#That's the true power of the tadpole

[lelalyo]

The most unrealistic thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is how you have a group of 25+++++ year olds that are perfectly ok sleeping on the floor every night.

I sit on the floor for five minutes and I just about need to call Withers for a resurrection and even if he brought me back, I still have the *Bad Back* debuff.

[itsafreetrialofdeath]

short king and his incubi (they both fucking hate him) + some very little and slightly nsfw sketches under

[n1ghtwarden]

" indeed i am. such is the wisdom that comes with decades of experience and hard-won battles; not that any of the waeles that i have been tasked with minding understand that. " but you do. the words hang in the air, unsaid - but thought, all the same. to admit it was a weakness; a failure on her part to do what she had been training for, made for her entire life - lead. the night warden has seen better days; her eyes bloodshot, the circles under them dark and infinite - she could rest. should rest. but the gift behind her eye squirms and writhes; the words thrumming and humming in her mind. no rest. none. not yet. find it. search. obey. OBEY.

her eye twitches - tearing her gaze away from the map she'd scrawled across to slowly straighten herself, red, red eyes falling upon i'mbrose. the absolute is surely blessed; to love her own people as much she loves the night warden - to rid them of the bindings of lolth and show them the way; the true way. her way. perhaps the stench and chaos of the goblins was a test - one that minthara baenre, wayward daughter, was all too eager to pass in her ascent to the top of her most faithful. the light here burns - it has to. it must. the absolute's love does too; humming away in her skull as a cold hand reaches between them; the air rippling as minthara presses in - practiced. unkind, but not brutal when she enters the recesses of his mind; an image of them both, his own capable mind offering assistance she needs without the fumblings of goblins - serving in the name of a god who would rebuild the world. come here.

@spidrsilk. from here.

[xenosaurus]

okay FINE I’ll write a post about the emperor, if tumblr’s going to give me thirst posts either way I might as well. huge endgame spoilers for bg3

the emperor is a goddamn masterpiece of game design, because he’s YOUR powerful, abusive manipulator. Wyll has Mizora, Shadowheart has Shar, Lae’zel has Vlaakith, etc— and Tav has the emperor.

They position him as your guardian. They let you design him a face so he’s trustworthy to you. MOST of his advice is… technically true. You CAN get power from the tadpoles, the githyanki ARE dangerous, you CAN beat the elder brain without Orpheus.

But it’s all a misdirect. He doesn’t care about you. If you do his “romance” scene, he’s pulling a nastier version of Astarion’s “I slept with you so you’d protect me” stunt. He needs you to obey him, to trust him, to see him as an equal.

You learn the fates of his last two “equal partners”— Ansur, whose death the emperor tries to keep you from discovering by claiming he never existed at all, and Stelmane, who the emperor claims was his friend and business partner right up until you mouth off too much, when he admits she was his thrall, and you aren’t because you’re more useful with your wits about you.

Can you really trust his “ethical” brain harvesting claims, given the other lies and half truths? Whether you think eating criminals is a lesser evil or not, there are cages in his quarters. He had thralls. His “shared memory” where he shows himself as a mindflayer in a cloak doesn’t account for the record of a glamor in his quarters that kept kitchen staff from noticing human brain meat until leftovers were removed from the room. He was manipulating people’s senses when they were around him.

But he CAN help you. He IS on your side. As long as you’re on his side, of course. His own self preservation comes first, and that’s not inherently terrible, but he will twist whatever he needs to to get you to help him, no matter how much harm it does.

He’s an incredible character. He fascinates and horrifies me. He’s perfect for his role and I love how they used mind flayers, how he’s setting you up before you even start the game.

TL;DR: long live Prince Orpheus, asshole

[shewolfofvilnius]

I feel sorry for Orin

repurposed from an old Reddit post of mine

Edit: Wrote an epilogue fic where my Durge, Sofija, seeks redemption for her sister with the Gods

Raised from birth in the Bhaal cult and has never known ANYTHING else. Literally the result of incest between her mom and Sarevok (her father AND grandfather) - and for her entire life is actively manipulated and groomed to worship her "Grandfather" second only to Bhaal (leaving a disgusting implication that Sarevok might eventually try again). Literally every single day of her life spent in a murder cult, never knowing anything else.

Her mother is actively manipulated when Orin is seven to try to kill her daughter, only for Orin to reflexively kill her first, at which point Orin was briefly possessed by Bhaal himself (per some Sarevok dialogue). AT AGE SEVEN. And even from a young age, Orin's true gift is her artistry, a talent that outside the Bhaal cult probably could have been nurtured into something phenominal, but inside the cult is twisted into a sinisterness in the kill that, when she's out of earshot is decried as wasteful.

She eventually rises through the ranks (never have had any choice), having never felt a meaningful moment of compassion or kindness and, desperate to be cared about, sees the power and fear and respect her bloodkin (The Dark Urge) has gained and uses their hubris to take them out.

Ironically, in the timeline where Durge lives, they get a gift Orin couldn't even dream of - a 2nd chance. With their brain scrambled and the tadpole present but being interfered with, the Dark Urge got a chance to be someone new. (Whether they accept or reject that 2nd chance, they at least got a choice this time).

What did Orin get for her troubles? Her (grand)father openly coveted to either take her out, or worse, take her out - when the time was right, her own allies both detested her (Gortash openly revels at the idea of working with the Dark Urge again)

and most brutally, if you manage to confront her with the truth, any of it? About Sarevok, about her mother, etc? She immediately believes you. And for one (1) moment, maybe there's hope for her.

Hope that Bhaal immediately rips away; an Orin confronted with the truth and showing even the slightest hesitation is immediately forcibly transformed into the Slayer by Bhaal himself, with a strong implication that the core of the old Orin is gone forever win, lose, or draw. "No more doubts, no more fears, no more Orin. Become murder.". Seeing what Bhaal's reaction was the moment Orin had one (1) instant of hesitation also confirms that she'd likely have never had the chance to choose differently, either Bhaal would always step in or else she'd eventually meet her end.

Imagine the AU where Orin takes her CLEAR flair and artistic talent to become a truly great artist. Where she gets the same second chance that Durge got - If she'd been able to use her talent for impersonation and desire to great to do something powerful instead of being forced by her family from childhood into the family business of murder.

She literally never had a chance. Even Bane and Myrkul and their respective cults were never so unfathomably cruel, and she never knew anything else.

At least for my own first game, though, my Durge recognized that without her "sister," she'd have never gotten the chance to save the world, never met Shadowheart, never stopped a century worth of Ketheric's torture on Dame Aylin, never set in motion the liberation of the Githyanki...In the right world states, Orin unwittingly saved the world, but it's a world she'll never get to see or know, and probably never could have.

That's tragic as hell.

[the-magpie-collective]

Wyll seems to be the only companion who intentionally and repeatedly uses the mindflayer tadpole to communicate. I did a quick search through the dialogue files and the only other instance I found was at the beginning of Act I, when Lae'zel is captured by the tieflings, she'll use the tadpole to demand you free her.

And yet, Wyll is one of the companions most against using the tadpole's powers. Arguably, I'd say he's more against it than anyone save for Lae'zel. Which is why I find it so interesting that out of all of companions, Wyll is the one to latch onto and make use of this facet of the tadpole's powers.

The first time Wyll can use the tadpole is when Mizora bids him to rescue Zariel's asset. If the Player succeeds on their perception check, they can bargain with Mizora to free Wyll from his pact. Wyll link his mind with the Player's Character in panic, demanding to know "What are you doing?"

Then again when Wyll is finally reunited with his father, he uses the tadpole to show his father why he pacted with Mizora. Instead of explaining in his own words, he shows him the cultists as they attempt to summon Tiamat into Baldur's Gate. He'll do the same for the Player Character if his father isn't saved, even when he is freed from his pact and could say it in his own words. If the PC refuses to let Wyll show them, he will explain it, but clearly prefers to use the tadpole.

Finally, Wyll will also use the tadpole to bid farewell if he has a falling out with the player character, telling the player "Godspeed, and may your journey be true."

For Wyll, who had spent the last seven years under a devil's thumb, this narrative choice to use the tadpoles to communicate is telling. One thing all of these scenes have in common is that they all emotionally charged moments. They are also moments in which, in my opinion, it is very important for Wyll to convey his sincerity. Wyll has spent the last seven years always dancing around the truth and now here comes along a power where not only can he tell the truth, he can show the truth as he sees it, so that there is much less risk of being misunderstood. A power like that has to be irresistible.

Just another thing I wish was explored more in depth in game.

Edit: Thank you to everyone who pointed out instances when other characters also use the tadpoles to communicate <3

Turns out Wyll/Lae'zel's writer is the only one who bothered to use proper tagging in the dialogue system ('MINDMELD' if you're curious). This is why I can never find what I'm looking for in the dialogue files smh

[panksage]

Sunken cost fallacy is a source of misery to many (1) a freshly tadpoled vampire spawn

It is endlessly funny to me that Astarion is trying to mastermind a relationship with a secret Bhaalspawn in the middle of familial power struggle, the squeaky sound of his clown shoes is heard coast to coast, I’m obsessed with it.

Featuring the famous dialog from True Detective

🎨comms🎨

[moghedien]

Actually obsessed with the whole dynamic Minthara has with the tadpole mind melding powers. Because while I believe almost every other companion with a tadpole does use the powers to sort of communicate/share thoughts with the PC at some point, and even to share personal information, it feels different with Minthara

For one thing, while all (except Gale for some reason) of the tadpoled origin characters sorta mind meld with you upon meeting, it isn’t intentional with them. You’re all doing that on accident. But the first thing Minthara does upon meeting you is intentionally grab your mind and pry into it. She 100% knows she’s doing it and means to do it and the way it’s described is almost sensual

Like it’s jarring and firm, but not worded as being rough or aggressive. She caresses your mind.

But you also have to keep in mind that she is under mind control at this moment and while her decisions aren’t her own to a significant degree, her desires to reach into other people’s minds and look inside seems to be a largely Minthara thing. Other true souls do it but generally only to identify you and they’re content after learning you’re a true soul. Minthara wants to see what’s going on in your head, to an extent maybe only Z’rell does, though even with Z’rell it’s more sadism on wanting to see the goblins suffer and testing your loyalty (notably after she’s just had to sentence a high ranking true soul to death for failing under her watch so loyalty is a concern atm).

And the really interesting thing here is that Minthara is the only one (at this moment because you don’t have Minsc yet) that has a real and genuine trauma around the tadpole controlling her mind. All of the origin characters were being protected from the absolute’s control pretty much from the start. Minthara wasn’t, and she was tadpoled in an intentionally violent and horrifying way by Orin, and only after Orin made her suffer while in possession of her own mind. Orin tortured her, tadpoles her and made Minthara worship her, and then tortured her some more while Minthara couldn’t do anything but love her. It’s to the point where even all of her hatred of Ketheric stems from the sole fact he handed her over to Orin. Anything else he did, she hardly seems bothered by and even says she respects him. Him being the reason that Orin had her is the one reason she wanted him to die.

After Minthara is free from the absolute’s mind control, she doesn’t really noticeably pry into your mind until the scene where you can start a romance with her, and the dynamic there is what really makes the whole thing interesting to me.

Because she is clearly concerned about your relationship status, because she has to be at a high approval rating to get this scene, meaning SHE likes you. That doesn’t mean that you like her or that you’re trustworthy. She is a Baenre. Her last allegiances were with people that falsely welcomed her in and then tortured her. She isn’t going to accept that anyone is trustworthy.

Not unless she can go in and see that you really truly are.

Which is what really makes this dynamic, because Minthara has THE most trauma around being tadpoled and mind controlled, and yet the only way she can trust someone that she’s started to like is by using said tadpole abilities to look into their mind and seeing what they think about her. Like the tadpoling combined with her upbringing in Menzoberranzan made literally looking inside someone’s mind the only option for her to determine if they’re trustworthy. Which is probably why that was her go-to even when she was under the absolute’s control. Then, being chosen by the absolute was enough for her to accept you, even if you’re a darthiir

And when you get the scene where she wants to look in your kind, it starts with her trying to do so and then pulling back. Almost as if she did it without meaning to. Like she’d been worried if she couldn’t trust you and so her instinct was just to check, but then she realized what she was doing and that it’s wrong to do that so she stops herself. Like she’s definitely grown used to just doing that, but being aware now means she’s aware of that being wrong, even if it’s really really something she needs to see. So she stops herself and explains what’s bothering her and then asks to go in and look at your mind.

And notably, the thing she says she’s having trouble with is her identity, which yeah. She absolutely is having identity issues but that is another post, and I don’t think that’s even really the main reason she’s doing this. Like I said, she has to like you a lot in order to get this scene and what comes from this scene implies that she was trying to pin down your relationship, not her identity.

If you let her in and she sees that you view her positively and not in a way that threatens her, she just comes onto you right there. She very clearly wanted to trust you and if she looks in and sees that you’re not a threat to her, she just goes all in on that. If you don’t immediately see her as a love interest, she does try to talk you into it and expresses the need your absolute trust and whatnot. Like ensuring trust was always her goal there.

But if you basically come onto her first by indicating you see her as a lover, she immediately makes herself even more vulnerable. She does so by just letting you touch her mind after she’s been through the worst fucking mind control, but if you indicate you want her, she just immediately drops whatever guards she still had up and lets you in.

It was absolutely a test of her ability to trust you, not her trying to figure out her identity, at least not her identity outside of her relationship with you.

And once you’ve both peeped inside and determined you aren’t going to hurt each other, like I said she’s much more vulnerable both in her tone and words but also she’s still in your mind

She already admitted her fears to you at this point, but reading her almost hesitance to touch your mind after this is just a whole other level. Because this is after you agree to be with her, and now she’s all of a sudden afraid of touching your mind. Not because she’s afraid of what she’ll see there because she’s already seen it. And idk what I’m even saying here but just the moment when Minthara knows without a doubt that the two of you are something is the moment she shows hesitance with touching her mind. And it wasn’t as if the first time she did it in the goblin camp it was rough. It was notably not rough and described as a caress.

But it’s just all coming together now. Touching your minds is the only way she can feel safe, but it’s also the thing that hurt her the most in the past with others. So now she has safety and she has you and she has permission to be in your mind, and she hesitates, like she’s afraid of doing even the slightest thing to hurt you now.

Because if you’ve gotten this far with her, you are literally the only person what Minthara has ever loved that the love didn’t come with stipulations and violence. And if you realize that, it’s clear why she would so immediately devote herself to the first person she liked who she could be absolutely sure wouldn’t hurt her and why she hesitates now when doing things that even slightly resemble how she was hurt in the past.

[messiahzzz]

it is a conscious choice of mystra to initially present herself as this benevolent, courteous, and merciful being. a practiced and perfected approach she knows will compel gale to follow her demands with the least amount of resistance on his part. he already refused to follow her instructions when she sent elminster to request his death — his effective father figure, gale’s self-proclaimed hero, mentor, and the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place — so another appeal is in order.

narrator: "elminster's visit weighs heavy on your mind. his face you did not expect to see again." narrator: "when you last saw him, you were in your prime. no orb, no tadpole. a mage of growing renown, all power, pride, and potential - beloved by the goddess of magic herself. narrator: "it's one thing to have fallen from such heights, but to have elminster himself now witness your humiliation is almost unbearable." gale: [his disappointment cuts deeper even than mystra's. he was your hero.] narrator: "while most know of elminster the legend, few know him as you have. he plucked you from obscurity. offered you his guidance. his faith. and most recently, his pity."

yet it is curious how quickly she changes her tune once gale doesn’t readily agree to her demand to return the crown of karsus to her, no questions asked. or even dares to impugn, or criticize her reasoning for leaving him to die.

gale: "a great ask indeed. you've given me much to think on - as you always did." mystra: "so be it. follow the needles of your own wisdom. we shall see how truly it leads you."

gale: "because i disobeyed you. you punished me for it." mystra: "how so? you think i should have cured you? erased the consequences of your actions?"

gale: "you break up with me, cut me off from the weave, leave me to die, and that's all you have to say? 'you look well'?" mystra: "i did not come here to suffer a mortal's admonitions. certainly not yours."

gale: "you were threatened. you realised you couldn't control me." mystra: "you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a saviour." nodecontext: sharper, almost a warning - don't entertain such thoughts, gale. you won't like where they lead.

gale: "i don't know. i need time to think." mystra: "so be it. follow the needle of your own wisdom. we shall see how truly it leads you."

particularly interesting to note is how she uses his surname as a tool to chastise and taunt him. only referring to him as "gale dekarios" in the context of him displeasing her, when he doesn't readily obey, whether he simply wavers (needing time to think) or outright declines her instructions. she uses the very name he had actively discarded and refuses to be referred to at this point in time. a deliberate reminder of his fallible humanity, of the flaws he tried to distance himself from. she knows this.

gale: "i won't let you down again. when the absolute is vanquished, i will surrender karsus' powers to you. you have my word." mystra: "thank you. may the weave's light guide your purpose, and it's wisdom guide your hand." mystra: "the future of magic rests on your shoulders, gale of waterdeep". mystra: "i promise you - it is a burden you are strong enough to bear."

gale: "i don't need your forgiveness. the crown of karsus will be mine, and the karsite weave will obey me." mystra: "crown yourself, gale dekarios, and you will learn what it is to carry such weight upon your shoulders." mystra: "if it does not crush you, i will." nodecontext: an icy edge entering her voice - a hint of a challenge gale will face if he pursues this course. nodecontext: here we glimpse the true, unimaginable power of mystra. she's still in control of herself, but her anger should be palpable.

i have already addressed the overall topic of mystra & gale's relationship in several posts i wrote some time ago [x] [x] [x]. however, since then we have received new snippets of information with patch 5 that shed more light on the progression of their relationship as a whole. this post is intended to be an update of sorts, containing a more comprehensive list, as well as lore excerpts for added context and proof. i will split this essay into several sections for coherency — buckle in, cause this is going to be a long one!

✧ mystra's history of manipulation ✧

one of the epilogue letters revealed that elminster first sought gale out when he was about 8 years old. which according to gale's canon age being 35 (as listed on his idle champions character sheet) means that their first meeting occurred around 1465 DR. although elminster's wording suggests that this may merely be an estimate on his side.

furthermore - in the ending where gale dies in the attempt at ascension, raphael has the following to say:

raphael: "you were the spark of ambition that rekindled gale's ambitions, after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest."

insinuating that mystra did make an active effort to keep gale in line, to temper his ambition, lest his thirst for more knowledge would eventually prove bothersome for her. keeping an eye on him at all times, keeping him close, placating him, and urging him to be patient.

what distinctly stood out to me is how this also aligns with some of azuth's quotes in the temptation of elminster, while he gives advice to a then-young sage of shadowdale.

we are her treasures, lad—we are what she holds most dear, the rocks she can cling to in the storms of wild art. she needs us to be strong, far stronger than most mortals ... tempered tools for her use. being bound to us by love and linked to us to preserve her very humanity, she finds it hard to be harsh to us—to do the tempering that must be done. she began the tempering of you long ago; you are her 'pet project', if you will. [...]

"you serve mystra differently. she watches you and learns the human side of magic in all it's hues from your experiences and the doings of those you meet—foes and friends alike. yet the time has come for you to change, and grow, to serve as she'll need you to, in the centuries ahead."

and yet again, there is a reoccurring pattern in her relationship with sammaster, another of her chosen, as well:

sammaster fell to his knees and wept upon mystra's feet. they ended up spending ten days together. this made him the first chosen of mystra since the seven sisters. when he asked for the reason that mystra had chosen him, she replied that she had foreseen that one of her chosen would be killed in battle, and he would be the replacement. he left this encounter feeling as though he and mystra were in love.

mystra is no stranger to fostering feelings of boundless devotion that weren't present before. observing her potential chosen, appearing before them, promising them power. luring them into service without the knowledge of what this may entail. where other gods may instill fear, mystra instills the notion of love. practicing seduction while mirroring her chosen's humanity. intentionally portraying herself as someone sympathetic and approachable. syncing their language, highlighting mutuality, making them feel favored and seen. mystra sees no need in the act of divine separation, a display of godlike grandeur — inimitable, menacing, larger than life, towering above her chosen. instead, her manifestation is purposefully unassuming. she meets them in the form of a woman in her early 30s, conventionally attractive, palpable, and appealing to the masses — a human figure. the very embodiment, the very ideal of traditional beauty an impressionable, young wizard may have.

gale: "i can't quite describe it, the need i sometimes feel to see her - to draw the filaments of fantasy into existence." gale: "no sculpture or painting could ever do her justice, only the fabric that she herself is and embodies."

gale: "in her likeness, i used to read a thousand stories. she was beauty, wisdom, elegance, power... she contained universes."

player: “what did mystra’s attention feel like?” gale: “love. [...] perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. it was most certainly love to him. [...]"

how we see her in the game is very likely the same form she chose to present to a young gale. beauty, wisdom, elegance. perceived perfection, yet humble in her divinity.

the mystra of now (1490s DR) retains some of the memories of all of her earlier selves, and the relatively young and inexperienced midnight is “in there,” but wholly subsumed. mystra could generate an avatar or seeming that might fool some mortals into thinking they were meeting midnight, but it would be an act. [x]

generating an avatar in the form of a mortal she subsumed. purporting mutuality. midnight was just another mortal added to mystra's long list of "human stock" — vessels intended to preserve her power. favored, chosen, and ultimately suppressed by the very essence of mystra herself. midnight is no equal piece of mystra, the deity, there is no conscious part of the mortal that remains. [x] the mystra that currently exists is a union of the original mystryl, as well as all the other reincarnations of her that melded into her being. fragments of their minds that linger in the weave, scraps of humanity that could perhaps aid in her knowledge and understanding to prevent further betrayals in the future.

mystra's approach has always been indirect, instead of being outright menacing and portentous. the fact that mystra isn't written like the other gods in the game doesn't mean she's more sympathetic to gale's struggles or more inclined to understand human nature. her concern will always be the preservation of her domain and her hold over the weave — to do as the gods do.

gale: "you're one to talk. how many innocents were you prepared to sacrifice if i detonated the orb?" mystra: "such eddies are unexceptional. souls arrive and depart your plane with every tide, in circumstances just and unjust." nodecontext: matter of fact, not interested in these kinds of specifics

ketheric thorm: "who decides what is right? the gods did not care for right and wrong when they dismantled my life piece by piece." ketheric thorm: "and when i tried to buy it back, it cost me everything - everything." ketheric thorm: "we are copper pieces in their belts. tokens to be traded for scraps."

it is often mentioned that mystra makes her attention known by brushing against her potential chosen. whispering to them, touching their skin, eliciting a tingling sensation. which is also how mystra chose to reveal herself to ariel manx (midnight) in 1353 DR, while she was 21 years of age.

gale mentions feeling a similar sensation if he chooses to destroy the summoning circle in balthazar's office at moonrise and thereby receives her blessing.

gale: "did you feel that?" gale: "if i wasn't surrounded on all sides by the darkness of the shadow-cursed lands, i'd think it was mystra herself brushing against my skin."

mystra isn't above using manipulations to get her way. once again evident in her instigating dornal and elué silverhand's union in the first place, as well as intentionally withholding information from dornal that she actively took possession of his wife, elué. to ensure that they would indeed produce her offspring — the seven sisters — her chosen and the vessels to house her power.

where elué had previously been reluctant to acknowledge dornal's advances, he found them suddenly returned with great fervor once mystra took possession of her body. [x]

"by the time elué was carrying her final child, she was in effect a lich - a crumbling shell kept alive only through mystra's power. dornal was shocked at her deterioration. he sought magical aid to cure his wife, and when he learned from the most powerful priest he could find that his wife was possessed by an intelligent force of great power, a sickened dornal tried to slay her. he struck off her head one moonlight night as they walked together in a wooded glade. mystra was forced to reveal herself. dornal was shattered by what he had done, and aghast at how he - and especially elué - had been used." [x]

dornal, who had been kept in the dark throughout, abandoned his lands and children after slaying his wife, traveling to the north, with the plan to seek his own death. he repeatedly tried to poison himself, yet mystra wouldn't allow him suicide and magically neutralized the lethal doses to keep him alive against his will. after his death in 797 DR, mystra turned him into another servant of hers: the watcher — one who wanders the realms, seeking out new potential chosen to this day.

which brings us to...

✧ mystra's foresight and her "death" ✧

mystra possesses a degree of foresight - she foresaw the time of troubles and her own passing at the hands of helm in 1358 DR for defying him and her attempt to converse with the overgod ao without the tablets of fate. the very reason why she sought out mortal vessels to house her power (the seven sisters) — to avoid disaster should another entity win control over her in the chaotic period of wildly fluctuating power struggles that was the time of troubles. this divine power slumbers within these individuals, which she can call upon.

in 1385 DR mystra (midnight) was struck down by cyric and shar, which brought upon the spellplague.

in 1479 DR mystra was located by elminster inside a cave in cormyr, guarding her mortal body. she survived cyric's assassination by inhabiting the body of a bear, while still able to contact her chosen. she returned to her full power in 1487 DR.

the important part, that i've often seen outright ignored or misinterpreted by fandom altogether, is that mystra wasn’t actually “dead” for over a hundred years. at least not in the way we perceive it. we can’t equate her death with our mortal understanding of it. her powers were diminished to an extreme and she was weakened, yet she was still able to communicate. it was in her power to contact her chosen and to guide them. evident by her calling for elminster through her telepathic link and directing him to recruit other chosen for her to restore her power.

the plot of baldur’s gate 3 takes place in 1492 DR. meaning gale's actual year of birth would be 1457 DR. while elminster likely sought him out around 1465 DR, when he was only 8 years old. however, i once again want to emphasize that “couldn’t have been more than 8 summers old” indicates that this may merely be an estimate on elminster's side. he could’ve possibly reached out to him even earlier than that, or perhaps later. gale was 22 year old at the time when mystra was found in her diminished state by elminster in 1479 DR.

✧ mystra's awareness✧

gale: “so, all it took to get mystra’s attention was to learn how to reforge an artifact that once destroyed her." gale: "it's obvious, when you stop to think about it."

even if you may personally be skeptical of elminster’s insertion into gale’s life at age 8 (as well as mystra's ability to contact her chosen during her death) to be enough evidence of mystra’s attention — she had to be aware of him for his talents alone since he was a mere child. there is no way around this.

player: "how could she possibly know we read a book? hasn't she got more important things to worry about?" gale: "the weave is a highly sensitive magical network threaded through all life on this plane. any shift in magical energy, no matter how small, is akin to a beacon, alerting mystra to its cause." gale: "opening a book like the annals of karsus was akin to us shooting a firework spelling 'look at us, mystra!' directly into the skies of elysium. she knows."

mystra IS the weave, as gale himself has stated several times. it is an extension of her being, threaded through all life. by touching the weave one is directly touching the goddess of magic herself. mystra is aware of any magic user, able to deepen this contact at her choosing.

shadowheart: "isn't it so, that every time you speak as you cast a spell, you're endeavouring to call upon mystra?" shadowheart: "i'm surprised she still listens to you." gale: "she has no choice - she's sworn to hear all magic users. even me." gale: "i'm sure she at least stuffs her fingers in her ears to muffle my invocations."

gale described himself as a child prodigy. a virtuoso that was able to manipulate and compose the weave at will from an early age.

gale: "magic is... my life. i've been in touch with the weave for as long as i can remember. there's nothing like it."

gale: "i'm what one might call a wizard prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the weave, but compose it, much like a musician or a poet."

gale: "such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. the lady of mysteries. the goddess mystra." gale: "she revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. in time, she became my muse, and later, even my lover."

someone who was able to perform feats way beyond the skillset of his peers. he managed to wield the blackstaff itself, accidentally facing an irritated death slaad, and lived to tell the tale. he summoned and befriended tara, as well as the magma mephit, k'ha'ssji'trach'ash. we also know from elminster that he was able to cast fireball — a 3rd level spell — at age 8.

it is indisputable that mystra must’ve taken notice of the precocious young wizard during this time, even in her diminished state. much like she had once observed midnight. she began to whisper to him, drawing back the veils, revealing herself bit by bit, urging him that he was special — chosen.

gale: "he fancied himself much more than that. he fancied himself favoured above all others. [...] mystra showed him the secrets behind the veils. the gossamer veils first, draped across the weave. the delicate veils next, draped across her body. ‘chosen one’ she whispered, as she slipped them off completely."

✧ final part: power imbalance & exerting control ✧

gale: "the weave is still here, all around us - inside of us too. as long as the goddess lives, magic is a tangible thing for those who know how to touch." gale: "i've studied magic for many years, and in as many ways i am still a more than capable wizard." gale: "it's just that i'm no longer able to perform those feats even arch wizards would marvel at." gale: " to have one hand on the pulse of divinity." gale: "you have to remember that the weave is a living thing, both the embodiment and the extension of mystra herself." gale: "she can give and she can take away. i'm afraid i'm still very much on her naughty list."

gale: "mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold." gale: "and yet, even now, more than i fear losing my own self and soul, i fear losing my command of her art."

player: "he sounds like a very talented individual." gale: "he was. even though it was in mystra’s affections that his true power lay."

even apart from their innate different forms of existence as a mere mortal and the literal goddess of magic, mystra is in full control of gale's power at all times, able to grant and withdraw her favors at will. claiming that such a power imbalance doesn’t exist, that it doesn’t apply to their respective relationship, that it might’ve been “healthy” at one point if gale was indeed of age at the time their relationship transitioned into a sexual nature is —pardon my french— fucking insane.

this stance disregards everything we know about the gods, about mystra’s involvement with other mortals and her chosen. it disregards the level of authority she wields over any magic user. it carelessly and naively disregards the implicit difference in power. mystra is the goddess of magic, his goddess. the very object of his worship and adoration since childhood. the goddess he devoted his life, his work, and his unyielding loyalty to. it is ultimately irrelevant at what exact point their relationship underwent its final transition from muse to lover. this discussion is redundant. mystra has been a constant presence since his early childhood. his worship of her began with the practice of his first spells, even if it wasn't conscious at the time. every practitioner of magic inevitably honors mystra, regardless of their faith in her. magic is his life, in the same way that mystra is pure magic. she is in total control of the tools he wields.

✧ summary ✧

mystra possesses a degree of foresight, already knowing about the time of troubles & her subsequent passing. this being her reason to seek out mortal vessels to secure her power.

mystra feels any shift in magical energy no matter how small, immediately alerting her. gale was able to cast a third-level spell at age 8.

mystra has a history of instilling feelings of love that weren't present before and using her chosen/other mortals for her own means. (elminster, khelben, sammaster, the seven daughters, ariel manx etc.)

mystra's manifestation is a conscious choice. midnight has been wholly subsumed by her.

mystra wasn’t actually “dead” in 1479 DR, but merely diminished. she was inhabiting the body of a bear and was still able to communicate with her chosen. she directed elminster to recruit other chosen to restore her power.

elminster sought gale out around 1465 DR when he was about 8 years old, as stated in the epilogue letter.

mystra first functioned as gale’s mentor, then his muse, and later his lover.

gale’s relationship with her was indeed of a sexual nature, he has explicitly stated so several times. their intimacy wasn't restricted to incorporeal interactions either, even though they were preferred.

during the ending where gale fails to ascend raphael states during the credits that tav has “rekindled gale’s ambitions after mystra had so cleverly put them to rest”.

azuth describes mystra's chosen as "tempered tools for her use". being bound to them by love and linked to them to preserve her very humanity.

mystra's intention to shape gale into yet another loyal, devoted asset to her portfolio has been there from the very moment she chose to reveal herself, to instruct elminster to seek him out. it was a conscious decision to directly insert herself into gale’s life, sowing his conviction that he was favored above all others. singling him out among his peers, isolating him with subtle promises of his greatness, his uniqueness, and all he could yet accomplish to be under her guidance. offering him her teachings, her inspiration, and eventually her love. yet all the while tempering his perceived greed and thirst to reach for even greater heights, unless it acted in her favor. keeping him close — lest his growing ambitions should ever prove to be an outright challenge to her rule.

the groundwork has been carefully laid from the very beginning.

gale: “goodnight. and thank you for your patient understanding. [...] try not to think too poorly of me. a cat can look at a king. a wizard can look at a goddess.”

[aevallare]

excuses

light plot. heavy smut. mind the warnings. you can read on ao3 here

pairing: astarion/f!tav

word count: 4424

warnings: Aphrodisiacs, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting, Gags, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Dom Astarion, Wall Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Biting, Hand Kink, Inappropriate Use of Tadpole | Illithid Parasite Powers, Established Relationship, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling

preview:

“Go.” Auri's voice is hoarse. “This isn't your problem.”

Astarion's eyes narrow. “If you really think that I'm going to leave you here by yourself–”

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

enjoy!!

-----

The orthon’s dead and his stronghold is now their camp for the evening. It’s a nice change from the usual; after barricading the entrance, they won’t even have to take watches. It’s well-fortified and Auri’s reasonably confident that they’ve wiped out anything in the immediate area that might want to kill them.

So spirits are light.

When Wyll jokingly tells her to lick the spider, Auri rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t be stupid. We’ll take it back to camp and cook it.”

Astarion won’t partake regardless, but he does afford her two raised eyebrows in response. Shadowheart grimaces and Wyll barks out a laugh that fades when Auri doesn’t join him.

“You’re joking,” Wyll says weakly. Auri sets her mouth in a line.

“There isn’t much else to eat down here.”

“Unless you’re Astarion,” Shadowheart snorts. It’s true enough, though it makes Auri blush. The marks on her neck are testament to that.

Wyll stares at Auri as she harvests meat from the spider with a dagger she pulls from her belt, and he says, “I’ll stick with what rations we have, I think.”

Auri shrugs. She ate worse when she was on the street. Her knife cuts into the spider’s corpse with a sickening crack through the exoskeleton before Astarion asks, “What are you doing?”

Auri looks up at him. “I told you I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.”

“No, that’s not–” Astarion pinches the bridge of his nose and crouches down next to her. “Move. You’re mutilating it.”

Auri’s barely started and he’s criticizing her. When he shoos her to the side with a flick of his wrist, Auri lets herself be dismissed. She stands, and behind them, Wyll and Shadowheart get to work setting up camp.

They’ve all long shed their armor. Astarion’s careful to push up the sleeves of his shirt before pulling a dagger of his own from his boot. The veins of his forearms thread down into his hands, thick and protruding, and as Auri watches, he gets to work.

“Did you moonlight as a butcher while you were a magistrate?” Auri asks.

Astarion exhales a laugh. “No, but as you might have guessed, taking things apart was an oft-used skill of mine after my time as a magistrate.”

The joke is dark, but Astarion doesn’t seem upset. In fact, he continues, “Are you really going to eat spider meat?”

“I put vampire in my mouth all the time and you never seem to complain about that.”

“True. Your exotic appetite is one of my favorite things about you.”

His dagger filets with grace; no movement is wasted. When he’s finally picked the spider clean, he looks up at her. The dagger’s still in his hand and he toys with it absently.

Auri’s always been enamored of his hands. Her own are calloused, roughened by years of playing every instrument she could get her hands on. They’re a lyrist’s hands. There’s nothing wrong with them; they’re nothing but tools.

His, though.

Astarion’s hands have never made music as far as Auri knows, but they make the world sing at his discretion anyway. Flesh and skin bow and warble at his fingers’ mercy, and gods know that her body’s sung under his touch more times than she can count.

Her hands are tools. His are art.

Astarion’s thumb brushes over the hilt of his dagger a final time before he stows it once more. Auri’s mouth is dry and it occurs to her that she’s staring. Astarion’s eyes catch hers and he smirks.

“See something you like, darling?”

His hand drifts up to push his hair out of his eyes. Auri’s gaze follows the movement like it’s a compulsion.

“Always,” she manages, and Astarion laughs for real then, a soft, secret thing that she’d never be graced with if Shadowheart or Wyll were nearby.

“Be careful staring like that. I might get the wrong idea.”

Auri blinks at him, finally pulled from the single-minded fixation she’s had on his hands. “What do you mean? We had sex just a couple of days ago–”

“Details.”

Auri gathers the meat in her hands and walks to the campfire. No one bothers her as she stokes the flames before skewering the meat on a sharpened stick and setting it to roast on the fire.

Shadowheart settles in next to her, and when she does, she wrinkles her nose. “That smells awful.”

“Everything down here smells awful–”

Astarion’s taken a seat and cracked open a book, but without looking up, he says, “You’re both right. This place absolutely reeks and that filth you’re cooking is making it worse.”

Wyll laughs. Auri frowns. Shadowheart huffs.

When the meat, for all intents and purposes, appears cooked, Auri pulls it from the fire. “You two are sure you don’t want any?” She looks at Wyll and Shadowheart in turn.

Wyll, at least, says, “No, thank you.”

Shadowheart just scoffs. “I’d rather starve.”

Auri shrugs. Her teeth tear through the spider meat, and if Auri doesn’t chew, it doesn’t taste so bad. Shadowheart’s grimace grows more and more disgusted, but Auri’s got a full stomach, so she doesn’t particularly care.

-----

There’s been little time to be unfocused in the Gauntlet of Shar. Everything is a potential or actual threat, and though he’s more or less convinced of their safety in this fortified pocket of ground that the orthon carved out for himself, Astarion still trances with a dagger in arm’s reach.

Still, his trance is light, and it’s been less than a day since he’s fed. He’s so much more when his senses are thrumming with Auri’s blood–

And it’s the sound of Auri that wakes him.

It’s a stifled, strangled, choking noise that pulls Astarion from his trance. It’s not close by, but he’d recognize Auri anywhere. It doesn’t sound like she’s in danger, exactly–

But Astarion slinks out from his tent anyway. Wyll and Shadowheart are nowhere to be seen; if he focuses, he can hear them both, breathing heavy with sleep in their tents. It’s hard to do that, though, when Auri’s gasping grows more and more labored.

So he follows it. And he finds her. And the reason she’s so far from camp isn’t hard to deduce once he does.

Auri’s slouched against a crumbling stone pillar. She’s managed to find a place free from bloodshed and gore, and her mind is entirely elsewhere (though she almost certainly wouldn’t have noticed Astarion anyway). From this angle it’s difficult to make much out, but Astarion doesn’t need to be able to see her in order to know what she’s doing.

Even from here, he can hear her ragged whimpering. He can smell the heat between her legs.

There’s something in Auri’s mouth, but when she slumps further down the pillar with a moan that dances on the line between relief and frustration, there’s no mistaking what she’s doing. She’s just made herself come, and she’s unsatisfied with the result.

She pulls the cloth from her mouth and whines, “Fuck.” Her body heaves and she fists both hands in her hair, leggings loose around her hips.

The idea of just watching her is appealing, but as Astarion looks on, tears prick at Auri’s eyes. He can see her bite the inside of her cheek in the way that she does when she feels that things are hopeless, and when he says, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, love, but you’ve looked better,” Auri doesn’t even startle. That’s when Astarion knows that something is truly wrong. He’d guessed, of course – there’s a feverish sweat beading on her brow and it’s unusual for her to wander off alone – but when she greets him without her usual bright smile, there’s no room left for doubt.

“Go back to camp. Please.”

There’s desperation in her voice. Astarion tilts his head to the side. “Darling–”

The pet name barely leaves his mouth before he feels her parasite push into his mind. It doesn't ask permission before it enters; Auri's lost control entirely. Astarion grunts in shock and then the assault of her tadpole on his comes into focus.

What afflicts her is lust incarnate.

“Please.” Auri struggles to form words but she tries anyway. “I'm not… myself. I can take care of this on my own. I swear.”

She's whimpering, filled with so much desire that it's causing her physical pain. When Auri tells him to leave, it's not for her own benefit. He can tell because of what the tadpole pushes into his mind, Auri's will be damned.

I could think about his hands forever. If he was the only one to touch me for the rest of my life, I'd be satisfied.

Astarion doesn't recognize what magic this is exactly, but her lust is unnaturally strong. “Not that I'm not flattered, but–”

There's a stone slab that was probably used as a table. I'm bent over it. Astarion's behind me and neither of us has bothered getting undressed. His cock pushes into me and when it does, there's finally some sense of relief. If it weren't for the gag, I'd scream loud enough to attract every enemy from here to the Underdark when he thrusts.

Astarion, suddenly, is also finding it difficult to form coherent thought.

“Go.” Auri's voice is hoarse. “This isn't your problem.”

Astarion's eyes narrow. “If you really think that I'm going to leave you here by yourself–”

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

Auri lets out a muted moan. When Astarion steps forward, she does her best to shrink away, but the pillar she'd been using for support stops her. She doesn’t want to ask. She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he’d have to say yes or no.

He puts his palm on stone in the space next to her head.

“Would you feel better if I touched you?” Astarion asks.

Auri’s fingers shake. Her eyes flit between the hand that he isn’t using to support himself and his face.

“I don’t know,” she says. Her pulse throbs in her throat. “You don’t have to–”

He interrupts her, ignoring the latter half of her words. “Would you like to try?”

A sob wrenches itself from her body. “It’s the only thing I can think about.”

And at last, he won’t be the one at the mercy of her kindness. Maybe he’d feel used if it were someone else. But it isn’t. It’s her.

Astarion dips down to kiss her, and again, Auri’s lust pours into him. She bites at his lip greedily, hips bucking forward gracelessly into his.

When he pulls away, hand sliding beneath her waistband, Auri says, “The gag.”

Somehow, Astarion had forgotten about that. “The gag?”

Auri nods her head, a moment from falling apart without him even having touched any of the places she likes best. “The others– I don’t want the others to hear.”

When a finger slides inside her, Auri’s eyes roll to the back of her head. She’s warmer than usual, but other than that and the desire rolling off of her body, she doesn’t seem to be in any danger.

Yes. He can take care of this.

Astarion’s palm pushes up against her clit as his finger gets to work, and with his other hand, he pulls Auri’s makeshift gag up from around her neck. “What is this?”

“I stole a clean bandage from Shadowheart’s things. Another finger, please. It’s not enough–”

The Auri he’s used to is a tender thing, though she’s more than capable of playing rough. He punctuates the second finger that she asked for by stuffing the cloth bandage into her mouth. She was wet already; when the gag’s back in place, she clenches around his fingers.

“Do you want to talk or do you want me to take care of you?” he asks.

There’s fire in her eyes. Auri can’t speak, but the images she pushes into him are obscene. Astarion doesn’t even have time to process them all before he says, “Well, we can certainly try a few.”

Astarion feels the tension inside her play up with each touch. Her leggings have fallen to her ankles and the hand that’s not buried in her cunt massages her breast. He gives her nipple a delicate twist, and the strangled moan that escapes her is more than worth his trouble. The other breast falls prey to his mouth instead, and when he bites at the soft flesh there, Auri’s knees buckle.

“We can’t have that, love,” he says, and he heaves her leg up, the crook of her knee in his hand. She’s still technically wearing her leggings; they’re just in a pool around the leg still holding her to the ground. Auri’s eyes go wide at the new angle, but there’s no complaint. From here, Astarion can touch her easily, freely, and as his pace quickens, so too does her heart rate.

Please, Astarion– please–

The gag’s occupied her mouth, but she’s still able to beg through the parasite.

“I do love how you look when you come for me,” he says, and with his fingers hitched inside her, Auri shatters. It’s different from usual but no less entrancing, and for the briefest moment as Auri squirts into his hand, she almost looks like herself.

Her eyes are wide. Gods.

“That’s new,” he says, and Auri would probably laugh if the gag wasn’t still in her mouth. “Feel better?”

His cock’s hard, but that’s hardly the point of this venture.

Auri pauses before nodding, and maybe Astarion would believe it if her body language wasn’t completely at odds with her mind flooding him with the image of him spilling himself inside her as she's bent over the slab of stone that he can see from the corner of his eye. Astarion smirks, feathering his thumb over her hypersensitive clit as he pulls his fingers out from inside her. She whimpers for him, and he whispers in her ear, “Liar.”

This isn’t your problem, she says again.

Astarion licks the evidence of her orgasm from his hand. Her eyes lock onto the motion, and when he’s done, he lifts her into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Unfortunately, without you around, my meal ticket disappears. So you are indeed my problem.”

She’s bare from the waist down. Auri’s slick enough that Astarion can feel it through his clothes. His cock’s already straining against his trousers.

She’s his problem in more ways than one.

When he lays her down on her back, he’s careful to make sure her shirt’s pulled down. The slab’s rough, unfinished, but she doesn’t seem to care. She sits up, pulling the gag from her mouth, and she says, “Let me.”

Auri reaches for the laces that will free his erection, but Astarion takes a step back so that he’s out of reach. He plucks the gag from her hand, and says, “I asked before. Do you want to talk or do you want me to take care of you?”

A shiver runs up her body and she doesn’t answer.

And that's answer enough, really. Well. That and the picture of him pulling her to the edge of the slab, bottoming out inside her, her breasts bare.

With painstaking restraint, Astarion exhales through his nose. “Oh, darling,” he says through gritted teeth. “Lie back for me, would you?”

If pressed, he’d admit it’s not the most graceful way he’s ever pulled out his cock, but it’s difficult to care when Auri is quite literally dripping in front of him. Her throat quivers and her fingers twitch; she’s doing everything she can not to touch herself, though Astarion’s not quite sure why.

He strokes himself thoughtlessly, like it’s the only natural course of action, but he won’t leave her wanting. This isn’t a night for games, although they’ve both been having fun despite her condition if the state of her thoughts is any indicator. When he dips down and presses a kiss between her legs, Auri cries out.

The gag’s still in his hand.

He fills her mouth with it in the same moment that he fills her cunt with his cock.

To distill Auri down into one word is impossible, but when he’s inside her, Astarion would struggle to name any adjective but warm. She’s a billion things, of course, not least of all naive, gullible, and foolhardy, but more than anything, she’s the essence of the sun made flesh. She’s made warmer still by whatever it is that’s afflicting her, but her body always leaves him in awe anyway.

A marvel of mortality.

When he thrusts into her, the gag swallows up a squeal that Astarion would frankly have liked to hear in its entirety. Auri’s hand reaches up behind her, nails scrabbling for purchase against unrelenting stone. When she turns her head to the side, saliva pools under her cheek, her eyes half-lidded. The underside of her breast teases him from beneath her shirt, and it’s like she was made for him–

Rip the shirt. I don’t care.

Somehow, even through her addled haze, she’s still thinking about his enjoyment. He could wonder at it, but he’d rather spend the time doing as she says. Astarion fists a hand in the front of her shirt and pulls her close. Auri’s head lolls backward before she regains the wherewithal to support herself, and before Astarion can second-guess himself, his fangs tear into her shirt enough that his hands can do the rest.

He takes a breast in his hand and squeezes as he pushes her down onto her back again, but not before he lifts her legs up onto either of his shoulders. Auri folds almost in half for him, his hips grinding against her clit as he buries himself fully inside her.

Frantic need and desire ripple through her, and if Astarion isn't careful, he'll lose control himself. The new position's made her tighter, and she's close. Astarion can feel it in the way her hips match his rhythm and from the desperate want in her eyes as her walls clench around him.

“My beautiful, depraved thing,” Astarion says, thrusting deep. It's impossible to keep his voice unaffected, but it doesn't matter. It has its intended effect anyway. “Look at you, those pretty tits bouncing as you take my cock. What would the others think if they saw you like this?”

Astarion–

“Their pretty little leader with her shirt torn open, bare on her back, coming for me again? It's a sight beyond compare.”

He won't spend himself inside her yet, though the temptation is certainly there. She's been pouring images of him fucking her into his head since they started, and this time, he returns the favor. When Auri sees herself as Astarion sees her, pupils blown out, blotchy all over, gag soaked through, she unravels. The parasite explodes with her orgasm; Astarion feels it rip through her like it's his own even as she spasms around him.

His own eyes roll back as Auri’s scream fights against the gag, but he doesn't come, and even as the climax is still rolling over her, Astarion hears her.

More– I'm sorry; I need–

She never asks for what she wants – not like this. Auri's always thinking of what he needs.

And she'd shown him before what she wanted.

“You need my cum, don't you? You want me to fuck you until I empty myself inside you?”

Whatever other thoughts she might have had go mute. Her eyes lock with his.

And this really isn't about him, but it occurs to Astarion that that's exactly what he wants, too.

He pulls his cock out from her and misses her warmth immediately, but it's a necessary evil. The beautiful thing about the tadpole and all the time that they’ve spent together is that they’re always a little bit in each other’s heads. The thought is terrifying if Astarion considers it too long, but it’s convenient that they’re on the same page about her scrambling off of the slab. Before she can readjust, Astarion presses his lips to her neck. That, too, makes her moan, and the echoes of her affection rattle along their connection.

I adore you, Auri says, and they could have done all this without Auri’s feverish state as an excuse, but it does remove an element of vulnerability that makes things much easier for Astarion.

The feeling’s mutual, though voicing it still makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t have the vocabulary for it anyway.

His fingers trail up her jawline. Auri’s eyes shine. “That’s my good girl,” he murmurs instead, and when she reaches down between his legs to take him in her hand, his nostrils flare.

She’s still the sun compared to him. Warmth radiates from her. His judgment’s impaired by his personal desire and the feeling of Auri’s hand on his cock, still slick from being inside her. Astarion’s eyes flutter shut.

Briefly, he registers that she isn't quite as warm as she was before, but there's no room for the thought.

Show me what to do, Auri says, as if she doesn't already know. It's the opposite of how this started, when she didn't want to put him in a position where he'd feel obligated to please her.

Auri's tadpole brushes up against his, and he'd known anyway, but it becomes crystal-clear.

Take what you want.

She makes him so fucking hungry.

In the fastest motion he can manage, Astarion pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the slab. The least he can do is make sure that it doesn’t mangle her.

Auri bites her lip as she releases him from her grasp, and Astarion wouldn’t say he’s being rough, but he certainly isn’t gentle when he turns her so her back’s flush with his chest. A thrill thrums through her, and then Auri’s bent over, upper body splayed across the stone.

When Astarion sheaths himself inside her again, it’s home. There’s no resistance. Auri’s body takes him like it’s what she was made to do.

There’s no patience left in him. Every time his hips meet the curve of her ass, he’s another moment closer to his own release. Auri whimpers and whines, and each sound that escapes the gag increases his pace. The freckles on her back are a constellation he’s rarely afforded the privilege of seeing while buried inside her, and his thrusts grow shallower, undisciplined–

Hells, Auri manages, half-coherent this time as he fucks her. Her singular word spurs something carnal in his gut, and he leans down, fisting a hand in her hair and pulling her face up and away from the slab.

When he does, she looks up at him from the corner of her eye. Her walls clench and his cock twitches as her gaze meets his, and she can’t really smile around the gag, but devilish pleasure is evident in her face.

He’s close. They’ve been in this position for barely a moment, but everything leading up to this moment has left Astarion close to undone as is. His grip on her hair tightens, and when she says, I can take whatever you give, Astarion’s last bit of self-control gives way.

He pulls her up, hand never releasing her hair, and when his other hand grips at her thigh, Auri knows what he wants. With only a little help from him, his cock never leaving her cunt, she kneels on the slab. Astarion exposes her neck and kisses the spot that’s his, the place he’s marked a hundred times over, and Auri shivers. Drink while you come in me– she starts, but his fingers interrupt her when they brush against her clit. Auri inhales sharply against the gag, airflow made more difficult by Astarion’s unloosened grip in her hair.

“Come for me again,” Astarion says. It’s almost a command but not quite, and Auri makes every desperate, needy sound all at once. His fingers rub at her clit, slow, deliberate, like he isn’t a hair’s breadth from shattering himself. “You taste better when you come.”

His touch quickens as he speaks, and he could lose himself in her. He already has.

Auri’s back arches, her ass pushing into him and her neck craning up until her head nearly rests on his shoulder. The artery in her neck sings its siren song, and Astarion’s not in the habit of denying himself what Auri’s body offers him.

This time when his lips meet her neck it’s a different kind of kiss, though it has Auri gasping anyway. Her saliva’s dripping down her neck in the same way her cunt drips cum around his cock. Auri’s blood pounds down Astarion’s throat as he fucks up into her, her climax pushing him to his own end. His teeth tear at her skin as he spills himself inside her, and Auri’s parasite radiates what he can only call unparalleled ecstasy.

Astarion doesn’t even want to think about what she can hear through his tadpole.

Auri shakes in his arms; her knees barely seem capable of supporting her. It’s always the hardest thing that Astarion’s ever done to pull his fangs from Auri’s flesh, and it’s made doubly difficult when he pulls his cock from her warmth at the same time.

“Alright, darling?” he asks, releasing her hair from his grasp. It’s a silly question. Astarion doesn’t know why he asks it.

Auri pulls the gag from her mouth and regards it with a look of disgust, dropping it to the ground. “When we do this again, can we get something a little more, erm–” Auri wrinkles her nose, but she hardly seems unhappy. “Dignified?”

“When we do this again?” Astarion teases, relacing his breeches. “Planning on eating more of that spider meat?”

When Auri turns to face him, she lets herself drop into a kneeling position. The adoration’s never faded from her eyes.

“If it gets you to fuck me like that, I’ll do just about anything.”

So, yes. She seems to be perfectly alright. Almost too alright.

Astarion’s eyes narrow.

“Whatever that was– it lost its grip on you after you came for me that second time, didn’t it?”

Auri smiles at him shamelessly. She’s made no move whatsoever to get dressed, entirely content to be here with him in a state that’s wholly vulnerable.

“We were having fun, weren’t we?” she asks.

Astarion laughs, soft and low.

“Yes. We were.”

[thedomesticanthropologist]

I present to you: at no point in the game is Astarion actually ready for a romantic relationship

Tav is the first person he drank from

The first person he has consensual sex with after 200 years

And he says to them: no one is like you. You're YOU

He genuinely believes that Tav is the *only* person who would be this way, even if it isn't true. He does fall in love with you, he does want you, but I present to you the idea that if things hadn't gone down EXACTLY as they had, Astarion NEVER would have initiated a partnership/romantic relationship for YEARS after escaping Cazador for good.

The man is coded for survival, for self-preservation, and is inherently selfish by nature. It is only because Tav gives selflessly and determinedly reinforces wanting to be with him that he caves in and allows it, but if you try to leave he's thrilled. This is for the best he says, you don't deserve this facade from me he says.

"I don't know how to be with someone even if I want to. I want this to be real but I don't know what real is. I need to not have sex right now"

In act 2, if you break up with him, he agrees with you. He thinks it's the right thing for you because hes not ready. He won't say this unless you initiate a break up but how could he possibly let go of the best thing that's happened to him in his entire undead life? He wouldn't toss out the treasure of you even if he didn't feel ready.

It really does take a patient, calm, supportive Tav to get him in the end, and he DOES want you, I'm not arguing that

I'm arguing that that man is not ready for a committed relationship, doesn't know what a healthy relationship looks like, and in an ideal situation if he thought he had time and options in his life and if he felt safe he would have focused 100% on himself first for a VERY long time.

The tadpoles, the adventure, the pressures of the battles, the fighting the revenge the ascension and the ritual he has to fight or succumb to the fact that the sunlight is gonna nerf him again- all of this contributes to the perfect scene where Tav gets him right "out the gate", first by being a mark and a target and then by simply *not breaking it off with him*

And yes he's in love to the best of his ability to know what love is at this point

And yes he wants you very much

But the man is going through the biggest whiplash of his life and I can say with confidence that he's not... *Ready*. And after all is said and done, Tav will have to continue to be patient with many things with him. There are still a lot of hurdles. He may be with them for a long time before he wakes up one day and realizes, really really realizes, that he's ready.

The power dynamics are off, they're imbalanced. How could he say no to a perfect mark that gives him everything ? Blood, sex, waits when sex is off the table, never breaks up with him never leaves no matter how he rails against them? He can't. He won't, and he doesn't want to, but that doesnt make him emotionally ready for what a genuine relationship is.

He has to learn it, with you, over time, but I don't think he'd jump into learning that and going for it and seeing it as worth it if the situation were in any way different

Without the perfect storm of events, I don't see Astarion jumping into "commited relationship" to be clear, I'm not saying that he isn't capable of feelings or doesn't want tav it's just

It doesn't *seem* to match his character or his struggles to me. For a man that is completely self serving, he accidentally catches feels and then doesn't have the strength to cut you loose even though his act 2 confession is practically him asking you to leave him. If you take the Araj route in particular, he VERY plainly lays his shitty behaviour on the table as if daring you to punish him for it... Or maybe just expecting.

In his spontaneous scene it's softer, it's I love you but I don't know how to do this. And still if you say "I don't think you're ready to be in a relationship" he immediately agrees. In act 3, if you've stuck to him the whole time like glue, he never wants to let you go. Again, I think this level of connection is impossibly rare and everything had to happen as it did to get you there, but the power balance is off still. He says partner, equal, and he wants that. And he WILL get there

But he not only has to struggle with his past, his issues, his trauma, he has to struggle with the power imabalance that you're his Savior. YOU defeated Cazador. YOU protected him in camp and didn't stake him on sight. YOU fed him from thinking creatures for the first time. YOU are one of "a very few select people" who have had sex with him and not been slaughtered immediately afterwards.

You're everything to him

And by the end of the game you already see him trying to shift that power imabalance because HE SEES IT. If you say you'll protect him he WINCES and disagrees, he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to be below you, but he sees himself that way anyway. And to me, that's the sign that he wasn't ready, he still isn't ready,

But he will be, one day. And I think that makes it a better written romance than thousands I've read, because it's not perfect. There's grey areas. There's things that can make you uncomfortable. There's parts of it that aren't healthy and won't be for a while. Who knows how long until he feels like he's your equal? Until he feels like this relationship is something he ever would have chosen if things were different?

But he does choose you. He does. He wants you. He'd just never have gotten the chance to if it hadn't been "right place right time" imho

[meanbossart]

Now I’m thinking about Astarion sitting on Bhaalist DU Drow’s chest and having to pause before and after every cut because there’s a bit of him that fucking hates what his life has become he’s not free, not really, he’s in a gilded cage with a jewel encrusted collar and it’s all the luxury he’s ever dreamed of but it’s not what he wanted

But also… this is the best he’s going to get, isn’t it? He can just sit back and look pretty, and that’s what he did before but at least with Bhaalist Drow he doesn’t have to worry about saying something wrong and being flayed and fed rotten rats.

Would Bhaalist Drow see it? Would he care? That fractional moment of indecision as Astarion thinks a bit too long and a bit too hard about how to handle the blade. That cut that ends/begins right at the corner of his eye, the same eye that held the tadpole that brought them together in the first place.

A subtle twitch of muscle as Astarion imagines for a moment the blade slipping to the wrong side of the socket…

(This got a bit away from me I think)

Hey glad you're having fun with the concept 👹

DU Drow would definitely see it, and he would definitely care, but ever since his pre-tadpole days he's had a supernatural skill for self-inflicted delusion and justification like none other. Once he makes his mind up about someone, it takes truly drastic measures to make him reevaluate his assumptions - this is especially true about romantic interests. Orin was just stubborn, but she would never dream of hurting him and will come around one day to accept his affections. Astarion isn't always satisfied with the limitations imposed upon him, but that's because he's ornery, and a little spoiled, of course he knows deep inside that this is for his own good, that they're soulmates.

All iterations of DU Drow believe in "tough love" and the idea that sometimes, you must do things that hurt your lover for their ultimate benefit. Campaign/post-tadpole DU Drow practices this a lot more reasonably, but as a Bhaalist and the all powerful slayer of the world the concept would be taken to it's worse extreme. Of course Astarion is often unhappy; that's because he doesn't understand the sacrifices that he must make for them, but he will eventually and then he will fall into place.

What he definitely wouldn't do is betray him in any way, just sulk and whine - anything beyond that is a complete impossibility in Du Drow's mind (and that goes for all versions of him, really).

[pursuitseternal]

“Rescue Me:” Risk, nsfw Romance, and sub!Ascended Astarion update for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.2K rescue and nsfw reward

Summary: just a harmless hunt turns dangerous, an old threat from your Tadpole days resurfaces. Once your love has you rescued, you reward him handsomely for the effort.

CW: Canon-typical violence, bloodshed, Vampire Bride powers homebrew, protective Astarion, soft sub/dom dynamics, Sub!AA, outdoor sex, praise kink

My bloody Valentine for @marimosalad , @myfavouritelunatic

Ao3 Link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The world is a wash of colors, a bouquet of scents, now that you step into it with all your vampiric powers. The forests around the city are colored as the trees begin to turn, reds like his eyes and golds like the treasure you’ve amassed as sovereigns. And your limbs are alive as you bolt under those trees. Reithwith is far behind you, the forests and wilds ahead. The only thing faster in the world rushes at your side

Astarion. Hair whipping wildly in the wind, eyes narrowed as he runs. Mouth grinning like a fool so wide, his pointy fangs peek from his lip.

You feel the same too. Alive. Powerful. The rush of speed and thrum of your vampiric vigor, it intoxicates you. Powerful. Like nothing can touch you.

“Bet I find and kill a bigger animal than you, my love…” you taunt right into his mind.

“Oh my dear, I’d like to see you try…” he pants with open mouth as he purrs back into your thoughts. “Nothing so delicious out here in these woods than me, my pet.”

“True…” you flash him an image of your razor-like fangs biting him all over… his neck, his thigh… that sweet, filled out swell of his own ass cheek, your hand fondling his balls from behind…

He nearly stumbles over the roots of some great oak at that. Regaining his sure footing just in time. “Tempting… but I’ll enjoy my spoils so much more by winning this little hunt you suggested, darling.” He slows a bit until you’ve caught up, until your shoulders bump as you keep in stride through the forest undergrowth. Even as it’s dying.

You toss your head, hair streaming from your face as you flash him your own fanged smile. “To the winner goes the spoils, then….” You give a giddy laugh before darting into the forest away from him and out of his sight….

It’s only after you’ve fallen a stag, feasting on its warm blood, that you realize someone stands behind you. Before plain lances throught the back of your head.

Before the world goes dark.

The forest has grown dark by the time you open your eyes, your head swims. Whatever they smacked you with, it left no lingering damage, not with your vampiric powers. Not when you have his blood in your veins. Slowly the world comes into focus, and you know you’re not alone. Three large male Drows stand guard over you, their armor thick and their eyes intense.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

That voice. A female crosses towards you, her own armor dark like night, her red eyes shining as she scans you, bound with your legs together under you, your arms behind your back. The chains around your wrists and ankles sting, but it’s her gaze that makes you disgusted and slightly nervous. Those eyes flash between your mouth and your neck.

She wants your bite. And your blood.

“Araj…” you growl.

“I’m glad I made such an impression on you and your lord that I haven’t been forgotten.” She looks down at you, closing in on where you’re bound. Every urge in your body hums to life, you strain at your bonds, but they burn your skin the more you struggle.

“You know, he will kill you when he finds you,” you hiss, “Lord Astarion wouldn’t deign to drink from you, but he will enjoy spilling your every last drop.”

Araj laughs as she crouches next to you, “I should hope he tries, little consort. I cannot wait to study your blood. You little spawn, how does it feel when he compels you?” She runs a finger up the side of your neck, you pant as she touches you, you flinch. She is repulsive, her finger on your skin an insult to Astarion’s greatest creation. She strokes where your own two bite mark scars dip your flesh. “Does he drink from you nightly? Make you do all sorts of exotic and rigorous things, that Vampire Ascendant?”

Fangs bared, you hiss in her face. “You dare to touch what is his…” your mind spins, suddenly flooded with a surge of power. A warmth races down your spine and into your limbs. It makes you bold. It makes you laugh. “He is coming, you vermin. And he does not like having his things taken….”

Araj gives a nod to her soldiers, they draw their blades and fan out into the dark. She laughs, cackles more like. “Oh, imagine if I captured the Ascendant and his consort… if I had their blood to play with… their teeth to satisfy my dreams and curiosity…. You should have killed me when you had the chance instead of leaving me unconscious.”

Your voice shifts in your throat, you can feel him whisper in your mind. “Your hero is coming. I’ll be there soon, my lady….” You take a sigh of relief, feeling his haste, drinking in the wave of his rage as if it can nourish you.

And then, you speak, his voice in your mouth, his silken tones on your tongue. “I’m rather glad I did leave you… it will be far more satisfying to end you slowly now for what you have done… darling….”

Araj freezes at the sound of his voice. Eyes wide and frightened as she watches his power possess you. His power caresses your body, giving you a lasting sense of comfort. And you give the Drow a wicked smile. “We are going to love punishing you.”

The dark glade you’re in is suddenly filled with the sounds of bones crunching and blood spattering on the ground. One body… two… three bodies hit the dirt with a crunch. And Araj draws a little dagger. You laugh, your own sweet tones on your tongue again. “Oh yes, little prey, pull out your claws. Won’t stop you….”

“…from being devoured….” That low, velvety male voice caresses up your spine, his footsteps landing behind you.

Your hero, your lovey villain. Your master and mate. He touches the top of your head briefly, assuring you of his protection and presence.

Astarion’s hands pull your bonds apart. That roguish dexterity never leaving his beautiful fingers, the silver chains coming apart like butter in his grip. And even as you hear the little hiss of its power burning his skin, he gives no hint of pain.

Flinging the chains aside, he lifts you to your feet, steadying you, as if you weigh nothing to him.

The Drow’s eyes are wide, the red of her irises shaking up and down in her fear. Astarion growls, his twin daggers pulled from behind his back swiftly. You have seen it countless times. A chilling laugh comes from his mouth. “You really should have brought an army if you planned to touch what is mine… if you planned to take what is precious to me.”

“How else was I…” she tries to back away, stepping with a sickening crunch on the bones of one of her guards.

“What… darling? Fulfill your twisted little fantasy? Or find a way to sate your death wish?” he chuckles, his daggers twirling so beautifully, so gracefully in his long and bloodied fingers. “It took me all but a moment to rip all three to shreds… and you,” he points his dagger at her quivering form, head held high and shoulders squared, bloodied mouth ginning wide in the moonlight. “You’ll I’ll take my time with, darling. For what you tried to rob me of, my Consort, my Bride, there is no punishment fit enough for your crime, if I am any judge.” Another roll of dark laughter. “Which I was once, but now…” he closes in on Araj, feline and fast, “I’m your executioner.”

You watch, your stomach turning sour at the smell of her fetid blood. He’s so graceful, the way his body moves as he fights, not really a fight. It’s a dance, his movements fatal and swift, his little noises of effort punctuating the silent forest.

You draw closer, until he drops his blades into the mat of leaves on the forest floor. She’s still twitching on the ground, Araj, lover of all things sanguine, laying in a pool of her own life’s blood.

It’s more than enough vengeance for now. His arms sweep you up, taking you from the carnage.

Taking you to safety.

A clearing bathed in the moonlight… not unlike your first time. If only you knew the road ahead of you that night and all the pleasures and love that awaited.

You still smell fetid blood in your nose, you still feel the burn of silver round your wrist and ankles.

He sets you gingerly on the ground, his eyes looking everywhere but your face. His heart pounds so heavily, you can hear it as if it is your own. His touch pulses with it in his fingers, his hands turning over the burn marks on your pale skin. Hetugs where your sleeves and trousers have been torn to expose you, to make room for the silver chains to corrode into your flesh. “That bitch… I hope she does slowly, I hope she’s still in agony for what she did to you,” he spits, words hissing between his clenched teeth.

“Never,” he proclaims so loudly it hurts your ears. Suddenly both palms press into your face, making you turn to meet his glowing crimson eyes. He’s livid, silver brows furrowed deep, thick lips somewhere between a frown and a snarl. “Never again, I’m never letting you out of my sight again, darling. Where you go, I go. I will always be watching you everywhere you go. And never again will you stray from my side, do you hear me? Don’t you dare….” The ferocious snarl, the fearsome timbre of his voice, snaps in an instant.

His face presses against you, nose to nose, his forehead hot and damp with sweat where it crams against yours, his cheeks beginning to stain with wet. “Don’t… I can’t… I can’t lose you again.” He sobs, his tongue licking his lips from the salty strains of tears. “I’m not strong enough for that.”

His arms wrap around your head, pulling you into his blood spattered and embroidered jacket. His favorite one, with the golden stitched peacocks on a sea of cream silk. But it wasn’t cream any longer. You hiss as your hands and wrists brush his body. Instantly he recoils, concern etched across his handsome features. That mask of indifference he wears so often as Ascendant has vanished. And all you see staring at you in the dark woods, huddled on the ground, is the man who loves you, who stops at nothing to rescue you.

He pretends his cheeks aren’t wet, pretends that aquiline nose of his isn’t almost running. He brings your wrists to his mouth, kissing over the burn marks as if his lips could heal you.

As if his love could heal you alone.

You shiver in pain. The wounds are still fresh and raw with blisters. He instantly starts to work the buttons of that jacket, his pale skin exposed to the night as he wraps it around your shaking shoulders.

His heat saturates the fabric, his eyes and hands busy as he snugs it tightly around your frame. But behind his eyes, inside his thoughts he only hears that beat of how he needs to save you.

Just as you have always saved him.

Fangs pierce his own naked wrist, his blood, warm and tingling, drips with a hiss on your burned skin, blisters fading and raw skin knitting back together the second it connects with his powerful essence. Quickly, he moves to your ankles, making sure every little bit of your injuries is bathed in his blood.

Feeling returns to your extremities. You wriggle them, and Astarion leans closer, bringing his wrist to your lips, letting it whet your hunger.

Your stomach turns at the taste, instantly needing more in your belly, instantly losing all sense of pain. Or fear. Or loneliness. Not now that his power flows from his veins to yours. And you release your lips after a few swallows. Just enough to steady your head.

He’s shushing you softly, muttering to himself, “Never agains, never…”

“Astarion,” you breathe, “you are strong.”

“No,” he shakes his head, bringing you against his warm chest, “I can’t be if it comes to losing you….” His breath is ragged in his lungs, heart racing still from his rescue.

And fear.

“Then we are strong enough together, my love,” you force his face in your hand, turning it, making him, compelling him, to meet your gaze. “I knew you’d come,” you whisper, feeling him lean a little harder into your touch. “You fearsome Vampire Ascendant, if I need to be confident enough for both of us, then let me do that for you.”

He gives a wet laugh, “My consort, my queen, my right hand….”

“The hand that helps pull you up even when I’m the cause of your fall,” you give a tender smile in return.

He gives you a smile that resembles more of his rakish smirk, if still a bit tragic and a bit forced. “Maybe there’s something that hand of yours could pull… if you’re offering.”

Your hand strays down the soft skin of his chest… his stomach. “I wouldn’t want to spoil you, but you do so love when your acts of heroism are compensated, I recall….”

“Rewarded, my little love,” he tries to chuckle. Still weak, his body showing more of the despair that still blisters inside him that his words will allow to describe. “Why don’t you reward me,” he looks down on you with those big, wet crimson eyes, “haven’t I been so good to you?”

“Of course,” you whisper, pressing your hand in the valley of his chest, making him flatten out on the forest floor.

Not unlike days of old.

“You’re always so good to me, won’t you let me be good to you in return?” you slink your way over his body, spreading your thighs so straddle those hips of his.

“I have earned it, haven’t I?” He preens beneath you, just a small spark of that arrogance and seduction coming back. His hands haven’t left your body, pawing at your hips, running up your back.

As if he will never let you go, never let himself lose you again.

You shrug the weight of his jacket from your shoulders and pull the edges of your long tunic over your head, torn and dirty as it is, you breathe a sigh of relief. The dark of his pupils consume that ring of red around them, eyes dilating to see your breasts, a sight just for him. Instantly his hands reach for them, one in each palm, cradled in his touch, so soft and so perfectly. You long to taste him, to get the sour tang of fear and bile that still lingers in your mind, despite even the taste of his ascendant blood on your tongue.

His lips shake as they meet your own, almost unwilling to believe he gets to do this again. Disbelieving he’s managed to save you, to decimate your enemies with you so deep in their clutches.

He basks in the way your body clings to him, like he does every chance he has to sit curled in the sun. A little smile on his lips, even as they dance and devour yours. His touch reverently ghosts up your belly, tantalizingly light on your skin, tucking into the waistband of your trousers to try to slink them down.

But you smile into his kiss, brushing his hands away like gnats. “My love…” you rasp, “did you ask to try to remove those?”

“No,” he growls in reply, hands instantly slinking back up your body, brushing against your swaying breasts to cradle the back of your neck.

“Mmmm, that’s better,” you moan slightly into his mouth. Hands splayed on his chest, you raise yourself back up, feeling the heat and pressure of his growing erection beneath your body. A slight wriggle of your hips makes his mouth hang slack. “Let me just ride you, my love. Let me make you feel that I’m here with you.”

He groans at that. Hands planting firmly back on your hips, you slowly grind on that length, feeling it hardening under you. But you tutt your tongue, sliding down his thighs. “Can’t have you hard down your leg, can we?”

He shakes his head, “By the hells no,” he hisses as you reach in to adjust him. He groans as you take his shaft in your grip, a few gentle pumps aren’t enough for him over that steely hard erection. You sweep your thumb over that weeping slit, just enough to make the bead of precum slick your fingers before you let go, keeping his cock inside the waistband of his breeches.

Tongue running over one fang, he watches as you lick your fingers clean, as you slide your body back over to grind on his aching hardness. “Aren’t I worthy of a little more reward for my heroics?” He tries to sound demanding, but with each buck of your hips that rubs the heat and fabric where you join, he only grows more desperate.

“Good things come to Ascendant Lords who wait, my love,” you purr, slowing the way your hips gyrate over his just to prove your point. Fingernails claw into your hip bones, scoring and tearing your skin. His head digs back into the ground, the rustle of leaves beneath him a staccato to the way his breath pours out in a long pant. “Tch,” you lean down to capture that mouth that twists in agony. “Easy my love,” you whisper as his lips try to consume your own cold breath. His hands press on your shoulders, the back of your neck, holding you steady as he thrusts up into that warming crease between your thighs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damned right, you’re not,” he growls, a tenacity in his tone and ferocity in the way his fingers cling into your mussy hair. “And you’re mine…”

You shake free of his hold, sliding to slip off your trousers, the night air making every hair on your body prickle. Your nipples firm up harder than pebbles, even as your nerves burn to take his heat within you, for him to thrust his pulsing cock inside, to fill you with the friction you crave more to survive than blood.

But instead you settle back, your folds wet and pressing into the suede of his breeches. “Your reward is rather cruel, little love,” he hisses, nearly whining, even as his voice rumbles in his chest. “May I touch my spoils?” he whispers.

A wicked, gaping smirk on your lips and your head throw back as you demonstrate. “Like this, my lord?” You still on his prodding cock, lifting your hips just enough for his darkened eyes to watch your fingers slip loudly into your drenched folds. Your stroke, you circle and curl, whatever movements make the most sounds. Astarion’s hands slowly creep from your hips lower… lower… daring silently as he encroaches closer where you now ride your own touch.

You smile, closing your eyes, giving him a little nod, a little gift of your permission as his thumb slips inside where your fingers already play. His cock presses into you as his fingers slide over your clit. That bulge throbs through the now soaked spanse of suede, a satisfied smirk on his face as his touch catches you just right.

As your thighs grip him hard, as your own hand goes still inside your entrance, leaving you with just that merciful stroke of his thumb on your clit as he steals your breath. As the warmth of pleasure blooms from your belly. As you buck and writhe all the harder, all the more erratic until your vision swims.

Boneless, shivering, you’re pulled down to his mouth, fingers gently throttling you as you stil gasp for air from your climax.

It feels… so good. Saved. Rescued. Claimed. Good to be his.

His kiss is all tongue and fangs, those little growls and huffs he makes when he feeds on you filling your mouth as he caresses you. His hands slink into the new open space he’s made, fingers snapping his laces open. Finally almost freeing himself.

But you laugh, sinking your own fang into his lip to make him gasp and freeze in pain. “Naughty,” you breathe before sucking on that seeping blood. “You know better than that… you know to ask first, my love.” You chastise him, making him shudder under your lips. “But since you were so wonderful being my hero, saving your lady love, I’ll forgive you…” you raise up, feeling his hands tugging fiercely, not even finishing all the straps to release that aching erection.

“To the victor…” he raps, guiding your body to sink quickly on his shaft… He pants in delight as you squeeze around him at last, “go the spoils.” His chest rises and falls, pale skin catching in the moonlight, his sweat glistening. But you can’t tear away from his mouth. Not with how he works his lips on yours, his tongue tangling in time with every little thrust you make.

One of his arms presses you closer to join where he fucks up into you, where you soak his skin and slap hard against him. But that other, that other arm winds behind your shoulders, hand clawed into the base of your neck, keeping your breath as his breath, your tongue twisted with his. But it’s not enough… not hard enough or fast enough, even as you feel his breathing grow ragged.

You sit up, launching off his chest with two hands braced. He whines, whines to have you break from his clutches. A single finger crooking, you beckon him up to you. A rustle of leaves, the scent of damp, nighttime earth in your nose, and he obeys to sit up too. Eager, biting his fangs into his bottom lip. Hips rolling, back arched in deepest pleasure, you feel his tongue lapping up, a single damp streak between your breasts. Those dexterous hands grip into your skin, those powerful arms that snapped your enemies in half are wrapped tenderly around your waist.

He growls against your neck, too hesitant to bite. Warm lips wrap around your ear, the loud suck, the squelch of his tongue sends ice cold shivers of pleasure right down your spine. One more time, a loud suck, the clack of his fangs together in your ear, and you shatter, another wave of orgasm ripping you in two. Wetness squirts down your thighs, his cock is so slick inside you from your arousal, even as thick and hot as he has grown approaching his own release.

Even as your walls clutch and undulate through his thrusts into you that never relent.

His back is wet, dead leaves clinging to his shoulders as you hold him, trying to keep your balance against the flexing muscles of his back. Your rogue, your hero, he takes advantage of your breathless submission as you float down from orgasm to clutch you even harder. His voice grates in his throat, thick with desire and breathless from exertion. “May I…”

“What do you wish?” you murmur, slack in his arms as he thrusts with desperation, your body barely able to ride him much longer.

“I want…” he pants, “to fill you. For you to seep with me, to make you…” he groans as you shudder at that dark, deep tone in his voice, “make you full of my seed and scent. So I’ll always be able to find you, darling…”

“Yes,” you hiss somewhere in the middle of his words. A shuddering whine in his throat, and you feel every muscle tighten like a bow string. Rolling you to your back, he presses your legs into your body, the heat of your folds now open to the night air. Hips snap hard, reckless and with abandon. He fucks into you at his pleasure, at his mercy. His eyes don’t seem to blink as he stares into your own face. Dirt smudges his cheek, but it’s that haze in his eyes, that way his mouth twists in beautiful bliss that makes your own body hum to be used.

Pressing you, folding you bent and spread for him, he cages you into the earth this time. A smirk, wide and toothy, pants down from above you, those dark crimson eyes flutter shut as he bucks and shudders. One loud pant that sticks in his throat and your walls grow warm, coated as he does fill you, cum and arousal leaking into the dirt. Not for the first time.

Not for the last.

Breath heavy, skin damp, he hugs you into him, the echo of his beating heart in your own chest hard enough to almost be your own.

“Never again, my love, my consort,” he whispers, more to himself than for your ears. “I’ll spend the rest of our lives rescuing you… as you rescued me.”

With one last kiss, he softens over you, almost sleepy in his breath, and you wipe the mud from his cheek.

That roguish mud from his ascended skin. And nestled as he is, he smiles against your breast as you do.

[forgotten-realm5]

That's all I needed to hear

(image from sorryseraphim)

Gortash x Dark Urge/f!Reader

Warnings & summary: MDNI, 18+, pre-tadpole, After a successful crown heist you realise you have feelings for Gortash, but not wanting to be just like every other conquest you make him work for it. (i suck at summaries), dominant!durge, magical restraint, masturbation (f), sorcerer durge, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood, choking, name calling.

Words: around 2K

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut ahhhh! i just wanted to try and contribute to this amazing community of BG3 fans, your artwork and writings have given me life. Gortash has taken up residence in my mind and won't leave so enjoy my brainrot ! Even if just one person enjoys this I will die happy.

The crown heist was a success. A feeling of pride and power courses through your body as you consider your partnership with Lord Enver Gortash and the full extent of what can be achieved when you work together as equals. Equals… a term that has never been used to describe you. As a child of Bhaal, you were constantly reminded by your father of your mortality compared to his omnipotence. Your mind ponders at the Chosen of Bane’s use of the word to describe your newly affirmed partnership, as he sits across you with a triumphant smirk on his face. You realise that he may be the first person to actually see you and your true worth, not just a mere slave to your father’s wishes. Never in your life have you felt a connection like the one between Gortash and yourself, the way you seem to complement each other and how he does not shy away from the darkest parts of your soul but instead welcomes it. You realise you are falling for him and feel frightened for the first time in your life, unsure of what to do, unsure whether he feels it too.

You come back to reality and realise Gortash is watching you expectantly waiting for a response to his question. When you don’t answer his face morphs into one of concern. You push your internal thoughts of love and lust to the back of your mind and focus on the object of your desire.

“Are you feeling alright my dear?”

“Just tired, what were you saying? you answer as your cheeks start to flush at being caught out.

“I was just raising a glass to us and the fine job we did in acquiring the Crown of Karsus. We are now one step closer to seeing our plan complete” Gortash explains while pouring a glass of wine and sliding it towards your side of the table.

You take the goblet of wine and raise it “To us and the future of our partnership”.

Gortash chuckles his eyes darkening slightly as he responds “Yes the future of our partnership indeed”.

You noticed his eyes roam over your body and then settle of your lips. You were concerned with your own feelings tonight but didn’t stop to examine his. Now that you think about it he may be trying to seduce you, as it was his idea to have a private celebratory dinner in his room.

Gortash sets down his goblet and walks around the table to come to a stop in front of you. He reaches down and offers his hand to pull you to your feet. You let your eyes roam his body. He is wearing his usual dark attire, but without his formal jacket you can see the lines of his strong chest and muscular arms. Your eyes settle the longest on the front of his shirt where it is has been opened to reveal chest hair you always longed to brush your hands through. Your eyes then focus on his mouth and his full lips, and you imagine taking them between your teeth. You bite your own lips with longing and reach forward to take his offered hand while you stand from your chair. You finally raise your eyes to his, and notice him watching you intensely. You can read him well after all these years, but tonight you see a slight apprehension to him that is unusual.

“Come stand by the window with me” Gortash guides you to the main window in the room, overlooking all of Baldur’s Gate and the lands beyond. It was a clear night, the moon shining bright illuminating the streets and people below. Gortash takes your hand in his and gestures with his other to the city below.

“Very soon all of this will be ours to rule together” He pauses and locks eyes with you.

“You look very beautiful in the moonlight”.

Gortash waits for you to respond with lust filling his own eyes. You know he is used to getting what he wants, taking on a dominate persona in all things. You knew this encounter was a long time coming as he had been nothing but a flirt since the first time you met. Looking at him in the candlelight, you decide you don’t want to be just another easy conquest, you want to be the one to make him beg.

Stepping closer to him you soften your voice to a sultry tone. 

“And you’re looking just as delicious” while your hand reaches up to caress his exposed chest through his shirt. It’s just as you always imagined, soft and warm. Gortash chuckles and then smirks at you and slowly, seductively he grabs the hand on his chest and brings it up to his mouth to kiss at the pulse point on your wrist, all the while not taking his eyes off you.

Your eyes shine with approval and he takes that as encouragement to lean forward and capture your lips. The kiss is an explosion of past longing coming to a head. You feel his stubble against your skin as you grab his face to deepen the kiss, his hands move to grip your hips. His mouth tastes of red wine and you inhale his lingering scent of incense and soap. Just as you are both about to pull apart to breathe again, you grab his bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard enough it breaks the skin causing Gortash to moan with approval. You lick the blood off his lips and move away from his embrace.

Gortash looks at you, his face flush with arousal.

“Gods you’re perfect, I can’t wait to hear how you moan my name”.

“All in good time, but first I want to hear you beg for me ” you smirk at the surprise on Gortash’s face, he narrows his eyes but answers with a hint of amusement.

"I don’t beg."

“We’ll see about that”. You motion for him to follow you back to the dining room and forcefully push him into a chair. He is watching you with enjoyment, his eyes following your every move. You stand in front of him close enough that your knees are touching and look down at the noticeable bludge in his pants, you smirk to yourself thinking this will be easier than you thought.

“Looks like someone enjoys a bit of pain” you tease him.

“Only if you’re the one delivering it” Gortash counters.

“Is that so?” you draw out. “You don’t have to hide it, I know you’re a kinky fuck”.

Before he has time to respond you grab his throat and crash your mouth to his. He moans loudly and you can feel yourself becoming increasingly wet listening to his responses. Gortash tries to grab at you to pull you on to his lap but you pull away, and take a step backwards, enjoying teasing him. You quickly cast hold person so he can’t move his body. Gortash chuckles at your use of a restraint and has an amused and hungry look on his face while you start to take off your clothes in front of him. Now standing in front of him completely nude his eyes roam the curves of your body, his face in awe of your physique.

“Come here so I can touch you." You note a slight hint of neediness in his voice that only spurs you on.

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me."

You note his slight annoyed expression and laugh. You then start to move your hands slowly down your body taking time to cup your breasts and play with your pointed nipples. His eyes are glued on your hands.

“Let’s see how long the Chosen of Bane can hold out for” you tease.

His mouth drops open slightly as your hand travels to your pelvic region. You lock eyes with Gortash while you slip one finger into your folds and let out a small moan. You bring the finger back out, now glistening with your arousal which causes a small noise that sounds like a whimper to come out of Gortash's mouth. You smile at him, eyes challenging him to break. He tries to shift in his seat against the restrains of the spell, his arousal threatening to burst through his pants.

“You cruel torturous woman, when I get my hands on you” he mutters, with a violent look in his eye. There is however also a slight note of defeat in his voice which makes you realise he is almost at breaking point.

You continue and pump two fingers in and out of yourself, moaning louder than needed to further torture him. You then bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick them clean slowly, exaggerating your tongue movements to demonstrate what he is missing out on. Gortash is captivated by your show, pupils blown wide with hunger. You then walk up to him and a plop yourself on his lap straddling his waist with your nipples at his eye level. You continuing to touch yourself in his lap, every so often brushing up against his achingly hard, still clothed member. Gortash moans loudly at the display looking about ready to explode.

“Alright! alright! you win” you grin at the victory and at the bitter tone in his voice. You stop your show to listen to the rest of his sentence.

Gortash pauses looking away from you

“Well, I’m waiting” you respond sharply.

“Please” you hear in a quiet voice.

“What was that, couldn’t quite hear you” you reply in amusement.

“Please!” Gortash almost shouts with an irritated look in his eyes. His voice then returns to his usual level.

“Please just let me touch you, let me fuck you, you cruel wicked thing” you hear the arousal in his voice, breathy and needy.

“That’s all I needed to hear” you respond as you break your concentration on the spell.

In an instant his arms are around you, picking you up and almost running towards the bed. He throws you on the bed and gets on top of you.

“You little harlot” you hear his light-hearted tone.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my show, I know you did." You smirk and grab between his legs to emphasises his arousal still tightly pushing against his breaches.

He gives you a look of hunger and hurries to remove his shirt only just realising he is still fully clothed. His body is how you imagined it, muscular yet soft with dark hair coating his body in just the right places. You can feel your desire burning inside you as you eye the patch of hair that trails down his stomach. You reach forward to undo his pants and push his undergarments off eager to see all of him. His member bounces free of its confines already slick. Your eyes widen at the thickness of it, already anticipating the burn. Gortash notices your line of vision and chuckles with pride as he grabs your chin and pulls you in for another heated kiss. He hungrily kisses every part of your body that he was denied while kneading your breasts with his hands. He moves from your mouth to your neck where he bites and sucks at you, you let out a whimper knowing it will leave a bruise. He then grazes his teeth over your nipple, licking, sucking and then finally biting causing you to cry out at the feeling. You feel his self-satisfied smirk against your skin as he continues his path downwards. His tongue enters your folds without warning causing you to grab a hand full of his hair and cry out his name. You can feel yourself about to come undone quicker than you expected .

“Fuck Enver, I need you inside me now."

“That’s all I needed to hear”, his smartass response mocking your words from before.

You let it slide for now as your need is too great, but you make a mental note to make him pay for it next time.

He lines up with your entrance and buries himself inside you in one smooth motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of connection. You feel a sharp tinge of pain mixed with intense pleasure as you get used to his width. He starts to pump in and out of you at a quickened pace knowing it won’t take long for either of you to cum. You grab on to his body and rake your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood. Gortash hisses in pain and pleasure and bites at your neck in response. Gortash comes first moaning your name loudly, causing you to follow closely, both your bodies withering in ecstasy as you ride out the climax. Breathing heavily Gortash rolls off you and you both lie together in silence for a few seconds recovering. You move to get up off the bed but he stops you with his arm.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room?” as though it was obvious.

He pauses, looking unsure of himself.

“I want you to stay, tonight and every night after that. You’re mine now”, his serious expression softens slightly.

“If you want to be?”

As you look into his eyes you are surprised see a vulnerability that you have never seen before. You realised that this night means as much to him as it does to you, and with that thought you agree to stay, content to lie in his arms dreaming of your future together.

[moonselune]

OMG i think my req sent without finishing :(! So sorry! Could we maybe get a writing snippet where elf tav reunites with Astarion after he became a vampire / post-tadpole?

Magistrate Astarion’s assistant tav became an expert in magic, and runs into Astarion (ascended if you wanted) in the lower city after being gone / pronounced dead for those 200 years?

Omg omg omg this is such a good ask tysm !!

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Ascended!Astarion x Reader | My Dearest Assistant

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The Lower City of Baldur’s Gate was a place of shadows, where the past often resurfaced in unexpected ways. The years had not dulled its chaotic energy, but you had grown accustomed to the winding streets and the constant hum of life that filled them. As you walked through the familiar alleys, your thoughts drifted to memories of a time long past—a time when you had served as an assistant to Magistrate Astarion.

Astarion had been a figure of authority and charisma, a man who had commanded both respect and admiration. He was known for his dedication to protecting the citizens of Baldur’s Gate, a beacon of justice in a city rife with corruption (at least that is what you thought of him - there were some unsavoury rumours that he was a harsh and corrupt magistrate but you simply could not see him that way).

You had worked closely with him, learning the intricacies of the legal system under his tutelage, and in time, you had become an expert in your own right. But then, one day, Astarion had disappeared without a trace. Rumors of his death had circulated, but there had never been any confirmation.

It had been two centuries since that day, and though you had moved on, the memory of him had never truly faded. You couldn't face the legal system after his disappearance, the courts had ruled him dead and you knew - just knew, in your heart that they were wrong, so they had lost your faith.

Due to your disciplined nature, once you had a taste of magic you quickly rose the ranks and became a successful mage in Waterdeep. Though tonight, as you made your way through the Lower City, visiting some old friends of yours. You felt a strange sense of nostalgia. The air was thick with the scent of rain, and the cobblestones glistened under the dim light of the streetlamps. You were lost in thought when a voice, rich and familiar, broke through the night.

“Well, if it isn’t my little apprentice. I never imagined we’d cross paths again.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat. The voice was unmistakable, but it was impossible. Slowly, you turned around, and there he was—Astarion, standing before you as if he had stepped out of a dream. He was just as you remembered him, though there was an air of something different about him now, something darker and more powerful.

“Astarion?” you whispered, hardly believing your eyes. “But… you were—”

“Gone?” he finished for you, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Yes, I suppose that’s true, in a way. But I’ve returned, and it seems the fates were kind enough to bring us together again.”

You were overjoyed to see him, your initial shock giving way to excitement. You rushed forward, embracing him without hesitation. Astarion’s arms wrapped around you, and for a moment, you felt the warmth of familiarity, the comfort of a bond that had never truly been broken.

“I thought you were dead,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face alight with joy. “Everyone thought you were dead.”

“A rumor I allowed to flourish,” Astarion replied smoothly. “It served its purpose.”

You didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on you, or the hunger that flickered behind his smile. To you, he was still the same Astarion you had known all those years ago, the upstanding magistrate who had fought for the people of Baldur’s Gate, no matter what others said. You had no reason to suspect otherwise.

He invited you to his mansion, and you accepted without hesitation, eager to catch up on all the years that had passed. The mansion was grand and opulent, a testament to his success. As you entered, you marveled at the fine decor, the luxurious furnishings, and the sense of history that filled the place. You couldn't help but note he had many loyal servants, all coincidentally having the same red eyes. A strange coincidence you assured yourself, -perhaps they were just family.

Astarion guided you to a room with high ceilings and ornate chandeliers. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, and a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. You sat together, reminiscing about the past, sharing stories of your adventures and your magical studies.

That night you fell in love with your mentor all over again, he had reached the success you always knew he deserved - you weren't exactly clear on the details on how, but you were happy for him all the same. The rest of the night was filled with heavy flowing wine and reminscing.

But as the night wore on, you felt a growing unease. Something about Astarion’s demeanor had changed—he was more intense, more focused on you than you remembered. When you finally decided it was time to leave, you stood up, thanking him for his hospitality.

“I should be going,” you said, making your way to the grand door. You tried the handle but the door wouldn’t budge. You frowned, trying again, but it was locked.

“Astarion?” you called out, turning back to him. “The door… it’s locked.”

He remained seated, watching you with a predatory gaze. “Yes, it is.”

“Why is it locked?” you asked, a note of alarm creeping into your voice, yet you couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. “Astarion, let me out, we've had plenty of wine tonight.”

He rose from his chair, moving towards you with a slow, deliberate grace. “You’ve always been so diligent, so obedient. My perfect little assistant. I’ve missed that about you.”

“What are you talking about, Astarion?” you demanded, your heart pounding in your chest as you continued to try the handle, only stopeed when Astarion pulled your shoulder and pinned you to the door.

“I find myself in need of your services once more,” Astarion continued, his voice low and smooth. “You see, I’ve come into a new… position, and I could use someone like you by my side. Forever.”

“Astarion, this isn’t funny. Let me out.” You told him firmly, yet your vouce wavered, your panic evident. Like an animal realising it was prey. "We can talk about this another time."

But he didn’t listen. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “You were always so good to me, always so eager to please. You always silenced those naysayers, those who wished to see me fall. Always saw me for the best that I was and I think it’s time I returned the favor.”

There was a darkness in his eyes that sent a chill down your spine. You tried to move, to lunge away, but he was too fast, his hand gripping your arm with a strength that belied his appearance.

“Let me go, please Astarion” you whispered, fear creeping into your voice. But Astarion only smiled, his fangs glinting in the firelight.

“I’m going to give you a gift,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “A gift that will ensure you stay by my side, just as you always have.”

And before you could react, he sank his fangs into your neck, the sharp pain making you gasp. The world around you began to blur as he drank deeply, his hold on you unyielding. You tried to resist, but it was futile—his power was overwhelming, and you felt yourself growing weaker with every passing moment. No magic would help you now.

As the darkness closed in around you, you realized the truth: Astarion was always the man they said he was, not the man you wanted him to be. And now he had becomes something entirely more wicked.

As the world faded, the last thing you heard was his voice, a soft, satisfied whisper in your ear. “Welcome home, my darling. You’ll never leave me again.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Heheh silly naive little assistant bless them they only wanted the best for astarion ! Hope you guys enjoyed this if you like anymore ascended content check out the dark masterlist below - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

✦. ── Dark BG3 Masterlist ── .✦

[scuttlingcrab]

Fiendish Rewards

Summary: Raphael appears at Withers' party, hoping to finally collect the Crown of Karsus from Tav. However, an unexpected turn of events causes Raphael to re-think his plans.

Notes: Featuring growing tensions and light angst. I always wondered what would happen when Raphael wore the Crown for the first time. This might be a wee bit too long but I initially intended this to be another submission for @dmagedgoods Raphael romance collection.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via raphael-ancunin)

Raphael knew he was intruding. He had no business attending Withers' party, yet he arrived fashionably late all the same. He would never show his face, grace the companions with his presence, merely to exchange pleasantries. As tempting as their tadpole-free souls were, the simple minded mortals had no meaning to him now that the Elder Brain was defeated. That evening Raphael’s only desire was to collect the Crown of Karsus. And perhaps, converse with that little mouse, if time allowed. 

Thus, the Devil did what he knew best: lurked from the shadows of the wings and listened for his cue. 

Raphael had abided for over a millennium after he lost the Crown to Mephistopheles, lashing out with such violent anger in the first century that he nearly eradicated an entire plane. That initial taste of defeat never left his memory; the bitterness, that rotting feeling he felt deep within his core still haunted him. It was his first introduction to failure and the last. 

He eventually learned how to forge that frothing hatred for his father, his revulsion at the cursed cards he had been dealt with, into a far more superior weapon: knowledge, his greatest strength. Raphael researched, manipulated, and opened up the recesses of his mind to devour the ins-and-outs of the Hells. He painstakingly plotted, weaving his schemes into the very fabric of fate itself, planting the seeds of prosperity for what he hoped would eventually gain him a win.

Despite all Raphael had endured since the collapse of Netheril, the last 6 months had been the most excruciating. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. There was no longer an Archdevil in his path, but a mere mortal. His hunger for power grew rampant as he watched Tav continue to elude him, to harbour the final piece of his victory as she tried to reclaim what was left of her old life. That selfish creature. 

To Tav’s credit, she had been quite remarkable on the battlefield, showcasing her strength and resolve as she smited enemies and climbed through the carnage to her destiny. She left a sea of corpses in her wake, the mortal rubble alone was unlike anything Raphael had ever seen. Out of all the calamities he had been fortunate enough to craft and witness, being a spectator during the fight against the Netherbrain would forever be a highlight.

When the Crown fell into the River Chionthar, Raphael eagerly watched as Tav spent weeks fishing it out, taking her precious time as she retrieved each broken piece of his future. He restlessly stormed the halls of his domain, cursing the woman for attempting such an arduous task alone. He could have aided her, sent in Korrilla as a last resort, but he refused. He would not give Tav the satisfaction, she would have to work just a little more to complete her end of the bargain. Besides, there was something endearing about watching Tav work so diligently, the determination in those eyes reminded Raphael of himself.

The little mouse was Raphael’s greatest investment and he’d be damned if she failed him now, or if he let his sudden affinity for her overtake his true purpose. Raphael’s ambitions for the Crown had somehow intertwined with his infatuation for the woman, and he was just as much to blame.

He had let this farce go on for long enough. Raphael would not stoop so low in his final moments before he rose to glory. Once Tav crowned him, these foolish emotions would cease and he would continue with his grand plan. He was a Devil and he would not let these cursed mortal emotions falter his intentions any longer; he would never allow anything, anyone, to destroy his work. Raphael’s blood, sweat, and tears would not be in vain. 

Cheering suddenly came from the camp as Tav and her companions raised their chalices in celebration. Withers' speech had finally ended, much to Raphael’s delight. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could’ve listened to the monotonous dribble. The monologue was indeed rousing, but Raphael could’ve done better, if given the opportunity. 

One by one, the group of heroes slowly disbanded, until only Tav remained. She made her way around the camp, stopping by each empty tent. It was as if the little mouse was paying her respects, bidding farewell to the ghosts of her past.

When Tav was done she wandered to the lakefront and sat down on a mossy rock, staring into the sparkling evening sky. The light in her own eyes vanished, leaving a dark cloud looming above her. 

Raphael took that as his signal. He quietly removed himself from the cover of the treeline and began his entrance, approaching Tav with a swagger. 

“If it isn’t the hero of Baldur’s Gate. My, how far we’ve come! It feels like only yesterday you fell from the skies, tadpole and all, and began your little adventure; slowly scurrying your way to triumph.”

Tav smiled at the sound of Raphael’s voice, turning to greet him. They locked eyes, her expression brightening. That look pierced through Raphael’s defences with such ease, a slight chill crawling up from the base of his spine. He stopped in his tracks, quickly recovering by placing a hand on his hip. It had been too long since they were alone, when he had last gazed into those cursed eyes. Careful now. 

“Raphael, always the poet.”

“The little mouse is no longer, but now a ferocious lion. Congratulations are in order.”

Raphael gifted Tav with his most flourishing bow, hoping the gesture would distract from his earlier misstep.  

“Now do tell, how does it feel to be the victor? To have saved the world? Is it as the bards have sung?” Raphael rose, taking another step towards Tav. 

Tav merely shrugged, her lips quickly returning to a frown. 

“Dunno.”

“I would have thought a hero to be more eloquent.”

“I'm still waiting for that ‘ah-ha!’ moment, but if we’re being honest tonight, I’m not really sure what it means to be a hero.”

“You will come to understand eventually. It’s the very nature of your existence.”

Tav remained silent, pulling her eyes away from Raphael. She stared down at her hands, studying her scarred palms.

“May I?” Raphael inquired, gesturing towards the available space on the rock. 

Tav nodded and Raphael sat himself beside her, intentionally leaving a minimal amount of space between them.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

“There it is,” Tav said, through a faint laugh, “You know, I was expecting you to come sooner.”

“I’ve often found the best persuasions are the ones that aren't forced.”

Tav looked up at Raphael, her eyes moving over every inch of his guise, stopping briefly near his lips. He was close now, so close. To the Crown. To his objectives. And to that damned woman.  

“May I see the Crown, please?”

Tav smiled, moving towards Raphael. For a split second, Raphael expected a kiss. It was only natural for mortals to attempt such a distraction in times of distress. Infuriating as it was, he wouldn’t have been opposed to such a notion. Tav instead reached down for her backpack lying in the sand, placing it on her lap. 

She pulled open the straps and yanked out the Crown, handling it as if it was but a petty trinket. Raphael suppressed a sigh, he would not let the significance of this moment be soiled due to the mortal’s lack of formality. 

“I managed to reforge it, to the best of my abilities, thanks to the Annals of Karsus. Though I haven't tried it on yet to see if it worked.”

“A wise choice.” 

Tav held the Crown out towards Raphael, but he raised his hand. With a flick of his wrist, the Crown floated out of Tav’s grasp, slowly moving towards him. It was just as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. It glistened under the moonlight, calling to him. Soon. Very soon. He let the Crown hover, spinning delicately, for a few more seconds.

“Do you need me to remind you of our terms? The deal was that you are to crown me. I would’ve come to you long ago if I could simply put it on myself.”

“Gods. Really, Raphael?” 

“Truly.” Raphael donned his notorious smirk in response.

“Fine, are we to do this here then?”

“I couldn't think of a more fitting location.” 

Raphael rose, walking towards the middle of the lakefront. He snapped his fingers, and a luscious red silk pillow appeared. He shifted it slightly in the sand and bent a knee, preparing himself for the crowning. 

“Come, it is time.” 

Tav stood intending to grab the Crown, but before she could reach it, Raphael beckoned it towards him. Tav quickly followed, positioning herself above Raphael. He raised his head to gaze at the magnificent sight in front of him. The moonlight framed Tav perfectly, she was silhouetted against the dark sky, glowing. The Crown and the little mouse, side-by-side, as it was always destined to be. 

Raphael took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He absorbed the scents and sounds around him; earthy tones, a hint of wetness, mixed with the fresh woodland air. Faint chirping from various insects called out to him, the leaves rustled slightly against the warm summer wind. His heartbeat intensified, growing more rapid, adding an extra drum beat to the night’s symphony. 

“Let’s get on with it then.” Tav spoke. 

Raphael opened his eyes and watched Tav grab the Crown, lowering it on top of his head. 

When the Crown touched his forehead, it reformed itself to accommodate his size, shrinking to provide a snugger fit. It hissed into place and then in an instant, everything changed. 

Pain, pleasure, fear, anger, confusion; every possible emotion tore through his very being. He was ripped in two, three, four… millions of tiny little pieces. His head throbbed with information, so many secrets, so much… he saw and felt everything, what could’ve been, what might come to pass… it was too much. Too much! Too fast! 

He fell forwards, his hands digging, ripping through sand. He was alone, always alone, darkness surrounded him. No. There was light, light flooded in from the top of his skull, projecting into every possible direction. He was the light. He was the dark. He was all-encompassing. 

Raphael screamed, his voice echoing into the abyss around him. He had never read about such a reaction, in all his years of researching, how could he have missed… could it be because… NO. He will tame this. He will persist. He will… 

The sand beneath Raphael turned to liquid as the newfound power continued to surge through his limbs, burning his veins. He tore at his own flesh and bones to rid himself of the agony, but it wouldn’t come to an end. 

“Raphael!” He heard a voice shout, such a familiar tune. But who? He couldn’t quite place it.

Raphael erupted, his devilish wings tearing through the skin in his back. There were flames all around him, growing hotter, thicker. His chest melted, his ears ached from the thunderous explosions. Whispers, whispers everywhere. He heard so many, and the cries, the screams. Would they never cease? 

Something tore at his head, pulling the Crown away from him. The Crown. NO! He cannot lose it again. Raphael raised his hands attempting to fight back, but he was grasping at nothing. It was over as fast as it had begun. There was now silence. 

Raphael’s vision cleared. He was on his back, looking up at the stars. Tav stood over him, holding the Crown in her hands. She eyed him with concern, tears flooding down her cheeks. He raised his own hands, his claws trembling. Raphael tried to think but his mind was vacant, every thought achingly bounced back. His skin burned, bones ached. There were deep lacerations all over his body, his own hands were covered in blood. He gasped, looking at Tav’s body but found no abrasions. He let out a disgruntled sigh. If he had harmed her in his rage, in those brief seconds of failure… would he ever forgive himself? 

Tav threw the Crown aside and helped Raphael to his feet. His eyes followed the artefact as it landed on top of the sand, taunting him still. How?

As if reading Raphael’s mind, Withers' voice cut through the silence as he appeared before them.

“Thou hast succeeded but are not yet ready. Take care that thou are not too hasty, thine pursuits will lead to plights.” There was a long pause as Withers continued staring at Raphael, looking straight through him. He met Withers’ expressionless gaze, waiting for him to continue. “The pattern has been woven and all circumstances interlaced are as fate decided.” 

Raphael never imagined the consequences of his premature investiture. He was always going to reforge the Crown himself, in his own image. How could he possibly trust a mortal to handle such a relic successfully? But in the heat of the moment, and in the fine print of the very deal he crafted, he had opened himself up to carelessness, becoming the very thing he despised.

His eyes darted to Tav, searching the woman for any excuse against his actions but he could only look at her with veneration. He would not blame her for everything. His vanity, eagerness… his obsession for the Crown and that cursed woman nearly brought him to his untimely demise. Let this be a lesson to Raphael to heed his own warnings. The Devil would need to cool his heels in preparation for the battles looming ahead.

Raphael turned to face Withers, but the curious being had vanished. Instead he hummed thoughtfully, looking at Tav. 

She stood next to him, her body trembling. Tav's eyes were fixed on Raphael, still full of worry but there was something else present, another emotion he thought he’d never see from a mortal again.

Tav’s expression sent a sudden stabbing pain through his chest as a wave of nostalgia washed over him. There was another mortal who had once looked at him with the same kindness and understanding. He had buried it deep within his subconscious, but it was rising back to the surface, like a blooming flower. He would NOT allow himself anymore turmoil this evening.

“I owe you my thanks.” Raphael whispered, his voice on the verge of cracking.

“Raphael, I don’t understand, you were nea…” 

“If you value your life, you will hold your tongue. There will be no talk of this moment again. Ever. Have I made myself clear?”

Tav’s eyes widened at his sudden change of tone, but she nodded nonetheless. 

“I must return to my House of Hope. For healing and reflection. There is work yet to be done, as you have borne witness to this evening.” Raphael snapped his fingers, a raging portal materialised behind him. “You may join me, if you so wish.”

Raphael extended his arm, welcoming her acceptance. 

“Would you consider our deal completed then?” Tav asked, apprehensively. 

“You have upheld your end of the agreement, exceptionally well, might I add, bar this evening's hiccup. Now please, let me show you my appreciation.” 

A dash of colour appeared on Tav’s cheeks as she wiped away the remaining tears. She grabbed her backpack, placing the Crown inside. She swiftly reached for Raphael’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Raphael nodded in acknowledgment and led Tav through the portal. 

Indeed, their deal was complete, but Raphael wasn’t done with Tav yet. She would continue to prove a valuable ally and more in the months to come.