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consistencynevermether · 1 year ago

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The Garden of Heroes- Astarion X Reader

content- gn! tav x Astarion. angst (but kinda more bittersweet), with a good ending. sfw. cannon typical violence but nothing extreme. soooo many character deaths. Astarion and tav forever endgame im sorry to this man he will not be moving on

Summary: Astarion learns how to live on after you and the others are gone.

word count- 2.4k

Out of your party, Karlach was the first to die. It wasn’t unexpected that she would go first. She was always headstrong, rushing into battle and putting the safety of others before herself. She died a hero's death, and so she was honored as such. After all, your group had saved Baldur's gate, and not just from the mindflayers. Even after, your party continued to do great deeds of heroism across the sword coast. Sometimes all together as a group, and sometimes as individuals. Regardless, Karlach was a hero, and so when they buried her, they erected a statue in a beautiful plot of land outside of Baldur's gate, which they titled “The Garden of heroes”. A beautiful name but also a melancholy one. A reminder that her statue would not be the last one to be built in this grove. Losing Karlach, it was painful for everyone, Astarion included.

But what really stuck with him was that garden's name. The promise it brought of more of his friends becoming just old statutes and legends. And of you, someone far more precious than a friend, becoming the same.

Wyll was the second to go. Taken from you all far too soon, just like Karlach. And just like her, he died as he lived, honorably. Despite everything in life that tried to extinguish his spirit, nothing could. He was happy and kind and loyal till the end of his days. When his statue was put up next to Karlach’s, everyone grieved. But over time when your hearts all healed a little, Wyll’s proud, tall, beautiful statue made Karlachs look less lonely, like she had a friend now, and there was a certain comfort in that. But there would be no comfort for Astarion when the next statue would be built.

Because the next one was you.

Tav. The great hero of the sword coast. Felled in battle. Your sacrifice had saved the world once again but left Astarion all alone.

You died far before your time. How far? Were you an elf who still had hundreds of years ahead of them? Were you a half-orc who only had maybe 20 or 30 left? Regardless, it was too soon. Astarion had thought he’d have more time. More time to come to terms with you leaving him. That he would be allowed to let you go, not have you ripped from his embrace by this cruel twist of fate.

And just like that, you were the 3rd statue in the Garden of Heroes. To everyone else that’s just how it was, another hero lost and life went on. But not for Astarion. The world seemed to stop for him.

He knew it would happen one day. He probably told himself he would go on living even without you, that he wouldn’t waste his life mourning someone when he could still live. After all, he deserved that, he had been alive so long and yet had barely begun to truly live. Yet the gaping hole that you left behind in his heart could never be filled.

Still, because of his experience with Cazador, he refused to let himself waste his freedom. Despite you being gone he didn’t want to stop living.

But he couldn’t bring himself to love again. Nobody could compare. No one’s laugh could make his heart flutter like yours, nobody’s kisses could be quite as sweet. You who loved him at his worst and showed him the light. You who reached out your hand to him, but ultimately let him become his own savior, letting it be his choice to be good. To feel good again. It was a tragedy that he had lost that love, something that made his world so much brighter. But he cherished the memories, and that made it easier to live on.

That is until the memories began to fade.

He doesn't know when it started. It was definitely after Gale and Lazel had joined you in the garden. Shadowheart too probably. After all, they were all only human, Giyth, and half-elf, at most the oldest of them could have been Shadowheart at 200 years or so, and Astarion couldn’t ever forget you in such a short amount of time.

He mourned all 3 of them of course, and Shadowheart’s lack of snark towards Astarion (which over the years had become just friendly banter) was missed. But it wasn’t the same as when he lost you.

But after decades of them being laid to rest in the Garden of Heroes, he’d started to forget little details of his former party members. But he remembered every detail of you. He heard your voice in his dreams, imagined your smile as he daydreamed, and wore a piece of your jewelry as a reminder. Even though you weren’t here anymore, he honored you.

But as the years went on, it became… twisted. Some nights Astarion would wake up in a cold sweat, muttering to himself as he tried desperately to remember what color your eyes were. Every night his dreams of you became more fuzzy with time, and every morning he clinged a little harder to the little reminders of you. In the end, he was no longer honoring you, but instead clinging to a memory. He had promised himself, promised you that he would continue to live. Yet ever since you left he had just been alive. He was spiraling.

Why what happened next transpired isn't exactly clear to Astarion. Maybe it was you from beyond the grave, maybe it was some god your party had helped before, or maybe it was just dumb luck. But by whatever force, he was sought out by a young group of adventurers looking for help.

They were inexperienced, reckless, and worked horribly together, which is exactly why they came seeking out one of the great heroes of the sword Coast, to help them. It was easy for Astarion to forget just how legendary he and his friends were. Don't get him wrong, he thought very highly of himself, but the way these inexperienced adventurers would look at him with wonder in their eyes whenever he mentioned your name, was…odd. On the one hand, it saddened him that you were nothing more than a mere legend now, but on the other, it gave him a strange sense of happiness knowing that your memory lived on, that even the people who didn't know you were influenced by you. And having a bunch of idiots to keep alive was strangely comforting. He often wondered if you had felt the same way when you had led the motley crew of tadpole-infected weirdos all those years ago, and it gave him a connection to you that made his heart ache, but in a good way.

It kept those nightmares at bay and kept the loneliness from consuming him. It's what he needed, that human connection, to stand up on his own two feet and keep going. It would never be the same, he knew that.

Sometimes, sitting around the campfire, eyes closed, he could almost feel like he was back there with you. The crackle and warmth of the fire, the overlapping voices in the background, the sound of the forest. Some things never changed, and sitting there, he could almost imagine you next to him, polishing some weapon next to him in the light of the campfire, its metallic glint bathing your features in warm orange.

And when he opened his eyes and saw that you weren't there, and hadn't been for decades now, he was ok. The pain did not consume him, the sadness did not break him, and the hurt felt good in a way because it showed how much he was loved, and how hard he loved you back in return.

Astarion wasn’t alone anymore. And he was able to truly live again. He imagined if you could see him now, you’d be quite proud. However, occasionally at night, his thoughts would wander to more than just imagining. In Faerun, there were many ways to speak with the deceased and even bring them back. But what stopped him was your last moments. Even now what you said was crystal clear, and would never fade no matter how many years went by, it echoed in his mind constantly:

“My only regret is leaving you behind.”

As much as it hurt to be alone, Astarion knew that you were satisfied with the life you lived. And loathe he was to admit it, deep down he always knew that if he suggested some way to make you immortal to stay with him, you would decline. You burned brightly and fast, it’s who you were. You lived your life the way you wanted to, and it wasn’t his right to drag you back up with him. He knew this. But it didn’t make the thought any less tempting.

Whenever that temptation arose, he found solace in a bit of a strange place. Or more accurately, person. Halsin. Astarion and Halsin were never terribly close, the two just had quite different personalities. Not that there was any real bad blood, just never that closeness he felt with some of the others. But as the years went by, he and Halsin became the only two people left of the original group, and that caused them to share a few bittersweet bonding moments.

Halsin was one of the few people Astarion could reminisce with. Not only that but someone who loved so freely yet lived so long the way Halsin did made him good at dealing with loss and grieving in a healthy way, something Astarion didn’t always excel at. So he frequently went to visit the Archdruid, and Halsin was always happy to see his old friend. After a while, they even started a tradition, once every 10 years the two of them would travel to the Garden of Heroes together. Not many words were spoken during those trips, but it meant a great deal to both of them.

All too fast it seemed, the pair had visited the grove dozens of times. And every time Astarion couldn’t help but notice Halsin had more and more gray hair with each passing visit. Elves were long-living, but not immortal. Halsin would soon be gone from this world too.

At this point, Astarion could handle the loss. He had learned to deal with the short lifespans of those around him, at this point the young heroes he had once traveled with after your passing were now seasoned, veteran warriors, or had passed themselves. It wouldn't be the loss of Halson that broke Astarion, it would be the fact that he would truly be the last of you all.

After Halsin's passing, nobody knew enough about your group anymore to erect a statue of him in the garden. It had been centuries and you had faded from legend to myth. Ancient heroes of days gone past. So Astarion decided to take matters into his own hands and learned to carve stone.

What? He was an immortal after all, he had eternity to perfect the craft. For decades he’d bring in stone slabs and practice carving, his reasoning being that no way in hell was he lugging around a Halsin-sized statue, but really your own statue looking over him gave him a sense of comfort. And when he had perfected carving stone, he sought other reasons to stay in the garden. After so many years it had become neglected and overgrown, so Astarion took it upon himself to take care of the place.

After decades of staying in this garden turned to centuries, he began to become a legend in his own right. But not the heroic type you were known as. No, the tales people spun about him were quite depressing. He became known as the caretaker of the Garden of Heroes, and many theorized as to why he did this, spun many a dramatic and tragic tale to be told at the local bar or to gossip about with friends. He’d almost feel insulted, but he rarely left the garden anyway. Being there made him happy, and after so many centuries alive, that’s really what his main pursuit was now. Just happiness. It wasn’t truly living, not entirely. But he had done so much living, far more than even the longest-living elf had ever done, and he figured it was ok now. To just be happy was enough.

There were rare times when he left the garden, when people came there asking for his help, or when there was a major threat to Baldur's gate, he would offer his aid. The centuries of living never seemed to dull his blade, and with everything he had seen and accomplished, there was no doubt Astarion was one of the most skilled people alive. He truly was a hero from ancient times.

That’s probably why his death was even more legendary than yours.

To lose a hero was tragic. But to lose someone who had lived for so long, known so much, seen so much, it was a different type of melancholy for the people of Faerun. Like they had lost an ancient protector. For someone who seemed mysterious, infallible, and all-knowing to fall was a scary thing in some ways. But it wasn’t also without honor.

The people of Baldur's Gate who lived during the time Astarion died probably had no idea why the garden was so important to him. But they did know it was important. So when he died saving Faerun, much like you had done oh so many centuries ago, they decided the most respectful thing to do was return his body to the garden to be laid to rest. Some even debated that he should have his own statue erected in the garden. Ultimately these people didn’t know the significance of this place, who stood here, and why Astarion cared for it, so they decided it would be best to simply return the body. Though later a statue of Astarion would be put up inside Balurs Gate, along with a plaque. maybe people would remember him a little longer than they had remembered you. But everyone fades to the sands of time eventually. Every legend is told one last time.

Luckily for the rouge vampire spawn, his legend didn't end with his death. It ended when he opened his eyes a few moments later, a gentle touch awakening him. The feeling of fingers running through his curls, and he knew. He knew immediately. No matter how many centuries apart, he could never not recognize your touch. He didn't know where he was, where he ended up after death, but it truly didn't matter to him in this moment. Because wherever he was, you were there with him. After so many years of looking up at your statue, its face faded and details lost to time, he finally got to see the real thing again. He got to know the color of your eyes once more. And in Astarion’s book, that was the best ending he could have gotten.

#astarion fic #astarion romance #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion my beloved #astarion angst #astarion fanfic

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baldurs-writers-3 · 3 months ago

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Rare Pairs 1: A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfiction Rec List

This week, we have our first iteration of another recurring theme, Rare Pairs!

Rare Pairs are any romantic ships with less than 1000 fics to their name. This recurring theme is to help highlight ships that are often overlooked or buried beneath more popular ships.

Check under the cut for twelve excellent fics/series highlighting some wonderful yet overlooked ships, as well as a handful of unexpected yet intriguing ones! And as always, comment and kudos if you like them!

The cursed ships of Baldur's Gate by Amarilis_ancunin (100702, Explicit) Content Notes: Each fic has its own warnings, but some common ones include smut, dubious consent, canon-typical violence, and more. Pairings: Various, inclusive of Wulbren Bongle/Cazador Szarr, Barcus Wroot/Kar'niss, Lorroakan/Enver Gortash, Raphael/Vlaakith

This isn't just one fic: it's a whole series of wild, off the wall pairings that do not naturally come to mind but are absolutely delightful when they make it to the page.

Reccer says: Every single one of these pairings can fit the Kombucha Girl meme. At first oh-my-god, and at second look, oh-my-god-maybe? with the added joy of the writing being lovely to read and actual plot behind the smut.

Surround Sound by Irken (68,140 , Mature) Content Notes: hurt/comfort Pairings: The Emperor/Illithid Tav

This is a post-game series of vignettes about Tav learning how to be a proper illithid and the Emperor learning that he doesn't need to be such a guarded, self-sufficient loner. It's fluffy slice-of-life with a loose power-of-friendship-&-love plot about the pair rebuilding the city while helping their companions get their happy endings, too.

Reccer says: I wrote this! :'3 It's my baby. It's largely fluff, and I've been told that it 'brings joy' and 'feels like a warm hug.' So, if you like squids and want something to cheer you up, maybe give it a look~

Eat your eyes, your visions, your goals, your hunger. (Drink your blood, your breadth, your mettle.) by martyrologics (4,651, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: The Absolute/The Dark Urge

Trippy, mindmelding, Absolute/The Dark Urge smut, in like, the best kind of way.

Reccer says: The author's prose is gorgeous--you'll want to eat it. The descriptions of the brain becoming the Absolute becoming the Netherbrain, and its obsession with the Dark Urge are as purple as they come and it is a psychic maelstrom of awesomeness.

Learning to be Free by CobaltCactus (103,256, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Lae'zel/Shadowheart

Lae'zel and Shadowheart have been through HELL together and come out the other side way more than friends. Read along as they come to terms with losing large parts of their self-identities, gaining each other, and their experience in building a healthy relationship. The story also explores the consequences of their adventures together!

Reccer says: I love the balance between the various painful elements of their post game life and the tooth-rotting fluff of them getting to love each other! It's all just very well done!

Where Beauty Moves and Wit Delights by rainbowBarnacle (5776, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: Astarion/Karlach

An alternative take on what Karlach and Astarion could have gotten up to at the Tiefling party... who needs to touch to be naughty?

Reccer says: It seems like such an easy solution!! Good Karlach POV too, seeing how she starts wondering about this weird little fancy-vamp.

Before The First Light (Some Bright Morning Comes) by tinybabydeer (11191, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Halsin/Wyll

A nice, slow build exploration of how badly Wyll needs someone like Halsin to help him improve his self worth, even if he didn't expect it

Reccer says: The character voices are spot on and the prose is excellent. I didn't expect to enjoy this ship but this fic 100% changed my mind

On the Properties of Tea and Its Effects Upon Various Beings, Humanoid and Otherwise by Neila_Nuruodo (8619, Mature) Content Notes: None Pairings: Blurg/Omeluum

Blurg has finally found a place for himself in the world. While a hobgoblin running an apothecary might sound like a mere curiosity, he prides himself on the efficacy of his remedies. When the shop next to his, long vacant, is finally rented, he is naturally curious who might have rented it and what plans they have for the space. He certainly didn't expect it to be an illithid.

Reccer says: Its such a cute and fun little AU. Omeluum opens a tea shop and Blurg operates a shop next door and they get to meet and slowly fall in love and I just love it

Petals of Blood by DarkLordJordan (5855, Teen) Content Notes: Hanahaki Disease, Body Horror, Suicidal Thoughts Pairings: Astarion/Halsin

Astarion falls prey to Hanahaki disease, and obviously refuses to tell anyone, least of all Halsin, about it. But hey, don't worry. He can't suffocate on the flowers anyway so its fine!

Reccer says: Excellent hurt/comfort and a fun exploration of the trope

when flames die by fingonsradharp (5502, Teen) Content Notes: Temporary Character Death Pairings: Karlach/Wyll

Karlach falls in battle, Wyll does not feel very good about that at all, and the party meets Withers

Reccer says: I love the early party characterizations and the drama of everyone trying to fathom Withers as a concept

Pale Elf Needs Food, Badly! by Gally (12,434, Mature) Content Notes: Canon-Typical Violence Pairings: Astarion/Karlach

What if Balthazar could to zap away Astarion’s energy reserves and thus he instantly felt as if he had not eaten for months? What then? How do you quickly feed a vampire who is so ravenous that even the vampire is saying it's not safe to let him bite? Well, Astarion instantly pretty much assumes he's about to be staked as he has to be more trouble than he's worth now, right? Don't worry, Mama K is here! and these other guys too. Time to figure it out!

Reccer says: Love the characterizations and the whump is absolutely delectable

Meeting the parents is stressful, isn't it by SpiffyVaxildan (1740, Teen) Content Notes: None Pairings: The Dark Urge/Shadowheart

Set about a year after the defeat of the Netherbrain above Baldur's Gate, Hope has been slowly regaining her memories of childhood from before her Bhaal blood took over. She remembers her foster parents and wants to visit their grave. Shadowheart comes along for moral support.

Reccer says: A short and sweet fic set post game. I don't see a lot of durge/shadowheart so this was a treat. The author has a fun writing style and I'm always a sucker for funny love confessions.

Liar's Embrace by MoisopolonOikia (3671, Explicit) Content Notes: None Pairings: Florrick/Mizora

In which Lady Mizora goes to visit her favorite counsellor to apologize for the political fuss she may have caused.

Reccer says: A rare pair indeed! Come get your toxic lesbians (affectionate)! This fic was so fun and so well written, the pair I didn't know I needed until I read this.

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ!

Next week, we’ll be back with a very timely theme, Horror!

#bw3 rec list #rare pair rec list #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bw3 #bg3 rare pairs #bw3 rare pairs

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 1 year ago

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Satisfaction

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.2K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: enemies to lovers, cursing, violence, mentions of torture, knoll attack, angst to fluff

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“I can’t fucking believe you.” you seethed at him.

“Likewise you entitled little cunt.” Astarion spat back.

You threw a punch at him, connecting with his jaw. Karlach and Wyll rushed over to hold you back as Astarion held his face.

“You knew that quarrel was mine to settle. Kethric and Orin were mine to end. And then you just waltz off and kill them both while I’m out getting ready to fight your battle against Cazador?” you spat on the ground in front of him, shrugging Karlach and Wyll off harshly.

Astarion smirked at you, pleased with the fact he got under your skin.

“The next time you need help I wont fucking be there. I hope Cazador gets what he wants, because I can't stand to be in your general vicinity, you low down bitch.” you could feel your eyes water with frustration but your voice remained stern.

Astarion faltered but only for a moment, “How about instead of a tantrum I get a thank you? I dealt with your problem. That's two less issues on our laundry list of enemies.”

You glared at him, “How would you feel if I killed Cazador? Would be a different story right? You didn’t give me the satisfaction… Just… stay away from me Astarion.” your anger tapered out and all you could feel was emptiness. You walked back to your tent silently. Karlach and Wyll went back to what they were doing, also unhappy with what Astarion had done.

You sniffled and wiped away any tears that fell as you packed your bag. You needed to get away from camp, just for a few days. Sort yourself out. You told Karlach deep in the night what was going on and begged her not to tell anyone else. She agreed, understanding completely.

You walked out of camp while the sun was still missing from the morning sky.

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Astarion woke from his meditation, leaving his tent his eyes widened when he saw your tent was broken down. Everything of yours was missing, including you. He walked over to your tent, trying to find a sign that you’d be back. His heart started to race.

Fuck.

He knew your fight last night hurt you. And he admittedly did go after Kethric and Orin to shorten the never ending list of enemies, but he also did it to take a shot at you. You’d both squabble since this little adventure started. Constantly goading each other for an unknown reason. Astarion jogged over to Karlach’s tent, you two were close, instant best friends.

“Where is Y/N?” he asked quickly.

Karlach shrugged, not speaking to him.

“Do you know where they went?” he asked again.

“Why do you care?” she sighed, finally looking at him.

“I… don’t… I was just… wondering if they were still licking their wounds.” he said, trying to sound convincing.

“Well, they’re just an entitled cunt, right?” Karlach glared at him.

“Come now my fiery friend, you know Y/N and I have our little rows.” he tried to defend himself.

“Except this wasn’t a row Astarion!” Karlach yelled. Astarion stepped back, wincing at her sudden loud tone. “They were tortured for an eternity. Just like you. They dreamed of escaping. Just like you. They are trying to heal. Just like you. How dare you sit there and take away the one shot at revenge they had? How. Fucking. Dare. You.” she said, poking him in the chest harshly with every last word.

“I… I didn’t know that…” Astarion whispered.

“Well it’s not exactly something they wanted to advertise.” she said, turning around, frustration evident in her voice.

“Do you know where they are?” he asked one last time, the guilt inside him boiling up his throat.

“No.” Karlach said before walking back into her tent, ending the conversation.

Astarion huffed, running his hands over his face. He felt awful, your typical fights were short and sweet. This was… something else now.

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Ver’yll jogged into camp after a few days, running over to Karlach. He spoke to her briefly, her face falling instantly. She grabbed her axe, running out of camp. Astarion saw this and quickly followed, not wanting Karlach to go alone to whatever this is. Running deep into Baldur’s Gate, Karlach ran into the open hand temple. Astarion dashed behind her before he saw you. Unconscious on a cot, with bandages wrapped around your torso. Blood seeping through slightly. His heart stopped, his feet planted to the floor. Karlach knelt beside you, grasping your limp hand.

“What happened?” Astarion asked the cleric tending to you.

“Don’t know, they were found on the steps this morning. Looks like a gnoll did a number on them.” The cleric replied, “They’ll need to spend a few days here to heal.”

“I’ll stay with them.” Astarion said instantly.

Karlach furrowed her brows at him.

“Please…” he said with his soft eyes ever present.

“Fine, I’ll go let the others know. Keep a low profile.” she said with a stern voice.

Astarion held your hand, pushing hair out of your face and ghosting his fingers over your cheek.

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It took you three days to wake up. Astarion rushed to your side, “Little love, are you alright? Cleric!” he called out.

You squinted at the light pouring in from the stained glass window. Voices echo in your head, your eyesight not quite adjusting. “Astarion?” you croaked out sleepily.

You tried to sit up but he gently pushed you back down, shushing you. The cleric pushed him aside. “No…” you said, reaching for him weakly.

He moved to the other side of the cot, holding your hand. The cleric worked deftly, changing your bandages and rubbing different solutions into your stitched up gashes. You faded in and out of consciousness for this process before finally waking up fully as the cleric left the room. You looked at Astarion as you felt him kiss your hand. You looked at him, his eyes moved over your exposed torso, looking at the scars Orin and Kethric had left over many years. You had never seen his eyes look so doe like, so round and full of sorrow.

“Did you stay with me the whole time?” you asked.

He nodded, bringing a cup of water to your lips.

“Thank you.” you said after taking a few sips.

“I’m so sorry Y/N… Karlach told me… I never would have done that if I knew… I know I can’t take it back, and no amount of apologies will make up for it… but please know I am truly sorry.” he rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

“I was so angry with you…” you started, looking in his eyes. “But… I know you were just trying to kill enemies we had, and you didn’t know why I wanted them dead so bad. I should have told you… thank you, for apologizing.” you said with a sigh.

“Maybe we should put this whole bickering business behind us?” he said, brushing some hair away from your forehead.

You chuckled softly, “No way… how will I spend so much time with you if we aren’t fighting?”

“Darling, if time with me is what you wish all you have to do is ask.” he kissed your hand again before smiling at you.

“Never been good at asking for what I want… Should we start over?” you asked, shifting closer to him.

“No way…” he smiled before leaning over and kissing your cheek.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello everyone! Sorry I went on a little hiatus, I was in the hospital for sepsis so kinda hard to write when I was that sick. I hope this is to everyones liking, I'll post one or two more fics over the weekend. Thank you for all the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. Love youuuuuuu XOXOXOXO!!!!!!!

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alpaca-clouds · 1 year ago

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Baldur's Gate 3 and the Grooming Theme

I am on my second playthrough by now (the Astarion origin) and it really becomes even more apparent how grooming is kind of a central theme with all six of the origin characters. And funnily enough, I am not entirely sure whether it is intentional or more accidental. Mostly because I am not entirely certain whether the creators have realized how much the Gale-Mystra relationship reads as grooming and how much the entire Gith culture is basically about grooming their young into those perfect warriors.

The abuse aspect is fairly clear with Astarion and Shadowheart. If I am not entire mistaken, there is even dialogue in game that calls out Shadowheart's experience as grooming explicitly.

Let me go through all the Origin Six one by one.

Astarion gets basically groomed by Cazador, which kinda partly gets clearer if you consider that while under humans he would have been considered as an adult, among elves he would not have been. With him it is a clearer abuse situation, due to all the torture and violence we know he was subjected to. But Cazador in general tried to turn his spawn into what he imagined them to be. (There is a lot of speculation going on that he focused so much on Astarion, because Astarion reminded him of himself.) We also learn from Astarion that he tried to be what Cazador wanted him to be - though he clearly never succeeded.

Shadowheart embodies one of the most classical grooming scenarios. Often these day we use grooming to refer explicitly to sexual grooming - but the word is also often used in religious contexts, especially when it comes to cults. And yes, basically Shadowheart got kidnapped as a child and quite literally brainwashed to be a follower of Shar. We do not have that many details, but those we have actually do fit rather well with grooming inside of cults. And in her case this happened very clearly with the implicit knowledge of the people doing the grooming of what they were doing.

With Karlach we do not quite know how old she was, when she started to work for Gortash. But from all we learn she was probably in her teens. We have not many dialogues of her referring explicitly to what exactly happened between her and Gortash, outside of him selling her off to Zariel. But we have bits and pieces that sound a terrible lot like lovebombing. Of Gortash always knowing how to praise her that she would feel good about herself. Which, too, is a very typical grooming tactic. And what we know sounds like he kinda groomed her into the perfect bodyguard - before he sold her off.

With Wyll it is the clearest in so many ways, because we see him and Mizora interact with each other quite a bit. And make no mistake, Mizora very much groomed him. He was fucking 19 when he made that contract - and all we learn sounds like tons and tons of gaslighting happening between them, denying him to have any sense of reality. And I mean, just look at the official artwork with the two of them. While canonical there is nothing sexual happening between them (unless you do a Wyll playthrough and do the one night stand with Mizora)... It definitely feels at least somewhat sexually charged and she is quite touchy with him.

There has been a lot of discussion about Gale in this regard. Most of all because we do not get to know that much about how his relationship with Mystra went on. With Gale we do not know how old he is now, we know even less how old he was when Mystra took him in. But it for sure feels a lot like grooming, especially once you consider the inescapable power imbalance between a god and a mortal human. Given that Gale is still very enarmored with Mystra as we meet him - despite her abandoning him - we mostly hear rosy memories from him. But just his entire interaction when she fucking commands him to kill himself... Yeah that sounds a lot like grooming.

Finally there is Lae'zel. With her it is also more the cultish kind of grooming. Because the entire Gith culture under Vlaakith is basically a cult. We kinda see it when we interact with the Gith kids in the Monestary, who very much have absorbed this idea of the culture, going so far as killing and torturing each other. We also see that in Lae'zel if we talk with her about it and she looks at this and is like "Yeah, nothing wrong with that." Personally I found Lae'zel hardest to deal with because of this. Because she has absorbed all this stuff from her culture and when she follows those ideals she still thinks she is doing good/right. Like, Shadowheart can be a shitty person and Astarion definitely is. But they both kinda get that their behavior at times is shitty - while Lae'zel goes "this is right and good!"

Technically speaking we even see this partly in the villains. Orin definitely was groomed into the murder hobo she is. That makes her not the least bit less evil - but it was not as if she ever had a choice to become anything other than a murder hobo. And while I would argue that technically speaking Gortash was not exactly groomed (or maybe he was groomed by Bane?), he definitely also has been turned into a shitty person through childhood trauma.

To be honest, it is all this trauma that comes from all those experiences, though, that makes me just wanna write for this fandom so much. Because... Well, there is so much healing to do for those characters. And all those healing stuff is kinda the stuff I am all here for, when it comes to writing.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #karlach #wyll #shadowheart #astarion #mizora #cazador szarr #gale dekarios #lae'zel #enver gortash #bg3 orin

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stars-and-inkpots · 1 year ago

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could you possibly do one where Tav is on the verge on burnout in Baldur's Gate, from carrying the litteral weight of the world on her shoulders, plus the murders, dismembered clown, emperor chattering away in her mind and just tryingto help every soul in the city... oh, and everyone looking to her for guidance in making difficult life decisions... possibly after advising Wyll not to take the pact and/or one of their companions being abducted

And Gale being there to help her and lift her spirits up (maybe a little guilty about being too wrapped up in his hubris before having a forgiving audience with Mystra to notice how hard it all was on her)

I loved this idea so much because Act 3 really is just so overwhelming and stressful I was excited to write something about it! Thank you!! I hope you enjoy!

The Weight of The World | Gale x Reader

There is so much you have to do. So many things you have to fix and people you have to save. It's starting to become overwhelming carrying so much alone.

Pairing: Gale/Reader

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Blood and injury, panic attacks (kinda), hurt/comfort, comfort, angst, cuddling, spoilers for Act 3

Ao3 Link: The Weight of The World

Word Count: 1,799

You like helping people. If there is a way you can make someone else’s life easier, you are both eager and happy to do it. It’s in your nature to give.

But you’re wearing yourself thin.

It seems that ever since you got off that nautiloid, you’ve been helping people. First, it was the tieflings in the Grove; then the Shadow-Cursed lands; then the refugees on the way to Baldur’s Gate. And along with all of those problems, you’ve also been helping your companions with their own; some with higher stakes than others.

Wyll is quiet today, and when you notice the look on his face, guilt quickly settles in beside the exhaustion that rests on your shoulders.

He is free now, but it has come at such a steep price. You were there with him when Mizora appeared to offer him the deal. He had asked you for advice. You told him that he deserved a chance to be free from the infernal chess board he had been forced to play on for so long.

But what if you were wrong? What if you don’t find a way to save his father? What if Baldur’s Gate is worse off without the duke once everything is done and over with and the dust has settled. What if Wyll ends up blaming you for the death of Ravengard, resenting your decision that was his own to make.

You’re happy to help… happy to give counsel to your companions when they (so often, it seems) need it, but why should you be the one making the decisions for such things? How can you be expected to decide between Wyll’s freedom and his father’s life?

You haven’t even begun to prepare for what could lie beyond the walls of Cazador’s palace, but you’re certain it can be nothing short of dreadful.

Shaking your head, you try to focus on the task at hand. You have potential murder victims you need to find.

More people that need saving.

---

Finding the Stormshore Tabernacle after Elminster arrived to tell Gale that Mystra had yet another message for him was only another goal added on the growing list of things you needed to do. This, of course, took a little priority, given how much you could tell it mattered to Gale.

You brush off the growing exhaustion that hasn’t had a chance to fully dissipate in the wake of so many new problems.

You stand in front of the statue of Mystra, Gale beside you while the others wait outside. You can feel the magic that flows around it, crackling and humming like an electric current. It is not a feeling that brings you comfort or a sense of calm that one might expect from a god; perhaps that is mainly because of your own opinions of the goddess though. While he does a good job at hiding it, you can tell that Gale’s nerves are beginning to get the better of him. You bring your hand to rest it on his shoulder.

“Time was I’d have given my right arm for a chance to speak with Mystra again. The left one too. Maybe a knee…” he says quietly, and as much as you want to believe he is exaggerating, you know there is an air of truth to his words.

“You know you don’t owe her anything, Gale.” You hope he knows that. It’s impossible for you to understand the nuances of their relationship, and you recognise that, but you know that what she had asked of him was cruel and manipulative.

“Perhaps,” he answers. Then adds, “Her first love was always the weave. At best, I was always a close second.”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to justify Her actions to you, or simply giving himself a reason for them that hurts less than the idea that she did not truly care for him like he did for Her.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Despite your personal distaste for the goddess, you would accompany him in an instant if it was what he desired.

“As much as I’d prefer not to face her alone, I’m afraid the magic is only able to bring one person through. I’ll only be gone a minute though. Wait for me, please.” His voice shakes only slightly. You would wait for him even if he didn’t ask.

When he turns to face the statue again, he moves his hand like he’s grasping at something in the air. Then just as quickly, he is gone.

You wait there anxiously. You wonder if you should have told him not to come here. It was entirely possible that Mystra only asked him to come here so that she could punish him for not following her orders to blow up both himself and the Absolute. It would be another lapse of judgement that would impact only your companion.

The stress of the week is steadily catching up to you again, pushing itself into the forefront of your mind while you wait for Gale to return. Thankfully, he doesn’t take long.

Gale reappears in a small flash of shimmering purples. He is smiling, which you assume is a good thing in spite of the general unease the thought of him speaking with the goddess brings.

He recounts the visit with you while the two of you find the rest of your party outside.

---

No one says anything when you go straight to your tent after you return to camp, Gale letting go of your hand to give you a moment to yourself.

Lae’zel is gone, taken by Orin, and being held ransom in the Temple of Bhaal. The memory of the encounter makes you sick to your stomach.

Lae’zel rounding the corner, bloodied and limping, clutching her side while blood pours out in thick rivulets. Your heart beating so fast that you worry it will stop entirely. Grasping her arm to pull her with you, refusing to leave her behind. The feeling of her flesh shifting under your palm, moving, undulating in that unnatural and revolting way you had come to recognize in the shapechangers you had encountered. You recoiled backwards into Gale, watching in horror as Lae’zel’s form shifted; her neck snapping to the side sharply. Her green skin fading to pale grey. It was never Lae’zel at all, but Orin.

She cornered you into making a deal with her. You were to return with Gortash’s netherstone, or Lae’zel would be left to bleed out on the temple floor.

You can imagine Lae’zel’s voice, condemning you for giving in to the Bhaalspawn’s orders. But you know Lae’zel. You know that she is not as unshakeable as she likes to present herself. You know that, wherever she is right now, she is scared.

You can barely think. Everything feels blurry, the world fraying at the edges of your vision dissolving into a mess of colour and sound.

You should have noticed. Gortash had warned you.

You still have so much you need to do.

How did you let this happen?

---

Gale waits a few minutes before he follows you to your tent. He waits nervously outside, unsure.

“Can I come in?” He asks softly.

“Please,” you answer, and his heart breaks at the roughness of your voice; no doubt from crying and struggling to keep the sobs quiet enough that the rest of the camp wouldn’t hear them.

Your eyes are tired, fresh tears still flowing freely down your face.

Gale is terrified too, just like you and so many of the others, but something else weighs heavy on his chest. Guilt, he quickly realises as he looks at you.

You’ve been dealing with so much, and so much of it alone. You’ve taken their problems and made them your own; you’ve done everything for them. You’ve bore their worries, their concerns, and their mistakes. You’ve had no one to do the same for you.

“Gale-” you start, but a sob bubbles out of you cutting you off as your shoulders shake.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers into your hair after he quickly gathers you into his arms as he sits beside you. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like he’s protecting you from the world itself.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise through hiccups against his chest. He only gently shushes you, carding his fingers through your hair.

“If there is any apologising to be done, it is us to you. You’ve been doing so much for us; carrying our burdens and helping with them. I will admit even I have been far too preoccupied with my own mess that I failed to consider the weight that we’ve put on you.”

“I should be able to bear it,” you say mournfully.

“Absolutely not,” Gale objects. “It’s impossible to do that alone. You are only one person. You are not weak because you failed to carry the weight of the world alone.” He sounds so certain, so genuine in everything he says that you know he isn’t merely saying this to comfort you. “Even if you struggled with even the simplest problem, it would be no slight on your abilities.” His words, as reassuring and comforting as they are, bring on yet another wave of tears. He rubs his hands soothingly along your back.

“You are not weak because of this,” Gale assures you once you’ve mostly stopped crying.

“Thank you,” you answer after a while. “Thank you.”

The two of you sit there together. The steady rise and fall of his chest while you lean against him helps calm your racing heart. Gale hums softly, and you relax in his arms.

“Everything is going to be alright. We’ll do this together,” Gale says, with a finality that leaves no room for disagreement.

You nod, too exhausted in both body and mind to bother with speech for now. You reach blindly for one of Gale’s hands, holding it tightly and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. You feel him return a kiss of his own to the top of your head. You don’t need to use your words to explain your gratitude for his presence in your life. He understands you all the same. Your love may go unspoken, but never unheard.

You let yourself relax. The weight of the world may be both figuratively and literally on your shoulders, but your companions can help you hold it.

Yes, you think to yourself as Gale moves you both to lay down on the bedroll, everything will be alright. It will be difficult, but you will be fine. And at least, in his arms, you can pretend that everything will be fine for now. You have to hold onto the hope that everything will be fine.

#gale x reader #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate x reader #x reader fic #gale dekarios #baldurs gate 3 x reader #baldurs gate gale #gale x you

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inquisitornocturn · 6 months ago

Text

⊱─ 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕣𝕠𝕒𝕕𝕤 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Cazador Szarr x f!tiefling reader the Dark Urge

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence (when it comes to Cazador that is), graphic depictions of violence, sadism, smut, inappropriate use of Mage Hand spell, non-con, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, asphyxiation, grinding on a boot (sort of), dubcon, painful injury, tongue wound, bleeding, hair pulling, humiliation, degradation kink, PiV, rough sex, vampire bites, blood drinking, creampie.

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: A former Bhaalspawn, now aimless, you wander Faerun until you get a letter from no other than Cazador Szarr, beckoning for you to visit him. You're not sure why, he's not the man to show gratitude even if you did give him Astarion and helped him Ascend, nor he is the one to suddenly feel grateful years later after the fact, but you feel a pull to learn why the Vampire Ascendant wants you back in Baldur's Gate. So you return, too arrogant to realize that you're walking into a dragon's den.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 11,225

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: This was written for the wonderful, supportive and always amazing @velvolktra. Thank you for being just an incredible human being, and for matching my freak lol♡~

Baldur’s Gate.

Disgusting little city that you poured energy in saving. And what for? For these peasants to stroll the streets, smile and laugh with no gratitude? Hero of the City, ptui, maybe they would get some actual semblance of real gratitude if they built a temple for you instead of this meager statue.

You look at it with your face upturned, eyes squinting in the sun and the gentle late spring breeze in your hair. You see the visage of you, actually quite closely resembling your image, carved out of stone with precision. Your unblinking eyes gazing over the city and onto the sea, your hand victoriously raised in a fist, your expression made to be determined but still gentle, your other hand holds a banner of Baldur’s Gate. You nearly spit at the feet of the statue from annoyance, the pigeons lingering on your stone horns only irritate you further.

For a moment you wonder how often the city servants have to scrub the statue to make it look so clean even years after the big battle, but you don’t linger on this as you gaze down the statue’s form, despising even the armor they carved upon your body. You don’t remember much of your past, but you do remember everything since you woke up in that damn squid ship, and you know for a fact you never wore armor.

Maybe you should go and talk to the current Duke, demand that they change the statue if they want to have one displayed for you in the first place. Maybe, but not now. You’re here for a reason and that reason is not to bicker with people who are below you, who should be groveling at your feet, but instead barely recognize you as they pass you while you’re standing right in front of the idol erected in your honor.

When you finally peel your scrutinizing gaze away from the monument, you look around, doing your best to ignore the people that seem to be crawling the park like pests. You’re close now, to the Palace Szarr, but you’re in no rush. It’s enough already that you came at all after receiving the letter.

You have it with you, in your small travel bag hanging off your shoulder, and you pause digging through it. The paper stained and bent after being shoved among other items for weeks, but when you open the envelope and pull out the letter itself, the elegant yet sharp lettering is still as black as the day it was penned down, telling you to come for a visit. Telling you to witness the fruits of your subordinance.

At first you didn’t even consider coming back. You have no reason to visit Baldur’s Gate again, not after you saved the damned city only to save yourself, and especially not after you rejected your murderous daddy before he stripped you of your powers in retaliation. Withers, that dusty corpse, revived you when Bhaal took your life along with your abilities, spouting something about destinies and doing good.

Doing good. You smirk at the thought of the memory, because you don’t think you have done a single relatively good thing since you left the Sword Coast.

Still, the letter found you and so did your memories of Cazador Szarr, the man who seemed to be a better ally than most. At least he kept his end of the deal after you brought his sweet wayward son back and watched him explode into a cloud of blood mist and gore the moment Vampire Lord closed his fingers around his prize – the Ascension. You were only mildly angry with him for not showing up at the final battle, but the minions he sent to aid you were enough, obviously, otherwise you would not be standing here today, basking in the sun in the middle of a freshly rebuilt Gate.

You stuff the letter into the envelope and that you shove back into your bag, rising your eyes to the greenery around you and pushing a lose strand of hair out of your eyes that the soft wind blew there. You’re not quite sure why you decided to heed letter’s invitation and return, you left because there was nothing for you here, because you wanted to see what’s out there. Between the lost memories of being stuck in the Temple of Bhaal and present memories of fighting your way through enemies to get rid of the damn worm that was lodged in your brain – you realized you didn’t actually see anything in your life before, for however long you lived it. So you picked up what was left of your belongings after Orin’s reign in the Temple, and left.

For years you traveled all around Faerûn, trying to find something, that purpose that you can’t quite grasp even now. Some strange yearning is gripping your heart and you try to find something to alleviate the discomfort that’s firmly lodged in the middle of your chest, but so far you haven’t found what it is. The cure evades you, whatever it is.

With a deep sigh you begin walking, knowing full well where the palace is so you head there, navigating among people, making sure no idiot manages to snatch or step on your tail. You haven’t seen another tiefling since your arrival and while nobody is exactly staring at you, even despite your fame and legacy, you still doubt that these people are accustomed to avoiding sensitive limbs that they themselves never had to experience.

One thing you notice as you make your way towards the main entrance of Cazador’s home, is that the city seems to be full of life. Not only with spring bringing nature back to full bloom, but with people. You see races of all kinds, children running around and goods being sold by traveling vendors. There are bard songs in the air and laughter. There’s music and countless smiles. It looks like since the partial destruction of the city and your departure the population grew. You smile to yourself, imagining how the vampire coven must be thriving with so many veins to bleed.

You pass a stall and grab an apple from it with your tail when the man selling them doesn’t pay attention, then grip it with your fingers firmly and bite into it, chewing as you look around, noticing all the changes that have been made since you set your foot in these streets years ago. You have to admit, Baldur’s Gate is growing and becoming… well, maybe not nicer, it’s still a slum in your opinion, but cleaner. You can give the city at least this kind of compliment.

By the time you arrive at the main Szarr gate you get rid of the apple and now look upon the palace that you entered only couple of times before. First to negotiate with Cazador, then to bring wonderfully clueless Astarion back to his master and then once more, after the final battle was done, to finalize the deal you two have made. You parted ways quite cordially and the Vampire Lord did tell you that you can come visit, saying how he would not turn away one woman who actually knows how to get a job done. But disgruntled that he still saw you no more than his servant you never came back, instead leaving Baldur’s Gate entirely.

But now you are back.

Standing in front of the gate of Cazador’s home.

If not for your curiosity to know why he wants you here, and you doubt that he went through the trouble of finding you just to tell you to come by and witness his glory, you would not have bothered. Well, that’s at least what you tell yourself. Despite your pride and your ego, your heart did leap in your chest when you saw who exactly signed off the letter.

But he still better have a very good reason to make you drag yourself back. That’s what you tell yourself when you push open the gate and approach the door, knocking on it. It only takes a moment before it is opened and you see a spawn, her red glowing eyes studying your face for a moment before she lets you in, staying in the shadows as the sun threatens to touch her.

When you walk inside you look around. Before there were heavy curtains everywhere, covering the windows and preventing any chance of sunlight possibly sneaking inside like a silent assassin, but now the place is bright and full of light. Everything looks spotless and golden décor glints softly in the sun’s rays. For the first time you realize – it’s beautiful here.

“Please follow me.” The female spawn shuts the door behind you and scurries in front of you, avoiding to look at your face. It puzzles you, but only for a moment, because you have to start walking and keep up with the woman who seems to be in utter hurry to deliver you to her master.

You don’t mind, in fact you’re growing more impatient with every step, and while you do appreciate the paintings that adorn the walls depicting scenes of nightmares as you pass, enjoying the tasteful horror of them, it’s still no use in lying to yourself – you are dying to know why you’re here. And you can’t guess the answer even with the help of changes that you see. Just like Baldur’s Gate, the palace also changed. Maybe not in how it’s furbished, but in the number of servants you see. Some of them even wear same clothes, showing their status as official part of the Szarr family, however lowly that status may be.

When you’re led to the massive door that opens up to the ballroom, you are not surprised to see it filled with sunshine either. Neither you are surprised to see Cazador himself in his throne-like chair, listening to a man tell him something in hushed whispers. After you enter the room, the man stops and the woman that led you here bows deeply to her master and without another word walks off.

Briefly you glance in her direction, perplexed by such behavior, but you turn back to Cazador and see him wave the man away. When he passes you after bowing as well, you notice his glowing eyes. Another spawn. Looks like the Vampire Lord quickly grew his coven since sacrificing thousands of them for more power.

“So you have come.” He says, not exactly a greeting but you don’t mind.

“You wanted me to come. Care to explain why I’m here?” you ask with irritation clear in your voice as you approach the few stairs that elevate his seat above the ballroom floor. When you’re closer you see Cazador’s relaxed body language, his arrogant smirk and eyes, narrowed, as his gaze inspects you from head to toe.

“You haven’t changed much.” Every word coming out of his mouth sounds like mockery and your frown deepens at that.

“I’m not exactly out there looking to get my eyes plucked out.” You snap back, making vampire rise his eyebrows in feigned surprise.

“Really? And here I thought that without protection of your father you’d soon end up in a ditch somewhere.” He taunts and you ball your fingers into fists, trying to keep your temper in check, but your tail betrays you as it swishes behind you in couple clearly annoyed movements. “Now, now, no need for your attitude, Bhaalspawn.”

“I’m not a Bhaalspawn anymore.” You immediately shoot back and Cazador chuckles, rising from his chair and for a moment you are taken aback by his height and the imposing stature that could cast a shadow over you like your worst nightmare if he chose to become one.

“No? What are we if not children of our fathers?” Szarr asks and takes one step, then another, heading towards you. “You may be free of his urges, but you will never be free of his legacy.” He grins as he speaks and you’re not sure if he is trying to anger you on purpose or is this what he truly thinks. But you do remember his speeches about family, you remember how he insisted that those he had doomed from the moment of creation are his children.

Maybe he’s not wrong.

“I didn’t come all the way here to talk about Bhaal.” You cross arms on your chest and tap your foot impatiently. His eyes give you a dangerous look for a split second before he stops in front of you with an eyebrow raised and arrogance etched in every pore of his face.

“Then maybe we should talk about how deliciously treacherous you are even to those who consider you a friend?”

For a moment - memories of countless betrayals flood your mind as if you’re flipping through a book written in sin, but then it quickly dawns on you.

“Astarion?” you rise your eyebrows, forgetting your annoyance for the time being and Cazador’s head bobs in a taunting gesture.

“Have you forgotten about the boy so quickly?” he asks and you roll your eyes now.

“Why would I remember him?”

Cazador only laughs in response and begins walking again.

“Come.” Is the only thing he says and confused you follow him with your eyes only before your legs start moving.

“What about him?” you can help but wonder while you trail Cazador, but the vampire seems not to care to answer your questions, only irritating you more. “Did you want me here just to talk about Astarion?” you try again, growing impatient with each step, not really caring to notice where he is leading you – to his study, the door that Astarion himself told you no spawn were ever allowed to pass, except this time the door is ajar with cold invitation.

“Shut up for a moment, you idiot girl!” Cazador snaps back at you and you grit your teeth.

“I just want an answer.” You reply and that makes Szarr stop and spin to you, his eyes narrow this time not from amusement but from anger.

“Stop your yapping before you regret it.” He threatens like you’re one of his servants and stares straight into your eyes that are defiant and furious, but for reason unknown even to yourself – you remain silent. “Better.” Cazador doesn’t seem to be actually pleased, his temper was always easy to provoke, and it’s clear you nearly did just that so maybe that’s why you instinctively obeyed. After all, Cazador is the Vampire Ascendant, who knows what he can do besides walking in the sun’s rays, which you confirmed for yourself when you watched him pass the windows just moments ago.

Couple seconds tick by as he looks you in the eyes, waiting for you to defy him again, but when that doesn’t come - his lips twitch in an emerging snarl that he manages to control in time, then turns from you again and passes the doorway. Wordlessly he gestures for you to get onto the dais and you pause, your eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What’s down there?” you ask, not putting even a single toe on the platform just yet, and you hear Cazador push air through his nose, then he turns to you with a dangerous smile on his lips.

“You’ve been there before, you know what’s down there.”

“What I’m going to see there?” you ask again and Cazador waves his hand at you dismissively.

“I don’t remember you being so scared before.” He mocks with that same grin and you frown.

“I’m not scared, I’m being cautious. I haven’t forgotten what you are.”

“No, of course not. Now stop acting like a child and come.” He instructs with his voice clearly strained in attempt to be patient and you hesitate for a moment longer, then step onto the platform, keeping your distance from Cazador.

The moment you’re on it, the dais begins to move, lowering you and Cazador down. You look at him in a moment of silence, eyeing his expensive looking clothes, the doublet he’s wearing, the embroidery on it. Rats, like the ones on the massive steel door in front of the ballroom.

With a couple of lurches the dais finally comes to a stop and you look down the corridor that hasn’t changed even a bit since the day you brought Astarion back to Cazador. Betrayal, he says, but you don’t see it that way, you never did. You just did what you needed to do to gain a powerful ally so that you could get rid of the damned tadpole. Sure, you gambled, maybe Cazador could’ve changed his mind and killed you with Astarion, but no, he kept his end of the bargain and not only let you go, but also helped you out. Maybe he was wary of Bhaal still in your veins, maybe letting you go after the battle was over and you no longer carried the corrupted divine within you, was done not out of mercy or good will, but because he simply didn’t want to bother. You wonder if the vampire would answer if you asked him. You doubt it.

With the dais nestled in its landing spot, Cazador begins walking, his hands clasp behind his back as he strolls with pride towards the stairs that you know lead to the ritual chamber. Your head swivels as you inspect the dungeon, but you don’t see any change whatsoever and the door that you know once led to Cazador’s private room, the one with Vellioth’s skull with which you had a pleasant chat, is closed with magic once again.

“Are you preparing for another ritual?” you can’t help but ask, feeling slightly awkward in silence that is only filled with yours and his footsteps, but as you now pass the empty cages scrubbed clean from blood, you realize that even if he is, it’s not the same one as the Rite of Profane Ascension.

Of course, why would it be.

“In a way.” Cazador’s reply is cryptic and his tone of voice drips with sarcasm. It puzzles you and you look at him for a moment before you have to watch your feet as you both begin to descend the steps.

The vampire doesn’t pause, just keeps leading you downwards. At one moment you have to duck as a swarm of bats fly right over your head but avoid the master himself, and when you are finally at the bottom of the stairs you see a familiar view – the ritual platform with his coffin still there. But Cazador doesn’t stop, he leads you forwards and you follow him, noticing the blood flowing beneath the golden grates, flowing towards direction of his coffin and giving it an eerie sanguine glow from below.

Your mouth opens, you want to ask another question, but finally the Vampire Lord stops right in the middle of the ritual circle. When you stop as well, you still see the infernal runes etched into the stone, now cold and still, unlike how they glowed when Cazador let you witness the birth of the Vampire Ascendant. It was a sight to behold, you have to give him that, the one you quite enjoyed as well. You always liked the smell of blood and that day the air was thick with it, as seven thousand and seven souls got sent straight to the hells.

All to make him a vampire unlike history has ever seen.

“Do you remember, Bhaalspawn, the moment of my Ascension?” Cazador asks and your eyes snap from the floor to his back. You see that his face is upturned and you glace upwards too, seeing the ceiling of the cavern. When your eyes land on the back his head, he spreads his arms as if reliving the greatest moment of his life. “Do you remember how he screamed before he died? How all of them screamed?”

You smile, of course you remember. You step closer to Cazador, sensing that he’s about to tell you the reason why you’re here.

“I do. It was beautiful. Magnificent.” You exhale at the memory, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment, your smile becoming wider. You remember clearly because you looked Astarion straight in the eyes as he screamed, as his body began to deform and as he eventually exploded, becoming nothing but a pile of guts on the ground by the end of it.

“You did me a favor then.” Cazador’s voice snaps you out of your memory and you open your eyes to find him now facing you, his look is curious because he most likely saw the ecstatic expression on your face and he most likely suspects what kind of memory brought that kind of expression about.

“It was beneficial for both of us. I got a powerful ally for the battle, you got to Ascend.” You give him a small shrug, trying to sound like it’s no big deal for you. And in truth – it wasn’t. You don’t have a single regret about giving Astarion away, because by the time you arrived to the city, the pale elf was beginning to get on your nerves, begging to be gutted somewhere on the side of the road.

“Maybe so, but not many would betray their allies, their friends.” Cazador tilts his head slightly to the side, a satisfied smirk on his lips and his hands by his sides – a perfect image of a non-threatening man, but you know better. Despite Astarion’s shortcomings you believe his stories about his master’s cruelty and short temper.

“He wasn’t a friend.” You correct Cazador and he raises an eyebrow at your words. “He was an ally of convenience. When that convenience came to an end – I made a new ally.” You now gesture to Cazador and he chuckles, a low, menacing sound that makes a shiver run down your spine and you’re not sure if out of caution or… something else.

“Delightful.” Szarr comments, his fangs looking as sharp as ever when he smiles or speaks, and you wonder how it would feel to be a vampire. You’ve been a Bhaalspawn already, surely being a vampire can’t be worse, but maybe under Cazador’s heavy boot – it can be. “Still, it’s rare to find… allies worth having, especially nowadays. And to find such ally in no other than a hero of Baldur’s Gate was a twist not even I have expected.”

“I’m a hero to peasants and idiots. I only did it to save myself.” You respond and surprisingly this makes Cazador laugh. It’s a slow, arrogant laugh, coming deep from his chest, and you find yourself blushing slightly because you don’t think you said anything funny.

“Isn’t that right.” He says and offers you his hand. You look at it, hesitating, not taking it. “Do you know how hard it is to find useful allies?” Cazador asks and the way he keeps using the word ‘allies’ makes you feel like he’s taunting you again for saying it earlier, but you ignore it. “And how much harder it is to find spawn who are worthy of serving?”

What?

Your eyes snap to Cazador’s face and the grin now looks less arrogant and more dangerous. Your mind begins to reel, putting the puzzle pieces together as he keeps talking, now making one careful step towards you, then another, a predator in action.

“One thing I overlooked the last time I saw you, was the influence you could have if I only had you at my disposal. Your word could sway even the Duke, I’m sure of it.”

Unknowingly you begin stepping backwards, your heart racing in your chest and your eyes widening the longer Cazador speaks.

“You want me to speak to the Duke?” you ask because you hope that it’s all he wants, but the unwavering grin on vampire’s face immediately tells you that’s not the whole truth.

“Yes. As my spawn.”

Immediately your eyes narrow. Fight or flight - you choose the former. You always do.

Your knees bend in preparation for a leap, your claws ready to slash and rip, and you jump towards Cazador, seeing his face, aiming for his throat. You denied Bhaal, you won’t be enslaved by another demi-god wannabe.

But the moment your feet leave the stone underneath as you vault yourself at your sudden enemy, he makes just one step forward and with a single strike with the side of his clenched fist he brings you down, your back slamming onto the ground with a thud that pushes air out of your lungs.

You attempt to scramble to your feet before you feel a kick to the side and you cry out from pain.

“I knew you would fight, that’s why I didn’t proceed to turn you up there. You can make such a mess from what I have heard.” Cazador ridicules you and with a huff you try to get up again but another kick to the same side takes your breath away once more, especially so because this time the kick is strong enough to make your body rise in the air and turn, landing you on your stomach.

You hear his laughter, cruel and cold, while you get to your hands and knees, trying to crawl away now. Fear, something you have long forgotten, begins to grip at your chest. Fear that you’re not leaving this dungeon alive.

But before you can get any further, your chest slams into the hard stone again as Cazador pushes you down with his boot on your back, sharp heel of it digging painfully into your spine and you wince.

“Let me go!” you shout, your voice disappearing into the air without even an echo, and the vampire just chuckles, the weight of his boot increasing as he leans down. You gasp when you feel him grab one horn and yank your head back so that he can look you in the face.

“Oh Bhaalspawn, you have no power to fight me.” Cazador jeers with sly boasting in his every word. “Although I don’t think you would be able to fight me even if you were still your father’s rabid lapdog.” He chuckles and pulls harder on your horn, making your spine bend in an arch that makes your muscles tremble from pain.

“Stop!” you cry out now, desperate to be released and your tail moves as if on its own, wrapping around his wrist that holds your horn, but with other hand he quickly grabs it and yanks on it so hard you hear an unpleasant crunch.

You yell at the sensation, tears gathering in your eyes and you wait for worse to come, maybe Cazador really breaking your tail, but he suddenly releases both and you collapse onto the floor panting and sweating, your body screaming at you with pain that radiates through every tendon.

“Stop.” You beg this time, your eyes heavy lidded as you try to recover and a trail of saliva leaks out of the corner of your mouth because you can’t seem to close it, still gasping for air.

“No, not yet. I need you to realize something.” Cazador’s boot lifts from your back but you can’t move, not yet, you need couple seconds more, maybe then you have another fighting chance against the monster that so easily lured you down here.

“What?” you ask, hoping that if you have him talking - he won’t be as vigilant about your possible attempt at escape.

“That I prefer my spawn obedient.”

Before you can truly realize what’s going on, you hear fabric rip and only a moment later you comprehend that it’s your dress that is being ripped. You rise your head, quickly lifting yourself on your hands and look back in horrified awe as you watch three mage hands tear your clothes away. Even your bag gets tossed aside and skids nearly off the edge of the platform.

“You bastard!” You shout and get to your knees, trying to stand up but one of the mage hands moves quickly and pushes your chest down to the floor just like Cazador’s boot did before.

Instead of words, an arrogant chuckle first reaches your ears as you make a sound of angry frustration, your claws scraping at the stone as you try to lift yourself and simply can’t. Your hips in the air provide an easy angle for the magical limbs to remove last of your clothing. Before Cazador speaks you feel even your shoes being dragged off your feet, leaving you completely and utterly naked in front of him.

“You will learn to address me appropriately, but I’ll ignore it this once.” He says like it’s a mercy he’s granting you and you clench your teeth for a moment. Your face is burning with shame at being exposed like this and your tail tries to swat the other two mage hands that are holding your hips in place and in the air.

Suddenly your tail gets caught and by the cold touch you can tell it’s Cazador himself that has snatched it again. Then he yanks it upwards, making the base of it bend painfully once more. You cry out from the sensation, trying to scramble away or at least alleviate the suffering in your vertebrae, but you can’t, the spectral hands are holding you better than chains would.

“Wet already? I suspected someone like you might enjoy pain.” Cazador mocks and you freeze, your eyes widening with horror. He can’t be right, can he?

And yet when you feel his finger a sharp point of his nail trace along your slit you know he didn’t lie, you feel your arousal being smeared on your skin and you blush heavily. Partially from anger and partially because you feel the unwelcome sensation of desire beginning to burn below your stomach.

“It means nothing!” You shoot back with your teeth clenching immediately after you finish your sentence, because Vampire Lord starts inserting one digit into your cunt. You whine because slow penetration of his sharp nail feels dangerous, too close to real damage for it to be comfortable and sensual, he would just need to curl his finger and you would bleed.

“Nothing? I think it means everything. Lost without your father, an aimless daughter, wandering the land with no purpose. I’ll give you that purpose.” Cazador’s tone loses the mocking undertones because they get replaced with strange possessiveness.

His finger proceeds to embed itself in your body to the knuckle and you grind your jaw with both fury and fear. Fury because he has you at his mercy, fear because you know he’s a master at inflicting pain, more pain than you know you could handle. “But first you need to be shown that you ought to serve.”

The finger moves in your cunt slowly, one thrust, two, three, then Cazador pulls it out and your body relaxes. You didn’t even notice until now how firmly you were clenching around his digit, as if in hopes to prevent him from harming you. But your tail gets released too and you move it down, to try and cover yourself at least in this small, insignificant way, wrapping the end of it around your own leg in a way to comfort yourself.

But then you hear footsteps as Cazador walks around you in just three of them. At first you only see his shoes and pants, then your horn gets gripped again, your head yanked backwards and your nails try to cling to slippery, polished stone to no avail. And then your eyes meet the crimson gaze of his, you see the ever-present smirk on his face and you grimace from pain when the vampire makes your neck arch uncomfortably.

“Open your mouth.” He commands and you pause for a second, your eyes widening again for a brief moment before you frown even more. You press your lips together and now see Cazador’s own frown spelling danger as he glares at you. “I said open. Don’t make this difficult.”

You don’t listen, you don’t want to listen, you don’t have to listen. Even if you are aroused that doesn’t mean you will obey his every command, that’s not who you are and he should know better. As you glare back at him, still with one magical hand pressing your chest painfully to the ground, you barely pay attention to other two such hands. One keeps your hips up, but second one moves without you noticing, and then it makes you cry out. You feel ghostly fingers, two of them, thrust themselves into your cunt and then another one – right into your other hole.

You cry out and thus you open your mouth. With a sly grin Cazador shoves a finger into your maw, rubbing it against your tongue and you immediately taste yourself. His eyes gleam with conceit the moment realization comes to you and you flush harder, you simply can’t help it. The spectral hand begins to thrust its fingers into your holes and you mewl because the vampire makes you suck on his own digit. Maybe instinctively, maybe because you really want this, you do as he wishes, wrapping your lips around his finger and swirling your forked tongue, cleaning his skin from remnants of yourself.

“Perhaps you will be a fast learner.” Cazador muses as if to himself, watching you suck on his finger like it’s your newfound religion. “We shall see.”

You turn your gaze away from him and try not to moan, your throat swallowing the saliva that’s quickly pooling in your mouth around his finger. It’s hard keep quiet and your tail wraps around your leg tighter in a reminder to not give in, but you can barely hold on as is. Something about how Cazador is treating you is making every muscle in your body uncoil and every nerve in your brain dull from desire. The ghostly fingers work your holes and you shiver, feeling moisture dripping down your inner thigh from your body submitting itself to the pleasure despite your mind commanding it not to.

Suddenly Cazador pulls his finger from between your lips and you gasp, instinctively following it with your mouth but how he’s gripping your horn prevents you from moving more than an inch. He scoffs, as if judging you for your eagerness, and releases your horn, letting your chin drop to the cold floor, then straightens his back. Vampire’s eyes flick to the side of you and you moan when the spectral fingers retreat, leaving your body with a sensation of emptiness. Realization of just how much you enjoyed this torment crashes on you like a wave and you blush like you haven’t in your life before.

“So this is your plan? To fuck me into submission?” you ask, still unable to look at him, and Cazador scoffs again, but this time louder and with surprise you feel the mage hands releasing you.

With shaky arms you begin to push yourself upwards, seeing Vampire Lord’s shoes still in front of you before you rise your eyes.

“That’s enough of a plan for a feral animal such as yourself.” His words cut you deeply and you grit your teeth, slowly getting on all fours because your strained muscles scream from tension even when you unwrap your tail from around your own thigh.

“How dare you-“ your words get stuck in your throat when a hand appears in front of you and grips your neck with such speed that you barely see it.

Your eyes widen and you gasp couple times for air, unable to inhale, feeling how the magical hand pulls you by your neck upwards, making you kneel. Your fingers shoot to your throat, trying to grasp at the ghostly hand that is utilized not unlike a collar in this moment, but then the other two grab your wrists and bend your arms with no regard for your pain. You grunt with frustration and effort to fight them, but to no avail, soon your hands are pinned to the small of your back and you snarl at Cazador, who’s smug expression is beginning to drive you crazy.

When you’re finally wrangled into position he obviously envisioned for you, the grip on your throat relents and you inhale deeply, nearly beginning to cough, greedily sucking air into your lungs because you don’t know if you will be forbidden it again.

“Down.” Cazador commands and you narrow your eyes at him, your lips parted and your teeth clenched so hard you can hear them near squeak from pressure.

“Caz-“

“DOWN, YOU DOG!” He suddenly bellows and you immediately sit, your naked rear pressing firmly to the stone, it sends a shiver through your body because of how cold it feels against your skin.

But the most terrifying thing is Cazador’s face. Full of fury, full of power. Your eyes widen because you sense something terrifying about him now, like a power that his body starts exuding because his emotions burst through. He waits for a moment longer, waiting for you to protest or talk back, but when you remain silent, with your heart beating fast in your chest and your entire body otherwise frozen in the moment, he lifts his arm and with a palm slicks back his hair. Couple of strands escaped his neat appearance when he shouted at you and he clearly will not allow this.

“If you act like a mongrel – I will treat you as such. Did Astarion tell you nothing?” he asks with irritation not disguised in his tone but he smirks again, composing himself once more and steps closer.

You keep watching his face with your breathing quick and shallow, your eyes trying to find any signs that might tell you if he’s about to show you rage again. You’re so focused on it that you don’t pay attention to how close Cazador is getting, his form towering over you and casting a shadow like an ominous sign. You want to tell him that you don’t understand why he’s doing it, but you do, you understand perfectly, because the chill that begins to seep into your bones from the stone floor make the realization abundantly clear to you.

Then the spectral hand around your throat tightens once again and you’re about to make a noise, to complain, maybe even bargain but before you can get one syllable out, you feel Cazador’s shoe between your legs, the nose of his boot pressing against your slit, smearing itself in your arousal and when you gasp in shock, the nose moves and rubs against your clit, pressing and rubbing against it too strong to be pure pleasure, but it’s pleasure nonetheless.

You press your lips into a thin line, embarrassed that this is enough to make you shiver with need and you look away from Cazador, turning your eyes to the side from his face and then flinch when he presses the boot against your sensitive nub harder, making you gasp.

“What do you want?” you ask, flicking you gaze back to your tormentor and Cazador grins widely, his eyes narrowing from genuineness of his expression.

“I want you to beg.”

The answer is simple but it takes a moment for you to process it. In your silence Cazador rubs his boot against your folds again and you cast your gaze down, shivering in response, watching black leather smear with your wetness. Cazador’s fingers grip your jaw, making you once again look up at him and he can see your heavy-lidded gaze. Despite your protests and defiance, your body and mind are succumbing to him, you know this too. With dread you realize that everything within screams to submit just as he wishes.

“You will beg, Bhaalspawn. And then I shall grant you one last mercy.” Vampire Lord speaks in half a whisper, his sharp nails digging into your skin.

“Mercy?” you ask because you can’t help yourself even though you suspect the answer already.

But Cazador doesn’t answer, he just grins at you.

“Open.” He commands like he did just earlier and you hesitate for a moment but slowly part your lips for him. Last time he shouted, this time he might not be as lenient in his displeasure. “Good, girl, good. You’re beginning to learn faster than I anticipated.” It’s not a compliment, not a praise, not really, more like small encouragement for you to keep obeying him or else.

While still holding your jaw, Cazador uses his other hand to raise it to your face, index finger extended, and then he puts it in your mouth. You wait, unsure what to expect when it presses your tongue down and you keep looking him in the eyes, seeing that sinister satisfaction spell danger. And then pain comes.

Vampire’s finger curls and you whine when his nail pierces your tongue, almost pinning it to the bottom of your mouth. You tremble but don’t move, frozen from sudden shock and agony that envelops your orifice in full. Blood quickly pools around your tongue and his finger, warm and coppery, and you feel it begin dripping down your chin, maybe it’s dripping down his hand too, you can’t see, your eyes now locked on the man in front of you.

Yet without a word he yanks his hand away like he’s suddenly disgusted by you, his grip leaving your jaw as well and you watch him straighten his back and look at his bloody hand just before you dip your head down and spit the blood on the floor with a painful shiver. Your tongue feels both throbbing from agony and numb at the same time, but when you glance at Cazador again, you watch him silently as he sticks out his own tongue and drags a bloody finger against it, satisfaction clouding his gaze for just a moment. Godsdamn vampire.

When his eyes flick to you they narrow, and you are not sure what to expect now, maybe more pain as you swallow the next mouthful of blood instead of spitting it out, but then his eyes sweep over your naked form and stop at the bottom. His shoe, still pressed between your legs, remain there for a second longer, then he pulls it back.

“Clean it.” He demands and with your head swimming from pain, you take another second to comprehend his words. In your confusion you don’t see his still bloody hand raise, you don’t register as he first swings it back, then towards you.

When his slick from crimson palm connects with your cheek you cry out, your head snapping to the side with force, your hair spilling over your face and more blood drip past your lips. Before you can gather your bearings, your hair is gripped, your head is pulled back, most of the hair falls away but some stick to bloody skin of your face and you gasp once, your swimming vision trying to anchor itself on something but before even that can happen, Cazador’s lips crash against yours.

You can barely understand what’s going on, but you feel him kiss you, the action more punishing than passionate, but you’re not sure of anything anymore. You whine at the back of your throat when his tongue enters through your parted lips and laps at the blood coating the inside of your mouth. The spectral hands tighten around you as if to make sure you don’t move even an inch without Cazador’s permission and you tremble, your body responding to the kiss on its own, your forked tongue caressing his and you hear him hum as if in approval or maybe it’s his own desire stirring at last.

Vampire Lord’s face then leans away from you, his eyes studying your face, the blood smeared on your cheek and chin and dripping down your neck. Your lips smeared in life’s ichor, just as his are, and he releases your jaw, his back straightening again.

“I said clean it.” Cazador repeats the command and your gaze follows his when it drops down, to the smeared leather of his shoe.

You glance up at him again, then down again, and feel the mage hand on your throat finally release you, bruised spots where the spectral fingers held throbbing with sore relief. You begin to bend down, the other two mage hands letting you do so even though they remain holding your wrists behind your back. You try to move your knees, position yourself so that you don’t drop face-first onto the marble the moment you get lower, and with the help of your tail you succeed.

The boot is right in front of your face now and you pause, swallowing heavily and still tasting blood when you do so, but you hang your wounded tongue out and begin using it, cleaning the shoe where you see moistness of your cunt dirtying his expensive footwear. Again you taste yourself, but this time leather too, and you make sure that everything is clean before you stop. When you do – you finally feel the remaining two mage hands disappear and you immediately move your hands, pressing your palms against the cold stone underneath you, as you feel your wrists throb in pain too.

“Good.” Cazador hums again, the boot disappears from your field of vision and you’re sure he’s inspecting your handiwork for a moment before he proceeds with a new way to make you submit. And while everything in you is telling you to do as he pleases, it will hurt less, it will be less degrading, but there’s still a part of you, the Bhaalspawn part that Cazador himself spoke to you about in a room just above, in the ballroom.

That part wants to put a fight, to try and escape, to run from him and to return later to kill him, if that’s even possible to someone like you, without dark powers of your father protecting you and making you a formidable enemy in battle. That matters none right now, details can be figured out later, first you just need to escape.

Slowly you rise yourself on your hands and look up at Cazador, watching him watch you, his gaze completely unreadable but the little smirk, as always tugging at his lips, tells you that he’s not done with you, not even close.

But then opportunity presents itself. The vampire turns his back to you, walking to his coffin for a brief moment and you quickly look around, seeing your discarded clothes tossed about the ritual platform, and you decide that you don’t care if you run naked. Silently and carefully you being to turn your body to the staircase that leads up to the dais, to your salvation. With a corner of your eye you keep watch on Cazador as he does something, you’re not sure what, his back covering whatever his hands are doing, but the moment comes when you have to focus on your plan and you look at the grand stair, wondering if you can be faster than a Vampire Ascendant or not.

You frown, ignoring the pain in your knees and wrists, ignoring the throbbing of your tongue and already swollen from the hit cheek, ignoring the humiliation that makes your insides clench from both anger and secret desire that you don’t want to acknowledge even to yourself, not yet at least, but you begin to rise from your hands and knees, preparing to sprint the moment your feet touch the ground, your tail taunt like an arrow.

The second you begin to rise, one knee still on the ground, you feel cold fingers wrap around your throat from behind, pulling your body backwards until your spine presses against Cazador’s chest. A small breath against your ear as your face becomes a mask of shock and fear, you didn’t even hear him get closer.

“Where do you think you’re going, disobedient pup?” he mocks and his nails dig into your skin, piercing it, making you wince.

Your hands fly to your throat, grasping at his fingers and wrist but failing to really get a grip, scratching his skin and leaving marks. You hear Cazador hiss with disapproval against your ear and then his fingers release you.

Immediately you scramble forwards but not for longer than a second before you feel your horns being gripped and pulled at. You have no choice but to clamber after the movement, trying to keep up, before you feel yourself being pulled off the ground. You yell in pain and terror, your fingers trying to make Cazador release his grasp on you, your tail swishing wildly, looking for something to hold onto when weight of your own body begins to pull you down, giving a feeling like your horns are being ripped out of your head. Tears gather in your eyes and spill down your face, leaving clean streaks on the blood-smeared skin. You see the promise of escape, the many steps that you took just to come here, for a moment longer, before your whole body is spun and flung.

You find yourself flying through the air for a split second before you crash to the ground with a painful thud and skid slightly, your talons wildly grasping at the floor until you come to a stop. Panting, you lift your head and see the looming shape of Cazador’s coffin facing you. You whine when you try to get up, your body now feeling bruised and sore all over, your skull throbbing around the horns, and you choke out a sob, finally and fully realizing that there’s no escape for you, not from him, not from Cazador Szarr.

This time you hear him walking closer, his boots sounding heavier than the weight of all the sins you have committed, and you look back at him, real terror reflected in your eyes as you see his smile that promises no salvation.

“Stop.” You beg this time, your lips tremble, your whole body is shaking and tears keep spilling down your face, running down your neck and to your chest. You’re unable to move even if you wish to, petrified when the weight of the situation finally catches up with you.

“You’ll have to do better than this.” Cazador taunts, he’s right behind you now and you expect more pain. A kick, a hit, maybe this time a broken bone, a ripped-out horn, mangled flesh.

But instead you see him kneel with one knee behind you, as if you’re a wounded dog he’s approaching with caution, but you remain frozen, still on all fours, not sure what he wants from you now.

“Come.” He offers you his hand and your eyes flick to it, then his eyes, trying to read vampire’s intentions, trying to understand what he wants to do to you now, but no answer comes. His expression looks almost kind, deceivingly so. “Come, I said.” Cazador’s tone grows harsher and you know by now that you have only a second to obey.

So you obey. You turn on all fours, not unlike the wounded dog he sees in you at this moment, and glance at his extended hand again, but before you can move closer and take it, Cazador moves and sits on the ground, splaying his legs, one hand behind him, palm pressed to the stone for support, and his other hand, now instead of being offered to you, waves at you, invitingly.

“Come.” A third command, empty of any tone indication and you get closer, crawling to him with fear in your heart and blood drumming in your ears. At least your tears stopped, for now.

You hesitate as you get close, but Cazador’s eyes remain unreadable while he pats his thigh as if you’re a pet. You obey again. By now you know that you have no choice.

“Turn around.” He mutters to you almost softly when you begin to search for a position to sit between his legs and you follow this command as well, turning around even though your sore body does not want to easily listen. Everything hurts but with resignation you sit.

The moment you do, you feel Cazador’s palms on your shoulders, pulling your back against his chest, then one arm wraps around your waist.

“Do you see it?” he asks and you look in front of you, seeing his stone coffin rise above you both, like a monument to vampire’s immortality.

“Yes.” You whisper after you swallow a lump in your throat. Talking hurts, your tongue is still radiating with pain, but you try your best as you sit on the ground, leaning against Cazador’s chest, your hands in your lap and your thighs pressed together for that last bit of dignity you pretend still having.

Sitting like this with him is not uncomfortable. You smell blood and a hint of decay, something you became familiar with when hanging around Astarion, but with Cazador this smell has become alluring. Despite your pain you grow aroused again, this time the fire in your abdomen is so hot it feels like it’s searing your skin from the inside. You press your thighs tighter but that doesn’t go unnoticed by the vampire. He doesn’t continue the thought he had, instead moving his head to look at your legs.

“Open them.” He says and you try not to obey, but your body listens even before your mind succumbs and you part your legs, smelling your arousal, seeing it glisten on your inner thighs and you hear Cazador scoff. “You’re easier than I thought, besides your rebellious streak that I will beat out of you sooner or later.”

He hums against your ear and his hand leaves your shoulder, his fingers now landing on your stomach, gently tracing down, and you almost squirm because you want him to touch you. Thoughts of danger swim in your head but you shove them away, not now, not again, and your own fingers grip the flesh of your thighs as Cazador’s hand slips lower, over your pubic bone and then-

The moment his fingers slip to your clit you exhale with pleasure, your eyelids drooping from the sensation that your body gets overwhelmed with.

“Do you like it?” the vampire suddenly asks against your ear the moment you lean your head back against his chest and you shiver.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You don’t reply but his fingers compel you as they begin to massage and circle your clit. He plays with your folds for a moment, your wetness making his strokes easier, slicker. He traces your slit and then rubs your pleasantly throbbing nub again, making your legs quiver and your tail wrap around his shin. You don’t see how his eyebrows rise at this, but even if you did you wouldn’t care.

“Yes, master.” You finally succumb and you see the coffin in front of you, wondering for a briefest of moments if you will get one of your own.

“That’s a good girl. You learn fast. I knew you were a right choice, I just needed to break you.” Cazador chuckles against your cheek, the tone of his laugh menacing and arrogant, but even that you now find alluring, sensual in its own way.

Sweat begins to bead your skin, slipping down the ridges of your tiefling body and you tremble again. Cazador is better at this than you would’ve assumed, your pleasure is building fast, moving like a slippery snake inside of you as his fingers work you to your pleasure deliberately and precisely. Then you have an urge to see him, to see the man who so easily made you submit, and you move your head, your eyes finally finding vampire’s face and notice that his expression is calmer and less malicious, his eyelids heavy as he gives you a glance that washes over you like a sea of crimson.

No words get exchanged, no permission is given, but you move, twisting your body so that you can swiftly move one hand to the back of his neck and lean Cazador’s face to you only for you to capture his lips in a kiss. He doesn’t resist and doesn’t stop you, kissing you back in a slightly reserved manner at first, but then giving in. His tongue grazes over your sharp teeth the moment you part your lips, and you do the same, exploring his fangs, knowing that soon they will mark you as his forevermore.

Cazador’s fingers toy with your cunt, but then falter, you feel his own arousal, his hardness press between your back and him, and you can’t help but want it, need it even, to feel it, maybe you always wanted him, maybe you at last give in to the desire you carried within you from the moment you saw him. Maybe you hoped for this the moment you offered to give him his spawn back.

Maybe it’s finally coming true.

Unexpectedly now, Cazador moves his hand from your waist and pushes you forward, making you slip over the smooth stone from him. His fingers leave your drenched cunt and you whine with despair, trying to turn to him, to try to kiss him again, but when you glimpse at his hands, you see that the Vampire Lord is now fumbling with his clothes, his hard cock quickly emerging from the fabrics he’s wearing and you swallow at the sight like you’re an animal in heat. A promise of pleasure instead of pain, you want it, you need it.

Cazador’s hand tugs at your waist again, your back pressing to his chest once more, and you whine with no shame, expressing your temporary disappointment.

“Take it.” He commands, the words being the permission and a guarantee you are craving for.

It takes only a moment for you to plant your feet to the floor and your palms on Cazador’s thighs as you lift yourself. His arm around your waist helps you lift yourself even higher and when you look down you see his hard length ready to impale you. You bite your lower lip and watch vampire’s other hand grip the base of his cock, ready for you to take it in. So you do, lowering yourself upon it as if you were made for this moment and this moment alone.

When you feel his soft tip nudge at your entrance and then slip inside with ease - you moan, your body trembling in delightful response. You keep sinking upon his cock, letting it enter you, letting it stretch you, and you moan louder the deeper you insert him into yourself. Finally, when you take him in full, you sigh loudly.

“Such a needy whore.” Cazador taunts but you don’t care, you begin to move.

It’s difficult to ride him like this but you try your best, making sure that your feet won’t slip and even put one of them on his thigh for better support. You gasp every time you are impaled again, but seems Cazador is impatient with your clumsy attempt to find a good position, because you hear him grunt, something between annoyance and pleasure of his own, and then his arm wrap under your other thigh, the one still on the ground, while his free hand grips over the inner thigh of your propped up leg.

“Incompetent, even in this.” Vampire grunts and begins to move you, making your body rise and fall so much faster and so much harder. You hurry to find purchase with your hands but the only thing you can do is twist them just enough so that you can weakly grab onto his shoulders behind you.

Your moans become louder and at first you look at the imposing coffin in front of you, but then lower your gaze to watch yourself getting fucked, his cock glistening with your arousal, leaking down his balls that swing every time you are brought down upon his length. You moan and shudder, your eyes locked on the sight, and your tail is still squeezing his thigh as he uses you to pleasure himself. Cazador’s grunts are like a most wonderful song against the side of your face, and you let your eyes close as you begin to feel your climax approaching.

Just as you begin to grasp at the strands of your bliss, your body beginning to tighten in Cazador’s grip, he suddenly pushes you off, making you fall chest first onto the ground. You gasp, confused and shocked, and your mind is bleary from pleasure still radiating through your body that’s begging for it to be prolonged. You only glance behind your shoulder to watch Cazador get up, hold his pants with one hand and with other he grabs your hair, yanking you upwards until you somehow manage to find your feet planted onto the floor.

“Cazador-“ you start, forgetting that he wants you to call different now, and you pay the price for your transgression as you are marched some steps forward and the side of your face gets slammed against the rough stone of his coffin. It feels like your bone cracks from the impact and you cry out, but then moan when Cazador plunges his cock into your cunt again.

“You will address me appropriately, girl.” He grunts right against your ear, his height so imposing that he needs to crane his head down to do that.

“Yes, master!” You cry out enthusiastically, your body shivering when he begins to plow into you with no concern for your pain.

His thrusts are rough, demanding and relentless as he fucks you against his coffin, your chest pressed painfully against the stone, your skin scraping against the sharp edges of it, making you bleed, but you feel none of this. Consumed by your lust, you grip onto the side of the coffin and hold on as if for dear life as he pounds into you. Cazador holds you down by your hair but his other hand comes into your view when he presses it palm-first onto the surface next to your face, his nails scratching at the rough texture of it.

You hear him pant and grunt as if he’s performing a task and not chasing his pleasure, maybe in his mind it’s both, but you don’t stop to think about it, in fact you don’t think at all, letting your body succumb to the pleasure while your tail once more wraps around his leg.

“Say it again.” Cazador demands and you have to wet your lips with your sore tongue before you are able to answer him.

“Yes, master!” you cry out again, your mind begins to swim as your climax approaches you and you cry out loudly with his every thrust, feeling your spine arch and bend as your body prepares you for pleasure.

“Never forget this.” Vampire Lord hisses and his grip in your hair tightens before you suddenly shout the moment his fangs pierce your neck.

In a moment you hear him swallow a mouthful of your blood and then he moans against your skin, his thrusts becoming erratic, but the coldness of his cock doesn’t stop you from realizing that he began to spill himself deep inside of you. You wail from both pleasure and pain, then feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as your climax takes you, making you shudder and spasm as Cazador’s slowing thrusts help you ride out your pleasure to the fullest.

When he finally stops, you are left trembling, with your knees weak, your body sore and your head dizzy. And then the pain returns, the one in your neck, so sharp and so overwhelming, that it nearly erases any traces of pleasure you just felt. Tears gather in your eyes once more and you whine as if begging for him to be gentler, and it’s like Cazador understands.

He leans his head back, releasing your throat from his bite, and then leans to the side to look at your face. You see his smug expression and blood painting his lips. Without a warning he releases you, pulling you back and roughly turning you around, harshly gripping your throat so that you don’t crumple to the floor at his feet. Cazador smirks as he watches your sweaty, bruised and bloody face, and you can feel the coldness of his seed beginning to leak down your inner thigh, a mark you haven’t expected from him but do not find it unwelcome.

“Maybe I’ll keep you alive for a little while longer.” Vampire’s gaze sweeps over your form, some sort of idea obviously just occurred to him, and you wonder what he means before he presses a palm to your lower stomach. “Maybe you can serve in a different way first, before I turn you into a spawn.” He muses and it takes you a moment or two until you realize what he means.

You try to speak but he finally releases your throat and you fall to the ground with a gasp. When you lift your head to him, your hair spilling around your face and your eyes still betraying your dazed state, he suddenly leans over you and caresses your cheek with a grin, his thumb smearing your tears over your swollen skin.

“Even cattle have their uses.”

With that his touch leaves you and you watch him button up his pants, then straighten out his shirt, not giving even a glance in your direction.

“I advise you don’t try to run, girl. There’s no escape for you anymore.” He chuckles and turns on his heel, then stops for a moment. “Get back upstairs when you can walk, ask someone to show you where you will be staying from this point on. I’ll call for you when I want to see your face again.” Cazador’s words are curt, cutting and insulting at the same time, and you flush as you watch him slick back his hair with one palm. He’s waiting for something.

“Thank you, master.” You whisper with your throat dry and your tongue painfully swollen, but you hear him exhale, satisfied with your response, then he walks off, climbing the stairs and leaving you behind, his footsteps not leaving even an echo in the vast cave surrounding you.

Exhausted, in pain and yet trembling from pleasure at the same time, you remain sitting on the floor, trying to understand what happened, how it happened and why. But before long, the chill of the stone begins to seep into your bones and you get up, gathering your scattered clothes and putting them on slowly, carefully, being mindful of your aching body.

And you smile.

You can’t help smiling widely, like you never smiled before. You better hurry up and find where you will be staying from this point on. Excitement clutches at your chest as you begin to climb the same stairs Cazador used just earlier.

Maybe this is the purpose you were looking for all along. To belong to someone. Maybe you don’t know any other life, but it’s not that you mind this. What happened was everything you ever wanted and more. And so much more still awaits in the future.

You feel excited.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #cazador szarr #cazador szarr x reader #female reader #x reader #reader insert #cazador fic #cazador szarr x female reader #my fics

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fliflaflux · 8 months ago

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Sharess Caress with Astarion - a little analysis

CW: The following text deals with coping with the trauma of sexual and physical violence.

» When you met his eye for a moment, there's a look about him that reveals he's a milion realm away «

The scene with the Drow twins is often discussed - But what was astarion thinking in agreeing to the whole thing in the first place? I try to analyze a little what might be going on in the head of our favorite vampire. Might is important here, because of course I cannot know exactly.

First of all, what will I be referring to when I write about Astarion's trauma?

» "In the immediate aftermath of trauma, the victim's personality organization is disintegrated, and experiences of self and world are fragmented and chaotic. With the passage of time, the survivor's symptoms consolidate into recognizable patterns, such as intrusive memories, emotional numbness, and exaggerated startle responses." « (From: Herman, J. L. Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence--from Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books.)

Or in short: it's a mess.

Trial-and-Error

Treating trauma is a complicated matter and in many cases requires the help of a therapist. However, I have not yet heard of any therapists in Faerûn - so Astarion is on his own (Or he and Tav.) So I theorize that he's trying the trial-and-error method to find his own boundaries after Cazador is defeated.

Trial-and-error methods in trauma therapy refer to the process by which therapists and patients try and adapt different treatment approaches and techniques to identify those that are most effective in addressing trauma sequelae and promoting healing. In this approach, therapy is viewed as an iterative process in which both therapists and patients experiment together to find the best treatment approaches that best meet the patient's individual needs, resources and responses.

It is important to note that trial-and-error methods in trauma therapy are typically not used in isolation but as part of a more wide-ranging therapeutic approach. Here's from the book "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma" by Bessel van der Kolk: » "The healing process often involves trial and error as therapists and clients explore different techniques and approaches to determine what works best for the individual." «

But the thing is that Astarion doesn't have a therapist. His approach of agreeing so quickly may be one to find his hard boundaries in order to be able to work with them. However, in this case he had no one to support him. No one to catch him when he started to disassociate (when he is miles away). Not to mention that jumping into bed with two strangers and his love might have been a bit too much of a jump from 0 to 100.

He certainly wants to have a 'normal' relationship with Tav, which includes sleeping together. Just because he is traumatized in this way doesn't mean that he doesn't want any more physical closeness. On the contrary: I even think that he really wants this unforced closeness out of his own desire. But he's not completely ready for it yet. But it's in character for him over the course of the game that he doesn't think long about the offer with the Drow twins, but agrees straight away. And completely overreaches himself.

Good or bad decision?

So is it a bad decision to suggest Astarion visit the brothel at all? No. I have and will always make it dependent on my player character and how it fits into the roleplay. Because Astarion agrees of his own free will. Part of his character arc is that he learns to make his own decisions and have his own experiences. This also means that he has the right to make wrong decisions. These can also be learned from in the process of healing. Every experience is important.

Cheers! -Flux

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snowfolly · 2 months ago

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A Silver Tapestry

Chapter 1: The Wrath of God

After the ice demon, Astarion, attempts to assassinate a god for his master, he finds himself bound, once again, to yet another deity.

His punishment is to serve the God of Winter for a time unknown to him, and his hours are filled with mundane tasks until the day that the god, Taliesin, asks the demon to spar with him.

Sparring leads to something much more than daggers at held other another’s throat, and they must learn to navigate romance with restraint as they fall hopelessly in love. However, all is not perfect, as Astarion must be freed from Cazador's grip before the time on Taliesin's binding curse is up, or he will have to return to the devil — which will not only tear him away from his divine lover, but certainly result in his death.

Taliesin must move carefully to avoid letting the entire winter realm, and perhaps the entire world, fall to ruins for the sake of liberating his beloved.

A love story about a god and the demon that tried to murder him.

(Expect Whimsy)

CW: Violence, Pain (Astarion is Punished for attempted murder and has a bad time.)

Read on ao3 (link wasn’t working so here’s the whole thing lol)

Astarion’s stomach twisted into a sick knot of dread as he was led shackled and shambling to gaze wide-eyed upon the face of a god — one that he had tried rather unsuccessfully to murder only hours prior.

Early morning daylight softly backlit a wall of snow, which was falling steadily in an open space behind the lord of the winter realm. It threw his throne into partial shadow as motes of mage light drifted around his darkened form, bathing him in an ominous cerulean glow.

The god sighed dramatically, sprawled across his throne in an absurdly casual position — his legs dangled lackadaisically off of one onyx armrest as his elbow laid on the other; he propped his head on his hand as he regarded Astarion — who he clearly thought to be no more than a pissant — with weary disinterest.

Astarion swallowed dryly, realizing the god couldn’t even be bothered to sit up straight to judge him for his crime, lowly frost demon that he was… and this did not bode well.

At all.

“On your knees,” the deity murmured as the wall of snow behind him abruptly gusted into the room with an intense howling rush.

It whorled around Astarion from the ground up, and he gasped as the air was violently snatched from his lungs by a wind so frigid that he was certain they'd be ruined to ice. Cold typically didn’t bother him, not like this — he was a godsdamned frost demon, after all — but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was freezing torment, sending his entire body to chills and causing him to panic as he closed his eyes and struggled to breathe.

Was this it? Would he not even be able to speak to the deity before he died? Was this to be his end? He’d known this was a futile task, but he hadn’t had a choice! Cazador had commanded him, it wasn’t fair, but it never was…

“Fall to your knees, demon,” the god repeated with more vitriol and less tedium in his tone as Astarion’s eyes flew open to realize that the assaulting blizzard had been halted as quickly as it had been set upon him — and yet somehow he remained standing. Before he could properly gather his senses, the gauntlet-laden hands of godsknights unceremoniously grabbed at his shoulders, forcing him to fall to his knees with a sickening crack and bend low in prostration before their lord.

Astarion wasn’t at all sure how he could perspire after being nearly frozen alive, but a drop of sweat fell from the demon’s brow before it froze in midair. The tiny pellet of ice clinked against the marble floor and he took a deep breath to still himself, casting his eyes down as his mind raced, attempting to fathom a way out of the rather bleak situation at hand.

It was a rather futile attempt.

There was simply no way he could escape. He had no weapon — nor would he be able to use one if he did — his hands were bound tightly behind his back, and his ankles were tethered just as securely. His magic had also been dispelled so he could use no incantation to attack or remove his iron shackles, and even so, what chance did he stand against two armed knights and a god? He grit his teeth, for he had not a snowball’s chance in the summer realm.

This undignified moment was likely to be the last in his pathetic life — and pathetic though it was — he did not want it to end. He was not ready to die. Especially not like this!

At least in the pitiful life he led under Cazador he could still hold onto hope… but being damned by a god wouldn’t even allow him that meager respite. His soul would be lost forever to wander in the shadow hell. Darkness would become him, he would feel no passion, no joy, or hope — only the agony of biting cold and sorrow, of endless loss and shadows. Forever.

Astarion had come close enough to assassinating the divine being before him, and he had no choice but to face any punishment that the lord saw fit — and the frozen hell, grim as it was, was a likely outcome…

“Wake up!” The god said, snapping his fingers as Astarion’s eyes darted up once more to face the source of his inevitable end.

“Assassin! I was going to ask your name but that matters not, foul creature such as you are. Pray tell though, Fool — what daft bastard sent you to murder a god?” the deity asked contemptuously, still not deeming it worth his time to move from his lounging position. Astarion swallowed nervously before he cleared his throat to speak. He knew that the god knew exactly who had sent him, but alas…

“The Lord of Ice…”

“Oh my! You’d be clever to address me by my title, Fool,” the god said in annoyance as he flicked his wrist dismissively, and one of the knights roughly pressed the butt of his spear into the back of Astarion’s neck, forcing him to bow lower before their liege.

His title, though? This god had many monikers… Lord of Snow, Your Resplendence, Your Magnificence, God of the Winter Realm, Taliesin — so on and so forth.

If the situation wasn’t so dire he’d come up with more interesting epithets, but it’d be more shrewd to try and weasel himself out of eternal damnation. It would likely do him no favor in the end, but Astarion figured it would be best to grovel, kiss a bit of ass and address several of the lord’s stupid titles.

“Resplendent Lord of Snow, God of the Winter Realm, Taliesin,” Astarion managed in a quavering voice as the godsknight gave him another smarting blow on the back of his neck, causing Astarion’s crystalline horns to knock painfully against the marble floor. He felt one crack and he grimaced as some shards of it fell, tinkling like broken glass near his eye. “The Lord of Ice and keeper of the Frostlands, Cazador, my m… master, sent me.”

“To what end?”

“Well… to slay you,” Astarion said in confusion. Just what in the lower hells were Taliesin’s motives? The deity already knew this information, why was he posing questions as if he did not? Was it all simply to humiliate Astarion further?

“Damned devil. What have I done to slight Cazador this time? I extended my goodwill to him, inviting him to my little fete for the first time in centuries and he couldn’t even be arsed to make an appearance!” The god scoffed. “Is it a coincidence, Fool, that he sent an assassin on the same night?”

Of course it wasn’t.

“My master saw… well — he saw the invite as an insult, Your Resplendence. He’d said the summon to dine and be merry with a sworn enemy was the… the height of disresp…”

“Naturally he would, the fuckwit,” the god said sharply, cutting Astarion off. The demon stared blankly at the floor which lay scarcely an inch below his nose. His tail flicked anxiously as his eyes followed the veins of gray streaking haphazardly through the white marble, and he realized that this could be the last thing he’d ever see. How pathetically glum…

“What does Cazador wish to accomplish by sending a lowly demon to try and kill me? Again. Any thoughts on that rather preposterous maneuver, expendable one?”

Astarion knew that his master had sent many other demons to attempt to end Taliesin’s life in the past, well before his forced servitude, but none of those failed assassins had ever returned to his master’s keep. Cazador’s motivations were just as much of a mystery — what did he wish to accomplish, sending them to die?

“I do not know his intentions for those he sent in failed attempts on your life in years past, Your Resplendence. He ah… my master simply gave me the order to take your life,” Astarion said, recalling that the devil had gone nearly mad with rage since he’d gotten the invitation months prior. Rants regarding Cazador’s hatred for Taliesin were nothing unusual, but the tirades had gotten more and more frequent in the weeks leading up to the event.

The devil would often take his anger out on his imps and demons, throwing bottles of wine at them, having them whipped… and well, torturing them one way or another. Even if Astarion was sent back to his master, his fate would likely not be much better than the one he now faced. Cazador also had the capability of damning his soldiers and servants, casting them into the shadows — he’d seen it done to a steward once, and it certainly was not a pleasant end.

“Did he wish for you to take my life in an attempt to steal my full divinity?”

“Y… yes,” Astarion stammered. He thought that motive was clear — the soul stone meant to capture the god’s divinity had been taken from him, along with the rest of his possessions aside from the clothes on his back when he’d been thrown behind bars. The intention for the assassination was not hidden — and why else would Cazador be so adamant about ending the god? The devil was not subtle about his resentment of Taliesin, who held dominion over the entire realm — including ‘his’ Frostland.

“I see,” the lord murmured, as Astarion took another deep breath. It was nonsensical to even question the god’s interrogation, though. He was prodding and poking for something.

“Did you know, Fool, that your craven master had endeavored to assassinate me — desperately, I might add — for centuries before giving up and sending expendable little demons like you to try and do what he can not, and never will. So I commend you, Fool! You're the first of his flock that has ever come close to fulfilling his laughable dream. Good fucking job!” Taliesin’s wrathful voice reverberated sinisterly through the immense chamber as his diatribe ended, causing Astarion to flinch and flatten his ears against the painful echo before a deafening stillness fell upon the room.

His eyes continued to follow the streaks of gray in the marble, and the frost demon’s heart pounded out of his chest as he waited for something to happen — anything.

There were eight branches on one vein, and one of those veins held capillaries of another eight.

A killing blow, a word of death, racking pain, or the promise of eternal suffering — anything. But seconds wavered into minutes, and minutes turned into what felt like an eternity — and there was only lingering, dreadful silence.

If he wasn't so close to the veins, his eyes would adjust and he could probably see even more jagged branches coming off of the capillaries.

He did not want to die, the gods and devils only knew that he did not want to die! But this fraught suspense would surely end him, and perhaps that would be okay. He couldn’t be damned if he’d just go ahead and die of terror, right?

How many veins of gray streaked the marble in this immense throneroom? The branches would outnumber the stars, surely…

“What to do with you, what to do?” the god said finally, startling Astarion back into the moment as the sound of footsteps made their way toward him. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting tears as sweat continued to drip from his clammy brow, and the footfall stopped just before his pitiful hunkered frame.

“Look up at me.”

Astarion raptly obeyed, lifting himself from his deep bow to stare up wide-eyed at the god. Despite his short stature, he was, without a doubt, the most intimidating creature that Astarion had ever witnessed. There was an aura of intensity swirling about him, furious and radiant in its command, and Astarion’s body began to tremble in response.

Taliesin stepped closer, standing above Astarion with his arms crossed over his partially bare chest before he bent at the waist to get a better look at the demon, leaning in so that he could see every freckle on his divine face, the delicate ring on the left side of his nose, his thick eyelashes surrounding… oh gods, his eyes…

It’d been too dark during the attack so he hadn’t noticed those horrible, wonderful eyes.

It was as if they contained the winter itself — molten silver flecks fluctuated and sparkled within pupilless irises of shadow, deep fuschia tinted — no, aubergine… then indigo. The colors continuously shifted like fog within black onyx — mesmerizing and terrifying in equal measure.

Despite Astarion’s fear, he couldn’t help but find himself in awe of the divine beauty that Taliesin possessed as he tilted that lovely, timeless face, studying the demon with pinched features — as if he was observing something foul and small. Nothing more than vermin. Less than vermin.

"I could make you serve me for a decade or ten — centuries even! Or I could change you to a carrion crow, damned be your wings for I would pluck and cage you. Then you could never attempt to end me again," the god said, thumbing his chin and tilting his head to the side in a deviously playful way that sent a fresh shiver of trepidation down Astarion’s spine to the tip of his tail. Taliesin's face brightened as if he’d suddenly realized something wildly profound, and his large, frilled ears perked up, sending his many earrings jingling as he cocked an eyebrow. "But by all rights, I should kill you, send you to exist eternally in the Frozen Blight. Yes?"

Astarion’s thrumming heart skipped a beat as his stomach sank nauseatingly. That was it. That was the name of that damnable hell that he was bound for at any moment.

“Yes,” the demon whispered in reluctant agreement, ears lowering in defeat. As much as he hated to admit it, he should be killed for this transgression. There was no way of talking himself out of this one — he’d held the poisoned dagger to Talisin’s throat. An indignant, stray tear ran down his cheek as the god clicked his tongue.

"I suppose that I’ve decided a proper judgment for you, then," the lord finally announced, his tone barely above a whisper as he placed the back of his thumb under Astarion's chin, raising the demon's face to stare at him even closer — perhaps to get a good look at the person he was about to damn for eternity, or perhaps it was to relish in his abject horror and humiliation. The frost demon's lip quivered as those hauntingly beautiful eyes bored into his, and his mind shattered in terror as they instantaneously went entirely silver.

Gods and devils, this was it.

This truly was the end.

Astarion's gaze remained locked with Taliesin’s for moments or centuries — he could not be sure, and to his astonishment dilated pupils appeared as the irises imperceptibly changed to a muddy purple — soft and…. sweet? The god smiled, lopsided and sheepish as the iron shackles binding the demon grew uncomfortably frigid before they began to loosen in a flurry of mist.

Astarion was dumbfounded. Was this some sort of sick game? What in the godsdamned hells was happening?

"I must apologize in advance, demon — for this is going to hurt," the god of winter said in a genuinely apologetic tone, and Astarion's mouth fell agape as his shackles clattered deafeningly to the stone floor.

His eyes flashed an unsettling silver once more, and Astarion flinched as the god gently cupped his cheeks in his hands — hands that were far warmer than the demon had expected — and he was suddenly enveloped in the same gently swirling mist that had released his fetters moments earlier.

Taliesin bent in even closer to Astarion in a strikingly intimate way — almost as if he was going to kiss him — causing his heart to skip a beat as the compelling scent of cedarwood, rose and black pepper flooded his senses. His skin prickled as the god passed up his lips to whisper into his ear, his breath cold and mint and tantalizing...

“Witness me,” Taliesin whispered, and Astarion experienced sudden, blinding white light and harrowing pain encircling his throat.

Astarion’s stomach tightened into a ball as excruciating tendrils of agony crawled over the tender flesh of his neck, searing and stinging as his nerve ends were set sickeningly alight. He could not move to claw at the affliction nor could he scream in horror, for he could not catch his breath or gather his mind to do so. Tears streamed down his cheeks as his knees gave out, and his existence was naught but torment. He could not take it anymore — there was no way he could withstand this suffering, gods … there was simply no way!

Words in a language he did not know came from somewhere far, far away before he heard the common tongue spoken once more — ‘I’m truly sorry’, it said, as his vision ceased entirely, and then there was no sound at all. There was no sense of smell or any more pain, no enveloping cold or the warm hands of a god — there was only darkness.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #alternate universe #AU Astarion #AU tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tav #bg3 tav #tavstarion #fic #snowyfic

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foolish-spectre · 1 year ago

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The Price of Freedom

Pairing: Astarion x Gender-Neutral Tav/Reader (Primary Focus is on Astarion)

Content Warnings: Murder and Canon-Typical Violence, Allusions to Physical, Emotional, and Verbal Abuse, Mental Breakdowns, Gore?, Massive Spoilers for the Pale Elf Quest in Baldur’s Gate 3, Heavy Angst

Word Count: 835

Characters: Astarion Ancunin (primarily), Cazador Szarr, Tav/Reader, brief mention of Astarion’s siblings

A/N: So I wrote this on a 14 hour plane ride, basically I wrote this in the last hour since my brain was mush for the other 13, I wanted to explore his side of things hence why it’s in second person, and I’m going to give a hot take, I’m glad you can’t hug Astarion after he kills Cazador, not because he doesn’t deserve it of course not, but because I don’t think he would like to be touched after such a painful but cathartic moment, he hates being touched, especially in a moment like this, there’s a time and a place for hugging in Astarion’s mind and in my opinion, this scene ain’t it, KEEP IN MIND I ALSO WANTED TO HUG ASTARION AFTER THIS SCENE SO I DONT BLAME ANYONE, but personally Astarion doesn’t want to be hugged rn, another thing I noticed is how Astarion is always drawn to your hands, it’s always the hands, I want to explore more of that in a separate fic or headcanons but yeah

Your grip upon your master’s knife tightened as you stared down at your “Father.” He likened his sired spawn to be family, and you were ready to give him all his owed dues as the eldest child.

It was funny to see him on his knees after so many years of shoving you beneath his feet. A wicked grin slithered onto your face as you yanked his long black hair aside to bare his neck.

The knife felt so light in your hand, how strange. One last thrust and it would be all over. One last thrust with the same knife that your pathetic master carved that damn infernal script into your back. It tethered your fate to him and now it would finally set you free. He would never hurt you again.

The first plunge felt cathartic yet it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. You started with his neck since it was his bite that doomed you. Then you thrust the blade repeatedly into his heart and ribs, he oh so loved to play with yours and even threatened to rip your’s out so you could see how pathetic it was. Just the thought of it made you dig deeper into his rib cage.

After the frenzied attack upon your master’s chest, you thrust the dagger upwards into his stomach. He was never satisfied with your hunts, always demanding more and more. Even wanting to consume you, practically making you believe that’s all you were. But you weren’t, you would never be-!

Just as you were about to violently flip him over and plunge into his back, you finally looked at his face. The sadistic smirk was wiped off replaced only with fear and disbelief, his sickening voice silenced, his eyes devoid of disgust… you were left with nothing.

Cazador Szarr was dead.

As the adrenaline wore off and you realized that your tormentor was finally dead, you slumped to your knees, dagger falling from your grip.

He was finally gone. He would never be able to hurt you again. And yet…

Why do the scars on your back feel fresh? Why did fear seep into your very bones? Why did you feel so miserable-

As sobs wracked your tired body, your siblings and friends surrounded you, unsure of what to do. Your lover approached you cautiously, not because they were afraid of you but because-

You didn’t really know and even though you’ve spent months together, you were still trying to get a hang of things.

They held out your arms to embrace you and in return you gave them a flinch. You hated the look they had on their face when you did, but… it feels so tainted, so fresh, so…

You hated it, you needed to get out of here, you needed to be in the sun again, you needed… you needed to feel alive again.

You stared down at your master’s corpse and held his staff for the first and last time. The rest was a blur.

Right now you were finally exiting this damn house, you would never have to see it again. You would finally be free, from this prison, from the people who tormented you, and from the crypt that reduced you to nothing but a feral animal.

As your weary feet got closer to closer to the entrance of Cazador’s palace, a part of you wanted to look back. To look back at your master’s dead body to make sure he was dead, gone for good.

… Why did you still think of him as your master, even when he’s gone? He was your master no longer, he would never have to control you again. You’re free of him.

Cazador means nothing to you now and you’ll make sure of that.

As you tried to shake your mind off of this, you walked side by side with your companions and lover. You stared at their face, even now they looked so beautiful.

Sure you didn’t care for them at first, but they were still with you… after all this. It would’ve been so easy to leave him behind for Cazador to consume him but they didn’t. They stayed and fought tooth and nail to save you, to help you achieve freedom.

You didn’t realize that you reached out for their hand until they looked at you, surprised. You were about to pull away until they gave you a gentle squeeze back.

Even though you were empty, even though you felt like the world had ended after all this… it felt reassuring. In a sense, your whole world did end. All those centuries of torment and the master that owned you was finally put to rest. All of it was in the past. Your lover’s hand reminded you that you did the right thing. That… you weren’t tied down to Cazador anymore.

You were finally free. And you didn’t want to lose this, you wouldn’t trade power for the one person who truly cared about you.

#bg3 #baldur’s gate #baldur’s gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 x reader #baldur’s gate 3 astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #my writing #astarion angst #angst

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bg-brainrot · 10 months ago

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Hugs for a Vampire (Astarion x GN!Reader) - Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

Chapter 13: Before Facing Cazador

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 3, Canon-typical violence, Astarion's coping mechanisms, Astarion's quest, cw: Astarion's trauma

WC: 2.1k words, 13/18 chapters

Summary: Set in Act 3, set prior to facing Cazador (part of the Pale Elf questline). Rogue!Tav and Astarion face some of the his past.

Ao3 | [Hug12][Hug14] | Hugs for a Vampire Masterlist

Your mind is racing, your heart is pounding, and, to be quite honest, you don’t know how to deal with what your lover just said. Name me your new master. We will get our revenge, and you will all live again. The words buzz in your ears, their blatant, painful lie only known to your ears. You’re glad that everyone else remains blissfully asleep, lest they see this farce for themselves. But that does mean this is up to you– you can’t let him do this, not to himself and not to his siblings.

“Have you no heart, Astarion?” you ask, before his siblings can respond to the offer. “You’re asking them to die for you in this ritual.”

Astarion turns to you, a touch of annoyance on his face. “Don’t look at me like that,“ he says, his tone almost accusatory. “With the sweet little ‘disappointed I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout. I can’t take it.”

You try to right your face, but you’re certain the pout is, in fact, present. The disappointment can’t leave your face, especially when you know that he can be better than this. That he’s been better than this. He needn’t feel chained to Cazador in any way, let alone taking his place in this profane ritual. “I don’t need cuddly Astarion right now, I just need you. The real Astarion.”

“I can’t be what you want to see in me,” he says, a desperate, pleading tone to his voice. You’re not sure how to respond to that, as his expression just about tears your heart in two. You want to say that you see him, a man who just wants to pave his own path, a man who has already overcome so much and can overcome so much more– but who are you to say that?

You don’t have the opportunity to respond, because his siblings interject. “‘Die’ in the ritual? Whatsoever are you speaking of? We are going to cheat undeath.” Aurelia says, self assuredly.

Dropping your eyes from Astarion’s searing crimson gaze, you turn to her. “You’re slaughter-lambs,” you say, refusing to paint the picture any prettier. “Cazador needs your souls for the ritual.”

She doesn’t need to roll her eyes to express her disbelief, but she may as well have. “The master doesn’t need to lie to us,” she says patiently, as if you’re another pretty fool for her master. “He controls us, fully. Why go through the trouble of giving us hope.”

Leon speaks up, understanding dawning on him. “Because it’s more cruel. Shit. We’re doomed.” A moment of silence passes as he processes, but he’s surprisingly business-like as he continues, “Alright, what do you need from us? We’ll help you.”

You don’t get to enjoy the breakthrough though, as they begin to glow red with compulsion, their bodies struggling against some invisible force. It seems like no matter what you’ve managed to say, whatever warning you’ve been able to deliver, a vampire’s bidding will win out.

What follows is an intense few minutes of fighting, but between the two of you, Astarion’s kin don’t stand much of a chance– not even Shadowheart, the lightest sleeper of your party, stirs. It certainly helps that the vampire spawn are not aiming to kill, rather capture and stay alive. You can see clearly how careful Cazador is with his spawn, summoning them back the second they seem to be imperiled.

Of course, this doesn’t mean your blades don’t find purchase, that blood now litters the floor of the Elfsong Tavern, and that your companions won’t have a plethora of questions in the morning.

“What a mess,” Astarion says with his usual flippancy, as he shakes off some blood. “Well, at least you’ve met my family now.”

You entertain a brief thought about how this comment might normally be cute. Unfortunately your concern and a building fury take far greater precedence. “I can’t believe you tried lying to them,” you say, unable to hold back your rage any longer. “You would have them die for the Rite to happen?”

“What does it matter? There’s only six of them,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you, as if the equation is basic arithmetic, as if you weren’t just speaking to two of those six a moment ago, witnessing their struggles under Cazador’s thumb firsthand. “And they are vampire spawn.” The comment is added as an offhand comment, but there the answer is– he’s not valuing their lives any higher than his own. He only sees himself as the lucky sod who gets to take advantage of them.

“You’re a spawn, Astarion,” you say, quietly. “Don’t you have any sympathy for the others in your exact situation?”

His tone changes to something angry, centuries of torment weighing each word. “No one ever looked out for me. No one ever said a kind word to me.” Then, realizing you’re right there with him, he softens, “You’re the only one. Other people don’t have a heart like you. You’re… you.” The shock in his voice tugs at you, as if he’s constantly surprised that you’re still there. He follows it bitterly with, “No one is like that.”

“There are others like me,” you say, a worry creeping in that he may be blind to the love of each and every one of your companions. But you’ve seen him. He talks and jokes with the others, but he never lets this side of him show, not fully. “They will care for you, if you let them.”

Astarion scoffs. “Don’t sell yourself so short.” When you don’t react to his compliment, he continues, “I’m doing this for you too, you know. To make sure that we’re both safe. Forever, for good.”

“I appreciate that,” you begin, treading lightly and aiming to understand his fears. But you can’t help it, sometimes you just want to flick his pointy little ears and jolt some sense into him. “I just want you to know that we can make it through this without completing this ritual, without sacrificing your siblings. We always figure something out, don’t we?”

“Oh, I know we do. Though it’s not always what I envision,” he says, a sigh escaping him. “I just want you to keep an open mind when we reach Cazador, love. That’s all I ask for.”

“Fine, but I only ask the same of you,” you say, pointing a stern finger at him.

He grimaces, but nods, a solemn look on his face. “Very well, as long as we deal with Cazador soon.”

“We can go in the morning,” you assure him. “As long as we finally manage to get some sleep. I swear this inn could do with some better locks.”

“My dear, I don’t think you’re allowed to critique any establishment’s security,” he laughs lightly, cleaning some blood off his hands and preparing to return to bed. “No one is safe from your lockpicks.”

You grin before joining him with soap and sponge. “Quite right. And between the two of us? Cazador can’t hide behind his palace walls for long.”

–

As it turns out, getting into Cazador’s palace wasn’t the difficult part. Unlocking the inner door was actually quite trivial and his guard dogs fell easily. You don’t truly find yourself facing an impasse until you’ve made it to Cazador’s hideaway, the very depths of Szarr Palace. There, Astarion comes face-to-face with the truth of his last 200 years of life, the meaning behind the endless parade of lovers.

“He’s played us for such fools.” Astartion tilts his head down, an angry and dangerous look in his eyes. Seeing his glare, reading his posture, Karlach and Shadowheart move on ahead, leaving you a moment to yourselves. “Not just seven spawn to placate the devil. Seven spawn and seven thousand souls bound to them in blood. Everyone who ever trusted me to let down their guard… innocents, idiots, and the unlucky.”

“Not that it needs to be said,” you step forward softly, gauging his reaction as you do. “But you didn’t know.”

He doesn’t move, either toward you or away. Instead, he shakes his head, clearing it of the dark cobwebs that have begun to cloud it. “It doesn’t matter. I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual.”

“Or…” you begin, tentatively exploring his mood, probing gently. “You could choose to save them.” You take another step toward him, palms open.

“What’s the point? They’re as good as dead,” he says, frustrated. It feels like you’re losing him, the weight of his sins a suffocating burden he wasn’t accounting for. “I thought they were dead.”

“But they’re not,” you reach for one of his hands, only to find it limp and despondent in your own. You thumb over the back of it, aiming to infuse your own life, warmth into him. “They’re alive, your siblings are still alive, and you can give them all the chance you didn’t receive.”

“If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. They will be ravenous. They must die. Better they serve a purpose.” He sounds like he’s convincing himself more than you at this point, and you sense the barrier around him is cracking. Another few prods and you may break through.

Despite the pounding of your heart, the worries of pushing a broken man to a precipice he may not be ready for– you steel yourself for your next words. “We’ve narrowly missed each other so often. In another life, you’d have led me here,” you say, plaintive. “Not that pretty clearing in the forest.”

“Gods,” he breathes out in anguish. “I can’t say you’re wrong. I can only say I'm so glad we didn’t meet then. I don’t even want to think what would have happened to you…”

You’ve never been above challenging your lover’s sullen moods, facing his avoidances head on. So you stare him down fiercely when you say, “Don’t you avoid this, Astarion. Face it, like you must face them. You would have killed me.”

And just like that, something in him buckles. All of his blustering blown away in the stark reality of his previous life. “I would have killed you.” Astarion’s shoulders bow, his head turns away from you and it’s all you can do to hold back a fierce, rib-shattering embrace.

Not yet, you think. You’re not done yet. “And?” you ask. “Would you kill me now?”

“Gods no,” he hisses. “I… I can’t even bring myself to think it.”

“Good, let that be a reminder to you: you’re not under Cazador’s control.” You release his hand to grab both of his shoulders, pinning him down with an intense look. “You choose for yourself, remember?”

Astarion nods at you wordlessly, and you know now’s the right moment. You pull him toward you by the shoulders, avoiding his armor as best you can to wrap him in a smothering hug. He reciprocates slowly, but firmly, his own arms wrapping around you, his hands coming to rest on your shoulder blades.

You hold the position for as long as you can, deeply breathing in the familiar scent of his hair and drowning out the stench of decay, blood, and mildew. It’s clear that neither of you want to let go this time– as though by holding each other you can keep in one piece.

After some amount of time, you hear whispered in your ear, “Whatever might happen, I just want to say: Thank you.”

Finally drawing away from him, you take a moment to look at him somberly. His words sound so final, it scares you. Placing a single gloved hand on his cheek, you say, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just here to remind you that you have choices.”

“I know.” He turns his nose toward your hand, placing a single kiss on it before continuing, “But does this real Astarion of yours know that?” You think back to your conversation with his siblings, just last night. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

However long ago it was, you need to make sure he understands what you meant. “Spawn, elf, whoever you think you are. You’re Astarion before any of that, and I just need you to know that.”

As he takes in your words, his face hardens, he turns away from your hand in a gentle rebuke. You’ve tried your best, but know his mind won't be swayed by you, not now. “Maybe I don’t know who that is. Maybe that man doesn’t exist, never existed outside these palace walls.” He steps away, and a part of you leaves with him. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

You nod tersely– the only way out is through now– and you follow him deeper into the bowels of Cazador's lair.

#astarion #astarion x tav #fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x reader #rogue + rogue #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion masterlist #hugs for a vampire #hfav #gn reader #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 astarion

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