble. He had fallen for you- a mere mortal with a savior complex. 

It was then that he knew what he had to offer: you for the rest of humanity. 

You took the offer far quicker than he expected. He didn’t think the frequent visits over the years had done much to win your favor, but as he watched you pick up the infernal quill to sign over your life, he saw how much life had taken from you. The bags under your eyes, the sullen cheeks, the ragged and messy hair- you were still a vision to him and his hands longed to embrace you, but he saw the damage that fighting and saving had done.

It was at that moment that Raphel did something he had never done and vowed to never do again: he amended a contract for your benefit. The signing over of your life to him would now include restoration to your previous healthy body eternally and forgotten memories of the harshness of your previous life. You were completely unaware of this contract- you believed what he had told you- he had saved you from certain death at the hands of those who wanted to kill you.

You were also completely unaware that after 5 days of caring for you and altering your experience within the House of Hope, Raphael destroyed the contract. You were free to leave at any point. He had felt nothing but damaging fear the first fortnight (or the first 12 years you were with him-time no longer held meaning), but he slowly trusted that you wanted to stay. 

“So what paradise will you be conjuring up next?” Your sweet, dulcet voice breaking Raphael out of his reverie. You imagined far away places and exotic smells and designs you had only ever read about. You imagined animals and treats you had never seen before. You felt his thumb tap at the base of your neck, humming quietly to himself.

“What if the next paradise,” he purred, “is real?”