#GN!Tav

[vampiresfromxenon]

I Wanted To

Astarion x gn! Reader/Tav

Almost 3.5k words 

Tags: Fluff, kisses, cuddling, angst, biting mention, no use of y/n, words of affection (so much sappiness), soft! Astarion, they’re in love your honor!! 

CW: Slight mentions of SA and trauma (extremely minor, incredibly light piece)

Summary: You and Astarion decide to start your relationship over once you both confess your feelings. It's a mutual decision to take things extremely slow, celebrating little victories of intimacy here and there. Tonight, you can't hide your words of affection as he becomes more comfortable and vulnerable around you.

~

It’s been a few months traveling with this rowdy crew, and you can’t help but smile thinking about how much you love them all. Granted, they all piss you off on the daily, what from Shadowheart and Lae’zel attempting to kill each other, to Gale eating your favorite pair of enchanted gloves, but you can’t help yourself from smiling every time you think about how close you’ve all grown. One particular member in the party you have become very close with stands out a bit more than the rest, and thoughts about him are enough to make you unsettlingly giddy. 

For the longest time, you and the pale elf fought your feelings, too cold to warm up to each other. You both had a wicked past, something that tainted your current perceptions of love and romance. His may have been far more extreme than yours, but regardless of that fact, your feelings and emotions were still valid. For a short few weeks, you found yourselves being extra intimate, dismissing it all as stress relief and nothing more. Those little excursions were merely there as a form of self protection: He gained your trust and protection, and you felt less alone and vulnerable at night. Or, so you thought, until you noticed how distant he was, his eyes never meeting yours every time he sought to pleasure you. 

It wasn’t until recently that these barriers slowly began to be chipped away for the both of you, your infatuation not only becoming more real, but unfortunately, more terrifying. One night, you approached him, being brave and understanding if he had other thoughts about what you two could be. It was late, most of the camp either asleep or preparing for bed. You approached him, a soft hand on his shoulder, even though he was well aware you were there. What you were there for though, remained a mystery to him. He turned, smiling at you, taking your hand and kissing it affectionately. As your heart raced, you began a discussion with him, asking his thoughts and feelings about your ‘connection’ rather than just bombarding him with an overwhelming confession of love. 

He seemed stunned to say the least, unsure of what to say or how to feel. It was strange for him, his cold heart beating a little faster, feeling a little warmer at the sight of you in front of him, actually seeing him for him and not just another plaything. All these feelings were bubbling up inside him because, for the first time in a long time, someone not only asked him what he wanted in a romantic relationship, but they respected anything he said on that subject matter. In all his nervousness, he felt that he could be honest in his reciprocation to see how far you two could go, this time with real feelings. That was a few weeks ago, and all this time since has been magical. 

You haven’t intimately slept together since just before that night, instead establishing boundaries and focusing more on the non-sexual ways to be intimate, loving, and kind. He loves the way your hand brushes his, the way your fingers interlace with his as he moves in to hold your hand. You love the way his hand lands on your back, stretching to your hip to pull you closer to him, especially when meeting new people from town to town. While you still struggle with eye-contact in general, it feels easier around him, especially now since he has found himself to be more comfortable actually looking at you, taking in your appearance and being more present in your conversations. 

For many nights now, you’ve been cuddled up nicely in one or the other’s tent, fingers interlaced, hands gently wrapped around hips, legs occasionally intertwined. He still continues to feed on you, though he makes sure to gain your permission before bed each night. On the nights where you felt too tired, too drained mentally even, he would leave you be, hoping to keep you as comfortable as possible. Those nights were just as romantic, as you could feel his breath against your neck as he cuddles you tightly, his lips on your shoulder as he falls into the soft rhythm of sleep. 

Tonight didn’t start off any differently from any other night; you both gathered in his tent, doing your nightly routines as per usual (always before promptly passing out until the next morning hit you like a boulder). Most nights he would wear a nice, silky pajama set, one he purchased from an unreasonably expensive fashion designer in a small village. You didn’t have as luxurious of pajamas, but yours still covered most of your body, keeping you feeling safe and snuggled up each night.

Neither of you expected that this night would change everything.

He’s standing off to the side of your shared bedroll, changing into his pajamas while your back is turned to him, fiddling with the blanket you both share. You notice just how used this blanket is, and you realize that it might have been the only thing giving him comfort, the feeling of security over the past 200 or so years. Astarion was far from one to share, whether it was his feelings or his belongings, and it isn’t long before you have a second realization: you are possibly the only person to have ever slept with that blanket besides him. Your fingers gently roll the decaying fabric between your fingers, taking in all of his memories that have been exhausted on the threads. 

You hear him walking over and you drop your thoughts about the blanket, not wanting to pry into more of his distressing past. He kneels, picking up the blanket and sliding next to you, your bodies touching in an instant. Turning your attention away from the blanket, you look up to see your love is shirtless, moving around in the bedroll, trying to be more comfortable at your side. 

You know just how insecure he is about his scars from Cazador, that disgusting, vile, treacherous bitch, but it was so lovely to see him stepping out of his comfort zone. While you’re quick to notice this new change, he’s even quicker to notice your reaction. Diving back into his comfort charm, he smirks at you, loading a phrase to protect his vulnerable side.

“Like what you see, darling?” His eyes flutter to the side a bit, and you immediately notice his withdrawal from the conversation. With a calm and gentle hand, you caress his cheek, turning his attention back to you. 

“I always love what I see…” You smile, your eyes looking at him in such a way that your face beams with pride, though you try to find a balance between that and neutral so as to not overwhelm him. To see just how much he trusts you, is willing to open up to you and be vulnerable… Your heart can barely take it. In a quiet voice you’re sure to check in on him, wanting to make sure he feels secure in his choice. “Don’t feel you have to do this for me though, okay?” 

His hand reaches up to hold yours against his cold cheek, his stare suddenly becoming more present. “I wanted to.” His voice is low, his hand taking yours off his face as he leans in gently to kiss your palm. He kisses your forehead before moving to lie down, making himself comfortable in your small space. 

You sit there for a moment, considering your options. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable, but you want him to be aware that you feel the same sense of shared comfort. As he turns to the side, looking at a book he left on the ground earlier, you move to remove your shirt, tossing it off to the side. He moves the book away from you both so you don’t roll into it in the night. Turning back to face you, he pauses, taking in the sight of your bare chest. He looks up at you, tilting his head, nearly asking you the same question you just asked him.

Before he can say anything, you lean slightly closer to him, your voice a loud whisper. “I wanted to.” His eyes soften, and you can tell he’s flattered by this display of intimacy. You begin to crawl under the old blanket with him, and he pulls you close, his hand around your waist. The feel of his cold, soft skin against your bare back is enough to send shivers down your spine, and you realize that this must be so close to what heaven feels like. His free hand reaches up and caresses your jaw before tangling in your hair, gently playing with it as he knows it helps you fall asleep. 

Your hand rests on his bare chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat slowing down as he continues to relax in your care. You lie there for a while, trying to sleep, but something is keeping you awake. Perhaps it’s the looming threat that you could all die soon in brutally vicious ways, or the fact that you don’t want to waste a single second enjoying this time with your new lover. Suppose you’ll never truly know. 

Regardless of what is keeping you up on this night, you begin to feel a little restless, unable to lie there in that position for too much longer without your arms going numb. You sit up a little, leaning on the arm you’ve been lying on, trying to not wake your companion. However, his body shifts with you, and it appears that he is still just as awake as you are.

 “I didn't wake you, did I?” You whisper in a worried voice. 

“Not in the slightest, my dear. Unable to sleep tonight, as I am sure you understand.”

You sigh, still leaning over him slightly, his hand that was once on your waist now drawing circles on your shoulder blade, the hand in your hair now resting on your hip. You want to speak, but you find yourself getting lost in the way his face looks in the moonlight peeking through his tent flap. It frames his face so perfectly, almost as if this scene was sculpted by the Gods. He notices your sudden distance, and he is quick to check in on you. 

“Are you alright, love?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his voice, once again tilting his head like a confused puppy. 

“Sorry… Yes, yes. More than alright.” You reassure him, not breaking your focus. A beat; he attempts to determine what’s on your mind. Thinking he’s found it, he smirks. 

“Admiring how beautiful I am?”

“Yeah… Just looking at creases around your eyes…” You say in a loving tone, not even remotely aware of how backhanded the comment you just made sounds. 

He begins to shuffle, pushing you away, offended by your lack of sincerity. “Alright, there’s no need-” 

“No! Not like that.” You chuckle, snapping back into reality. You grab him, pulling him back to you, his head pressing back into the pillow below you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just-” You can’t stop yourself from laughing a little at the sight of your pouting partner underneath you. 

You notice just how unamused he is, and you abruptly stop laughing, clearing your throat and composing yourself in a more serious manner. Your hand reaches up and the pad of your thumb brushes against his crows feet, your mind falling back into your feelings of love and adoration for him. 

“The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh… The way your eyes sharpen when you’re glaring at me, like you are right now… The way they soften every time I walk in the room… I love those wrinkles, they’re such a beautiful part of you.” He relaxes again, taking in your words, though still unhappy at your mention of his wrinkles, making him feel old. Though, no matter how much he hates his aging characteristics being brought up, he will never turn away any form of flattery. 

“Well, augh. You really are sweet, aren’t you? But I’m sure you like more of me than just my dreaded wrinkles.” He was definitely fishing for compliments, that much was obvious, but he wasn’t aware of just how much you wanted to smother him in loving words. You lean forward and kiss his crows feet on both sides, surprising him. Smiling, your thumb traces over his eyebrows, taking in their shape and feel. 

“My eyebrows, really? Nothing else catching your eye?” He whines, his hands going back to resting on your shoulder blade and hip. He can feel your body shake as you laugh, your head falling forward towards his chest as you continue to giggle from his pouting. You bring your head back up, focusing on his face once more. 

“One thing at a time, dearest.” You pause, analyzing the shape of his eyebrows. Just how sharp they are, how often he uses them to his advantage when he is charming people. As you continue to gaze at them, he raises one of them, making your heart go crazy. 

“You’re so expressive. Your eyebrows are so perfectly shaped, the way you use them like a weapon… I know it’s silly, I know they’re just eyebrows, but they’re your eyebrows, and they mean so much to me.” You trail off, your face flushed with embarrassment as you realize just how overly sentimental your words are. He smiles at you, knowing just how hard you’re trying, and appreciating every second of it. You kiss his eyebrows before quickly moving on.

Your fingers trace along his face, noticing his mole. By now he’s exhausted, you’re three for three with things he’s sensitive about. “Darling, if this is your way of making me feel less upset about not being able to look in mirrors, I must say it’s starting to work.” His words deceive his face and body language, but you still try to abide by his wishes. 

Wanting to show your love, without spending too much time on it, you mention how much the mole under his eye suits him, how he would almost seem incomplete without a beauty spot. The usage of ‘beauty’ in ‘beauty spot’ convinced him to let it slide, but the ice you were dreamily skating on was wearing thin. Kissing his mole, you move on once again. 

The skin of his nose was soft as you trace the pad of your finger down the bridge of his nose. “Your nose… it’s so sharp. Don’t laugh, but one of my favorite feelings is when I wake up and your nose is either on my back or my neck. I can feel your breathing on my skin, your nose pressed against me while you sleep. It’s so calming, having any little part of you so close to me.” He looks at you a little confused, mostly due to the fact that you’re still here appreciating him. The things you’re saying, they’re so small and insignificant, yet you enunciate each word like it’s the most important thing you’ll ever say. Each word has a purpose, a meaning, and they fall out of your mouth effortlessly; something he still has yet to learn how to do. 

You kiss the tip of his nose, your fingers tracing down his face to his smile lines. Oh his smile lines. You just can’t help but adore his smile lines, no matter how much he absolutely hates them. He hates them because they age him, but you love them for all the same reason. To know he laughs, smiles, has any semblance of being happy is enough for you to be overjoyed at the sight of these lines that prove the existence that he has been able to enjoy life enough to have physical proof on his face.

“Don’t you dare.” He teases, though you wish he could bear with you for just a moment to explain your thoughts. Figuring you could do it another time, as tonight has already had enough excitement, you kiss his smile lines and spare him from your honeyed words. 

Last, but certainly not least: his lips. Your thumb traces over his lips which are closed together, gently pushing up just enough to where you wonder if he was trying to secretly kiss your thumb. As you continue to run your thumb over his lips, reminiscing on all the times your own experienced his, he takes you by surprise. 

Removing the hand from your hip, his thumb graces your lips, and you find yourself trying to inconspicuously kiss at it like he did to you just moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, but he uses his finger to silence you, gently shushing you. 

“My turn.” His voice is smooth and tender as his thumb continues to trace over your slightly parted lips. “Your lips… They have always been so soft and inviting.” He pauses, still staring at them.

“I must admit, I despised them at first.” A confused expression crosses your face just before he continues. “They would taunt me on a daily basis, the one thing I couldn’t have no matter how much charm I threw at you. When I was eventually graced with them, I loathed the way my name would be cried out from them, almost as if you were saying it like a prayer. It tore me apart, wanting something I wasn’t sure I actually wanted, or even felt like I deserved…” He trails off, though his gaze remains constant on you.

“How do they make you feel now?” You softly ask, just barely loud enough for even yourself to hear.

He thinks on this for a moment, searching for the proper word.

“Safe.” 

He leans up to you, cupping your cheek as he kisses you, the most delicate and loving kiss you two have ever shared. You both pull from the kiss, exercising restraint and respect for your pre-established boundaries. A hand resting on his chest, you encourage him to lie back on the pillow once more, which he does. You lean forward, kissing every part of his face that you mentioned, as well as a few spots just because you wanted to. Kissing his lips again, you pull apart just enough to whisper against his lips. 

“I admire everything about you. Every aspect of you is just so lovely… Thank you for being here, with me. I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

He smiles, his fangs poking out this time. His hand moves a strand of hair out of your face as he clears his throat. 

“And thank you for all the kisses.” He says, resuming his usual charm. You try to hide your slight disappointment, but you know he is trying his best and you can’t expect him to always meet you halfway, especially in this time of healing. 

“Always.” You whisper, lying down next to him as he wraps his arms around you, holding you closely. It’s late, and now that you have this feeling lifted off your chest, you find it easier to sleep. Your heart rate begins to slow, your breathing finding its usual pattern, your lover wrapped up tightly with you. 

When you’re on the edge of falling asleep, you feel his head tilting down towards yours, which is resting on his chest. His lips kiss the top of your head, his chin then resting on that same spot. A quiet voice breaks the air, unaware that it still has an audience.

“I love you.”

You freeze, unsure of whether or not you have actually fallen into a dream state, or if you just heard him correctly. In this state of grogginess, your body shifts as you attempt to determine the truth.

“Shit. Did you hear that?”

“Mhm.” You sleepily groan. He lets out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s talking to you in your sleep like he has before. Settling further into the bedroll, making himself more comfortable, he pulls you tighter, finally deciding to rest. 

“I love you too.” You break the silence, your voice more awake this time. His eyes flash open, his red irises laser focused on you. You can feel his heart pounding as you rest on his chest, and you lean over and kiss just above his heart.

“Safe.” Is all you can say before promptly passing out, your warm skin slowly heating up his own. He sits there for another moment, taking in the events of today. It was a lot, to say the least, but he felt comfortable and confident in his decisions, and that was almost truly a first for him. His hand finds its way back into your hair, stroking it as he begins to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time feeling comfortable, guarded, protected, safe. 

~

Author’s Note:

He’s extremely OOC, I’m 95% sure lmao but I love making characters total softies, even if we don’t see that side of them in the media they’re from. (I'm still in the very beginning of Act 2 so I'm learning a lot about him through this site too)

I’ve never experienced love, I’m also sure that’s obvious- I’ve always wanted to do something like this with someone though (look at their face and kiss all my favorite spots). While I was writing this, I felt so awkward writing such sappy dialogue, but I realized that moments like these aren’t smooth and rehearsed; feelings get mushy and oftentimes people say dumb and dorky things because they’re just so in love. I hope it gets translated that way at least hahaha

My Spotify is fucked because I listen to specific songs on repeat whenever I write. I have probably about 4-5 hours of “Blue Moon” by Billie Holiday logged on there now because of all the time planning, writing, and thinking about this fic- I got this song from Neil’s Astarion playlist, it’s so sweet and loving :) 

Edit: So many people are saying he’s actually pretty in character so thank you for the validation because I was nervous 😭

[aethes-bookshelf]

let me be your shelter || astarion/gn!tav

This is the result of an especially hectic exam season. I started writing this fic instead of having a meltdown lol Now that I have more time again, I decided to finish it :) I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: hurt/comfort (mostly comfort), gn!Tav (can be read as a self-insert), Tav/Reader is the one being comforted

Pairing: Astarion/Tav, Astarion/Reader

Wordcount: 1.5k

Summary: You’d always tried to be the strong, reliable one — a leader through and through, a shoulder to cry on for everyone else. Even after everything you'd been through, you put on a brave face. All the way up until you couldn't.

Luckily, Astarion's always there to pick up the pieces.

ao3 link

The sun was setting outside when you finally closed the front door of your house behind you, cloaking the entrance corridor in darkness. The straps of your pack were digging quite painfully into your shoulder, no doubt leaving angry marks on your skin. You threw it to the floor with a huff and closed your eyes for a moment,

The day's exhaustion rolled off of you in waves; hours worth of dust and grime stuck to your clothes and skin. Rebuilding the city after the Battle of Baldur’s Gate was a noble cause. It being noble, however, didn’t make it any less exhausting.

You tried running your fingers through your hair, but your hand almost got stuck in it instead. The firm tug against your scalp made your eyes water. Your back was on fire, your legs were on fire, your face was tacky with drying sweat. It was all so much, too much.

Curling up in a corner and staying there until the sun fell out of the sky seemed worryingly appealing. I still have to go back out there tomorrow, though, you thought. The ugly, choking pressure in your throat got tighter and tighter. Your eyes, still clenched shut, brimmed with tears.

‘Darling?’ called a familiar voice from somewhere on the other side of the corridor. ‘Why are you just standing there? At least light a candle or something. It’s not like you can see like this,’ the voice continued, getting closer.

There was the hiss of a match being lit; one, two, three candles lit up the darkness.

‘Well, not that you can see much with your eyes closed, anyway,’ said Astarion. All snark left his voice when he saw the first tears roll down your cheeks. ‘Oh, I wasn’t that mean, was I? Why are you crying, love?’

‘I-I’m sorry.’ Your voice broke. ‘I don’t- don’t know why, I’m just- just so…’ you trailed off as the first sobs tore out of your chest.

Just a few months ago, Astarion would be looking like a deer in headlights right about now. He still remembered the very first time you broke down after the whole Absolute-tadpole nonsense was over. After everyone else went their separate ways and you chose to stay to help rebuild the city and he chose to stay with you. Naturally.

The breakdown happened soon after. The second night the two of you slept in your brand new bed in your brand new house, the dam inside you just broke, shattered into pieces; and you were swept up in the current of the build-up grief and fear.

Astarion, as much as he loathed to admit it, panicked. He had no idea how to comfort people; after all, it wasn’t a skill necessary for survival for most of his life, so he never really bothered to learn it. He still hadn’t even after whatever the two of you shared at first turned more serious. You’d always tried to be the strong, reliable one — a leader through and through, a shoulder to cry on for everyone else. The stable one. The stable one never gets to cry, so you didn’t.

As ashamed as Astarion was when he realized it, he hadn’t even thought you could cry. It just never really crossed his mind.

Luckily for the both of you, he loved you far too much not to learn from his mistakes after that very first night of the rest of your life. He’d like to think he got comforting you down to a science.

‘Would you like a hug, my sweet?’ Step one was almost always physical contact. And not just because holding you became one of his favorite pastimes; rather, it was grounding for you to have something to hold onto when you got like this. Astarion would gladly volunteer to be that something whenever he could.

You didn’t trust your voice enough to answer, so you just nodded instead. You were starting to tremble; rarely a good sign. Whatever stress-induced breakdown was happening would probably be a big one.

Astarion knew better than to try to wrestle you from the spot you were standing in. It would do nothing except agitate you further, so he simply walked up to you and gathered you into his arms.

The moment you were close enough to hide your face in the crook of his neck, the sobs that had been building up inside you this entire time wrecked your body. You were wailing loudly; so loudly you’d be embarrassed if you had enough energy left in you to care.

Astarion winced slightly at first — you were close enough to his ear for it to hurt. Still, he held you closer, firmer. Just enough pressure to help you calm down.

Eventually, your wailing died down to sobbing, and sobbing turned into soft sniffling. He tried to run a hand through your hair; his fingers nearly got stuck in it, just like yours before.

‘Would you say no to a bath, darling?’ he said, voice soft and quiet. ‘I got some new scented oils a few days ago. I even paid for them this time.’

That got a small chuckle out of you. Your throat was raw and your face was even more sticky now; a bath sounded wonderful.

‘I’d rather like a bath, I think.’ Your voice was all scratchy. You’d probably have one hell of a time trying to speak tomorrow.

‘Come on, then.’ Astarion kissed the top of your head and gently pried you away from his neck.

Usually you were the one leading him everywhere; he supposed in moments like these it was his turn to lead you instead. He walked you to the bathroom, holding your hand. And he didn’t even comment on the snot you left on his shirt, which was a great show of understanding on his part — as far as he was concerned — although he did take it off and throw it in the laundry basket as soon as the two of you entered the bathroom. All his love for you didn’t mean he’d be okay running about in a snotted-up shirt.

He sat you down on the floor near the bathtub and filled it with water. He smelled each of the new scented oils with great consideration. The last thing you probably wanted at the moment was having to pick which oil to put in your bath, so he wanted to make the choice for you — and to make the right one.

After the bath was all prepared, Astarion helped you out of your clothes and walked you to the corner of the bathroom, where he washed most of the dirt off your skin. Making sure you could properly relax also meant making sure you wouldn’t be soaking in dirty water, after all.

Soon enough, you were sitting in the bathtub with your eyes closed. Right after helping you inside the bath, Astarion ran off to grab your favorite hairbrush. And now, he busied himself with detangling the mess your hair had become over the course of your day. He talked and talked all the while — about his day, about this awful thief he managed to thwart the other night, about the shopping trip he went on the day before — about everything and nothing, just to keep talking. Just to fill the silence with noise that would drown out your screaming, tired mind. He didn’t expect you to answer; it was enough that you listened.

After your hair was brushed, washed and conditioned, Astarion dried you off and brought you a freshly washed set of pajamas.

‘You need to sleep, darling,’ he said, handing you the clothes. He knew you were far too tired to argue with him on that. As endearing as your usual desire to stay up with him for as long as possible was, you needed rest — badly.

‘Will you stay with me?’ you said. You felt much better now that all the grime was off of you, but the thought of laying in bed alone made you want to cry all over again.

‘As if I’d ever leave,’ scoffed Astarion as he took your hand again, leading you out of the bathroom.

The coldness of his bare chest was a much needed comfort. You nuzzled closer to him as he threw a thick blanket over the two of you. He reached over to his bedside table.

‘I could read for you, if you’d like.’

You mumbled out a ‘yes’. Your eyelids were so very heavy, but the idea of hearing Astarion’s voice rumble in his chest right against your cheek sounded lovely.

He chuckled to himself. ‘You’re adorable when you’re tired.’

He started reading. You weren’t really paying attention to what he was reading, rather to the sound of his voice itself. The individual words and sentences blurred into one, continuous rumble. Listening to him speak felt like falling deeper and deeper into a pile of the softest pillows.

You were out before Astarion could finish the first fifteen pages of the book. He noticed by the end of page twenty. When he did, he gently put away the book and held you tighter against him. And he may or may not have left a few kisses on your forehead, but that’s neither here nor there.

Astarion got comforting you down to a science. And he was damn proud that he was the one you trusted to comfort you in the first place.

[tossacointoyourarchivist]

Alright hear me out y'all-

Tav is just chilling at camp one day and a seemingly stray cat wanders up to them.

It's been a long day and everyone else is in their tents or heading that way. Perhaps they were a bit tipsy because they thought they could handle the second -or third- glass offered by Shadowheart. They should've known better than to try and keep up with her, Astarion had teased, but Tav is just grateful to finally see a smile on their friend's face. Finally happy to see life again, after all the darkness.

They remember hearing from Gale that cats show affection to humans by slowly blinking- something about trust, they think?

The cat has no problem approaching Tav, so perhaps not a stray or just a very brave one. It's quite large for a cat, even when accounting for its fluffy fur. It seems content to sit near them, carefully observing them like they're the most interesting thing there.

Tav hums, "Hello there, little friend," they keep their voice quiet and steady, even though they miss their family's cat terribly and have been starved of feline affection.

The tabby tilts its head and meows through a purr. Absolutely adorable.

Tav is just drunk enough to do this and no one's around to notice their silliness, so they relax against the tree they sit under and slowly blink their eyes at the cat.

Almost immediately, the cat responds with its own slow-blink.

Tav smiles and reaches out with a closed hand so the cat can acquaint itself with their scent, "Would you like to join me?"

The cat approaches, but before it can get too close, an explosion of golden light envelopes the creature.

If Tav had night vision, they might've noticed the blue-hazel of its- his eyes, or the small scars across his face but it's no mystery anymore.

Halsin stands tall before them with a warm smile on his face, "I'd love to."

[miradelletarot]

Hello my lovely!

Here is a song to hopefully inspire you. Sending you love. <3

OK my dear @sorceresssundries. I truly hope you like this. I'm deeply sorry it took me so long to finish this, but I yeeted my soul from the depths so I could finish it. (Not beta'd so please no one come for me if there are any mistakes or anything.)

Just letting y'all know...It's sad, but tender. But also sad. I'm sorry, but also suffer with me.

Also uploaded to AO3 SFW, but cw for implied death. Words: 1453 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Somewhere

Gale opened his eyes, blinking a few times until he adjusted to the sunlight that filtered in through the open window.

He sighed once he realized that he was once again alive to see another day. With an outstretched hand he slid his fingers along the empty sheets where Tav used to lay. The sheets were cold and vacant, but if he tried hard enough he could still smell their unique fragrance embedded into the mattress. Yet another reminder that they were no longer by his side, another day he must wake up alone.

Every day took more effort than the last to rouse his aging body from the bed that slowly became his prison. After a while, he fell into a routine. He’d wake, longingly caress Tav’s side of the bed, pad over to the bathroom and stare into the mirror vacantly studying the man before him, a man he no longer recognized. The years have clouded his eyes, his long hair and beard were unkempt and wiry, and it seemed a new wrinkle would appear every day. Why did he bother looking? There wasn’t anything to see anymore.

He shuffled to the kitchen and stared into the larder only to sigh and walk out without anything to eat, retreating to the terrace with a book that he would barely read.

Books were nothing more than words on old pages, strung together in meaningless clusters without form or understanding, food lacked flavor and excitement, his natural curiosity waned until it vanished into the unknown depths of forgotten brilliance. But there he would sit, the terrace his only refuge, and the comfort of holding a tome he’d never actually read.

The words on the page began to bleed together resembling spilled ink to his tired eyes. He sighed and set the book aside, resting his hands in his lap as he closed his eyes. For a moment, he took in the sounds of the sea below, slipping into a trance from the rhythmic ebbing and flowing of the waves rolling along the shore.

Astra navigabimus. More than anything these days, that incantation was the only thing that brought solace. Gale preferred his time in the Astral Sea, the most beautiful illusion he ever conjured, especially when he made Tav.

He stood at the edge of the astral waters, his bare feet kissed by gentle laps of water as he took a moment to center himself, and gaze into the expanse of his new reality.

Off in the distance was the small boat he brought Tav to their first time in the illusion. His crows’ feet deepened as he smiled longingly. He walked across a narrow path of stepping stones, traversing the empyrean sea until he reached the aimlessly floating craft.

Once he climbed in he could feel the depths of the water beneath him as the boat rocked, taking a deep breath and relaxing his shoulders as all the stress and tension he left behind in the material world melted away. His body ached a little less here, the weightlessness of the world around him made him feel anew.

“Gale, my love!” His eyes sparkled as Tav materialized before him, conjured together with shimmering stars and swirling colors. “You came back to me.” They smiled, their longing evident in their ethereal gaze.

“Of course, dearest. My heart beats only for you, my love.” He extended his hands to Tav, his fingers delicately tangling with theirs.

The longer he stayed, the more detailed Tav’s form became until they resembled their mortal body, though never quite becoming as real as Gale desired.

“Gods I miss you, Tav.” “I miss you too.”

He leaned in to press his forehead to theirs only to be met with no resistance, and merging with their celestial manifestation. His hands slipped from theirs as he leaned back, retreating from their incorporeal touch. Yet another reminder of what he’d lost, what he’ll never get back.

Tav reached out and placed their hand on Gale’s cheek. “You look tired, my sweet love.”

He sighed as he leaned into the tingling sensation that resembled their mortal touch. “Perhaps I am, but I’m worlds better now that I’m at your side.” His eyes softly closed as he leaned into the feeling, illusory as it may be, he didn’t care.

Tav watched him, their gaze curious and almost vacant, silently observing the withering man before them. After a moment, they pulled their hand away as it came to rest in their lap.

Gale’s eyes shot open as the tingling feeling vanished instantly. For a moment, he was reminded of the emptiness he felt when they died. He slowly turned his head towards the shore, just beyond it a swirling void daring to suck him back in, and return him to the dismal existence he left behind as he sat in meditation on his terrace.

“Gale? What troubles you, sweet love?”

“I should go back,” he whispered as he turned his somber gaze back to Tav. “I cannot stay long. You know that.”

Tav rested their hand on Gale’s, the other tilting his chin so he could meet their starry gaze. “Stay with me. Please don’t go.” Their eyes swirled like shimmering pools of stardust, capturing Gale in a mesmerizing, breathless reverie. “I love you.”

Gale released a soft, shuddering breath as their words drifted over him. “Gods I love you, too. More than anything,” he breathed. “Then stay.” Tav’s insistent plea was like a prayer. “You made this place for us. For me. It’s so lonely without you.”

“I’d drift along this endless sea with you forever if I could, my love.” “Then come with me.” The boat remained steady as Tav stood and extended their hand out to Gale. “Leave the boat behind, and come with me.”

“Leave the – I don’t know if I can…” His brow furrowed as he considered Tav’s words.

“You can. I’ll be with you. Just take my hand.” Tav’s face fell as Gale stared at them in disbelief. “Remember what you said to me once? ‘Don't be alarmed – I’m here with you.’” They paused, gently raking their fingers through his hair and caressing their hand down, coming to rest on his cheek. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. Just take my hand…let me show you the world you created for us.” Without tearing his eyes away from Tav, he reached up to his cheek, and wrapped his hand around theirs. The boat rocked as he stood, and he froze. Uncertainty flickered in his aging eyes as he wrestled the war between the safety of his tower, and the blissful peace of his illusion. The water rippled out from the boat, and he watched as they grew and faded out in the distance, far beyond where he’d ever gone before.

But Tav would be his anchor, his guide, his beacon. Tav was his reason for living those many years ago. They were always his light. Never leaving his side, even when he didn’t realize how much he needed their strength. Their compassion.

Tav watched him with that same vacant, ethereal gaze, their wisping form patient and still.

Gale let out a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright,” he whispered. “Alright…I’m with you, my love.” He smiled as the fear in his chest gave way to an eerie sense of calm and safety washed over him. “Show me more.” Tav burned brightly, smiling with unbridled joy. It had been years since Gale had seen that smile. They stepped out of the boat and stood on the water. “It’ll be alright. I have you.” He took another breath, steadying himself before he stepped over the starboard side of the boat. The water rippled as his feet touched the surface, and he tightened his grip on Tav’s hand on instinct.

“Are you ready?” Gale took a moment, letting the words sink in. He had expected to feel more scared and uncertain, but all he felt was peace. Safety. Like the journey he was about to embark on was the most sure thing he’d even done in the world. “Yes, my love. More than anything.”

Tav stepped closer, lifting their joined hands slightly as they laced their fingers together. A bright light emanated from their bond, and Tav leaned in for a kiss. Gale sighed softly as their lips met his, closing his eyes as he melted into Tav’s embrace. 

Little by little his corporeal form faded and drifted into the sea as Tav’s light poured into him. They pulled away and smiled, gazing at their love before them.

He looked younger. His tousled hair flowing like stardust, eyes bright and swirling like nebulae.

“Come, my sweet love,” Tav smiled. “I’ve so much to show you.”

[sspiderliliess]

diamond .

⟶ astarion x nervous, soft gn!tav — romance

i hyperfixated on bg3 for a while... i should get back to it. this feels like a bit of a word vomit and im still learning to express right but gosh i love emotional astarion stuff. (astarion and tav have a moment while they tend to his wounds | tav is gender-neutral but takes ideas from a female oc) ❤️‍🩹

⟶ rating — fluff?? suggestive at the end | tw blood, references to astarion's past

A tender flame danced. Outside, beyond the tent’s flimsy walls, rain poured for miles. The thriving forest floors squelched with a sea of puddles, the skies veiled with gray. But the pale crimson of the vampire’s tent was blooming with orange as the light within a lantern flickered across the walls and his belongings. 

Trinkets left and right beckoned my wonder, chiseled figures and crackled books that showed their age placed atop the shelves and the indigo rug. In the dark, the gold gleamed and teased my vision. Against the petrichor and iron from his bleeding gashes, the faintest aroma of wisteria tickled my nose.

Ah, yes! The nighttime florals just nearby. I remember being so delighted that our group’s camping spot was placed so conveniently close to those lovely plants. Purple was a soothing color, and those wisterias could comfort me almost as well as any lavender-based remedy could. 

It reminded me of Astarion, sometimes. My gaze wandered to the deep cuts across his leg, caked with drying blood and shining against the lantern’s light. The sight had been with me since it happened early in the day; a bundle of determined trolls could certainly leave their mark on someone—particularly three right across his calf and thigh. But sitting here, breathing in the smell of his blood that strengthened with every dab of the washrag, my stomach began to stir. 

Either that, or his more notable nature came back to my senses. Had I really forgotten how regal he was after all of this? A magistrate, he said. Different circles, he said… I love you, he said. I’d spent a good time getting to know him and his quick-witted remarks. His irritable nature reared its head often, but something beneath the rough had always twinkled if I squinted just right. He didn’t have to take these hits for me. I knew my heart felt truly for him, but I didn’t know he’d be the type to do that so quickly.

“Darling, I don’t mean to be rude, but—ack—it’s just that this blood is finding its way all over my bedding. I could tend to this myself, you know?” 

I turned my attention back to Astarion, who had propped himself up and was leaning my way with a hand reached for the stained rag. The gash on his thigh was oozing with blood, a thick trail pooling onto his blanket.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I gasped and crawled forward to continue the cleansing. 

He furrowed his brows, then raised them, and a smile etched onto his lips. “Now, for a vampire to get lost in thought at the sight of blood, I could understand… but what’s making you so bothered?”

“I’m,” I hummed. “I’m unsure.”

I tilted my head and continued to absentmindedly dab at the cuts. He laughed under his breath.

That familiar Astarion in his playful quips and egotistical humor. Those with a demeanor such as that rarely gained my attention for too long; I was always frightened by what judgments they might make, how out of place I felt. In the beginning when our group happened upon him, it’d bothered me quite a bit and I was sure he caught onto that, thus, I did what any mature person would have done when met with some sort of problem.

I ignored it.

The sly fox had taken note of this reaction. Maybe that was what got him to be nicer to me so quickly, less… prickly, especially in the times where I let him feed. But as I’d grown closer to him in our travels and had more meaningful conversations, I found him to be a book I might like to read, and the teasing came back on its own. I wasn’t bothered then. I might’ve enjoyed it. I still find myself thinking of that evening back near the grove, where he nearly choked at the teasing he threw my way when he saw the small and clumsily crafted animal in my hand. I told him how my mother had made those kinds of things with me, back in Baldur’s Gate when I was just a child and felt lonely, and his laughter stopped.

He seemed hurt by that. Regretful, almost. I'd like to think that turned out to be a nice day, though.

I was pulled from my gnawing thoughts once again as a slender finger slipped under my chin. Astarion looked less playful now, eyes glazed with what looked to be concern. He sat there in silence for a moment, staring at me until I felt my skin heat with blood and my heart tremble, and then he sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to go about talking. It’s easy to flirt, to say things you don’t mean. But I would like to know what you’re thinking. Truthfully.”

He continued to hold my chin up with that single finger, his eyes almost pleading to listen and talk. It was the Astarion less familiar to most, and like a timid rabbit spoken to with the softest voice, I found myself being drawn closer right then and there.

“You told me a while back that you were a magistrate, a long time ago,” I began, awaiting his response.

He swallowed slowly and shuffled to make room for me on the bed. “I was, yes. I don’t remember much more than that. That life is so distant now, a pained memory of what was and what could have been, I suppose.”

He didn’t move aside from a mournful wince that I was sure had little to do with the physical state he was in. He laughed bitterly, “It’s funny to think about. I remember that simple fact, but nothing about me.”

It almost shocked me, the way he seemed to care so little about his old role. To be of such importance in Baldur’s Gate, to have such power over just about anyone before you… and yet, have it taken away in an instant. It threatened to sprout an ache in my chest—the thought of such a family and stability gone in the blink of an eye, power replaced with powerlessness. In the quiet and my dwelling, I understood him just a bit more. I could only wonder what happened to make the paths fall as they did. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me today. We might not know who you were back then, or what happened before, or what you looked like, or what you knew… But I know you now. And I’m grateful.”

I’d always been so cautious with him, so much so I could hardly form the words properly. I pushed myself to keep my eyes on him, though, and I watched as he looked to the ground with a smile. Those crimson eyes appeared much glossier.

In that moment, I did what any confident, self-assured individual would do. My heart pounded against my chest the minute I leaned forward to gently wrap my arms around him. He paused briefly and I heard his breath hitch, but he returned the gesture.

“I’m grateful to know you, too,” he sighed into my ear.

His breath and curls tickled my neck, where old bites were planted. I’d forgotten they were there until his nose brushed against it and a dull pain bloomed in their place. He stayed like that for a while. “I know that I’m in no place to have a passionate night,” he said a bit awkwardly. “But I would like to spend what time with you that I can, if you’d like..?”

It took me a second to understand just what he meant, and I couldn’t help but pull away with tensed brows and a muffled giggle. “I don’t know if passion is the best idea, seeing as though you’re still bleeding as is.”

I pointed to the fresh puddle of blood on the blanket, where his leg had pressed into the furs. He scowled and pursed his lips, but his smile soon resurfaced. “Well, perhaps that another night, darling.”

He leaned back to lay down again and I grabbed the rag from the bowl of water, wringing it out as the dark reds faded to pinks again. It was then that I’d notice what sat opposite of me while I crouched on the ground. Tucked away from most prying eyes was a spindly little nick-nack on his shelf, with leaves and vines coiled together to make a deer-like toy that you’d think only a child could love. It was placed within a makeshift forest scene, crafted impressively from grass and sticks. It’d been a while since I’d seen it.

I didn’t think I would again.

[astarionmademewriteit]

I couldn't stop imagining what spawn!Astarion's reaction would be if a stranger from the street approached gn!Tav and revealed that they had slept with Haarlep in Tav's form. So, here is a short 800 word story of what I imagine would happen in that situation from Astarion's POV.

I will probably add a part two from Ascended Astarion's POV so we can compare their motivations.

TW: Sexual harassment, graphic depictions of violence, feelings of shame and guilt.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

The glassy eyes of the strange man slip down Tav's form with thinly veiled satisfaction, eyeing them with unadulterated lust. His demeanor reeks of false confidence, and his behavior is bolstered by something that passes unsaid in his gaze.

Tav slows their steps, searching the strange man's face for anything that would spark familiarity, but ultimately coming up short.

“Excuse me? Do I know you?” Confusion paints their words as they shift uncomfortably under the oppressive gaze of the man standing before them.

The stranger chuckles at Tav's concern, his condescending tone thickening with delight as he watches Tav squirm, “No. But I know you,” he reaches out and drags a thumb across Tav's face. They quickly jerk away, repulsed by the unwanted attention. The man's face hardens, but he continues, “Well. I know your body at the very least. I'm sure there is an interesting story there. Tell me, how did an incubus come to acquire such a lovely, lovely body such as yours?”

Recognition dawns in Tav's eyes before they are quickly replaced by revulsion and shame. I can tell Tav is fighting to keep their emotions in check, but it must be difficult under the watchful gaze of such a repulsive man. Tav turns on their heels searching for a corner to slip around out of the man's sight. 

Before they can, however, the stranger places a firm grasp on their elbow and spins them around, backing them up slowly like a predator cornering its prey.

“Hold on just a minute. I was rather considering a return trip to the House of Hope's boudoir. But now that I know I can get the real thing…” He leans over, just inches away from Tav's face. The look of guilt that dances across their features only fuels my own rage.

Before the stranger can so much as utter another foul word, I spring on him–twisting his arm painfully behind his back and digging the tip of my dagger into the soft flesh of his neck.

The stranger pitches backwards in pain, trying to relieve some of the pressure from his already cracked wrist bones. “What in the hells?” He screams, his eyes suddenly wild with fear.

I try to calm my own breathing as anger wells deep inside me, “What gives you the right to violate them like that?” I twist his wrist harder in the wrong direction, finding satisfaction in the cracking of his bones and his pitiful screams. My knife digs a little deeper into his neck and the first rivulets of blood bloom from his wound.

“I– I,” the man searches for something to say–anything that will convince me to relinquish my grasp on him. He doesn't realize that his fate has already been sealed the moment he deemed it appropriate to accost Tav.

I look towards Tav, who is all but hiding their face in shame. Their frame suddenly small as they curl in on themselves after having been hideously violated. The image only stirs similar emotions within me. I know that feeling all too well. I would never wish that on my darling. Not ever. 

I turn back and glare viciously at the stranger, letting my expression speak for me. “Apologize. Right. Now. Before I gut you like the pig you are,” I growl through gritted teeth. I pull harder on his wrist, taking great pleasure in the snapping of sinew and tendons in his arm.

“I'm sorry,” he wails loudly, “I didn't mean it, I'm sorry.” His cries quickly turn to sobs as pain lances through his body, but I can hear his heartbeat. I heard the way it skipped at his words. 

Lies. All lies.

I pull the knife away from his neck, which earns a small sigh of relief from the stranger. But, before he could regain his composure I thrust the dagger into his chest over and over again in a violent flurry of strikes, letting anger control my movements. 

Blood splatters unceremoniously across my face as it casts off my blade. Only when the man's cries turn to whimpers and gurgling do I stop and let his body fall to the ground. I step over his crumpled form as if he were nothing but trash on the street, because that's all he really was, and make my way towards Tav.

“A-are you okay, my love?” I whisper sweetly, avoiding touching them without permission. I knew this dance all too well.

Tav shudders before shaking their head. I frown when I see sadness flooding their eyes threatening to spill over and consume them completely. 

“Let's draw you a warm bath, darling. I think it's much needed after that encounter. Afterwards, we can talk about it if you feel like it.” I give them a soft smile, hoping to ease some of their shame.

Tav reaches out and tangles their fingers in mine as we walk back to Elfsong Tavern. “Thank you,” they whisper softly. The images of tonight still dance across their vision, and I swear to myself that I will try and make it better. As they had once done for me.

[sideshow-cellophane-blog]

Wyll's Enchanted Boots: Part 2!

Act 2, also

It didn't take long for the group to come back. Tav, Gale, Laezel, and Halsin had spent a long day in the shadow lands searching for hints about a child named Thaniel, and had made little progress other than adding to their map, felling some enemy creatures, and meeting with some harpers. They would head northwest the next day in search of that inn they mentioned, but their day had been cut short to exhaustion.

Tav and Gale collapsed at Shadowheart's tent to heal while the others went off on their own. 

Halsin was used to getting looks from his new allies, but he felt more intense gazes as he headed back. He tried to meet eyes with Astarion and Wyll, who looked away too quickly. Both looked quite disheveled and flustered.

A smile tugged at his lips. "Did something happen while we were gone?"

"Hm?" Astarion answered too innocently. "Oh, nothing much. We scavenged a ruin nearby and found fresh clothes. Wyll found some boots your size, they're already near your tent."

Wyll snapped his attention to Astarion. "You-! Nonsense, Astarion brought everything back by himself."

"Don't be modest darling, not when you went through all of that hard work trying on the enchanted clothes."

"And here I thought you were the one to make those yourself. Seems I underestimated your mischief."

Halsin was too tired to mind whatever was going on between the two. He continued to his tent near the water and stripped off his armor piece by piece, sighing in relief to change into fresh clothing after a long day in darkness. 

The eyes remained on him, as they usually do when he changes. But this time something different happened. 

Something very different.

 He slipped into a fresh pair of boots, new ones that must have come from their scavenging, and he turned to check on the others.

He felt the boots tighten - odd - and as he took that first step he nearly crumpled to the ground. A feather-like tickle ran up his soles, and another after that. His face twisted in confusion, then realization as the enchanted boots started to tickle every inch of his feet without mercy. He chuckled and looked to Astarion and Wyll, whose grins were as wide as the druid's. He did not see Karlach and Shadowheart also looking, momentarily distracted from her healing spell. 

"Oh - OH!" He stomped his feet on the ground as the magic kept tickling, and his giggling picked up. Halsin crossed his arms over his stomach and crumpled to his knees. "Wha-HAHAHA! Whahat is thihihis?!" 

"Got him!" Karlach cheered. "Poor Wyll couldn't handle those things for more than a few minutes. Isn't it fun?"

"He couldn't handle being grabbed by his love handles either," Astarion teased. He pinched Wyll's exposed sides and got smacked. 

"I can't help my sensitivities," Wyll pouted. He fended off Astarion's teasing fingers as Halsin belly laughed harder and louder. "Stop! Let Halsin be the center of attention, will you? I've been tortured enough today."

"Hmph. I'd wager Halsin rivals even you Wyll! He's certainly as loud."

Halsin was fully lying on the ground, kicking his legs against the dirt. He tried to remove the boots, but they held tight to his skin. He flopped back over as they dug beneath his toes. A squeal escaped him, and he pounded a fist on the ground. How long had it been since his nerves were exploited in such a silly way? Had they ever been? Certainly no one was brave enough since he became an archdruid. He had forgotten how fun it could be, and admired how it brightened the team around him. They had all been so melancholy after the creche.

"Whoa," Tav breathed as they approached the hysterical giant behind Karlach. "Where did you guys find those?!"

"Astarion did earlier today near some ruins," Shadowheart said firmly. "He and Wyll were going at it earlier. It was his idea to give them to Halsin next."

"Stop dropping names," Astarion said nervously. "Stop dropping my name. Karlach brought them to his tent, after all."

"Yeah but he can't touch me without burning, unlike you Mister Giggles," Karlach laughed. "Halsin! You doing okay?"

Their favorite gentle giant was giggling so hard he could only gargle through half-started words and jumbled pleads. He kept his arms crossed over his stomach and rolled from side to side, kicking all the while. Tears of mirth were escaping the corners of his eyes. 

"Well he isn't begging for it to stop," Gale said softly. "I hope that means he's enjoying himself?"

Halsin nodded through his hysteria. 

"I don't think you can take them off when you're wearing both shoes," Wyll commented. "Astarion and Karlach got them off when they were wearing one boot each, but it was impossible for me when I was wearing both…So, uh, one of us will actually need to… step in here." He grinned at himself.

Tav groaned at the pun. "You guys were in camp tickling one another while we were risking our lives fighting shadow creatures? There was a massive fucking spider man out there, goblins, undead creatures...Godsdamn it all, why couldn't you wait until we were back?! I would have loved to see Wyll losing his mind! And Karlach can be touched with these?!"

"Oh yeah," Karlach sighed. "Wish it could tickle other parts of me…"

"We have to entertain ourselves somehow while you're away," Astarion shrugged. "And look! You have your giggley show now, don't you? I didn't think it would really be so easy to fall the mighty archdruid."

"IHIHI'M GOHOHOING TO KIHIHIHILL YOHOHOU!" Halsin roared. He wasn't really having a bad time. Their group had been through a lot in such a short period of time and he hadn't laughed so hard in many long years. Being the center of their delight wasn't a blow to his ego, if it brought a genuine smile to everyone's faces. "GeheheHET DOHOHOWN HEHEHEHERE!" He barely managed to sit up, his entire frame shaking with mirth. He took a swing for Astarion's legs, missed, and growled as he tried to crawl forward.

"Oh~!" Shadowheart giggled. "He's mobile, Astarion!"

"Oh fuck - I'll get those boots off if you don't retaliate! Wyll and Shadowheart already got their revenge on me earlier!"

Halsin lunged again for the nearest person and managed to grab Shadowheart's leg. "Nahahahat….FOR MEHEHEHEE!"

She squeaked and knelt down to stop his fingers from curling into her knee and subsequently thigh. "Hehey! I didn't do anythihihing!" Still, she didn't put up much of a fight when he pulled her down into his lap and started to squeeze her belly. She snorted and began to giggle with a very red face at being manhandled by the group's current crush - besides Tav - and subjected to torture.

"Bah," Laezel finally spoke. "To be stroked lightly and laugh in such a way - how human. And childish."

"Please, it's fun!" Karlach threw out her arms. "Gods, as soon as I can touch you all I'll show you how a proper tickle fight should go. You'll see Laezel, they're so much fun with friends! Wyll you'll have to be my first, I already know some of your tickle spots and your laugh is so sweet! Gods, we need to catch up with Dammon."

Wyll tensed at the idea of being under Karlach's mercy, giant that she was, and shuddered in secret delight. "I'd…I'd be honored to see your joy when that happens," He said honestly but very hesitantly. "As long as you show some mercy."

"I'll watch," Laezel crossed her arms, secretly admiring Halsin's mirth. "But involve me and suffer death."

"Now that I'll avoid."

"Hehehelp!" Shadowheart giggled. "C-cahahan't! Escahahahape!"

"GihihHIHIHIVE MEhehehe Astahahahariohohohon! HaHAHAHA!" Halsin bellowed out deep belly laughter again when Shadowheart stopped clawing at his hands, and instead reached back to claw his own sides. 

"Well if I'm being thrown under the bus I may as well deserve it," Astarion sighed and cracked his neck. Wyll was easy to defeat in a tickle fight, but he knew Halsin would absolutely kill him. "Tav? Or Gale? Get his arms up, won't you?"

Gale smiled and cast mage hand. It hovered in front of Halsin and Shadowheart, and with some extra concentration it grabbed Halsin's hands and lifted them. "Alright, have your fun."

"With pleasure," Tav and Astarion both descended on Halsin with Shadowheart. Halsin fell backwards onto his back, cackling madly. Fingers fluttered and squeezed over his muscled stomach, into fleshy sides, creeping into his armpits, tip-toed and counted out his most sensitive ribs. He roared when - Tav? - squeezed that most sensitive spot just under his pectorals and into his top ribs. Shadowheart was pinching the softness below his navel. He rolled back and forth in a new level of hysteria he hadn't experienced in well over a century - it wasn't unwelcome, but he was going to get them all back for this. Namely Astarion, whose fingers curling in his armpits and skittering over biceps were sending electric bolts down his spine. 

"FIHIHIHIGHT FAHAHAHAIRLY!" He yelled. "GAHAAAAA! AHAHAHASSES! YOU DARE ATTACK AHAHAHAN! ALLY?! HAAaaaaaaaAAAHAHA!"

"Here," Feeling more sympathetic than the rest, Wyll sat on Halsin's legs to try and pull the boots off - he needed some form of relief. "Don't go too hard on him guys, I'm sure they've had a long day."

"Mm, I did most of the work," Gale coughed. "I finally got my fireball spell back."

"Most useful," Laezel nodded. "But it was I who had the highest body count today. You merely helped weaken them."

"Well without my fireballs we would have needed to use a revive scroll, or Withers, with the way you charge into battle."

Laezel took a moment to give Gale the benefit of the doubt. When he didn't continue with an apology for his boastful ego she uncrossed her arms and hesitantly started to poke at his sides and ribs from behind in retaliation. She used softer touches that she observed being used on Halsin, and Gale's concentration was broken instantly to a giggle fit. He curled in on himself and bent over in vain to escape her vice-like grip, but she pulled him into her chest. One arm held his waist, and the other pinched and poked at it.

"Hehehey! W-what- Lae'zel! Hehe!"

"Say that I'm more efficient in battle than you are!" She demanded, gaining confidence now that he was reacting the way Halsin was. "Suffer my superior light hearted torture!"

"Aw, aw, guys!" Karlach gasped. "Guys! It's our first tickle fight and I can't even touch you? Fucking hells that sucks!"

"Want a boot?" Wyll quickly hopped off of Halsin's legs with the enchanted boots, just in time for the mage hand to disappear with Gale's concentration. Halsin was free. "We'll get you one of these days ourselves."

"Gimme one, nobody can keep me from being a part of this!" Karlach cheered and pulled on one of the shoes so she could be a part of the tickle fight that was breaking out. 

Wyll sat beside her and watched the madness erupt. "I don't think you'll need these boots when we can touch you again," He teased. "You'll have our very willing team."

With his arms free and feet no longer being tortured, Halsin had grabbed the person who wasn't running away fastest: Astarion. And that was only because he was pushed into Halsin's body by Tav and Shadowheart to avoid that very fate. The spawn squealed in fear, girlishly swatting at Halsin's large arms as they wrapped around him. Halsin managed to keep the vampire on his chest as one extremely large hand covered the entirety of his belly, and scratched at it with vigor. Astarion choked on his first cackle, and then the noises he made would have made one think a hyena had entered their camp. 

"Prank an archdruid, and suffer the consequences!" Halsin roared in victory. Astarion writhed like a flopping fish on him, but he held fast. "I'm coming after ALL of you!" His large fingers scuttled to Astarion's sides, then ribs, and avoided his swinging arms by going directly into his armpits. 

Astarion's arms clamped to his sides, quite uselessly, and he practically jumped out of his skin. "NAHT THERE NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!" He arched his back into Halsin's chest and howled, stuck on his back. With both of Halsin's hands preoccupied, he finally managed to roll off him to the ground.

The escape attempt was stopped quickly. Halsin sat up and pulled Astarion into his lap, wiggling his fingers in those death spots all the while. "I'll be staying right here," Halsin assured him. "To teach you a valuable lesson!" 

Gale made it to his knees in front of Wyll and Karlach, the unfortunate first victim of Laezel's merciless fingers. "Admit it or suffer more forced laughter!" She kept demanding. "I am the best fighter! Even now I have you lying defenseless beneath me in a hilarious fit! Suffer a most silly wrath!"

Unfortunately, Gale couldn't breathe, and therefore couldn't answer. Choked pleads and squeals and half-hearted attempts to get her to move were to no avail, and he couldn't laugh hard enough from the militant alien's insufferable tickle torture. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and it was all he could do to keep his arms firmly pinned to his sides.

Tav and Shadowheart looked at each other with bright smiles. Shadowheart looked at Astarion, back at Tav, and had to shout over the maniacal cackling and howling laughter. "Get his knees!"

"No! Really?" Tav didn't hesitate. Too excited by the prospect of seeing Astarion giddy and out of control, they knelt down in front of the pair. Halsin had wrapped one leg around one of Astarion's, but the vampire's other kicked dirt. 

Just before Tav could start squeezing the trapped knee, Shadowheart's nimble fingers wormed their way under their arms. Tav squeaked at the betrayal and was pulled backwards into the cleric's chest, just like Astarion and Halsin across from them. 

Astarion was bent in half in Halsin's lap, shaking and cackling with giant bear fingers trapped and wriggling in his armpits. He started to slump over to the side and was pulled right back into Halsin's chest with a shout. He was shown a slight mercy as Halsin finally pinched his way down to Astarion's tummy again, and the poor thing snorted and twisted. 

Finally, FINALLY, the squeezes and skitters slowed to pokes and slower vibrations that Astarion could breathe and gasp through. "Oh, oho, haha, heheh, f-fahack…Ah gahahads, yohou're evihihil!"

"Evil wouldn't involve breaks," Halsin pinched his hip. 

"AHA!...B-break? You're not blohohoody stahahapping!"

"Look around you," He nodded to the group. Tav and Shadowheart were making each other squeak as they fought for control. Gale was wheezing as Wyll tried to talk Lae'zel into letting the matter drop. Karlach was in the middle of taking off the tickle boot, watching the group too. She gave Halsin and Astarion a wink. "I've never seen anything like it. You have made everyone so happy this evening. Even if it started at my expense, I intend for it to end at yours. Shared delight is such a wonderful gift like that, isn't it?"

"Hah? HAAAAAAHAHAHA!" Astarion swayed to the side and managed to fall over. Halsin was digging into his sides again, and focused both large hands on scribbling into the one now facing up. Astarion could only battle weakly at the stronger man's hands. 

Tav and Shadowheart finally called a truce, and Lae'zel was showing Gale mercy only because he had started to wheeze more than laugh. Wyll patted his back as Karlach grabbed the boots to hide at someone else's tent. Halsin wouldn't be done with Astarion for a few more minutes. Noticeably, he wasn't begging for it to stop.

[kylobith]

Memory Lane

Characters: Astarion, Tav, Rolan, Wyll, Astarion's parents, Karlach, Shadowheart, Gale, Lae'zel

Tav: Gender-neutral/Non-binary Half-Drow Sorcerer

Tropes: Angst, Friendship, Platonic Relationship, Found family, Healing

Word count: 10,605 Read here on Ao3

Summary: Now that Faerûn is saved from the Absolute and everybody is learning to resume their lives, Astarion is submerged by a desire to recover memories from his past. Before Cazador, before his transformation. And Tav is determined to help him.

Could it be that there is somebody out there still waiting for him?

(Inspired by this post by @a-darling-thing)

Everyone is safe.

The streets of Baldur’s Gate bustle anew in the late hours. Taverns and inns have long been rebuilt as havens of peace after the narrowly avoided end of the world. Some have complained that their restoration has been privileged over the many homes lost. Others claim that it is a question of boosting morale amid darkness. No matter your opinion, if you venture the streets of Baldur’s Gate, you will hear cheers and songs belted out by souls who have seen too much gloom. Most lost dear ones. Most looked death in the eyes and got to live another day.

Everyone is safe.

There has been word from other lands that life is resuming and prosperous. The Shadow-cursed Lands were given breath again by the light of the Nightsong, and a small group has been working relentlessly to make it liveable again. No good-hearted soul should be barred from settling there, they believe, and they know that, soon, children’s laughter will fill the air again along birdsong.

Everyone is safe.

But not all are sane.

Sat in one of the red armchairs of Sharess’ Caress with his gaze empty, Astarion drowns his boredom and anguish in exquisite wine. Swirling the rich burgundy nectar inside his glass, he lets out yet another sigh, not bothering to acknowledge salutations from grateful survivors who recognise one of the city’s saviours.

There is a dimness to his ruby eyes that has not faded since he was rid of the tadpole gnawing at his brain. Shadowheart has never questioned him about it—she was never one to pry, after all. How could he even put the words on this ache that has seeped so deeply within him that it planted its claws into his bones?

No matter how often he has attempted to clear his mind for a good rest, it creeps back in and churns his guts with an uneasy anguish. It has been weeks since he last tranced for a full day or night. Most of the time, he finds himself staring at the ceiling with his eyes wide open.

And he drinks.

Drinks again.

Until the feeling becomes somewhat dulled.

But not quite.

Around the corner, a silhouette enters the corridor, passing by the few groups of talkative people. It heads straight towards Astarion, and he deliberately ignores it. He would recognise the aroma of this blood in a crowd of thousands. As they sit in the empty chair beside him, he sighs and chugs the rest of his wine. He tosses the empty glass onto the table and decides to take full swigs from the bottle instead.

Screw appearances. For once.

‘You look like shit.’

Astarion scoffs.

‘Good evening to you too, darling,’ he muses sarcastically.

Tav rolls their eyes and leans back into the armchair, drinking from a foamy mug of ale. Since the vampire does not utter a single word, uninterested in carrying out this conversation if it started this way, they decide to take the matter into their own hands.

‘Astarion, you look like you haven’t had proper rest since the Nautiloid. What’s going on? Really going on?’

At last, the pale elf casts a cold glance towards their former travel companion. He wants to play coy as he always does, sweet talk his way out of this conversation and possibly make his way downstairs to pay for company to warm his sheets. After all, that has always been the only way for him to not feel. Ministrations betwixt the sheets always do the trick. Dissociating would perhaps allow him to sleep soundly at last. Lose touch with his hurt by twisting the dagger into old ones whose pain he has long grown accustomed to.

But his tongue burns with the will to spill out all the words entrapped in his silent heart. That lump that has been occupying his throat for weeks now threatens to rupture.

Tav is safe. He tries to remind himself of that every so often when he catches himself spiralling with nightmares and terrors that leave him in dire want of a friend to vent to.

When has Tav ever let him down? Without them, he would not have fed properly for the first time in two centuries. He would never have survived the tadpole on his own. His hubris and unbridled cockiness would have caused his death at the first encounter out of the Nautiloid. But Tav has never minded.

Tav accepts him. Perhaps too blindly at times, truth be told. But they give him the space he needs to explore his newfound freedom. When sewer creatures and rats fail to fill his belly, Tav always offers some of their blood to keep him alert and healthy until they can find something better on the surface. They buy books in the city to keep him company when the sunlight makes his city hostile to his very existence. They often keep him updated on life out there, and even on gossip they could not care less about, but they know will keep him occupied for a few hours.

In other words, Tav is the only person he could ever express his distress to. Only they could understand.

Astarion groans and slams the empty wine bottle on the table, making the toppled glass quiver.

‘I know it’s stupid, alright?’ he starts with a disgruntled expression etched onto his refined traits. ‘Ever since we saved the city and killed Cazador, all I’ve been craving is to move on. To start over, I suppose. But…’

Attempting to find the right words to express his angst, he clicks his tongue.

‘Now that almost all is possible, that I’ve got eternity ahead of me, I can’t stop thinking about who I was before it all. Before the Gurs attacked me that fateful night and Cazador found me.’

Tav wipes some foam sticking to their upper lip with the back of their sleeve, which, honestly, makes Astarion want to screech considering that their garment is made of silk.

‘You mean your past when you were still alive?’

‘Is that not what I said?!’ Astarion snaps, before exhaling slowly. ‘My apologies. I’m still trying to figure out what I want.’

His friend listens attentively and considers his words. It does not surprise them in the least to hear this plea of his. If anything, they have been wondering when he would eventually voice this desire to uncover his past. As much as the vampire strives to build a secure and comfortable future for himself despite his predicament, he is somebody who inherently lives in the past. Nobody can blame him for that. Tav certainly does not.

‘What is it you want to know about your past, exactly?’

Astarion’s eyebrows raise and crease his forehead. In all honesty, he has never thought about that. The lack of memories is usually what he broods over, but never has he thought of questions he would seek answers to if, suddenly, all his memories could be restored. Would he like to know what his favourite dish was? Would he rather remember his usual schedule and routines? Or, perhaps, would he prefer to reminisce about what made him feel alive then?

As one of the waitresses passes in the corridor, Tav orders another bottle of red for him. Before long, an uncorked bottle of elegant Waterdhavian spirits is placed in front of him, beside a clean cup. Without waiting for him to reach out, they serve him a glass and bring the chalice to his hand.

‘I think I want to know about the people who raised me,’ he mumbles with a frown. ‘It’s silly, I know, but I wonder if I still have family out there.’

Tav smiles and gently clinks their mug against his cup.

‘It’s not silly at all, Astarion. They could tell you stories of your youth, and help you remember. And I’m sure that they would provide for you and introduce you to members of your clan whose births you missed.’

Astarion exhales sharply out of his nose with a corner of his lips raised. His eyes roll towards Tav.

‘You’re indulging me again.’

‘Indulging you in what, exactly? Supporting you in wanting to rediscover your path is hardly indulging you. It’s not a far-fetched wish, I’ll have you know.’

They grin at each other and drink.

‘Even if I wanted to go down this road, I wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, my situation doesn’t quite allow me to investigate either.’

With a shrug, Tav sets down their ale on the table, belching before leaning back.

‘I could look for them for you. Tell me anything you remember, and I’ll work from there.’

Astarion cocks an eyebrow again and stares at them for longer than he thinks.

‘You would do that? For me? But what’s in it for you?’

‘If you still think I do stuff for you for my own gain, then what’s our whole adventure been for? Perhaps I just want to see you happy, ever thought about that?’

‘Hah. I don’t know if I want to be happy myself. There wouldn’t be anything left to improve.’

‘I suppose. But your heart would be lighter,’ they insist, poking his arm. ‘Come on, Starry, let me help you. Do you remember anything?’

The pale elf sighs and chugs his first cup of Waterdhavian red, exhaling as it coats his tongue and drops down his throat.

‘Ancunín.’

It is the half-drow’s turn to eye him curiously.

‘Sorry?’

The vampire runs a hand through his hair, still staring into emptiness.

‘Ancunín. It was my surname, once.’

‘A pretty one at that.’

Amused by the compliment, he clicks his tongue again and playfully rolls his eyes. He tosses a leg over the other and shakes his foot.

‘And I’m the smooth talker?’

‘Most of the time,’ Tav responds with a snort. ‘Ancunín, then… Very well. I’ll start from there.’

The next morning, when the city rouses from its slumber, Tav is already out and about, determined to find anything about Astarion’s family. Since a part of the city’s archives have been displaced until the building in the Upper City is fully rebuilt, their first instinct is to head to one of the centres of knowledge in all of the city.

As they cross the threshold of Sorcerous Sundries, they are welcomed at the reception by a familiar figure.

‘Welcome to Sorcer—oh! By the gods, Tav, it is good to see you here!’

Tav grins and embraces the tiefling, who leans over the counter, nearly climbing on it.

‘Good morning, Lia. Everything still going smoothly for you in the city?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the bubbly young woman chimes, ‘Cal and I bought our first house in the Lower City. It isn’t much, but it’s quite an upgrade compared to the rocky road!’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

Lia beams with joy and Tav can see her long tail whipping the floor excitedly behind her. It seems that the tiefling is truly happy to see them again.

‘But I assume that you aren’t here to talk about the house,’ she whispers. ‘What brings you here?’

‘Is Rolan available? I would like to ask him something about the part of the city’s archives that was brought to Ramazith's Tower.’ ‘Oh. Well. He should already be up, I believe. Go upstairs, third portal.’

‘Thank you. Send my love to Cal for me, will you?’

‘Will do!’

Without further ado, Tav climbs up the stairs above the front desk to find the upper floor, where four buzzing portals offer passage to different locations. The contraption is identical to the riddle that Lorroakan set up with the Nightsong, but there is something so incredibly Rolan about it.

The plaques which bore the different answers to the simple question that helped Lorroakan narrow down the flow of visitors to only let the serious ones in have long been tossed into a broom closet and forgotten. None of the portals bears a riddle of any kind, and passage to the wizard’s tower is left to chance. The fear of what is on the other side of each threshold is enough to deter any visitor and leave the tower secluded in its own peace and quietness. Zero is precisely the number of visitors that Rolan loves.

Following Lia’s instructions, Tav steps through the third portal and finds themself transported to a brightly-lit observation floor. Astronomical instruments and tools are posted at each window, ready to be manipulated and appreciated. Between a few richly ornamented bookshelves bearing nothing but volumes on the universe, the sky and celestial bodies, there is a mahogany desk illuminated by the lofty arches of the balcony. Piles of scrolls and open tomes bear witness to an ongoing, arduous research.

Tav glances around, hoping to find somebody. Anybody. But there is no soul in sight. Since they do not wish to impose, they are retracing their steps towards the portal, when a grunt resonates in their back.

‘Ugh, Lia will really let anyone in. Excuse me!’

Before leaving him a chance to begin one of his numerous grumpy monologues, Tav turns around and waves. The other tiefling gasps in surprise.

‘It’s you! I was wondering if you even made it out alive! Mh. Should I be surprised that you did? Not that I care.’

Tav snorts and approaches him. Despite the animosity that the wizard has often held against them, he allows a smile to play on his lips, wrinkling his amber eyes and creasing his freckled nose.

‘Morning, Rolan,’ they chime. ‘Love what you did with the place. You gave it a homely feeling.’

At the compliment, Rolan’s orange-red complexion darkens around his cheeks.

‘Thank you, Tav. What brings you here after weeks of not hearing from you?’

‘I was wondering if one needs any special permission to have access to the city’s archives that were brought to you.’

The wizard gestures towards a seat in front of his desk, while he sits behind it, ignoring the mess.

‘Not that I know of. Why do you ask?’

‘I’m trying to find anything about Astarion’s family and see if, perhaps, there are any survivors in the city.’

‘Ah, yes. Him.’

Upon the mention of the vampire’s name, the wizard scrunches up his nose. Nevertheless, he seems to give it a thought, folding his hands before him.

‘I do have some records from previous censuses. Would that be of any help?’

‘Most likely.’

‘What information do you already possess? I have some free time on my hands, I can help you look,’ Rolan adds with a smirk. ‘For once, it is you who needs my help, after all. How could I sleep on this opportunity?’

Tav shakes their head in amusement and takes out a crumpled piece of parchment from their pocket, handing it over to the tiefling. He grabs it and peeks inside, only to find a single word scribbled on it.

‘Ancunín?’

‘That’s his surname. All I know and all he can remember is this name, and the fact that he grew up in a noble family.’

‘Mh. Researching noble families from the city should not be a daunting task. Crests, acts of inheritance and the like should be kept within the archives. I would not be surprised if all records from the nobility are kept together. Hopefully, it is the case and our research will be all the quicker thanks to it.’

He drags himself out of his chair and beckons Tav over as he walks away. They follow him, avoiding small talk as they quickly realised during their adventure that it is one of Rolan’s pet peeves. Talking to say nothing? It makes his skin crawl.

The wizard leads them to the lower floors and into one of the high-security vaults where he has been keeping and guarding the documents entrusted to him. Memorising the orthography as well as the archival system used by the authorities, he begins to browse the collection, his clawed fingertip grazing the worn-out back of the numerous volumes on a shelf.

‘I see a registry of Upper City families here. Look for an Ancunín family in there while I keep looking. There is a desk in the corner.’

Tav grabs the heavy tome that Rolan hands them and carries it over to the unoccupied desk in the corner, supporting it with their hip. Despite their attempt to be careful, they inadvertently slam the book on the table—earning a disapproving glare from their host—and open it. Their outstretched finger trails down a pages-long list of clan names, hoping to find the only one that matters. In the background, the flipping of pages and the weight of books sliding onto the shelves make for the only distraction available.

‘So, any luck?’

They look up and close the tome with a shake of the head.

‘I don’t see Ancunín in there. Perhaps he didn’t live in the Upper City.’

‘Mmh. Let’s keep searching, then. Bring the volume back, I wouldn’t want to lose any of the archives. The authorities trusted a tiefling to guard their belongings, I would not want to waste this opportunity.’

When Rolan instructs them to do it, they are already halfway through the room with the volume in hand. They place it back carefully and join the tiefling in the search for other possible traces of the Ancunín family. As they peruse the archives together, Tav eyes the wizard with a lopsided grin.

‘Busy with research, I noticed. What wonderful things are you studying?’

Rolan drops an arm by his side, flattening his heels against the polished floor and flicking his other wrist.

‘It is an incredibly fascinating subject, really, so much so that academics from all around Faerûn gave it its orthodox name, “None of Your Business”.’

Tav rolls their eyes and snorts, resuming the task at hand.

‘Always a pleasure to talk to you, huh? Well. At least you learnt sarcasm on your journey.’

Their comment is welcomed by a grunt, followed by a good-humoured chuckle. A few seconds later, they find two volumes compiling deaths in Baldur’s Gate for the past three centuries and take a seat at the desk to go through the lists together.

‘The death certificates are kept separately, from what I know,’ Rolan declares while opening one of the volumes and flipping through the first pages, ‘but if Astarion technically died in the city, his name should be recorded in there.’

They start reading the names, careful not to touch the pages too much considering how old the ink is.

‘Mh,’ the tiefling breaks the silence again, ‘from what I gather, each deceased person has the death certificate number written in the last column. If you find Astarion, you should write down the number and visit the part of the archives that is guarding certificates and official documents. Perhaps the names of his relatives are stated on it, although I suspect that you are more likely to find this information on a birth certificate. I’m not sure how bureaucracy works here, exactly.’

‘It’s a mess, that’s all you need to know,’ Tav sighs. ‘Hopefully, I can get my hands on a possible birth certificate by finding his death certificate?’

‘Possibly. I imagine that they are kept together.’

For the next hour, they go through the lists of deaths occurring roughly around two hundred years ago. Since Astarion did not give Tav a precise date—either out of forgetfulness or by omission—it only makes the search trickier for the both of them. Before either of them grows frustrated, they agree to broaden their focus by a span of sixty years around the two-hundred-year mark. Rolan agrees to research prior dates and Tav, later ones.

Without fail, another hour later, Rolan taps the page he is reading.

‘There he is.’

Feeling excitement well up inside their chest, Tav drags their chair over to sit next to the tiefling and have a look at the line that he is showing them.

In elegant calligraphy, typical of official records, the vampire’s name is squeezed between countless others.

Astarion Ancunín. Born 1229. Dead 1268. 39. Exsanguination. Buried (LCNE). 0181901781413

The mere sight of his name among all of the others makes Tav’s heart tighten. They bow their head almost in solemn reverence as they read it, despite knowing that they will find Astarion in the sewers later to inform him of their findings. Even with the excitement of having found a clue in the puzzle of the pale elf’s past, it is quite odd to find him in such a register.

For the first time since vanquishing the Absolute, it occurs to them that this simple entry in the record could have well been definitive, had the company failed their mission. While some of their former companions still had people to mourn them, who would have shed a tear for Astarion? Everybody thought him dead already. Even Cazador was no longer around to brood over the loss of the remaining piece of his black mass.

Tightening their fist against their thigh, Tav vows to themself that they will find at least one person from Astarion’s family and reunite them. Even if that means having to dig up a body in the middle of the night and cast Speak with Dead.

Rolan nudges the piece of parchment with Astarion’s surname on it against Tav’s other hand. He hands them a quill, already dipped in ink.

‘Write the certificate number down,’ he speaks gently. ‘You will need it.’

They obey mechanically, copying the number from the register and the dates of birth and death. When they hand the quill back to the wizard, they scrunch up their nose.

‘Exsanguination. Bullshit. Beat up and left for dead!’

‘Don’t get sentimental, Tav,’ the tiefling’s firm tone scolds at once. ‘Records can be deceitful and they sometimes embellish facts, even if we believe them to be models of truth. Besides, the causes of death omit gruesome details as much as possible so they can be standardised. Just… rejoice in the fact that he’s still undead and well, I suppose.’

‘You’re right. Sorry.’

Rolan furrows his brow and gently pats their hand, before standing up and collecting the books.

‘Now, your best bet is to go to the city’s archives directly. Ask them where they keep the certificates, if they’re still on-site or if they’ve been displaced.’

‘I wish I could. Don’t they require special authorisations to visit the archives, now? It will take me weeks before I can have one. If I ever do.’

Once the wizard has placed the registers back in their spot, he pats the dust off of his hands and turns around to face them with a shrug.

‘Didn’t you travel with the son of the Grand Duke? The devil with one eye?’

Tav snaps their fingers with a gasp.

‘Wyll! You’re right! And, if that’s not enough, Grand Duke Ravengard does owe me for saving his life.’

‘Didn’t he already pay that back by fighting against the Absolute?’

‘That was… the right thing to do. But still, surely, he can put in a good word for me.’

‘Mh.’

It is not until the next day, when Wyll has found a window in his schedule, that Tav meets with him. Escorted by two members of the Flaming Fist, they are brought to the Blade of Frontiers’ shiny new office in the Upper City. Upon entering, the familiar figure of their former travelling companion, now devoid of devil horns, stands up from the chair and the guards are dismissed with a simple order.

Wyll beams with joy at the sight of his visitor, and he wastes no time bypassing his desk to approach them with his arms wide open.

‘Tav, my friend! Ah, what a sight for one sore eye!’

The warlock lets out a hearty laugh and the pair joins in a tight embrace, patting each other’s back.

‘I’m so happy to see you, Wyll,’ Tav chimes. ‘Look at you! You look amazing! And look at this office! Who knew that you were cut for bureaucracy after all?’

‘Ah, nevermind the office, I am hardly ever here,’ he responds with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘They deemed that I should have one for my administrative tasks, but truth be told, I am never happier than on the field itself.’

‘Not surprising. But I thought that the Fist had their headquarters in the southwest?’

‘Most of the building is under maintenance due to the Nautiloid shellings. This is all temporary.’

Tav nods and glances around, genuinely impressed by the office in itself. But before they can truly admire it, Wyll clears his throat.

‘What can I help you with?’

‘I was wondering if you knew of a way to have access to the city’s archives. There is a document I wish to consult, and possibly related ones if I can find them.’

‘What sort of document, if I may ask?’

There is no use lying to Wyll, they realise. Not only could he be the key to the archives, but he is a friend. A dear one at that.

‘Astarion wishes to know whether he still has family in the city. From before his transformation, that is. I found a register at Ramazith's Tower with the code on his death certificate, which, Rolan said, is probably kept in the Upper City.’

‘I see. Well, as an esteemed member of the city’s bureaucratic system and the son of Grand Duke Ravengard, I can escort you to the archives myself and give you access.’

Tav’s eyes widen.

‘Really? Would you mind?’

‘Not at all! Hopefully, it won’t take too long. I do have an appointment with a recruit later on. You have the reference, you said?’

‘Right here,’ they answer, patting their breast pocket.

‘Then, shall we?’

Wyll grabs the keys to his office and locks the door on their way out. As they head towards the archives, they share news of their life now that the tadpoles no longer writhe inside their heads and danger is out of the way.

He reveals that his father, upon regaining his position as Grand Duke after Gortash’s death, named him a Blaze of the Flaming Fist. Most of his time has been spent learning the methods of the company, ensuring the proper logistics of his unit, and then filling in countless forms that left him drained by the end of the day. Despite appearing incredibly busy with his new tasks, with a bit of prying, Tav makes him admit that he has started to court a noblewoman from the Upper City and that they sometimes meet when he does not need to work for promenades through gardens or along the coast. When they ask him whether he loves her, he merely clears his throat and averts his gaze, which twinkles strongly enough for them to catch the hidden meaning behind his shyness.

As they almost reach the archives, Wyll turns to them and grins.

‘You know, I think it is a beautiful thing, what you are doing for Astarion. I knew you to be selfless, but this further proves the kindness of your heart. Not that I needed convincing, mind you.’

‘Don’t give me too much credit,’ they respond with a brief chortle. ‘I don’t even know if my new mission will succeed.’

‘But, still, this is a beautiful gesture. By the way, how is our vampire friend doing?’

‘He lives in the sewers and only comes out at night, now that he is vulnerable to sunlight again. Sometimes I bring him provisions and entertainment during the day, or we go out at night, depending on his mood.’

The new Blaze shakes his head with a sorrowful expression.

‘It breaks my heart that he can no longer enjoy the sun. It is the least that he deserves, after all of his ordeals. But I am glad that he’s got you. I wish I could visit him from time to time, but I doubt that he’d be willing to see me. He never really warmed up to me.’

‘In all fairness, sometimes it doesn’t sound like he’s warmed up to me either. But I think that, deep down, he would appreciate it. He still sees Shadowheart sometimes, but now that she has moved away, their encounters become rarer.’

‘Mh. I suppose.’

At the main gate, the guards instantly recognise Wyll and his uniform and they instantly salute him. When he explains the purpose of his visit, they clear the passage and let them both in. Inside the building itself, they are guided by one of the recordkeepers to Tav’s desired section and search for the certificate with the help of the reference number they provide from the parchment.

In no time, the librarian returns with a folder under their arm and beckons them over to one of the reading tables, illuminated by rows of candles. Settling the folder on a cushion due to its old age, she opens it and reveals the original copy of the death certificate. But, as Rolan suspected, there is no mention of Astarion’s parentage.

‘Sorry to bother you again,’ they say to the archivist, ‘but do you know if the birth certificate for this person still exists? He was born in 1229 in Baldur’s Gate.’

‘I will have a look for you.’

Tav and Wyll patiently wait for her to return, sitting at the reading tables and eyeing each other every so often, sharing awkward smiles as they refrain from chatting and disturbing those working nearby. Thankfully, it does not take long before she comes back with another folder.

‘This is the birth certificate of Astarion Ancunín,’ she whispers to them, unveiling the document. ‘If you are looking for his parentage, their names figure right here, but time has faded the ink, I fear.’

‘It remains quite legible, I believe,’ Wyll responds as Tav squints to read the handwriting. ‘The mother’s name seems to be Arallia…’

‘And his father, Elaith Ancunín,’ Tav completes the thought. ‘Is there any way to find out if these elves still live?’

‘I can peruse the latest census,’ the librarian answers, ‘but you must keep in mind that it is nearly three years old. With the attacks on the city, who knows what became of them?’

‘I would greatly appreciate your help, ma’am.’

Before they know it, Tav is back in the sewers, shuffling their feet while holding up a lantern to guide their own steps to Astarion’s latest hideout. But even before they reach it, they hear a soft whistle coming from their side. In the darkness, two bright blood-coloured irises shimmer and invite them in. Yet there is no fear. As menacing as these appearances look, they know that it could only be their friend.

‘What are you doing here?’ Tav whispers as Astarion presses a finger to his lips.

‘Minsc was looking for me again.’

‘Has it ever occurred to you that he, maybe, very maybe, cares about you?’

‘Darling, do not take me for a fool!’ his grumpy tone emerges. ‘If I let him in, he will never leave!’

Tav rolls their eyes and follows him to his new lair. Once inside a makeshift shed, they both sit on the same bedroll that he travelled with during their great adventure. Despite having known mud, rocks and fungus, the thing is now smelly, stained, and rotten. Perhaps they should remember to get him a new one, one of these days.

‘So, any news of the search?’ he inquires, trying to play coy yet betraying his excitement with a nibble on his lower lip.

‘I have some, indeed.’

They smile at him and pat his shin.

‘I found your parents.’

Despite the reveal, Astarion’s reaction remains lukewarm. He huffs and crosses his arms with a crinkle of the nose.

‘Let me guess… Dead, I presume?’

‘No, actually. Very much alive.’

Within a heartbeat, Astarion’s arms loosen and his eyebrows shoot so far up his forehead that Tav worries that they will go past his hairline. There is a candid look in his eyes, a remainder of innocence in the gaze of a man who has so often relished in killing various creatures and would have been willing—more than once—to slaughter many more. It is as if his inner child has pierced through the thick armour that his hardships have driven him to forge for himself, letting himself known after being kept buried far into the depths of his person for over two centuries.

Astarion takes a moment to digest the news. How thrilling. How exciting! How so, very, frightening.

‘Do they still live in the city?’ his hushed tone inquires, almost afraid to ask.

‘I found their address in a census from three years ago. We don’t know if they survived the assault on Baldur’s Gate, but we could try. Would you like me to make contact?’

After long seconds of internal deliberation, the pale elf nods. And if his heart has long stopped beating, he can perceive the ghost of a tremor.

Three days later, Tav and Astarion find themselves on the doorstep of a grand villa in the Upper City, once the sun has mostly set and is hiding behind clouds. Dressed for the occasion, adorning fine embroideries on silk garments, the vampire cannot stop adjusting his clothes every few seconds, making himself look messier than he originally did. Swatting his hands away this time, Tav fixes his collar and sleeves for him.

‘Stop fidgeting!’

‘I’m nervous, alright?’ he hisses. ‘I don’t even know what I’m going to tell them. How do I even greet them? How did I usually do it? I can’t remember a damned thing!’

‘Calm down. Let me take the first step, maybe. And, in doubt, let them approach you first. And don’t behave like a cat if they hug you.’

The door opens and one of the servants of the house bows to them.

‘You must be Tav. We have received word of your visit. Our masters await you in their sunroom. Please, follow me.’

With one last shared glance, the pair follows the servant, and Tav discreetly slaps Astarion’s hand as he attempts to fix what does not need fixing in his appearance. Before he can protest, they raise a finger to shush him.

The maid walks them through the lavishly decorated home of her masters. The walls, adorned with elvish art and family portraits, are far from Astarion’s taste when it comes to interior design. In fact, he finds their choice so similar to Cazador’s that his stomach tightens the longer he stares. Yet, as they pass a gallery of portraits, he recognises none of the faces. And worse even, he does not see his own.

For an instant, he starts to doubt that Tav found the right people after all. The research went so quickly, he thinks to himself, it is bound to be a mistake. Perhaps they found somebody related to him but from a completely different branch of the Ancunín clan. Maybe they coincidentally have the same names. Mayhap they are not related at all.

He has no time to spiral further down in his doubt, for they now both stand at a door, whose glass is elegantly ornamented by the wooden motifs found on every other door they have passed. As the servant opens it and bows to herald their arrival, Tav places a hand on Astarion’s back, handing him a handkerchief.

‘You’re sweating,’ they whisper.

‘Thank you.’

As he quickly wipes his forehead and upper lip and sees the maid returning, he shoves the handkerchief into his pocket and straightens up. She beckons them over.

‘My masters are ready to see you. May I serve you refreshments?’

‘That… will not be necessary,’ Astarion responds, forgetting that Tav might be thirsty or hungry for mortal sustenance.

The maid steps aside to let them into the sunroom and Tav enters first to ease both parties into the reunion. They face two figures sitting stiffly in broad armchairs. On the left, a tall man with long blonde hair watches their display with an air of unspoken disdain. He pinches his thin lips, accentuating the wrinkles around his mouth and his natural frown. At first sight, they can already tell that he is no social animal. His fingers incessantly pick at the brass upholstery nails marking the border between the forest green velvet and the mahogany frame.

Beside him, a woman around his age squints at Tav. With her hands joined on her lap as she keeps her knees tight together, leaning away from her husband, her pose itself communicates that she is the judge in the home and the decision-maker. Her gown, closer to a court garment than to a lounging robe, suggests that she is often the one to speak to guests and visitors, while her husband remains in his own bubble or mulls over information conveyed to them before they deliberate in private and come to a mutual agreement. Or what he believes to be a compromise.

The cascading waves of silver-white hair shielding her pale blue eyes add an air of mystique to this woman. She is a painting come to life, blessed with the elegance and poise of the moon elves. Any glance cast towards them is stolen by her ethereal appearance, and it can be asserted, without a shadow of a doubt, which parent Astarion takes after.

Tav instantly understands that if they want the reunion to go smoothly, they have to impress her.

‘Lord and Lady Ancunín,’ they greet as they bow. ‘I sincerely thank you for accepting to receive me in your grand home.’

‘Your letter came as a surprise, I must say,’ Lady Arallia Ancunín speaks up in a cold tone. ‘Now, speak of your intentions.’

Within a heartbeat, and despite the fog that has long occupied his memories, Astarion recognises them. His breath hitches at the realisation and his eyes widen. Here they are, in the flesh; the two people he used to call ‘mother’ and ‘father’.

Tav does not need to introduce him. Arallia instantly peeks over their shoulder at the taller man standing behind them, and she hardly shows any surprise.

‘Oh. It’s you.’

All eyes turn to Astarion and, for once, he is at a loss for words. His usual cockiness and insolence are long gone in the face of his family, and if anything, it is as though he is shrinking from the attention.

With a supportive grin, Tav simply nods, giving him the strength and courage to step forward. As they did before him, he bows.

‘Lord and Lady Ancunín.’

Arallia scrutinises him without as much as a twinkle in her eye. She inspects every fold of his clothes, driving him to the brink of insanity as he becomes self-conscious over the way the light even reverbs on the embroideries. Do they insult her eyes?

‘I was wondering when you would come to our door.’

‘Who is this, dear?’ the man whispers to his wife.

Tav frowns in sheer disbelief. Perhaps the man they thought to be Elaith Ancunín was another man after all. It is possible that Arallia remarried after all this time. But the shape of his jaw still leads them to believe that it is his father. He has to be.

Arallia clicks her tongue and turns her head towards her husband without truly looking at him.

‘Oh, it’s um…’ she mumbles with a distracted wave of the hand. ‘Ah, what was his name again?’

Astarion’s world collapses in less than a second. She recognised him, yet forgot his name. Her own son, her flesh and blood. He expected shock since he has—literally—returned from the dead after more than two centuries, but oblivion? No, that was never one of the prospects. How could one forget their child? He never sired any, nor would he ever be able to, but he is sure that even a millennium after their death, he would have remembered everything about them.

All the worst scenarios flood his heart and Tav’s heart shatters at the sight. His shoulders slouch and his face falls.

‘Astarion,’ he sighs. ‘My name is Astarion.’

‘Yes. That.’

The vampire lowers his head and stares at the ground, a much more welcoming sight than his parents are. Tav squints and shifts their attention back to their hosts.

‘You said that you expected to see him again?’ they ask. ‘So, you knew that he wasn’t dead?’

‘Everybody knows, now. The mighty saviours of the Sword Coast! Among which my son, can you believe it?’

There is no hint of pride in her voice, nor of admiration. Merely contempt. Unabashed derision. As Astarion discreetly takes a step back, shaken by her reaction, Arallia raises an eyebrow.

‘Why the long face, child?’

‘Nothing, Lady Ancunín.’

She scoffs and stands up, crossing her arms against her midriff.

‘What did you expect when you showed your face here, boy? That we would cry and hug you? You are not a toddler anymore.’

‘N-No, I didn’t—’

‘You had two centuries to visit us, to let us know that you were alright. But you never came. As far as I am concerned, this ship has long sailed!’

Elaith rubs his upper lip with a finger, humming to himself.

‘It is no surprise. The boy has always been trouble,’ he declares without as much as a look towards his child.

‘Do you remember how needy he was, dear?’ Arallia adds with a short gasp. ‘Always begging for attention. Constantly! He would do anything just to get us to talk to him. I cannot handle people like that. So very impolite and embarrassing, really. It is just as well that he remained with his nanny.’

Astarion’s eyes darken and Tav gently holds the cuff of his sleeve. They cannot believe it. They are acting as though their guests are not even here, as if they are the audience of a play unfolding in that damned sunroom.

‘And now, look at him,’ Arallia continues, her upper lip curling up in a snarl. ‘A saviour of Baldur’s Gate! A hero! But I see you for what you are, boy, do not blind yourself with fantasies. I see your red eyes; I see your fangs. You are nothing but a monster.’

This is the last straw. Astarion spins around on his heel and shoves the door to the house open, storming off past the flabbergasted maid. Tav calls his name but hears no response. They turn to glare at their hosts.

‘With all due respect, Lord and Lady Ancunín—and there is none on my part—you are the only monsters in sight. You should be ashamed of yourselves and the disgrace you are to your son. He has brought nothing but honour to your clan’s name.’

They give the outraged elves a mocking bow and withdraw from the home, whispering a ‘thank you’ to the maid who showed them in. Once they slam the front door of the villa, they frantically look around, but there is no sign of Astarion. Cursing under their breath, they sprint towards the flashy sigil on one of the brick walls past the heavily guarded Baldur’s Gate. They reach out for it with their destination in mind and vanish from the surface of the Upper City.

When they emerge from the portal into the sewers, they search the countless corridors, nooks and crannies for the pale elf. They run until they are out of breath, scanning each side and calling out his name until their voice cracks and turns hoarse. Inside their chest their heart maddens, tightening at the idea of Astarion suffering alone, wherever he is. All they hope for is that he is not about to do something drastic.

Under their short breath, they pray that he is nowhere near water. They beg fate that he is keeping as far away as possible from particularly sharp objects. They despair at the idea that he might be drinking his sorrows away for the night on the shore, waiting for the sun to come up again. He would never do such things, would he?

Gods, if Astarion’s misery successfully leads him to such lengths, what would they do?

They come to a halt in a narrow corridor, whose end is nothing but a cramped chamber with a rotten wooden plank leaning against the wall. They lean over their knees, gasping for air, pressing their body to recover quickly enough so they can find their friend as quickly as possible.

But just as they start walking away, a soft whine resonates from behind the wooden plank. They snap their head around and slowly approach it with their dagger in one hand and the other outstretched in caution.

‘Hello? Is someone there?’

No response.

‘I’m pushing the plank to the side.’

As they do it, the dim light of a nearby torch reflects on the huddled-up silhouette of a man rocking himself back and forth. With his elbow resting on his knee and his fingers woven through his hair, his widened eyes peek through the gap between his forearm and his bicep.

‘Go away.’

Tav sheathes their dagger and kneels, reaching out their hand.

‘Astarion…’

‘I SAID GO AWAY!’

With a surprisingly strong shove, he topples them off their legs and glares at them as they fall into a puddle of dirty water. When they look up, all they see are the cheeks drowning under the salty tears and the look of unadulterated agony in his eyes. His traits contort and scrunch up as a strangled sob leaves his throat.

‘This is all your fault,’ he scolds. ‘You couldn’t stop yourself, could you? Being a hero, a helper, as always, without thinking about the consequences! Helping gets you off, doesn’t it? Well, I sure hope you’re happy.’

Tav’s brow furrows and they crawl up to him.

‘Hey, it is not me you should be after, it should be them. Redirect your anger at them. You were miserable and you couldn’t move on so long as you didn’t know for sure if you had a family. I searched for you and found them. They decided to be awful.’

Astarion scoffs and buries his head into the crooks of his elbows, shielding his head as though the weight of his torment is threatening to come crashing down on it. His weeping is muffled by his sleeves, but its intensity does not go unnoticed.

‘I knew it,’ he gurgles. ‘I have never been loved. I am unlovable.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You heard them! So needy… Always demanding attention… That is why I have always been alone. When I was a slave under Cazador’s yoke, I was lonely, but I least I found comfort in the idea that once upon a time, I was held and loved.’

He roughly rubs his eyes with the palm of his trembling hand.

‘But I have always been lonely. It is in my nature. I remember it all, now. Calling my mother and reaching out to her, but she would never pick me up. And my father… He would shrug and walk away as if I were nothing but a stray dog on the street.’

The vampire glares at them.

‘And that’s all I am, now. A filthy beast in the sewers!’

As he raises his fist to punch the wall, Tav swiftly catches his hand and resists the force he puts against their palm.

‘Astarion, you are none of these things,’ they speak softly, hoping to make him see reason. ‘Gods, they are the beasts, not you!’

He rolls his eyes with a scoff and drops his hand on his lap. Despite knowing that he has never been comfortable with promiscuity, they sit beside him and enfold him in their embrace. Gently rocking him from side to side, they fail to see the shock on his face.

‘And by all that is sacred, you are loved, Astarion. Shit, I never thought that I’d say this out loud, but I love you. I’m not sticking by your side out of pity, or out of obligation. I do so because I want to. Because you’re worth the effort it takes to bring you everything you want from the surface.’

‘How can you say that?’ he whimpers. ‘You’d be better off without me.’

‘Nonsense,’ they grunt, before pressing a brief kiss on the top of his head. ‘I was so scared when you disappeared. I was afraid that you’d gone and get yourself hurt, or worse. I know it hasn’t been easy on you, living here on your own and never seeing the sun again. And now, this. I swear to you, if I could ease that pain singlehandedly, I would. I would carry it with you.’

Astarion clings to them and cries on their shoulder as they clasp one another. Tav gently rubs his back, feeling tears sting their eyes in turn.

‘Losing you would’ve broken me, Astarion. Don’t you dare think for a moment that you’re unloved.’

Another moment passes where they give the vampire the time to exteriorise their pain and process the failed reunion with his parents. When, at last, he regains some of his composure, he pulls away from their embrace and leans back against the wall.

‘I never thought it would end like this,’ he whispers. ‘I don’t know what I did wrong.’

‘You did nothing wrong, Astarion. All of this is way more telling of them than it is of you. Do you want me to tell you what I found out about them at the archives?’

He eyes them curiously.

‘They are drowning in debt. Your mother has been cast away from the Grand Duke’s court for cruel comments, and most noble circles are barred from even speaking to them. Your father lost his livelihood a century ago and he relies entirely on your mother. But you? You risked your life and sanity to save the city that has been so hostile to you. Perhaps that wasn’t your goal at first, but you couldn’t bear to see your home defaced in the name of evil. You could’ve run away at any given moment, but you didn’t. You saved them, and you saved all of Faerûn. Your parents do not even hold a candle to your achievements and your growth.’

If blood could still flow through his veins, he would blush at the sincere praise that Tav presents him. It surprises him, to say the least. While they are never afraid to give compliments, they never pay them lightly. Certainly not to flatter anyone. He relaxes against them and slowly leans his head until it rests on their shoulder. ‘Without you, I would never have made it,’ he confesses. ‘You saved me from myself, more than once. You saved me from my blindness. I could have sacrificed seven thousand souls for my own gain, and sometimes it still haunts me that I didn’t. I wouldn’t suffer so…’

‘You would have lost yourself in that power. Nobody remains intact when such ambitions are given to them. Honestly, between you and Gale, it was hard to juggle,’ they add with a brief laugh.

Tav links their arm through his and gently grazes their fingertips along the sleeve in a comforting gesture. A bashful grin tugs at the corners of Astarion’s lips as he finally gets his thoughts in order.

‘What I mean to say is… Thank you. For everything.’

‘You don—’

‘Ugh, accept my damn thanks, will you?’ he groans. ‘It is not every day that I say it. Hold it against me for that one time, if you so wish!’

They look into each other’s eyes and crack up. Tav runs his fingers through his hair, and while they did anticipate a rejection, Astarion does not move. The tension in his shoulders alleviates.

‘Come live with me.’

‘What?’

Astarion frowns and stares at them, unsure whether he heard them well.

‘Come live with me. I mean it. I have enough money to buy a small house now that I sold all the armour I gathered during our journey and all the weapons I’m not using anymore.’

They shift to face him.

‘Think about it. It will be more comfortable than the sewers, and cleaner, and you can receive as many visitors as you want. It will be your home as much as mine.’

‘Darling, I cannot picture myself ducking whenever I want to pass a window to avoid sunlight.’

‘You wouldn’t have to! I can make sure to buy one of those homes with a large cellar, and that could be your flat. We’d have a common space on the ground floor, then I could have my room and a washroom upstairs, that’s all I need. We can build direct access to the cellar from outside in case you ever wish to bring some conquests.’

‘Conquests?’ he repeats with an eyebrow raised and a smug smile. ‘Darling, please, it’s less embarrassing to say “lovers”.’

Tav smirks and shakes their head.

‘It would be home, Astarion. I can still provide for you. You’ll never smell the sewers again and you can decorate the place as you like. I’ll give you full permission. Even for my bedroom.’

‘This is a dangerous game you’re playing, you know that?’

‘Maybe. But I trust your taste.’

Astarion considers the offer for a few seconds, then nods.

‘I… would like that. If you are sure that it would not be a bother to you, then…’

‘You’ll never be a bother to me, Astarion.’

The vampire and the half-drow share a smile. Tav holds out their hand, and he stares at it for a moment, before shaking it. They both entertain hope for the future. Perhaps things will be alright after all.

‘In the meantime,’ Astarion coos, pulling out a small frame from under the flap of his blazer, containing a painted portrait of Arallia he snatched from the lobby on his way out, ‘would you be interested in a game of darts?’

It takes quite a few weeks before Tav manages to purchase the small house they promised for Astarion and themself. Located in the bustling centre of the Lower City and within walking distance of the Elfsong Tavern for his entertainment, it contains almost everything that they compromised on during further discussions on the matter. It stands tall enough to overlook the bay, with a covered balcony for late-night contemplation and drinks.

Tav claimed the attic for their bedroom, not requiring more than that for themself. After years of moving from home to home in the Underdark back in the day, elementary comfort has always felt more familiar and safer than a bunch of lavish rooms, which they would not have known what to use for.

The front door stood at the top of the outside stairs leading to the middle floor. As agreed, this part of the house hosts common facilities, including a basic kitchen, a living room, and a washroom. Another enclosed space brought them much strife when it came to finding a use for it. Then, after a long brainstorming session, they decided that it would become a small library for the both of them and that they were free to borrow books from each other. He has read all of them already anyway.

As for the lower floor, at street level, it is dedicated to Astarion’s comfort. A private and spacious bedroom with an en-suite bathroom is hidden from view at the bottom of the stairs, behind antique doors that clash with the rest of the place, but which he has already grown fond of. On the other side, a walk-in closet enables him to store and cherish his clothes, with enough space for him to mend them if he wants. Only, the floor is not underground, as Tav promised, and the sight of the windows permanently barred by shutters pains the vampire. But for now, this will do.

On the day of moving in, they gather his clothes and belongings in crates and carry them to the house in the middle of the night. Within a few hours, the place is squeaky clean and each of their possessions has found its place within their humble abode. They spend the rest of the night bringing furniture in from the nearby Guildhall and designing the future improved dressing room for Astarion, drinking wine and laughing over the simplest things.

When daylight shyly pierces the windows of the living room, Tav quickly shuts the blinds. Astarion sighs; he did not think that witnessing the sunrise yet missing it at the same time would be so difficult.

Around midday, they drop everything they are doing and stretch out their sore limbs. Tav’s attention is drawn to the frame above the front door, still bearing Arallia’s portrait, but pierced by darts and riddled with empty holes.

‘Astarion, when is your birthday?’

Sprawled across the couch, he lifts his head and raises an eyebrow.

‘I don’t remember. Why do you care?’

They shuffle their feet towards him and place their hands on his hips. He has never looked so comfortable and at ease since they met almost a year ago. And they were incredibly proud to witness it.

‘I’ve been thinking. Since you don’t know when it is, do you think that today, since it is the start of your new life, could become your new birthday?'

Astarion kicks his legs off the cushions and sits up, dumbfounded by their question.

‘Mh.'

A smile plays on his lips.

‘I would like that, actually.’

‘Oh, perfect.’

‘Why?’

Tav trots up to their cloak, hanging from a peg by the entrance, and reaches into the breast pocket to take out an envelope, which has already been opened. They play with the paper for a second, enjoying the gentle crumpling sound it creates, before facing him.

‘Follow me.’

Utterly confused, Astarion hoists himself up and walks over to them, shrugging and eyeing the envelope. They open it and carefully read its contents, without letting him see any of it. Then, they shove the paper into their pocket and beam with joy.

‘May I cast a spell on you? It will not harm you, and it has been tested. No danger here.’

‘Uh… Sure. I suppose. As long as there is no wild magic outburst that brings our house down before we have even lived in it.’

They nod and concentrate for a few seconds to summon the Weave into their fingertips. As their hands glow with a powerful light, they utter an incantation and touch Astarion with their palms. Swirls of coloured light wrap around his limbs and then vanish as quickly as they initially appeared.

Astarion looks down at his body, expecting to feel different, but he does not.

‘What is it supposed to be doing? Nothing’s changed.’

As a sole answer, Tav unlocks the front door and opens it. Astarion yelps and frantically steps back, stumbling over his own foot as he flattens his back against the opposite wall, wanting to avoid the intruding sunlight threatening to reduce him to ashes.

But then, there is a cheer. He cracks an eye open and sees Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Shadowheart, and a simulacrum of Lae’zel on his doorstep. Although the Gith is not nearly as excited as the rest, they all chant in unison.

‘Happy birthday, Astarion!’

With his jaw slacking, the pale elf stares at his former companions.

‘What are you all doing here?’

‘We’re here to celebrate your new life,’ Shadowheart responds with a grin.

‘A new house! I’m so proud of you, soldier!’ Karlach squeals, jumping up and down.

Tav comes over to Astarion and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

‘How about we head out to the tavern?’

The vampire scoffs and rolls his eyes.

‘It’s midday, Tav.’

‘Try it.’

‘I-I can’t.’

Wishing to show him that it is safe, Tav slips away from him and crosses the house’s threshold to stand among the rest of the group, right under the sun. Astarion shakes his head nervously, with anger pooling in his guts.

‘Now what kind of sick joke is this, Tav?’ he growls.

‘Come to us, Astarion. It’s safe.’

Tav smiles and holds out both of their hands. Hesitating at first, the pale elf slowly peels himself off the wall, staring at the inviting hands awaiting him. His whole body is trembling. His teeth are chattering. What is going on?

He cautiously steps into the halo of sunlight, but nothing happens. Forbidding himself from crying victory, he tells himself that it is not direct exposure. The real thing would reduce him to cinders. Yet, as he continues his progress, the star’s warmth gradually enfolds the skin of his outstretched hands.

Then, before he knows it, he is standing outside, surrounded by his friends, and, right above him, the sun welcomes him within its glow. Nothing is burning. There is no pain. Nothing.

He is outside. And it is warm.

He stands there for a long moment, speechless, while the others affectionately squeeze his shoulders and arms.

‘Welcome home, Astarion,’ Gale murmurs.

He turns around to face them all.

‘H-How?’

Tav pats his back.

‘Rolan, Gale and I have been devising a spell to protect you from sunlight for weeks. It is not permanent, so no hasty behaviour, please. Whenever you want to go outside, I will cast the spell on you.’

‘You—’

Words escape him. Refuse to linger even a second longer on his tongue. As tears well up in his eyes, the group gathers around him to share a tight embrace. Despite his contempt for physical contact, knowing after all this ordeal with his parents that he is free at last and loved overwhelms him. He would almost grow sappy from the sensation if he were not so… Astarion.

As they pull away from him, Shadowheart presents him with a beautifully decorated hammer.

‘We all pitched in to commission this hammer for you,’ Wyll says. ‘The designs engraved on the sides were inspired by that mirror you carried around at camp.

‘I drew the designs and I had Gale replicate them so they could use it,’ Lae’zel’s projection explains. ‘I do not see the beauty in those motifs, they are nothing but primitive, but they said that you would appreciate it.’

Astarion picks up the hammer and admires the craftsmanship, albeit with astonishment.

‘Why a hammer, though? That was never a weapon I really used.’

‘We found your headstone in the graveyard of the Lower City,’ Karlach adds, pointing her thumb over her shoulder. ‘Wanna go smash it?’

He adjusts his grip on the hammer, weighing it in his hands, then smirks.

‘It’s show time.’

The whole group cheers and descends the stairs, while Tav stays behind to lock the house. Astarion looks over his shoulder at them and shakes his head.

‘You sneaky little thing!’ he muses.

‘Why, are you complaining?’

‘Not in the slightest.’

They walk side by side, already laughing at the banter that fuses among the group, now that everybody has gathered again. Astarion spends his time with his head tilted back to embrace the sun on his face, sighing in relief.

‘How did you even manage to get Rolan on board for that spell?’

‘I might have promised him a date.’

‘You devil.’

Tav throws their arm around his shoulders and soon, they all enter the graveyard.

Everyone is safe.

The soul cast out from the light against his will has taken his first step back to bask in its glow.

Everyone is safe.

And Astarion is loved.

[red-dead-sakharine]

Sundered by the Styx

underdog!Raphael, RaphaelPOV, Raphael x m!OC, conflicted!cambion, hurt/comfort, warlock!OC, tiefling!OC, whump, pining, relationship with obstacles Spawned from anon 🔴 prompt. I hope anon forgives me for naming Tav. The prompt was so close to my own character, I decided to indulge myself.

Part 1 | Part 2 (soon)

"Nice decor." An interesting response. Not phased by being whisked away to some unknown place. And either brazen or of good taste. Which one of the two, Raphael had yet to figure out.

"The House of Hope, where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed - lavishly. Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all, it might just be your last."

The tiefling who seemed to be the leader of the group of mortals raised a brow, then turned and browsed the table. Eventually he picked up a particularly good looking piece of cake and began eating. A sweet-tooth. Raphael was intrigued by the reaction. "Not easily rattled, I see. Good. Makes the next part that much more straightforward." And with that, he dropped the human guise and showed off his true from. Spreading his wings and preening before his audience. The mortals looked shocked. "Fuck. A cambion." the other tiefling, Karlach, cursed. "What's better than a devil you don't know? A devil you do." Raphael cited his practiced line with a satisfied grin. The leader of the group kept chewing on his cake, only halting for a short moment when Raphael revealed himself, then returned to munching. Raphael had to admit, the equanimity of this one intrigued him. Provided it wasn't utter stupidity that made the mortal simply dull and callous. He would find out sooner or later. He continued his introductory speech, enjoying the mortals' reactions to it. Ah, he loved the underlying panic in their expressions.

When he was done with his speech, he waited for their reaction. The group looked to their leader, who swallowed the last bite of cake and cleaned his hands with one of the napkins from the table. Manners, Raphael observed approvingly. "Great introduction," the tiefling said honestly, "I liked the 'devil you don't know' part. Very clever." Raphael raised a brow, trying not to look too taken aback by the reaction. "Alas, I'm afraid I won't be making any deals anytime soon." He put the napkin back neatly on the table and offered a slight bow, "Varvain 's the name, by the way." The name rang familiar to Raphael, but he couldn't quite place it. Some of the tadpoled mortals had been harder to identify than others. Karlach and Wyll had been easy to figure out, due to Raphael's decent rapport with Zariel.

But this one - this Varvain - he had trouble to place. He could sense the warlock pact, but he didn't know who or what he was pacted with. Another fiend would explain the unflappable attitude upon seeing a devil. It would also be highly inconvenient for Raphael.

"By all means, take your time," he told the mortals, "Shop around..." He launched into another dramatic speech, enjoying himself greatly, as he put on the theatrics. Upon finishing, he sent the mortals back to where he had plucked them from.

Raphael rubbed his chin in contemplation for a moment, before snapping his fingers to summon Korrilla. "Watch those mortals, and eavesdrop on their leader. I need to know who is lending him their powers." The dwarf nodded, "Will do, boss." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand; sending her back to the mortal realm.

The leader of the group lingered on his mind. "ell mannered, not easily rattled, and admittedly not unpleasant to look at. Raphael's eyes fell to the napkin left neatly on the table, and narrowed his eyes in contemplation. The tiefling didn't look highborn, but he certainly knew decorum. An intriguing puzzle. A puzzle, Raphael set out to solve.

He mobilized some of his resources within Baator to discreetly keep an ear out for any mentions of a Varvain. It didn't take long until one of the cambions sworn to him returned with news. "I might have found this Varvain's patron, master." she said, as she approached Raphael, who was browsing books in the archives. "Well, don't let me wait." He responded drily, turning his attention to the other fiend. "I figured someone in the Fetters in Dis might know him. And they did. He actually has a bit of a reputation there." the cambion reported, "Apparently he's the favorite pet of a pit fiend called Frith."

Raphael's expression turned into an annoyed frown, "Frith..." He felt the need to punch something. Or someone. He knew the name. One of Dispater's lap dogs. "Anything else?" he asked, trying his damnedest to stay composed. The cambion shook her head, "No, master. That's all I could find out without my questioning becoming obvious." Raphael nodded, "Good work," and dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He mulled the information over in his head for a while. This might be an obstacle for his plans, depending on the details of the contract between Frith and Varvain that gave the mortal his power.

When he finally turned to leave the archive, he saw the Archivist giving him a look Raphael didn't appreciate. Upon seeing the devil glaring at him, the archivist swiftly busied himself with a ledger.

The cambion's nostrils flared in annoyance, but breaking spines would have to wait. He had a problem to solve.

Raphael made his way to Dis. He didn't particularly like the place; mostly because every time he came here, the streets had changed, making navigation difficult. It ground against his sense of order. At least coming here was easy enough. Due to the fetters being accessible to mortals, Raphael could just slip in without any trouble.

The fetters' market was a curious sight. Mortals and devils, both peddling their wares to each other. Many a deal struck, many a soul claimed. Though he did not like the city, Raphael had to admire the industrious efficiency of the procurement of souls in this place.

He focused back on his task - it wasn't hard to find Frith's haunt, the "bath house", as he called it. Truly it was more of a brothel, but appearances mattered in some way, when trying to trap mortals. It was a gaudy place he's been to before. There was a pool in the middle of it, so technically calling it a 'bath' was valid, even if most of the mortals who found themselves lured here, ended up enjoying either the music, or other physical pleasures outside the water. In a way, the place reminded him of Sharess' Caress, but with very different clientele. In the far back, on a dais lording over the place stood, what could only be described as a throne, with a large bed not far behind it. Raphael wrinkled his nose but was glad, that Frith wasn't heaving any entertainment right now. The pit fiend sat on his "throne", wearing his more palatable disguise of a handsome devil - tiefling, even - with short horns, slicked back hair, and a gaudy beard that reminded Raphael of both, his father and Dispater.

As he walked along the outside of the pool, Raphael took stock of the other beings present. Most were mortals, either guests who will probably never be able to leave again, or Frith's enslaved mortals who offered the entertainment. Some played music, some made food, some lulled the guests into letting their guard down by massaging them, and some... well. But there were also devils here. A succubus or two, Raphael noticed. Made sense, given the purpose of this place. But also some other devils who were here to be entertained. Probably allies of Frith's enjoying some sort of treat, Raphael assumed.

He was pulled from his thoughts, as he closed in on Frith's "throne". "You, cambion, you're not one of mine. I hope you have a good reason to be here." Frith's smooth but powerful voice boomed at him. Cambion. Raphael ground his teeth. Not only did the pit fiend not recognize him, he was also degraded to just a cambion. "I would have a word with you," he replied, doing his best to not let his frustration show. "I don't waste my time with half-breeds not sworn to me. So unless you're here to pledge your undying allegiance - shoo." Frith waved his hand dismissively.

Raphael clenched his fists in anger. Half-breed? Half-breed!? He took a deep breath, "I am Raphael. You might have--" "Oh, one of Mephistopheles' brood. I've heard of you." Frith interrupted him with a chuckle, "Bit of a rebel from what I hear. Not in your father's best graces, hm?" Raphael wanted nothing more, than to wipe that smirk off the fiend's face. But he knew he was no match for him - yet. This would all change, once he had the Crown of Karsus. Only a matter of time...

He took a frustrated breath, "Yes. My father and I don't exactly see eye to eye. But I'm not here to speak about him." Frith kept smirking condescendingly at the cambion before him, "Well, I am intrigued what would bring you here, half-breed, So I'll humor you." he beckoned Raphael to come closer, which he did. "Why do you visit me in my humble abode?" Raphael's jaw clenched, "I think I have stumbled upon one of your wayward warlocks." he tried to sound casual, "And I got curious what kind of relationship you have with them. I've seen different kinds of patronages during my days. I'm always interested to..." he gestured vaguely, "...learn, from others and their experiences."

Frith's superior smirk slowly vanished, "And which warlock would that be, pray tell? Do you have a name?" Raphael did his best to sound conversational, "He did introduce himself as Varvain." The moment he said the name, he saw something shift in Frith's expression. Though he couldn't quite tell what it was. "Varvain - my pet. He's having an unplanned vacation in the mortal realm." Frith replied and narrowed his eyes, "How did you run into him?" Raphael shrugged, "Oh, I was looking for souls, you know. Lots of death going on at the Sword Coast these days." He smirked a little. Frith regarded the cambion for a bit, "Well, you won't have Varvain's soul. It is mine." he put a lot of emphasis on that last word, adding a threatening undertone that was hard to miss. Raphael gave a little sideways nod, "Far be it from me to get between you and your pet. But pray tell, might I have a look at his contract, by any chance?" This was far from smooth, but there was no way around asking about the contract sooner or later, "Merely to serve as inspiration for my own, you understand. There's a little tiefling girl I'm interested in... mentoring."

Frith was quiet for a moment, as he looked Raphael up and down. Then he stood up, smiling casually - but something wasn't right, Raphael could tell. "You want to look at Varvain's contract?" He echoed the request, as he stepped down from the dais and approached Raphael. The cambion felt like he should be retreating, but he stood his ground. An error. Frith's hand shot up, grabbing Raphael by the throat and pulling him close to his face, "Varvain is mine, and whatever you think to want or get from him, you best swiftly forget about it, you half-mortal filth." Frith growled. Raphael grabbed the pit fiend's arm, tried to wrest himself free, but to no avail. "I am no mortal!" he croaked angrily, defiantly, but only got a laugh in response. "Well, you're certainly no devil either." Frith hissed and tightened his grip. The cambion tried to respond but all that came out of his strangled throat was a strained gurgle. "Mephistopheles would probably thank me for getting rid of you, but you are his problem, mortal spawn. Get out of my domain. Now." He threw Raphael to the ground like a ragdoll, "And if you dare to even so much as sniff on Varvain's soul, I will throw you into the pit of flame myself!"

Raphael could see the pit fiend's eyes burn with rage, and he had no doubt he was one spark away from dropping his disguise. Coughing, Raphael staggered to his feet. He glared angrily at the other devil, but he knew if it came to open violence, he would draw the short end of the stick. The entire bath house had become silent. The music had stopped and nobody dared to speak or move. Raphael glared at Frith, but he knew when to make a tactical retreat. He turned and stomped out of the building, stewing in his anger and frustration. He swore to himself, once he had the Crown of Karsus, he would return and tear Frith limb from limb. But for now he would have to bide his time.

He returned to the House of Hope to nurse his bruised ego.

(To be continued...)

[ada-melodies]

Hurts like Hell - Rolan x GN!Tav

"Welcome to Sorcerous Sundries, we...!"

Rolan's voice had the usual cadence, but sounded as tired as you remembered it from the worst days, after the exile or your arrival at the inn. Your mouth felt suddenly dry as his eyes finally met yours and his facade finally broke completely. 

"Tav?"

You could not help but run to him and jump to embrace him, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Soon you felt his hands on your back, pressing you against him for an instant. His breathing slowed and calmed, you felt it at the side of your head.

But then he stepped back as if struck by lightning, his posture and expression rigid, and cleared his throat.

Check the full first chapter on the link above!

i think this is my first time writing something enterely on english, not in spanish and then translating 🫣 this is super exciting for me!

i have this in mind since lorroakan's fight and i needed to write about giving some comfort to rolan 💜 hope you like it, and im sorry for the posible errors!

[bg-brainrot]

Resources and tips for GN!Reader writing ✨

Nobody asked this, but I wanted to offer in case anyone else wanted to write some GN!Tav / GN!Reader fanfic and wanted some tips!

Some helpful resources, found across Tumblr:

Gender-neutral Titles (i.e. siblings, relationships, royalty)

Guide to writing Gender-neutral smut

More tips on GN Smut

Inclusivity Tips for fic

My own tips:

Read other gender-neutral fics! Get a vibe for what you like, what you don't like in terms of how the reader is described, how smut is written, etc. I read GN fics for other fandoms before even starting mine (shoutout to the JJK & AOT GN!Reader fics I read)

Remove gender from any place it's not needed! For example, you don't need to say 'heroine' at all, 'hero' is gender neutral-- same with 'actress' and 'actor'. You can find some great examples of little, every day ways you can remove gender in your language in this UNC writing guide.

Trust your readers! I think a lot of GN writing is leaving the blanks to be filled by your readers. As the writer, I'm not telling you what any particular body part looks like, how tall the character is, what color their hair is, etc.-- I just need to provide the framework for the reader to fill in the rest.

Try not to overthink it. I'll confess I think I did this a lot at first (I hope I've gotten better), but I was totally overthinking every single word and how it could be interpreted. Like with the last point, less is sometimes more, so try not to overwork a piece of writing to account for every reader possibility.

And that's it for now! I hope some of this helps 😄 I've really enjoyed reading GN fic myself (I have several GN recs on my pinned post and I've begun bookmarking on my AO3 as well), so I'm shameless willing more into the world!!!

[destructive-poet]

tav complaining to shadowheart abt their period

everything’s fine until she realizes how energetic astarion is in combat the next day.

and then it just kind of. hits her.

she gives tav the most offended and disgusted look mid-battle.

(secretly though she’s not a freak-shamer I think she supports their endeavors)

[khywren]

The first time Astarion makes love to you is an absolutely unforgettable experience.

Sure, it's not the first time the two of you have had sex, but this... this is something entirely different.

Once he feels safe with you, there's no sense of urgency, no need for him to do what he thinks will keep you interested in him for more than a fleeting moment. He's not putting on a performance anymore or just going through the motions. It's evident in the way he holds you like you're the most precious thing in the world, and in the way his hands eagerly map out your body. He makes a mental note of everything that brings you pleasure, and he can't get enough of the sweet little sounds you make for him and him alone.

He loves burying his face in the crook of your neck and whispering endearments into your ear, and especially adores the way it makes your cheeks flush when he tells you how beautiful you are. He means every word of it.

At last, he sinks into you, taking his time with slow, deep rolls of his hips that almost leave you breathless. He kisses you just as passionately, hands sliding into your hair while he loses himself in the way you feel beneath him, warm and alive and undeniably his.

Your eyes meet when you both come undone, and the way you look at him with nothing but love and trust and devotion is just one more reminder of just how much he cherishes you.

(inspired by this lovely post from @bloodsuckingfiends - got me kicking my feet and everything) ETA: ended up expanding this one into an actual fic after all!

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Fool

Summary: As you lie, nestled into Astarion’s chest, he considers his feelings - his damned, complicated feelings.

Alternatively, Astarion experiences all 5 stages of grief in 10 minutes.

Rating: T Word Count: 816 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: First person Astarion POV, fluff and angst, rather a lot of angst actually, feelings denial, Astarion needs a hug, cuddling, Astarion's simple plan beginning to fall apart.

Want to hear this fic read aloud with absolutely pristine acting by the incredibly talented CurlyChops on AO3? Have a listen here!

A/N: You know when you’re lying in bed, unable to sleep until you write down that idea that’s managed to worm its way into your brain at unspeakable hours of the night? Here we have a slightly angsty drabble that decided to do just that! After the reception to the Gale first person POV, I wanted to try my hand at an Astarion POV. Hopefully you enjoy!

A fool lies in this tent.

Look at you, nestled into my side, sleeping peacefully against my chest as if a vampire’s embrace is the safest place in all the realms. Utterly ridiculous. So trusting, so… pliant. All according to plan, really. I set the trap - a few choice words here, a few lingering touches there - and you walked right into it. Just like I knew you would.

Just like all the others do.

Well, not quite like all the others. You actually believe there's something redeemable in me, don't you? How deliciously naïve.

Do you even realise what you've fallen for? What I am? A monster, a liar, a parasite. Oh, my dear, the fool you are.

Though I suppose your particular brand of foolishness has its… uses. Your blind faith in my redemption is almost charming.

No. Not charming. It’s pathetic. Pathetically predictable. It can’t be charming. Because, if it is, I’m no better than the fool I mock.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and I resist the urge to recoil. This charade - this playing at romance, at desire - it shouldn’t affect me so. I’m above this. I’ve spent centuries perfecting the art of manipulation, of taking what I need. It was supposed to be easy: charm you, bed you, and secure my safety. A means to an end. But as I lay here, with your warmth pressed against me, my chest begins to tighten. Not in fear or hunger, but in something… complicated.

Anger begins to burn at the back of my throat. Good. Anger is familiar. It’s safer, easier to control.

This is your fault, you know. No, worse - it’s mine. My fault that I have been reduced to this - a creature desperate enough to sell the only scraps of autonomy I have left. You think this closeness is love, don’t you? But it’s not. It’s survival. It has always been survival.

But then again… 

You’re not like the others at all, are you? Those who took without asking, without care. Your touch is… gentle. Always so damnably gentle. You’ve never grabbed, never demanded, never treated me like a thing to be used. With you, it hasn’t all been… bad. No, that’s not right - it’s been tolerable. Almost pleasant at times, really. Your touch doesn’t make my skin crawl; your voice doesn’t grate on my nerves. I tell myself it’s because you’re useful. That’s all this is. 

That’s all it can ever be.

If I were to tell you the truth, what would you do? If I were to push you away, would you stay? If I were to let you in, would you hurt me? These questions gnaw at me, demanding answers I don't have. 

Answers I don't want.

Even now, as you sleep, your fingers rest light as feathers on my chest. It’s maddening. Infuriating. How dare you? How dare you make this difficult? This was supposed to be simple. You were supposed to be simple. 

I could kill you right now, you know. One quick movement, and all these feelings would disappear with you. Never again would you look at me like I'm something precious, something worth saving, like I’m–

“... Astarion,” you mumble drearily in your sleep.

Hells.

I should leave. I should push you away, remind you that I am not something to hold on to.

But I don’t move. 

Instead, I stay. Because the truth, the awful, unbearable truth, is that I don’t want to lose this. The selfish man I am.

A sigh escapes me. 

It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. 

Gods, what an absolute mess you’ve made of my carefully laid plans. I find myself watching you sleep, counting your breaths, fighting the urge to brush that strand of hair from your face.

When did this happen? When did I start to care whether you lived or died beyond your usefulness to me?

I hate this. I hate that you’ve made me feel anything at all, but more than that, I hate myself for not hating it more. The way you defend me, the way you’ve never once looked at me with disgust or fear… it’s terrifying.

You’re terrifying.

Yet I can't bear to give it away.

Your fingers curl into my shirt in your sleep, and I find myself pulling you closer despite every screaming instinct to push you away. Protecting you, as if I have any right to do so. As if I deserve the way you lean into my touch, trust in my words, believe in my capacity for - dare I say it - goodness. As if I deserve any of this.

The moonlight filtering through the tent catches on your sleeping face, and something inside me breaks. Or perhaps it's finally mending. I'm not sure I know the difference anymore.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, so soft I’m certain it won’t wake you. How poetic. How utterly absurd.

You, the fool, who dared to fall for me. 

And I, the greater fool for letting you.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat, @davenswitcher, @silverfangmarks, @sparrowbard, @chonkercatto, @stokzr , @trafalgarussy , @asterordinary , @bite-me-tonight , @transparentkittenheart , @bg3-fanfic-reblogs

[dragonsfictavern]

Beyond Desperation

Halsin Silverbough x Reader

a/n: Halsin and Astarion, my two main mans. I couldn’t not write something for Halsin. Some of the description may have gotten a little size kinky but dude is huge so it makes sense to me.

summary: After a particularly adrenaline endorsing fight ensues, Halsin needs desperately to feel close to you. His first course of action is to connect his body and soul with yours, replacing the aches of the fight with the aches of strenuous activities. Leading him to go a little bit overboard and apologize through vigorous after-care.

warning: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, biting, marking, body worship, light subspace, phenomenal after-care.

word count: 2.7k

It was due to a planned attack that started all of this. You had been there of course, fighting by his side. He had been particularly looking forward to it all day, his energy levels high despite his calm demeanor. You could tell having learned to read his body language and all the other things he never needed to speak aloud. Halsin was itching to help and frankly, so were you. Both of you aiming to look out for the natural order of things.

But then something happened that you probably both should’ve expected. In his excitement, Halsin had gone a bit too wild for a first turn of attack. After that, it wasn’t much longer until the entire fight was over and you all had clearly won. The other guys, while having gotten a few good hits in, couldn’t last long compared to Halsin’s stamina.

Afterwards, he went right to you, still overwhelmingly pent up from the very underwhelming experience of a fight. Checking to make sure you weren’t seriously injured. His heading straight for you was growing to be somewhat of a common occurrence. You tried not to look into it or think too deeply about it. You knew the way in which he cared for others. But that didn’t stop your heart from warming that he came right for you when becoming aware of his need. That he trusted you to be able to take care of him.

Though right now you were starting to feel a strange kindred bond that your opponents had with him. That's to say you were beginning to fear you too didn’t have the stamina to match up with Halsin. Your nails dig into Halsin’s stomach, bringing out a low growl from him as he helps you ride him into another orgasm for you both.

Like clockwork a hoarse scream is ripped from your throat as Halsin brings you to another one of your countless rippling climaxes. Your orgasm coats his cock just as your walls spasm around him and he groans, his eyes clouded over in a lust-filled daze. The only thing on his mind is bringing you to your peak once again, desperate to feel the way you clench around him as he empties himself inside of you. Desperate to see and feel your body as he gives you pleasure. Even as a puddle of your combined release soaks into the bedroom sheets of the local inn.

Your body convulses as sharp prickles erupt over your body from his deep thrusts and the beginnings of overstimulation. A whimper moves past your lips as you sag against Halsin’s broad warm chest, exhaustion falling over you after hours of euphoric bliss.

“You’ve done so well for me, dove. I knew you would,” Halsin’s low gravelly voice whispers along the shell of your ear as he leans down to your height. Your body twitches as he continues rocking into you though you can tell he’s restraining himself. Holding back from taking you again so soon after such an intense orgasm. You whine, burying your face in his neck as your hands trail up his overheated skin till they wrap into his hair. Both of you feeling needy for touch right now. For closeness and connection. “Sh, sh, sh. I’ve got you.”

“More Halsin, please,” you croak out, lips brushing along his raging pulse. Your hips start to move with his and your jaw drops, feeling the burn as his thick girth continues to stretch and split you open. But Halsin’s hands are right there on your ass, pushing himself inside you. Your body warps into him, a long mewl leaving you. But just as you think it’s about to get so good again, Halsin’s hands tighten, keeping himself firmly planted in your walls.

“Relax, it’s alright. Take your time. I know you got one more in you and I’m not going anywhere,” Halsin’s voice is a low rumble that vibrates against your skin as he peppers kisses along your shoulder. Your body still shakes but you’re itching to move, to keep him stuffing you full of his cum till he forces it out with another healthy dose of it. You truly don’t know where your minds gone when you reach this place with him. The crown of his cock rests sweetly against your cervix and it only serves to drive you deeper into insanity.

“Don’t- don’t make me wait. I can’t and I know you can’t either. I know you need it and I can do this for you. I want to do this for you,” you beg earnestly as a light fog grows heavier in your mind and your arousal for him heightens. You know this’ll give Halsin peace of mind, you know it’ll calm him after the fight you all went through. You want nothing more than to give that to him. So you whisper the one thing you hope will push him over the edge. “Just let go.”

Halsin is frozen, keeping you frozen along with him. His forehead now resting heavily on your shoulder, his nose brushing along your collarbone as he inhales heavy amounts of your scent. Then with a final squeeze to your ass, he lifts you up his cock, only leaving in the tip before his hips snap harshly back up into you. You cry out, cunt fluttering around his cock to which it responds with a twitch. Your bodies having been molded and in sync to each others.

Your hands caress his ears in order to intensify his pleasure. You feel the rumble in his chest and you press closer to him. Using his hold on your bottom, Halsin moves you up and down on his dick with ease, starting you both at a hurried pace. Your jaw drops, teeth nicking the skin of his neck.

“You’re ok,” Halsin breathes out, his voice low. You can hear the way he inhales and exhales roughly, tiny grunts leaving him with every wet smack of your hips meeting. You can only respond with broken whines, eyes fluttering as you lean all your weight on his imposing yet comforting figure. Halsin is more than prepared to carry you through this as he fucks into you.

His hands grip your body tightly as he fights for control, not wanting to be more rough than you can handle. His nails lightly dig into your skin, breaking skin in a way that has you moaning as pricks of pain join in with the vast amounts of pleasure. You know it’s sure to leave a mark or two but you can’t help but want more. Something that won’t fade away in a day or two.

You writhe against Halsin’s body, wanting his cock to touch every depth inside you as he maintains his frenzied pace. Lifting his head from your shoulder, he maneuvers around in order to more easily trail his soft lips over your heated body. He follows a pathway down your neck, tongue teasing your shoulder. His back arches so he can continue on along your chest. You gasp as his teeth bite at you softly, making your body buzz and quiver. His lips seem unable to leave your skin. You note the way his body shakes, his breath mixing with his groans and coming out in short pants.

You moan as his nails sink in a little further. Head thrown back you bask in every sensation you’re greeted with. It’s only when Halsin’s lips pause just above your collarbone do some of your senses come back to you. Though it remains difficult as you feel as though your body is floating in an air of bliss.

“W-what?” You try to ask through your haze, but talking proves to be difficult as every single thrust is punching the air out of your lungs. You barely even register it as Halsin’s teeth sink deep into your flesh. You’re so consumed by pleasure the puncture feels like faint tingles that only increase your ecstasy. You cry out more from surprise than anything. Your hands hold onto his hair tightly as you keep him right there inside you. Now in every way.

Halsin, so caught up in the way your tight cunt sucks him in with every thrust, the warm wetness encompassing him, and your beautiful body welcoming everything he is, he couldn’t stop the overflowing emotions whirling around in his mind. Before he knew it his teeth were out and burying themselves in deep. He was going to take them out immediately— he was going to apologize. But then he felt you tug him closer.

So instead he finds his mind completely spinning. Every time he starts to lift you up his cock, his hips snap back up into you as if desperate to stay. You whimper, back arching unnaturally as you’re unable to escape a second of pleasure, not getting a moment of reprieve. His brutal pace is relentless as he jackhammers his way inside you. You squirm but it only has him pressing harder into your G-spot, causing a sharp choking noise to leave you from the shock.

Your body tenses as you can’t escape the intense sensations inflicted upon you. You try to open your mouth and express it but all that leaves is a long moan that only has Halsin start sucking at the skin around his mark, his teeth still embedded in you. Your stomach clenches painfully as your orgasm reaches higher and higher. Goosebumps spread across your skin like wildfire as you feel yourself burning from the inside out. That burning heat coming from the way his girth fills you, consumes you.

Halsin, having become attuned with your body, senses that you’re on the precipice of something magnificent. He doesn’t hesitate to slam your body back down on his dick and grind your clit roughly on the hair of his happy trail. You choke, your body jerking with violent force as the cord at the bottom of your belly snaps. A ringing echos in your ears and you can faintly hear your screaming beyond that as your climax crashes into you in waves, one right after the other as he doesn’t stop the stimulation on your clit.

A few moments later his teeth slip out of you as he goans from your clenching down on him. A few quick jerks of his hips and he’s emptying another load into your walls. You feel his cum flood through you, adding to the mix of busy sensations you’re experiencing. Yet this one has to be your favorite. Your body convulses uncontrollably and you feel a faint spark of worry as black spots suddenly surround your vision. You quickly call out Halsin’s name before you fall into darkness, your body going limp in his hold.

When you wake, you’re laying on the bed flat on your back. You wonder what woke you up and why you were asleep in the first place when a shocking texture brushes between your folds. You hiss, body jerking back. You look down just as Halsin’s head snaps up to look at you. Seeing a wet cloth in his hand and the tortured look in his eye has your memories flooding back to the front of your mind in an instant.

His gaze only lasts a moment before moving back down between your thighs. You see as that tortured look increases as his face twists. With a featherlight touch he cleans you up, being careful with the wet cloth as he wipes everything away. Your body aches but his soothing touch is enough to make you instantly relax back into the bed.

“Oh, Halsin,” you sigh, voice hoarse from your screams, watching as he avoids your gaze. Your limbs feel as though they weigh a million pounds, so all you can do is lay and watch as Halsin internally tortures himself over what just happened. Your heart flutters as he bends down, pressing soft apologetic kisses across your hips.

“Sweetheart, I am so sorry,” Halsin mumbles after a few long moments of silence. He grimaces, shaking his head as his eyes once again catch onto the forming bruises around your hips he’d just kissed. Looking away for a moment he puts some green paste he most likely made on his hands. He then leans forward, hands sliding over your bum and to the small puncture wounds from his nails. He makes sure to rub it in carefully to each mark. You wait until he’s finished and sitting back next to your legs.

“Halsin c’mere,” you call gently, loving the evident care shown from him while also needing you both need more. The air surrounding you is cold and empty as the fog is all but disappeared from your mind and you once again feel everything fully. You see Halsin hesitate, doing a double take to meet your gaze. Emotion rises in your chest and your voice cracks as you ask again. “Please, come here.”

His face twists in pain at the small break in your call. He doesn’t waste another moment before crawling up the length of his bed. Laying by your side he remains close while keeping a few inches of space between you. His eyes frantically move up and down your naked body, checking you over for what was probably the millionth time.

“How’re you feeling? Do you hurt? Did I hurt you?” He asks quietly, one question firing off as soon as he finishes asking the first. Finding your strength, you sluggishly lift an arm and cup his cheeks in order to bring his focus to your face. His cheek falls into your palm, soaking up your touch. “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” you say in an attempt to calm his guilty heart. But Halsin immediately scoffs, not buying that for a second. In the moment, it had briefly scared you. But you were ok. Now, more than anything, you wanted to laugh about how he’d made you feel so good your body gave out. Though you could see he wasn’t in the joking mood right now.

“You cannot say such things, sweetheart, look at you,” Halsin says, motioning a hand along your stiff body, eyes following it. That same hand carefully lands around your waist. He rubs his thumb in calming circles, bringing a warmth to spread through you. Guilt continues to radiate off of him and it hurts your heart to see. He closes his eyes, angling his head to kiss along your wrist and down your arm. “I lost control— that is far from ok,”

“I wanted to go again. I don’t regret it, even now,” you admit, thumb caressing his cheek. Both of you subconsciously working to soothe the other. Halsin’s eyes open and meet yours. You can see his emotions going haywire through the depth of his eyes. He feels so much and carries so much on his back. He’s incredibly strong but you want him to know he doesn’t have to carry it alone.

“I was reckless. It was my responsibility to take care of you, make sure I wasn’t too rough. Now look at you,” he murmurs against your skin as he continues his soft kisses. With your hand now free of his face, you wrap it back into his hair. Such a simple touch from him has your heart beating out of your chest.

“Look at me. You’re taking care of me perfectly,” you express, letting your emotion shine through to him. His soft eyes flicker up to look at you as his lips reach your shoulder. They now look the tiniest bit more forgiving than they did a moment ago. Without moving even an inch away, his arms slip around your body. He curls you into himself, fully encapsulating you within his form. You hum contently, curling your arms between your bodies and brushing along his smooth skin.

“And I won’t stop. Is there anything you need?” His face now right in front of yours and his body surrounding you completely, you feel a million times better. Comfort and safety solidify themselves within you. Your eyes look between his as you can see his full attention on you and anything you may need of him. Right now the idea of needing more seems impossible as you have everything you could ask for right here.

“Just this.”

[astarion-approves]

More than sex.

Astarion x gn! Tav

"You’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?”

“Yes.”

Rating: Mature (for the subject but no actual sex or smut in any way shape or form.) Tags: Demisexuality, demisexual Tav, Demisexual Reader, No Smut, gn! Reader, Slight spoilers, Act One spoilers, Developing Relationship, Developing Friendships, Drabble, short and sweet, Confessions

Ao3 or keep reading below:

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“I’m just looking for a little more excitement. A little more fun.”

Tav considered these words, anytime they saw Astarion having ‘fun’ was on the battlefield. Either stabbing his way through anything that stood before him, or sneaking up behind them and slitting their throat before they could even scream. “And what’s your idea of ‘a little fun?’”

Astarion smiled, taking a sip of his cheap wine before speaking, “By the hells. Sex, my dear. A night of passion.” 

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. So, how about—“

“Shadowheart is free.” Tav looked over their shoulder to where she stood by her own tent where she fiddled with a bottle of wine attempting to open it with slow hands. 

“Wait, what—“ Astarion shifted to look past Tav to where she stood, the woman catching his gaze and glaring in return. 

“And she’s really pretty too,” Tav offered. 

“I’m not interested in hearing her praise her goddess tonight.” 

“Well, there’s also Lae’zel—“

Astarion shook his head. “I think she would rather behead me before she would ever bed me.”

“Halsin is available too—“ The Druid elf was handsome, and such a powerful one at that but before Tav could even finish, Astarion cut them off.

“Tempting, but not the one I’m interested in.” 

“Gale—“

“No.” 

Tav hummed, putting their hands on their hips as they scanned the rest of the camp. There were many others, but most were already too drunk to even remember their own names. “I can’t think of anyone else.” 

“There’s always you, darling.” 

“Me?” Tav snorted a laugh. Surely he must have been joking. Of all the people that Astarion could have… Tav would personally put themselves at the bottom of the list. 

“Yes, you. It’s not everyday someone like yourself would be propositioned by someone like me, and this may be your last opportunity—“

“No thank you.” 

“No?! What do you mean ‘no’?!” Astarion was shocked, his hands jumping to his chest as if Tav had stabbed him directly in the heart. 

Tav grimaced, the way that Astarion’s face dropped, the hurt that filled his eyes so quickly… “Look, I’m not… rejecting you—“

“Sure sounds like rejection to me—“

They shook their head. “I need to be in love first… before I can…” Tav lifted their hands, gesturing towards Astarion in a weak display of trying to find the words and failing. “Don’t get me wrong… you’re- you are breathtaking, Astarion. The most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on—“ 

“Yes, I know. But– you’re telling me, that you.. would pass on a night of… meaningless, fantastic, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mind blowing sex… for love?” 

“Yes.”

Astarion paused, taken aback. “Well, that’s actually quite admirable… But why?” 

“For me, I want it to mean something. Sex is an easily obtainable thing, but love… love you have to work for, to fight for, to earn and to cherish. Sex is great and all but… making love to the person who means the most to you in the world. That’s what I want. That’s what I need.” 

Astarion tapped his finger against his lips, thinking to himself before speaking again. “Hm. Sex and love, I never took you for such a sap,” he said with a light laugh. “Well, how do you feel about being friends then, hm? The kind of friends that protect one another, that is.” 

Tav chuckled. “I think it’s too late for that.” 

“Too late?! So what, now we can’t even be friends?!” Astarion threw his hands up, frustrated. “All I did was hit on you and now—“ 

“No, no,” Tav cut him off, reaching for Astarion’s hands and holding them gently. “What I mean… We can be friends but… I have developed some feelings for you. If you want to be friends, that’s fine. That’s great, actually. I just… well, I need to know if I should ignore those feelings—“  

Astatrion pulled his hands way, choosing to gesture towards Tav as he spoke. “So, let me get this straight. You have ‘some’ feelings for me?”

“Yes,” Tav replied with a nod. 

“But you don’t want to fuck me, tonight? Right now?” 

“Right.” They nodded again. 

“How very interesting… and even.. a little refreshing,” Astarion smiled, a smile that almost seemed shy… With his head turning away from Tav—and Tav swore they saw the smallest blush growing on his cheeks. 

“Refreshing?” Tav questioned, learning towards Astarion in an attempt to see that adorable blush— 

Astarion waved them off, the blush already gone and Astarion back to his usual self. “Never mind that, Tav. I guess we can see where this goes then?” He reached out, taking Tav’s hand into his own and giving it a light squeeze. “Whatever this is, anyway.” 

Tav smiled. “I’d like that.”