#also yes. astarion isn't happy

[skeleton-on-a-quest]

bringing the whole extended family to whoop your sister's ass for taking your job, house, boyfriend, & memories

[chaotic-illusion]

One of the really great things about having loved ones--friends, family, spiritual leaders, etc.-- is that when you're going through a crisis and get tunnel vision from all the fear and anger life's challenges throw at you, they can be a source of strength and comfort. They can talk you off the ledge. They can guide you towards a better, healthier path. A path where growth and healing are possible. And it isn't manipulation, it isn't denying you free will. It's help, a clearer perspective, an act of love, and a belief that you are better than the terrible decisions we are all susceptible to making when the shit hits the fan.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: BODY HAIR, BHAALIST DU DROW, BLOOD INQUIRIES, THE MAN'S DICK AND HOBBIES.

Answering more asks! As always, I want to apologize for not being able to get to everyone - literally nobody has ever complained about it, but I still feel bad 😅I appreciate everyone's questions and sweet messages all the same, and even if your ask isn't here I hope you can be entertained by the other replies!

Anon I feel terrible about having to say this because I can tell you were hoping for a specific answer here, plus doing your very best to sell your pitch to me -

But DU drow hates body hair.

I'm not making this up in the spot just to be a contrarian, this is one of various unimportant character details that have come up already at some point or another, for whatever reason. It is no coincidence that many of the characters he finds unattractive do have visible body hair, like Gale and Halsin whose hairy toes he dreads the sight of.

I refuse to believe that elves are truly dolphin-smooth as that would be an absolute biological nightmare, so both him and Astarion have a normal amount of peach-fuzz all over. Otherwise, DU drow finds the sight of anything longer/coarser than that unseemly, and the feeling unpleasant; it is simply what he grew up with and hence what he's used to. In this respect, he wants people who take after his own image.

As with most things, he could forgive it if he were in love with someone - assuming you don't mind the occasional joke about it. And unfortunately I think something as significant as Halsin's case would be too off-putting for him to ever give them a chance. A Shadowheart situation, on the other hand, he could grow to like.

I believe there's some sources that imply bhaal-corrupted(?) blood should taste a particular way, leaning towards the unpleasant. People can make up whatever headcanons they want with that information, BUT since I spent over half of this game supplying the guy with the stuff and he seemed all too pleased about it, I choose to assume it's not that bad.

I think there would be something... Lively about it? Fairly normal taste but it leaves a tingle on his tongue, like it squirms on its way out and dies in his mouth moments before it can hit the throat. Very salty, but it could just be his skin.

[FAR, FAR MORE UNDER THE CUT]

Bhaalist DU drow likes both cats and dogs just fine (again, he considers the animal kingdom to be it's own thing and hence removed from his fate to butcher humanity) and you wouldn't be wrong to assume he has a thing for dogs in that AU because of their unconditionally loving and loyal nature, however Bhaalist DU drow is still very much a cat person. He likes their independence, their little attitudes, their self-sufficiency, plus the fact that they keep the rat population in check inside the temple. He finds those qualities admirable, respectable, perhaps he would even find them desirable in a partner if, unlike he cats, he wasn't so opposed to them roaming free.

In-game DU drow succeeded the check required to spot Astarion before he could jump him - so yes, just not the version where they end up rolling awkward around the sand for 2 minutes, LOL.

He's semi aware of it, or at least he becomes aware whenever Astarion's mask slips. When Astarion is putting on a good performance, DU drow wholeheartedly believes it. Also, It's worth noting that Astarion does manage to have fun occasionally, and have periods of... Superficial happiness? They just so happen to be unfulfilling, and don't make up for all the other pitfalls of his situation when they inevitably come crashing back. He's also great at tricking himself into thinking this is a good time.

Bhaalist DU drow makes vague attempts at "making things better" whenever he catches him in a mood, usually through physical affection or lavish gifts. That works well enough the first year I think, before everything kind of loses its luster. After that, DU drow just gets it into his head that Astarion "doesn't understand what he must do to succeed and keep him safe".

This is a VERY interesting observation and... Maybe? Especially early in the relationship, DU drow finds Astarion's quasi-predatorial behavior very attractive, but only AFTER he notices his vampirism. I think this outlook of the character contextualizes Astarion's condition in a way that he can immediately understand and simpathize with, even if DU drow doesn't know much about vampires themselves. Of course, this is specific to Astarion - he does not extend this grace to the rest of his kind.

I'll be thinking about this one!

I don't know the video in question but from your description I think they would both be VERY confused, LOL.

HMM, I think that might actually depend on a lot of things! Assuming the woman (or just the other partner) in the relationship isn't a drow, and exactly what KIND of devotion we're talking about (is the drow pro-active? Protective? Does he put his neck on the line for this relationship with pride? Does he seem strong and capable and like he doesn't rely on his partner?) he might see enough of himself in him that they could actually get along. This is similar to how DU drow immediately took a liking to Aylin even though she's this moon-goddess child and a supposed beacon of justice.

The quickest way to get on DU drow's good side is to be the idealized version of what he believes himself to be. Oh, and not get in his way.

If they're both drow it's kind of hopeless though, yeah LOL.

Planning on it!!

DU drow never slept with Haarlep! He only took his clothes off and then attacked him full in the nude.

...I'm not sure how to justify that in the lore, but it's exactly what I did and it's too funny to take it back, LOL

I think Astarion was just kind of baffled by what transpired until DU drow turned to while hopping around pulling his pants back on and asked if he enjoyed the show, then he remembered he just loves finding any excuse to take his clothes off.

That's a lovely compliment, I definitely go for a very "organic" look so I genuinely appreciate it. Thank you!

Thank you!!! A lot has actually been said about Gortash in my #enver gortash tag, if you'd like to get all the gritty details. Suffice to say that they had a very odd but significant friendship.

DU drow is the kind of person who shoots awake as soon as the sun starts gracing the sky, but he tends to do whatever he has to do and then go back to bed right after, and stay there at least a bit past noon. He did this both in his bhaalist days and in Astarion's company, though the amount of time he spends asleep during the day definitely increases because of the vamp, especially over time!

So, the urethra in a penis is located pretty much on the underside of the shaft, so the wound actually does not reach it! As far as functions go - peeing and ejaculating - it comes out of the tip's opening as normal. When he first caused the wound it probably did puncture the urethra, but that would have closed up over time. What you see is the injury many years after the fact, after all.

So the implications are pretty minor. Aesthetically, his foreskin hangs a bit weirdly when he's soft (like a tiny little penis curtain) and has more give than usual. Functionally, he has spots within the scarred up injury that are either numb or overly sensitive. Also, you can kind of see the dickhead notch through his underwear which is fun.

Otherwise, that is pretty much it! No worries about the nature of the question I've gotten worse, LOL. Thank you for your kind words as well!

I think he used to write in his bhaalist days - very, very occasionally mind you - like if you scoured the temple you would find a dozen or so ripped up pieces of paper with little short poems on them, written in a very sharp and carefree hand. Anywhere from 3 to 10 lines per-poem, usually less than more. The sentences are descriptive of actions, never feelings or thoughts, but they don't ever seem literal.

Back in those days, he also went to the theater every other year.

Post-tadpole, he ends up dabbling in carpentry, leather-work, and enjoys listening for musical numbers taking place in taverns and inns to go to and watch. He eventually starts pulling Astarion into little slow dances when that happens. I think he might end up writing again someday, but not for many, many years.

[avocado-writing]

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to overhear his gn crush saying how they're sure it's unrequited love as much as they love HIM?

OH so soft! yes absoloutely, enjoy!

Astarion

now to be fair. he is a bit smug to overhear that you love him.

but he's also... touched? that you, lovely you, would feel that way about him?

obviously he's been trying to seduce you and everything, but he's pleased to hear that it's worked, but why does he feel so warm? happy?

maybe he waits until a casual moment between the two of you, when he feels like he can confess and it isn't too heavy, and he just lets out a little "I love you too, you know."

you stop. he can hear the way your blood pumps.

"...oh..." your eyes are wide, looking at the floor.

he takes your hand and it makes you look up at him, and then he brings you in for a kiss.

he can feel how relieved you are. and he's so happy to be part of something real, something requited.

Gale

overhears you and wants to say something about it immediately, but won't interrupt in person...

so he just uses a Sending instead.

"I hope you don't mean that, because I am desperately in love with you. only a fool wouldn't be."

you freeze and your eyes flit over to where he's standing, face as open as a book with his love for you.

you excuse yourself from your conversation and he follows, seeing how embarrassed you are, you tell him he wasn't meant to hear you, you just had to get it off of your chest...

he takes your hand and pulls you in for a long kiss. if you won't believe his words, maybe you'll believe his actions.

you melt into him. just melt, and the two of you stay together like that.

longest that Gale's been quiet for ages...

Wyll

he does interrupt, because he can't stand to hear you talk about yourself like that.

asks for a private word.

takes you to a seculded location and sees how uncomfortable you are, tilts your chin up to look him in the eyes, wants you to see the sincerity when he speaks.

"I'm sorry if I gave you the impression I did not love you. I do, in fact. most ardently."

he will tell you about the moment that made him fall in love with you, all the things you do that make him fall a little deeper every day.

as he speaks he watches the way your body relaxes, your eyes get hopeful.

when he finishes speaking you press your lips to his in a kiss, and it's the sweetest first kiss imaginable.

Halsin

he's an old elf at this point. he hasn't got the patience to let you wallow in uncertainty.

if he hears you say you love him, and he feels the same, he will let you know immediately.

finds an excuse to have the two of you be together. maybe to gather firewood.

when you're alone he will instigate physical contact - brushing your hair out of your face or something like that

when you respond positively, he will move to cup your face, look properly into your eyes.

"my heart. I need you to know that whatever you feel for me, it is reciprocated a hundred times over. you make my blood stir in a way I had quite forgotten..."

you should kiss him now. he will return it. the two of you will spend some time alone together in the forest, getting to know each other more intimately...

Dammon

oh, Dammon. he's so shocked.

him? you love him?

wants to make a big gesture but doesn't know how. probably asks Karlach for advice.

in the end he smiths you a special piece of jewellery and gifts it to you the next time you're together alone. maybe he even invites you on a date specially!

he tries to get to the point about how he feels but rambles on... eventually you reach out to hold his hand and it gives him courage...

he gives you the jewellery and sees your eyes light up. he offers to put it on you. fingers linger on your skin.

"you know, I lov..." "I know, Dammon. I know."

you can't stop beaming. he's never been happier.

Rolan

annoyed!

why can't you just be upfront with him about this! he obviously loves you back!

oh... loves you? hmmm. that's news to him. but of course he does! you're brilliant! how can't you see that?

has a couple of drinks one night for courage and then goes to find you. it is not an eloquent confession.

"I overheard you the other day! and I want you to know I feel the same way! about you! love, that is >:("

you stand there, fucking bamboozled, before dragging him in by the collar for a kiss.

he smiles so hard and you can feel it as your lips meet.

"silly boy," you sigh, fondly, and kiss him again before he can complain.

Zevlor

another old man who doesn't want to waste time.

he loves you. of course he loves you. there's no point hiding it, if there's a chance the two of you can be happy.

when he has a spare, quiet moment with you, certain nobody can overhear, he speaks sincerely.

"i do not know what I could offer which would make me worthy of your love, but I swear I will work every day until I am."

oh, he is so sweet. you collapse into his arms for a kiss. your strong, brave paladin <3

[paarthursass]

Decided I'm done being nice about this btw

I like the rewrites and I like the version of Wyll we got in full release. But the Wyll we had in early access was not a lesser version of the character. He was not poorly written. And I think Larian was being far too generous to the fans when they went "Something about him isn't clicking with players so we need to rewrite his entire character."

That "something" was racism, plain and simple. That's why players weren't connecting with him like they did Astarion or Shadowheart or Gale. I'm sure Larian got complaints about Lae'zel as well - since she's probably the only character I can think of who's just as divisive as Wyll - but they stuck to their guns and trusted that the story they had written for her was a good one. And I wish they'd done so with Wyll, too.

Are there parts about Wyll I prefer in full release to EA? Yes! I'm glad he's less overt about wanting to kill all the goblins, but toning down something like that wouldn't require a full rewrite. Gale was a lot more pompous in EA, and he didn't tell the PC about Mystra and the Netherese Orb until after sleeping with them - both things Larian changed for full release. Making Wyll a little less trigger happy with goblins would not require a full re-haul of his character. I also quite like how he's chasing a fairytale romance now, and how he wants to properly court the PC. But his original romance scene at the tiefling party wasn't in opposition to that in any way, and no one's to say the Wyll we had in EA wouldn't also have had wonderful romance scenes like the dance in Act 2 or the proposal in Act 3.

I do like the Wyll we got in full release, but the fact that he was rewritten last minute shows.

So, yes, I am going to be constantly bitter about people complaining about how Wyll is "boring" to them. People didn't trust that he was going to be a fleshed-out character in early access because he wasn't their white fave, they complained about him so loudly that Larian decided he needed to be rewritten, and now he feels under-developed compared to the other companions because he IS. And yes a good part of the blame falls on Larian for not giving the game the time it needed, for forcing the writers into crunch mode.

But a not insignificant part of the blame also falls on the fandom, because the rewrites were specifically made in response to the fans deciding their least favorite character was the black man.

[m00nlight-ramblings]

In A Natural Way

As a former artist, you can't help but create when you see beauty. When Halsin finds you sketching by the lake, he is in wholehearted agreement on the beauty.

Pairings: Halsin x GN Tav

Warnings: fluff. 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.89k

Requested: yes

A/N: I love Halsin, I was so happy to write this! Also I haven't gotten to Elfsong Tavern yet so if something is innacurate...in this story it isn't!!! (teehee) I do not give permission for my work to be copied or shared on other sites without my consent.

Karlach was already pulling Wyll along towards the bar of the Elfsong, making good on his promised to share a stout once they arrived. She was chattering his ear off as he happily sat next to her, Gale joining by his other side. Shadowheart and Lae'zel were nowhere to be found (probably arguing - or secretly making out - outside), Astarion was already in his room upstairs, and Halsin was taking his time walking around the tavern, admiring the wall art.

"I am going to stroll around the city," You announced, shouldering your bag and waving to the group, "I'll be back before suppertime."

"Don't go out too far," Halsin said, smiling, "We wouldn't want to start without." He winked, and held the door open for you. You blushed as you stepped outside, the little somersaults in your stomach fluttering due to Halsin.

So you had a small crush on Halsin.

Okay...maybe it was more than a "small crush".

You cheekily smiled at him and kept on ahead, trying to push your thoughts of Halsin (and his incredible pecs) out of your mind. You had one goal - to find the small pond the party passed to get to the Elfsong Tavern. As soon as you had seen it, you were immediately inspired, and wanted to grab for your sketchbook immediately.

As we had headed for the Elfsong Tavern earlier in the day, you had all decided to take a reprieve for an evening and not only rest there, but also drink and dine and relax. Like children on a trip, you were given the rest of the day to do what you saw fit - drinking, shopping in town, napping...the world was your oyster.

You would partake in the debauchery later in the evening, but for now, you wanted to take a rest in nature...something you weren't necessarily able to do while going along this little adventure you had found yourselves in.

After a bit of time walking, you finally walked upon the pound - surrounding by trees, water glistening, and birds chirping above head. Just a tiny bit on the outskirts of town, a tiny oasis in this urban setting. You smiled at the mere sight of it and quickly made your way to the largest tree set a little off from the water. Making yourself comfortable, you slid your sketchbook and pencils out of your bag. You sighed.

Contently. Happily.

Before you were captured and a tadpole was shoved into your eye, you were an artist in your hometown, over the moon that you were able to create a life based upon your passion for art. You were able to sketch every now and then since the Nautiloid, but never really able to sit down and focus on it.

Now you had your chance, and you were reveling in it.

Once the pencil hit the paper, you couldn't stop, only pausing to look at your study; the pond itself. The way the sun reflected off the serene waters gave you goosebumps...the fact that you were able to capture it gave you even more.

Soon, you were able to lose yourself in the action of sketching, your mind drifting to other things.

Other things always equated to Halsin, no matter how hard you tried to think of anything else. Ever since he had joined your party, the gentle giant had stolen your heart through not only his romantic words, but also his kindness towards others (and especially nature). Every so often you had the feeling that he reciprocated your feelings, but you didn't dare test the waters - not only did you not have time (thanks, looming transformation into an Ilitihid), but the potential embarrassment from rejection was terrifying on it's own.

After about an hour or so of sketching and absolutely thinking of Halsin naked over and over again, you yawned and looked up - the sun was setting, casting golden rays across the pond. Your sketch was getting more detailed by the minute, but you felt elated to stretch your artistic muscles that had been forgotten in the previous weeks. Resting your head against the tree behind you, you folded your hands in your lap and sighed happily. You closed your eyes and decided to take a break.

Besides, you were sure you had plenty of time before dinner back at Elfsong.

You felt a gentle finger run along the back of your hand. A smooth voice lightly murmured in your ear and you felt your head eyelids slowly open.

"We were worried about you...you said you would be back in time for dinner." Halsin gently said, taking your hand in his, "I'm glad I found you."

Eventually, you came to, realizing that Halsin was gently cradling you awake. You jumped, the fact that it was Halsin of all people waking you quicker than any gentle murmurings could.

"Gods! Halsin - hi!" You said, blinking rapidly. You noticed the sky around you was pitch black - hells, how long were you sleeping for?

"Yes, it is me," He chuckled, letting go of your hand, "I'm glad you were just asleep, and not worse...lost or..." He shook his head slightly, "Well, I won't even think of it."

Suddenly, you remembered the sketch book on your lap. At the same time, Halsin took notice of it, looking down inquisitively. A small smile appeared on his face and he cocked his head to the side in order to investigate your sketch further.

"This is beautiful," He spoke, his voice soft. Taking the leatherbound book from your lap gently, he held it in his hands, lightly fingering the pages. "I can see why you wanted to come back here on your own...you surely have a talent. I'm glad you were able to exercise it."

"Oh..." You blushed deeply, your heart beating rapidly. Quickly - but politely - you took the book back from him, closing it immediately and trying to put in your bag, "Thank you. That's very kind. I used to be an artists before...well, all of this..." You gestured out in front of you.

Halsin, noticing your embarrassment started to shake his head, "Do not be embarrassed by your gift. Being able to capture nature so beautifully...this is the closest I've seen to the real thing," He stared into your eyes, taking the book back and opening to the page you were just working on, "It's absolutely breathtaking."

"Halsin, your flattery..." You had to look away, the intensity in his eyes was almost too much. You could tell your blushing was still strong, and you painfully willed for your brain to shut off the heat on your cheeks, "It's too much! You're too kind...thank you."

Halsin continued to marvel at your work, bringing the book close up to his eyes so he could see better. As you let him look for a bit, you started to gather courage.

"I was...actually, um," You cleared your throat nervously, "I actually was thinking of you while I sketched it."

Halsin stopped looking at the sketch immediately, dropping the book gently in his lap and looking to you. "Me?" He repeated, a look of surprise on his face.

You nodded cautiously - gods, why did you tell him? - and realized you couldn't really back out of it.

Here it goes, I guess, You thought, quite glumly to yourself. You already started to prep yourself for the rejection.

"Yes, you. I thought this pond just looked so beautiful, and I obviously know how important nature is to you, so, I guess...I was thinking of you a lot...while I was sketching it, of course..."

Halsin nodded slowly and smirked, "Of course."

"Um..." You started to nervously play your hands, looking into your lap, "Actually, I wanted to create something for you, to help you feel...back at one with nature, when maybe...we are somewhere you aren't able to connect. And you miss it...or something. On the road, I mean."

"Well," He sighed, smiling fully now, "That means a lot, that you would do something like that, for me. I am grateful for your kindness...thank you."

You nodded, matching his smile, "Of course. Once it's fully complete I'll give it to you...I wanted to finish the shading on some parts..." You trailed off, taking a deep breath. When you looked back into his eyes, you saw kindness, and a gentle glow. You sighed, biting your lip.

Oh, fuck it.

"Halsin, I have to say...I've come to care for you deeply," You finally admit, "I don't know how much time we have left with everything, so I wanted to tell you that my feelings for you grown exponentially since we first met."

"And these feelings...have turned you into a poet, with your newly eloquent speech?" Halsin asked, a playful gleam in his eyes. A moment passed before you giggled, and it felt like the steam was releasing in your heart.

"You make me nervous!" You defended.

Halsin chuckled and gently, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, "Why would I make you nervous?" He asked, leaning closer to you. His breath tickled your cheek, and you felt his warmth on your lips.

"Not you...necessarily," You spoke, your voice barely a whisper, "But the idea of...your rejection. Rejection from you. After I've...told you my feelings."

His eyes searched yours, and he nodded solemnly. "Yes. That would be quite nerve-wracking indeed...if you were to tell me your secret feelings towards me, and I rejected you..." He took the back of his knuckles and gracefully skimmed your cheek with them, "But it's a good thing, then, that a rejection was not in the plan."

You heart lurched as you smiled, feeling brave and taking the hand that had just cupped your cheek, "Oh, it's not in the plan? Well...good thing, then. I guess I have nothing to worry about, then."

Slowly, he leaned in even closer, your lips touching gently now. He teased you, getting so close, but not finishing the action to completion. "Good thing, then." He said finally.

Gently, he pressed his lips against yours, his arms instinctively finding your shoulders and pulling you close. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as you pressed your hands against his chest, asking permission for his mouth to open with your tongue. He obliged and willingly deepened the kiss, sending fireworks off in your brain.

As you continued your kiss, you felt Halsin becoming more frantic, a moan escaping his mouth. You pulled away, looking at him.

"I...want to continue this. We should probably get back to the Elfsong, yes? To be somewhere more...comfortable? With a bed?" You suggested, your voice husky. You couldn't try to cover your lust for him even if you tried.

Halsin smiled and took hold of your hand, his eyes dark. "Who says we need a bed to be more comfortable?"

You chuckled, and should have known - a Druid would never choose a bed over nature. Leaning back into him, you ran your fingers through his hair, adjusting yourself so you were sitting on his lap.

"Well then...why don't you show me how comfortable nature can really be?"

Halsin smiled and gently moved the book to the side, as if it was the most precious thing. Then, he playfully pounced on you, causing you to emit a laugh so loud, it echoed throughout the pond.

------

What did y'all think? My first Halsin fic...I love this huge druid giant. Reminder that my inbox is open for requests!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

What Is Love

I swear I am getting around to all the requests, it's just the random writing bugs that attack when I least expect it

Summary: You and Astarion question what love is

What is love?

Astarion watches you from behind the flickering flames of the campfire with doubts creeping into his mind. After centuries of pretending, he can't quite tell the difference between real love and a fake performance.

You turn to look at him, a soft smile gracing your features when you notice him staring at you and he turns away, blushing shyly. You smile even wider, a small laugh slipping through the gaps between your lips and excuse yourself from the conversation, making your way over to him.

What does it mean to love someone?

Is it to think about them? He thinks about you, yes, but it's not with each and every waking moment, the opposite of the romance novels he's read. He's afraid he isn't loving you enough, if at all, because he doesn't think about you with his every waking moment, and it gnaws at him from the inside.

Is it to know their every little detail? He knows of your every oddity, your likes and dislikes, your daily routine, but he also knows almost the same for the others. It's a habit he's formed over the centuries, noting the little details of those around him so that he can lure them in, survive Cazador's wrath, and he starts to wonder if he's doing all this purely because it's a habit or because he genuinely wants to get to know you better.

Is it the way he always looks to you first, as if asking for your approval before he does anything, to see if you laugh at his jokes? He feels frozen in place every time your eyes meet, but the way the corners of your eyes crinkle as you smile never fails to help him relax. He loves it when your gazes connect, for it means you're looking at him as much as he's looking at you. Each time he turns to look at you, he feels his undead heart thunder in his chest, his throat tightening, but why he feels this way he still isn't sure.

What does it mean to love someone?

Is it the way your gaze always searches for him, constantly wanting to know where he is and how he's doing? Whenever you return to camp for a rest, the first thing you do is look for a glimpse of his silvery-white hair, and when you do catch a glimpse of it a smile forms on your face. Your feet always carry you towards him, as if attracted by some unknown force until you're a hair breadth's distance away from him, and then your lips part, letting words spring forth.

Is it the way you feel the need to tell him everything that happened that day, whether he was right there by your side or not? You light up whenever you talk to him, your heart soaring when he partakes in the conversation as well, a genuine happiness flooding through you along with the desire to keep the conversation going. Talking to him brings you so much joy that you just have to do it every day, even if it's just telling him about the most mundane of things. Still, he lends you his ears, even if it's a topic he couldn't care less about.

Is it the way you look forward to spending time with him, even if said time is used to just sit next to him in silence? You cherish each and every moment spent with him, whether it be fighting alongside him, patrolling the area with him, or simply just reading a book with him. It's the quiet moments that stand out the most, where the only sound that permeates the air is the quiet rustling of pages and the sound of your breathing. It's peaceful, a rare thing to come by with amidst a rowdy party of companions, and you enjoy his company, what's not to love about such moments?

How does one love someone?

How does he know whether his actions are genuine or not? He's afraid they aren't, he's afraid that all of this is a lie, that what he feels isn't love for you but some…twisted feeling he's been telling himself is love. He doesn't want to mislead you, doesn't want to get your hopes up for nothing, at least not anymore, not when he doesn't need to seduce you for shelter.

How does he know he's doing any of this because he loves you? For all he knows it could be because you're the first person to truly care for him. He could be looking out for you because he doesn't want to lose you, because he wants to see your smile again, to hear your voice again, just like how close friends would, right? He could be gifting you your favourite things because he knows it will make you happy, because said thing made him think of you. He loves it when you smile, when you laugh, it makes him feel…good. He made someone else happy, he made you happy, and it makes his chest feel lighter.

How does he know he wants to spend the rest of his life with you? He loves your company, loves spending time with you, always looks forward to your morning greetings, the gentle kisses you exchange when no one else is looking, the way your fingers intertwine with his hair. He wants you by his side, that he knows, so that he can spend all the time in the world with you, so maybe yes, maybe he does want to spend the rest of his life with you.

How does one love someone?

How do you know that he loves you? You watch the way he always tries to sit next to you with a small greeting, noticing how his arm brushes against yours each time and you try to brush it off but thoughts still nag away at you. You let the touch linger a little longer than it needs to, hoping to discreetly convey back to him your feelings but you don't know if he can tell.

How do you untangle the mess that is the feelings bubbling inside you whenever you feel his skin brush against yours, whenever he looks at you, whenever he praises you? You're not sure how to describe the feeling, or how to act on it, so you continue whatever you've been doing so far, and hope he catches on. You turn to the others for advice, and they tell you to confront him directly with those feelings, but you're too afraid of losing this relationship you have with him and so you keep your words to yourself.

How do you fully open your heart to someone, be vulnerable, be laid bare? You carry heavy burdens, dark secrets, as do the rest of your companions, and everyone respects each other's boundaries, so you've never had to tell anyone anything. Still, he opened his heart to you, spilling his dark secrets and trusting you with them. You want nothing more than to return the favour, but the words struggle to fall from your lips. You're afraid of how he will react when he sees you for who you truly are, afraid that he will reject you even though you have no reason to think as such.

How do I tell you I love you?

He smiles when you sit next to him, his name rolling off your tongue. You tease him for staring and he shoots back a retort, flashing you one of his signature grins before unveiling a gift he's prepared.

He watches as you slowly unwrap it, inhaling sharply when you see what lies inside. He watches as you look up, eyes shining with pure joy as you thank him ecstatically, and he saves the moment in his memories.

You watch as a soft genuine smile makes its way onto his face and feel your heart melt. Your fingers linger on the wrapping paper he so delicately folded to contain his gift to you and you wonder when he had the time to find it. He clearly overheard you telling Shadowheart about wanting this for a long time, and decided it was worth his time and effort to gift it to you.

You watch as his eyes light up when you thank him, telling him how much you love his gift and decide you want to create more of such moments. You want to see him happy as much as possible, you want to see him smile like that, you want to see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs.

His fingers brush against yours for longer than necessary as he leans over to take the wrapping paper back and neither of you comment on it.

Maybe you don't need to tell him explicitly yet. Maybe what you have is more than enough for now. Maybe it's everything you need.

Maybe, this is what love is.

[anodyne-sunflower]

You know, I feel like some in the fandom don't quite see how belittling it is for them to automatically make Astarion incapable of ever enjoying sex or wanting it. As someone who has been through a lot of sexual abuse in my life, violent ones at that, it was a difficult path (and still is) to realize it's okay to want sex, to enjoy it with the right person. We have trauma, but we aren't broken. It took me a long time to let myself enjoy it, with the right people, because I spent years telling myself it was wrong due to my past. That I shouldn't feel good because I've once felt disgusting and bad.

It's a struggle and even married, I sometimes dissociate. But I have a partner willing to listen, to be patient when I need it. But also not afraid to ever touch me, to pleasure me.

So it drives me a little mad when fans seem to think Astarion is incapable of ever having it again with Tav or whoever. That it's wrong to place him in a relationship that's sexual. He isn't fucking broken, if you romance him, you become his good experience. Just like my husband was for me. The right person, the gentle person, makes all the difference in finding yourself again, and learning it's okay to feel 'good' (not just sexually) in your life. We have temptations, urges, happiness, trust, fear, disgust, anger, shame. The list goes on but those emotions don't need to cancel out one another. Let us feel them. Let us determine what we can and can't do. Don't write us off as damaged goods to be cooed over and treated like celibacy is all there is to healing.

Yes, this is a rant, but having felt those experiences myself, I just hate being viewed as broken or being treated with kid gloves. We're still people, we're still allowed to have fulfilling sex lives. It isn't wrong to see Astarion and let Tav be that someone he trusts enough to eventually get back to that point. I also know he's fictional lol but I just get upset when perusing the tags and watching some say him wanting sex or fans writing him or drawing him in such situations is wrong. HE ISN'T BROKEN. Sexual trauma will always be with us types, but we are not broken goddammit...we are people, we just need someone to see that in us.

We are allowed to live a life, remember that. You don't get to dictate our traumas path to healing. That's precisely how abusers want it to be. To take all of our freedom of choice, and twist it to forever be 'tainted' (as Astarion says too). Fuck that. We can be people again. We're allowed that.

[fangsandfeels]

Something I noticed in the post-bite dialogues

It's interesting how the option to tell Astarion that you don't mind him feeding on you if you give your permission first not only gives no approval, but Astarion also sounds so...fake in his enthusiasm. He isn't surprised, relieved, or intrigued. He is almost condescending. Ah yes, of coooourse. He is as insincere as when he was lying through his teeth about "the spirit of cooperation and mutual trust" when the group gathered to react to his vampire reveal.

Meanwhile agreeing with him on his "no innocents, enemies only" stance dons +5 approval, and he is actually pleased. Good talk.

I think, this difference in response is based on the real reason why he decided to taste Tav's blood in the first place. As we know, it wasn't hunger. It was testing his limits and checking whether he was truly free from Cazador's influence. So, he doesn't really need to feed from Tav anymore - he got his answer. It was the only thing he was after, and he is truly grateful Tav let him have it. He also had time to think his feeding policy through ("No innocents. You have my word.") because he anticipated Tav asking him about his new feeding habits. If Tav has no objections, Astarion is actually happy about it. He is accepted without prejudice and well...relieved it all went rather smoothly.

But if Tav says he can have their blood when they give their permission leaves him (at least initially) unimpressed and even rubs him the wrong way as he still revels in not needing permission to drink the blood of thinking creatures. Of course, Tav doesn't know that. They're just either being too kind for their own good (who would willingly endure the feeling of their life force seeping away and waking up with a sore neck every morning?) or they're actually a little freak, and they liked it. Astarion isn't exactly humored by the latter (as we see from Araj, he isn't happy about people romanticizing his vampiric side), but he can use that fetish to his advantage. Also, a free and willing meal isn't something he would refuse. That also explains his almost flirty responses whenever Tav tells him "You can feed on me tonight". He found his seduction angle and he is going for it.

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 7

A/N: *Full warning: we have depictions of nail picking and a panic attack in this chapter.* Alright everyone, we gettin' into it now. This chapter is how Tav feels about Astarion and the entire situation, thus far. She also pieces together a lot about what's going on and starts planning ahead. Happy reading! Rating: Mature Word count: 3.6k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (DU, named) Warnings: 18+, nail picking, panic attacks, unhealthy relationship Summary: Tav returns to her room to begin preparing for the evening's event with Magdalena waiting for her at her door. Tav quickly realizes that not everything is quite as it seems.

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It's late afternoon by the time the tailor finishes the dress. He heeds Tav’s request to keep extra fabric around the waist and with the dress in hand, she returns to her room to prepare for the ball. 

As she rounds the corner, Tav is surprised to see Magdalena waiting for her by the door. The woman holds two boxes within her hands: a velvet jewelry box and a shoebox. Somewhat unsettled, Tav gives the woman a warm greeting as she ushers her inside, closing the door behind them.

As Tav rests the dress over the back of a chair, Magdalena suddenly rushes to her. “Oh, I simply adore the color!” she exclaims. Magdalena places the boxes atop the vanity and picks up the dress, holding it out before her. Light dances over the rich green hue of the satin fabric, and Magdalena is simply in awe. “It matches your eyes, my lady,” she adds, looking over her shoulder.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, giving a soft chuckle. “Yes,” Tav agrees shyly, “so I've been told. Astarion insisted on the color for that reason.”

“Well, the young Master has always had a keen sense of fashion. This dress will pair wonderfully with the accessories he’s chosen,” declares Magdalena with a confident nod of her head.

Raising her hands to her head, Tav gives the older woman a questioning glance. Auburn locks cascade down Tav’s shoulders as she unravels her hair tie. She takes a moment to run a hand through her hair, shaking it between her fingers. Tav tosses her hair to the other side of her face as she meets Magdalena’s eyes. “More gifts from Astarion?” she inquires, tilting her head in the direction of the boxes.

“Indeed they are,” Magdalena says, carefully laying the dress on the back of the chair. She gathers the accessory boxes and makes her way to Tav, who is now sitting on the bed. “Earrings with a matching necklace,” she explains jovially, “and a pair of shoes to complete the ensemble.”

Tav stares at the boxes and her mouth turns upwards. He means to doll me up further? she relents, mood deflating. 

Astarion knows how much she dislikes this type of thing, so why bother? The gaudy, flashy jewelry. The clothing, shoes, handbags, hats… She'd feel more at ease in a suit of armor, pulling a sword off her back. 

That's probably not the most appropriate attire for a gala, however. 

She prays Magdalena hasn't brought makeup – Tav simply loathes the feeling of her skin suffocating under layers of concealer and powder. She bites her inner lip as she continues gazing at the accessories, contemplating. 

Well, perhaps a little mascara wouldn't hurt, she concedes. Eyeliner, too. So long as her freckles remain visible, she's satisfied. 

They pepper the tops of her shoulders and her breasts, as well as stretch across the bridge of her nose. A compliment to the permanent summer tan of her complexion, and it often leaves Tav pondering her origins. Though, the thought usually fades as fast as it forms.

Astarion noticed them not long after they started their affair. The nights they'd spend in his tent often left one, or both of them, shirtless and bare from the waist down.

He traces a pattern into her back with a single digit. The pressure isn't too much, really. Yet, it's enough to draw her out of her concentration from the journal in her lap. 

‘What are you doing?’ she asks, coarsely. Curse her short temper; Tav has no reason to anger at this situation, yet she feels the embers being stoked from below.

Astarion sits behind her, having just recently fed. There's a bloodstained rag laying next to his pile of throw pillows, and a throb deep in her neck.

‘Your skin, dear,’ Astarion says while dragging a finger across her bare shoulder, ‘is entirely covered with freckles.’

Tav quirks her brow, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘You have them too, you know. Across your face. And a little on your shoulders.’ Her neck protests the movement, but she'll live.

‘So I've been told,’ he agrees, ‘but you have enough to trace patterns with.’

She doesn't answer. Tav simply chuckles and resumes writing in her journal, adjusting her posture slightly. The violent urges are subsiding. She finds comfort in the fact that he means only to appreciate her form, not turn it into a spectacle.

After a moment, Astarion asks, ‘Would you like me to stop?’

‘Of course not,’ she answers, affectionately. ‘It feels good, actually.’

Astarion smiles and resumes his tracing, now with two fingers instead of one.

Tav never realizes what he etched into her skin until much, much later. She'd already lost him, by then. As she closes her eyes, she feels the ghost of his fingers passing over her shoulder even now.

I love you.

She stands in the bedroom, lost in thought. The fingers of one hand find a hangnail on the other.

Pick.

Would he have resisted, had she realized his feelings sooner? Would she have been stronger in her efforts to stop him? Could she have saved him? 

The far-from-innocent but budding man he was becoming, just starting to see how much light there is in the world. Only to end up swallowed whole by the depths of his own despair, his own lust for power blinding him. His fear, his desire for control.

Tav begins to chew the inside of her cheek.

Pick, pick.

Ultimately… she failed him. Stood there, frozen, watching helplessly as he let himself be consumed by all he fought so hard to escape.

I'm doing this for us, too, you know, Astarion had told her. 

He destroyed himself for them. For her.

The intensity of her finger picking increases, succeeding in ripping the hangnail out from the bed. The faint scent of blood fills her nostrils and she looks down, watching a small well of crimson pools within her cuticle.

Tav should have stopped him. Should have extended a hand to him sooner. She should have been more aware of his internal struggle. Because if she did, she could have pulled him back from the edge. Told him how much she cared for the man he was. If she did, they wouldn't be in this situation. Things wouldn't be like this, and they'd be happy. They'd be together, in love, and rejoicing over becoming parents, and–

“Lady Tavaria?”

The voice is Magdalena's, and suddenly the world snaps back into focus. She doesn't remember when she veered off, but she's thankful for the redirection. 

“I'm sorry,” Tav offers as she gathers herself. She sucks the bloodied finger against her mouth, extending her opposite hand toward the woman. “May I see the jewelry box, please?” she asks.

Magdalena hesitates as though to ask a question, but places the velvet box in Tav’s hand without further discussion. Tav opens the long, rectangular box; a gasp escapes her as she looks inside.

A diamond gold tennis necklace, with a pair of matching diamond earrings, lies within. Tav rotates the box, watching intently as the gems shimmer against the candlelight. Solid white reflects off the diamonds.

They're real.

Not only are they real, but their quality is about the highest one could find.

“He… He can't expect me to wear these, can he?” Tav asks, lifting her head to Magdalena. “These cost tens of thousands of gold!” Her chest burns; an uneasiness begins to take root within her. Something feels wrong about this, but she can't quite place her finger on why.

“I believe he does,” answers Magdalena, seemingly unbothered. She places the shoebox next to Tav, removing the lid. “I had a peak at everything before coming in,” she admits with a short laugh. “Lord Ancunín truly has such wonderful taste.”

The shoes are golden in color with a slight sparkle. Not too blinding, but it's noticeable when held up to the light. There are no elaborate straps or designs; they're a simple pair of slip-on dress shoes with a modest heel, no higher than two inches.

“Doesn't want me to be taller than him, does he?” Tav remarks between a chuckle of her own, desperate to hide some of the building tension. Both her and Magdalena exchange a strained smile as Tav reaches into the shoebox, grabbing a single shoe. She then takes the jewelry box with her opposite hand and heads to the mirror over the vanity.

The uneasiness in her chest is beginning to make sense. Why all of this seems… tainted. Almost soul-less. This should bring her insurmountable amounts of joy, to have someone treat her so well. But as she opens the jewelry box and pulls out the tennis necklace, placing it to her chest, she understands.

‘He's trying to buy my affections.’

Instead of having the difficult conversation about what happened the evening before, Astarion means to express all he cannot say through lavish gifts. It all feels rather… cheap, to Tav. A cop-out. Disrespectful, even, that she isn't worth the effort of having such a heavy conversation.

However, it dawns on her that Astarion may not be capable of having that discussion with her. That he lacks the emotional competency to navigate those feelings appropriately. So, instead, he places those feelings into gifts or actions, constantly skirting around vulnerability of any kind.

Her heart falls a bit deeper in her chest, and she rests the jewelry and the shoe on the vanity before turning to Magdalena. “They're all rather lovely,” Tav remarks, painting her best smile widely across her face.

The servant smirks and narrows her gaze. She clasps her hands over her lower abdomen, and says, “Yet something still troubles you?”

The metaphorical weight on her chest is crushing, and Tav contemplates expressing all in that very moment. Yet, a quick flash of her memory reminds her of Astarion's influence over the woman. 

“These past few days have given me much to consider,” Tav expresses, modestly. She longs for the ability to speak plainly, but knows better than to do so here. Not when Astarion has such strong influence over this woman.

Almost as expected, Magdalena's eyes glow, signaling her communing with Astarion. The light fades just as quickly as it appeared, and Magdalena then walks toward the washroom. “I’m sure you have much to discuss with Lord Ancunín,” she offers in acknowledgement. Yet, she’s unphased by Tav’s admission, quickly brushing it off as she says, “But right now, we absolutely must get you ready!”

The woman's aloofness is baffling to Tav. It's inconsistent with her prior behavior. But as Tav settles her gaze on Magdalena’s face, she finds the maid’s signature smile on display. 

And like the spark of a flame igniting, the puzzle pieces finally come together. Her stomach sinks. Her heart races.

He instructed Magdalena to drop the matter. 

He directed Magdalena to continue getting her ready.

Magdalena's kindness is a veil, subject to Astarion's whims. She will be as cold or as warm as Astarion commands. None of this is honest. As long as she stays within the manor, Tav will never be free. She will always be under Astarion's watchful gaze, directly or through surrogate means.

He will always know everything.

The gears in her head begin turning, almost on pure instinct. As if searching through an archive, Tav finally settles on something to challenge her current mindset.

‘But what is his greatest weakness?’ she asks herself.

“Of course,” Tav answers, sullenly, “though if you don't mind, I'd like to prepare on my own.” She looks intently at Magdalena.

‘His fear.’

Fear of the unknown, of lack of control. Fear that she will leave, reject him, despite all he's done thus far.

Tav knows Astarion; understands his heart as if it's a mirror image of her own. Fear drives almost everything he does, including his current treatment of her. It's an overcompensation for all he cannot do. Words he can never express.

The maid pauses for a brief moment, contemplating Tav’s request. Tav expects Magdalena's eyes to glow once again, but to her surprise, they never do. If Magdalena did speak with Astarion again, it was so subtle that she missed it. Her face only holds the stain of disappointment.

“As you wish, Lady Tavaria,” Magdalena says with a hint of uncertainty. “I'll be here to assist, have you any need of me.” She looks back toward Tav, taking a small bow, then exits the small bedroom.

As soon as Tav hears the door click shut, she sighs, clasping a hand over her chest. Her heart beats wildly against her ribcage, the adrenaline finally taking over. She can only remain stoic for so long before the panic sets in.

The cracks in her foundation are starting to grow, wider and fatter. The countdown to the collapse has begun.

Tav isn't being dishonest. These last few days have given her too much to consider. In fact, it's more like the last few weeks that have her head spinning. Months, even.

Astarion returning was enough to throw her off-kilter. All the effort she put in trying to right herself after the end of their relationship. The gaping wound it left within her chest, the scar still aching even now. 

But a few months of passion softened that scar and she found herself letting him back in, against her better judgment. She became accustomed to being deceitful when asked about her love life in order to hide her shame, only to fall pregnant with a child that could spell the ruin of all of Faerûn, if her Father demands it.

Tav rushes to the washroom, her throat tightening. Heat creeps up her face and her vision narrows. She sparks the flame to the oil lamp above the mirror and immediately opens the faucet. Gathering cold water in her palms, Tav splashes the flushed skin of her face. The water acts as a soothing balm, her mouth hanging open as she drags a hand down the front of her face.

It's not like her to play the fool for anyone. She’s usually the one with answers to everything. She's the fearless leader. She's in command.

Icy cold water drips from her brows, rolling down her cheeks, and she shuts off the water. As it drips onto her chest, she feels her heartbeat slowing.

But Astarion is different. She can hold him, but like a feral alley cat, he's skittish. Never staying in one place for too long. Divulging only choice pieces of a story to spin the type of narrative he wants to put forth. He wears so many different faces that it's hard to ascertain which is truly his. And it has her dipping her hands into the pot deeper each time, desperate to reach the bottom she knows exists.

Especially now.

Tav stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking back. Bags sit heavy under her eyes; a testament to her exhaustion. The bruise on her neck is better, though still visible up close. 

There was a time before all of this when she could easily admit to her beauty. Probably not winning any pageants, but she could hold her own just fine. Use it to her advantage, if the situation called for it. 

Tav doesn't remember much from before the Nautiloid, but she does see the drastic difference in her appearance now. Her hair is longer. Her bangs have grown out, the ringlets not as tight. Tav leans toward the mirror and tilts her head, wincing. She watches as crow's feet appear within the creases of her eyes.

She looks… older. Almost unrecognizable.

The Illithid War either aged her, or the child in her belly isn't shying away from having their fill. Which, given their paternity, is highly likely.

Tav stands straight, raising her hands to her head. She sections a part of her hair in the front and folds it over her forehead, replicating the bangs she had when they'd all first met. She sighs.

There's very little she can do about the passage of time. She's human, and is bound to show signs of aging at this point in her life. If asked, Tav would say she's in her late twenties, or perhaps even her early thirties. That part of her memory hasn't fully returned to her, though she can say with certainty that she's somewhere around that age.

The funny thing about time, she's learned, is that time marches ever forward to the beat of its own drum. There's little point in fighting it. All anyone can ever do is try their best to keep up.

Letting her hair fall back into place, Tav opens the cabinet behind the mirror. It's filled with various small dropper bottles, but on the middle shelf lay a pair of steel scissors. Her mouth shifts into a curious pout as she contemplates the shears. Tav closes the medicine cabinet, once again sectioning her hair and observing herself in the mirror.

In a split decision, she agrees to cut her hair. 

It's a risk, being so close to the event. But she cares not – she hears the direction as clear as someone's voice in her ear. And she follows the compulsion.

Tav dips her head into the sink basin and turns on the spout again. She wets the front of her hair, then parts it down the middle. Turning off the faucet, Tav then retrieves the scissors from the cabinet, slowly bringing them to her hair.

And with a breath, she begins to cut.

Strands of hair fall freely into the sink basin. She cuts perpendicular, creating a curtain-like effect. As she descends, Tav blends the bangs into the rest of her hair with face-framing layers.

She's suddenly met with a familiar face, of a woman she's seen before. One that she’s come to know very well. The lone warrior who faced countless foes without question, putting them to the sword and wearing their blood as ritualistic war paint.

The wicked child of Bhaal; a harbinger of murder.

A woman who fears no one.

Shaking out her hair, Tav smiles. A simple haircut isn’t enough to rid her of the deep ache in her chest, but it certainly soothes the burn. She lifts her face again, focusing her attention to her neck. The mark left by Astarion is fading, though it still screams loudly. Still boasts ownership, possession, of her.

Her stomach twists at the sight.

Concealer and foundation have their places, too, she realizes and she's ever grateful for their existence, at this moment.

She turns to the tub and opens the valve. Clean water flows endlessly into the basin and almost instantly, she's mesmerized. 

The palace hosts riches, plumbing, and an endless supply of fresh food. Servants who wait on you hand and foot, and is home to one of the most handsome bachelors in Baldur's Gate.

She could have everything, should she choose to stay here. She would never have to work again, never do a single thing for herself ever again.

But at what price? How much of a blind eye would she need to turn? 

Would it be expected of her to be seen and never heard? Is she to stand as a trophy on Astarion's arm, never to speak her mind again? Does he seek to extinguish her flame so he shines brightest?

The sound of water pounds loudly in her ears.

She would have everything, yes… but nothing that she wants. Her choices would be dictated solely by Astarion, as they are for Magdalena. As they are for every servant of the manor.

Exactly as he wants it.

She regains focus, shaking her head some, and reaches to shut off the tub’s valve. 

Astarion has changed, she realizes. He boasts an air of confidence, of a debonair. But within, he's frail. He now relies on the faux control that comes from the bottom of a wine bottle, forever a drink in hand. Without it, he's unstable. Out of place. She saw proof of it down in the crypts as his body began to warp before her eyes.

Awkward and struggling. He's desperate to hide that side of him – how the ascension may have done more than grant him insurmountable power. Of all that lay behind the mask he wears.

Quickly stripping herself of her garments, Tav steps into the tub. She lowers herself gently into the water and leans against the wall of the tub. Her hands rest over her stomach, rubbing up and down over the soft bump that grows with each passing day. The tension bleeds from her muscles as she gives into the warm embrace of the water.

Tav knows what needs to be done. 

She'll play along this evening. Act the part of the trophy wife, the bed warmer, the painted doll. She'll be as alluring as possible; even fuck him, if that's what he wants. Though, it’d be dishonest to say she doesn't want that, too.

Yet… she could always just leave. Avoid this entire ordeal. 

Astarion isn't keeping her here. In fact, he's left that as an option knowing she'd be less likely to entertain it, should he give it to her freely. It's a display of reverse psychology. An illusion of choice.

Once she speaks with Wyll, she'll be more confident in her decision. Tav knows the likely outcome is to leave, but perhaps her conversation with Wyll tonight reveals information she can use toward confronting Astarion directly. Hopefully she can drive some sense into that dastardly head of his.

And perhaps, depending on how their conversation goes… she’ll finally tell him about their child.

[gloryinthunder]

I get frustrated a bit when I hear people say that Astarion isn't okay with the Astarion x PC x Halsin relationship and only says yes to make the PC happy or so he doesn't lose the PC.

I just don't think that Larian (and Neil Newbon) would build an entire storyline for this character about being a SA survivor and then turn around and invalidate all of it just to do a 'hehehe you can also kiss Bear Daddy' thing.

Astarion does ask if you're interested in Halsin because at that point the two of you haven't slept together in a while. And he does seem genuinely worried when he asks. But when you reassure him that isn't the case and nothing will change between you, he's okay with it.

A huge aspect of Astarion's character growth is him coming to understand he has agency and value as a person. And not just agency and choice in the bigger picture sense, but also how he chooses to use his body.

By the point Halsin propositions you in Act 3, Astarion has asked the PC to refrain from sex because he's not comfortable doing it for the time being. The PC can even tell him in Act 2 that they don't have to have sex for as long as he needs. (Which I take to mean possibly forever.) The point is the emotional relationship is more important than the physical one. You've demonstrated through action in the drow scene, and possibly straight up told him afterward, that you don't expect him to do things he doesn't want to do. That you respect his agency. And he seems to both get and embrace that message.

This is a huge step for Astarion, who was forced to use his body and sexuality in service to another for 200 years. That trauma doesn't go away overnight, but I just feel like if he's confident and comfortable enough in his relationship to ask to refrain from sex, and trust that the PC will respect his choice, he would be confident enough to tell them if he truly wasn't okay with them being with Halsin.

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I just did something really stupid and upsetting. I was just wondering if you had thoughts on how Astarion might comfort a frustrated/upset/embarrassed Tav (can be Evie if you want too :) )

A/N: How about a bit of both.

His first instinct would be to make some kind of joke out of it

He can't imagine it being that big of a deal, so he'd want to prove it isn't by teasing his love and dismissing it

His ultimate goal is to get them to laugh and move on, or at the very least show that he isn't effected by it

However, if Evie/Tav can't seem to move on, he'd force himself to take it a bit more seriously

Again, anything short of murder and/or manslaughter he's not going to think is a big deal, and not always then, so it takes some doing

He'll listen to what happened, save for a few comments here and there and try his best to hold judgement until they're finished

If talking it out hasn't helped, he'll finally try to actually comfort them

No, he doesn't think any less of them, yes, it might have been objectively stupid, but they're entitled to that now and again; he knows his love isn't perfect, he wouldn't trust them if they were

In the grand scheme of things anything they did will either be forgotten or easily fixed with the right few words and actions

If it's really, really bothering them, he'll attempt to think of a solution, but strategy has never been his strong suit and he's all for ignoring a problem until it goes away

He's also just as happy to hold them, call them an idiot in the most loving way possible, and promise it will all look better in the morning

He just needs some direction from his partner on how best to help

He's still new to this whole, comforting thing, but he's trying his best

[preciouslittle-bhaalbabe]

I got to thinking about what goes on between durge and Astarion at night for him to know and understand their nightly torments. And it turned into a very fluffy little fic lol I used my durge Ellie and I have so many feelings about these two. The whole enemies to lovers trope is a popular one for a reason lol. Anyways, enjoy my sappy thoughts <3

Ellie's soft auburn waves were always pinned to perfection in a half updo every day. She wouldn't leave her tent without having her hair and face looking immaculate. Except the night she was bombarded with nightmares.

A sea of crimson and gore with her as the only living being. A lonely soul in a dead world. A final sacrifice to, something, she never knew what. She plunges a dagger into her heart and then, nothing. Silence. Dreadful, lonely silence. All that carnage for what? Was this a memory? Or a prediction?

She has had this same nightmare for days. Astarion has been watching her rest since they met unbeknownst to her. Partially due to his nocturnal tendencies but also to make sure the camp is secure. He has noticed her struggles but didn't want to pry. They have gotten much closer in the past weeks though.

But gods, if Ellie tries to seek comfort from him she won't hear the end of it. "oh is princess having bad dreams?" she can practically hear his mocking voice in her head now. And, she hardly looked the part. Her bed head a mess of waves and knots, her face bare and pale. No. She couldn't.

And yet, if there is even a small chance of her getting rest tonight it would be with the safety of knowing someone is there. She's not as close with the others and she has the feeling they wouldn't be too happy about being woken up. She has to swollow her pride and make her way to his tent. Moving with a cat-like silence and stealth she glides over to Astarions tent. Noticing a faint glow from within. He must be awake reading.

"Astarion?" She whispers, barely able to get his name out at all.

"Oh, hello Darling. It's quite late for you isn't it? What can I do for you?".

Astarion had noticed her get up and attempt to fix her hair and squeeze her cheeks to get some colour in her face before walking over. But of course he would never let her know that.

"I'm sorry Astarion I just, I can't be alone right now".

"Ah I see, you're looking for a little...Company?"

"No! Nothing like that I assure you. I just-". She hangs her head in resignation.

"I haven't been resting well these past days. My trance is haunted by visions of red and death."

"I see. Well Darling, your hair is a mess. Would you like some help?"

Ellie is a bit taken back by Astarions lack of mockery. No jokes, no quips. Just understanding? It's not like him at all.

"Really? I mean yes but, you seem unsurprised by my presence. I know it's late and I don't mean to bother you"

"Have you considered that I might actually enjoy being around you, Princess?"

There's the sarcasm. He has called her princess since they met. It was initially used to mock her. But now it seems the meaning has shifted a bit.

Astarion grabs an ornate comb and gestures for Ellie to sit in front of him. She tentatively sits cross-legged between his legs. "I don't blame you, you know. I know what it's like to be haunted by nightmares. If I was having a rough time I have the utmost confidence you would do the same for me".

He speaks softly, while gently brushing the comb through her hair. "Astarion?" Ellie croaked. "Yes, Darling?"

"Thank you, really".

Astarion lets out a low chuckle. How much they've changed in these past weeks. Not even a tenday ago they were at each others throats about helping the tieflings. And now he's brushing her hair in his tent.

Ellie doesn't speak for a while. Astarion can't see but he can tell her eyes are closed. He gently untangles her waves with expertise and puts them into a soft loose braid. It's only a matter of time before he notices Ellie falling backward onto his chest. Poor thing has finally fallen asleep. He can feel the heat of her skin and the pace of her breathing slow.

He's unsure what to do. Does he wake her? It would seem almost cruel. Instead he slowly pushes her forward to get leverage, picks her up and places her on his bedroll. Covering her up with a few blankets.

He grabs some pillows to prop himself up to lie next to her. He gets his book and blows out a couple candles so the tent is slightly more dim. He's used to the dark he has no problem reading in low light.

In the silence he can hear Ellie's soft breathing. Her chest slowly rises and falls in deep rest. He's almost jealous. But the jealousy is overwhelmed by his longing to be close to her. As soon as he thinks it, Ellie sluggishly rolls over to rest her head and hand on his chest. Astarion is frozen. Was it the tadpole? Did they connect and he accidentally revealed his desires? No. She's deep in trance. Astarion shakily closes his fist then rests his hand against her shoulder. Holding her close without waking her. He's not sure what this is, or what they are. But he knows one thing. This? This is nice.

[meanbossart]

I was wondering, what with the lovely couple aiming to cure Astarion's vampirism and all–

when the time actually comes, if ever, for Astarion to take that leap and abandon immortality, would DU!Drow have second thoughts? Perhaps, even, try stopping him? Not because he doesn't want Astarion to be happy, but because he would begin to age and has new vulnerabilities, making DU!Drow immensely paranoid/insecure.

This came to me because of the Bhaalist!AU where we see him sabotage Astarion's ascension. I mean, I'm going to assume he's much less toxic in the canon path 👀

Yes he is not as humongous of an ass canonically, LOL. Still an asshole, but he's very earnest and fairly eager to learn how to be a better person to those he cares about, not to mention the random bout of stranger's empathy here and there.

But for your actual question, it depends! There are two wolves inside the man: one who suffers whenever he has to see Astarion being hindered by his vampirism, and one who still secretly enjoys him depending on him to an extent because of it. There is also a third, secret wolf called "maybe he's trying to be okay with this vampire thing and he would be better off for it, actually" that has been trying to crawl its way to the forefront on two broken legs for months, but we ignore that one.

And, of course, DU drow is easily swayed by Astarion's will when he puts things just the right way to convince him - which he knows how to do. If becoming mortal was a snap of the fingers away, all Astarion would have to do is get the wet eyes out and he would probably get his way.

His "baby please I only wish to take one last mortal piss before I perish for good" face. (I was laughing at some screenshots on another tab and had to come up with an excuse to put this one here, sorry.)

Anyways, while DU drow is canonically and vehemently searching for a "cure" for Astarion, his actual opinions on how the outcome of such would affect them vary depending on the day you ask him about it, and just how much thought you can assuade him to put into it. Things definitely begin to fall apart when you press.

But, generally, I think spawn Astarion would be ecstatic about having his mortality back. Sure, that means foregoing things like eternal "life" and regenerative powers, but no longer having to worry about daylight, rivers, and holy artefacts would very much balance it out. Astarion's hapiness would be enough to give DU drow the necessary peace of mind when facing any of the related downsides.

Also - they are still relatively ambitious and power-hungry. When time started rolling through, DU drow would prooooobably come up with the brilliant idea to pursue some other means of immortality for themselves, which for the record I think is absolutely hysterical and says a lot about the guy's thought process (FIRST, we cure you of your vampirism, THEN, we give you immortal life - the logic is infallible).

But also this is all presupposing he wouldn't come to accept Astarion's eventual death through old age just through like, you know, personal growth. I don't have these guys' lives planned from start to finish, and anything could happen.

(As an addendum, this ask isn't about my thoughts on whether or not it is thematically better for Astarion to turn back or not - I'm just entertaining the concept.)

[khywren]

Adrift : Chapter 3 - Hellfire

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 4.7k tags/warnings: friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, smut specific warnings for this chapter: mentions of trauma/abuse ────────── chapter summary: The natural response is on Astarion's lips – that of course his heart doesn't beat, so he has no use for it – but Ysera advances on him with renewed vigor, hair sweeping over her shoulders as she pulls it aside to expose the full column of her throat. Astarion swallows thickly, overcome with the scent of roses and the heady aroma of her blood. Her eyes shimmer in the starlight, large and round and inviting as she gazes up at him. “You can feed on me again tonight, if you'd like.” AO3 ┊ masterlist | series masterlist

The river Chionthar runs high in the summer months. Its banks often swell after a storm, periodically flooding the estuary that serves as the city's harbor before emptying in a violent torrent into the sea.

The water is the city’s lifeblood, ferrying ships and merchants to its doorstep, bringing commerce and culture to the Sword Coast.

But sometimes, as is nature's will, it also brings destruction. The eternal struggle between life and death, of feast or famine.

Ysera is seven years old when the river floods, sweeping through the docks like sharp talons of indiscriminate slaughter. Most boats anchored there survived the onslaught, but many others had not been as fortunate. There are few casualties, but the loss of life still ripples through those who remain, an echo of their absence.

Ysera's mother gathers her daughter’s hair in her hands as she combs through the soft pink strands, the task made more difficult by Ysera's constant swaying in her lap. Her tail swishes back and forth in excitement, and her mother barely has time to secure her hair with a satin ribbon before the girl twists around to face her.

“Is it true, Mama? Is Papa going to the docks to help the survivors?”

“Yes,” her mother answers. “Do you remember Eliana? She's a good friend of your father's, and her poor husband didn't survive the storm. He wants to help where he can.”

“I want to help too!” Ysera exclaims, clasping her hands together. “Please, Mama?” Her golden eyes are wide and pleading. “All those poor people.”

“The docks are no place for little girls, Starling.”

Her mother's voice catches in her throat, but Ysera hardly notices the change in her demeanor, or the unease that creeps across her face when Ysera mentions the water. Ysera pouts indignantly and jumps from her mother's lap, rumpling her skirts.

“I'm not a little girl anymore, Mama!”

But she is. She is still so small, and her exuberance does nothing to change this fact.

Her magic rouses from its reluctant slumber, the current of the Weave racing as fast as her little heartbeat. But she's been practicing, learning how to tether her untapped power. Most nights she still doesn't sleep, left with nothing but time to spare.

She assumes it's a rite of passage that all who were born with the gift of the Weave must face. That her rebellious magic is something to be tamed, to be mastered, instead of scorned. She doesn't know how her magic will be useful, but she wants to please her father more than anything.

She wants to know what it would feel like for him to finally look at her with pride, instead of shame.

Her father's footsteps rumble below her bedroom, and Ysera races towards the stairs, ignoring her mother's protests. She takes them two at a time, bounding into the kitchen just in time to find her father wrapping a pile of her mother's lemon squares in a bit of cloth as he prepares to leave.

“Papa!”

She stands up straight before him, presenting herself for his appraisal. “Tell Mama I can come with you. Let me help!”

Her father carries on as though she isn't there, tying a tight knot to secure the lemon squares safely inside their bundle.

“ Please , Papa.”

She doesn't know when she started crying, but the tears run hot over her cheeks, obscuring her vision. She tugs insistently at his sleeve, wiping her face with the back of her hand. When her father finally turns to face her, the malice in his eyes strikes her like a lash, and Ysera steps backwards, lip quivering as she fights to restrain the sob bubbling in her throat. It's not the first time he has looked at her so coldly, so full of disgust.

But while he has been dismissive for as long as she can remember, something about this particular request stirs his ire more than usual.

I’ll be good, her eyes plead with him. I promise. No more accidents.

“You,” her father says derisively, “Will be staying home with your mother.” His voice is even, and oddly quiet, but she feels the weight of it settle on her aching heart just as heavily all the same. 

He leaves her there, broken and alone, left with nothing but the storm roiling inside her as the door slams shut behind him.

——————————————

The memory of her father's wrath is what disrupts Ysera's sleep this evening. She had awoken from the fitful dream, her father's eyes searing as they bore into the darkest corners of her heart. Slowly, she brings her hands up, hating the way they shake as she runs them over her eyes.

Her face is wet.

She's been crying, cheeks streaked with unbidden tears that had spilled over from her dream. 

The wind rustles about their camp, and through the tent flap she can see the woven tapestry of stars shimmering through the trees. The silence is suffocating, leaving her trapped within the prison of her own mind, and Ysera drags herself to her feet before slipping her boots on, poking her head outside before she emerges from her tent. 

Without the fire burning, the camp is eerily dark and lifeless. She doesn't remember whose turn it was to keep watch tonight, but none of her companions seem to be present. It feels almost foolish to be creeping around as she does now towards the edge of the treeline. But she slips into the forest undetected, branches crunching under her boots as she pushes through the underbrush. A few loose twigs and barbed plants catch on her clothing, but she untangles herself with little effort.

She finds the river quickly, following the sound of running water as it winds through the trees. It's quiet here too, nothing more than the gentle lapping of the water against the rocks and the nightsong of insects chittering in the grass. The occasional hooting of an owl sounds out through the canopy of leaves, but for all intents and purposes, she is alone.

Ysera's feet take her upriver, and she loses track of time as she delves deeper into the darkness, guided only by her hearing and the faint traces of dappled moonlight that light her way. The cool night air is bracing on her skin, a welcome reprieve from the stifling quarters of her tent.

The roaring of the rapids is what finally catches her interest, and she stops on the river’s edge, gaze trained on the churning, frothing water as it rushes past. The whispers in her mind are an ever-present companion, especially after sunset, like an itch she can't quite scratch. It's easier to drown out their mournful serenade here where there is so much else to draw her attention.

She watches, transfixed, as the ruined husk of an old, dead tree is swallowed by the current, broken and ejected downriver when it finally resurfaces. Fear of the Chionthar is as natural to her as breathing, an instinct imparted upon her by both her parents when she was still too small to understand the danger. But now, as she bears first hand witness to the river's might, she finds it nothing short of fascinating.

The way the current unmakes everything that flows into its path, deceptively gentle in its violence. A sweet embrace into oblivion.

Ysera's feet move suddenly of their own accord, leading her down the soft, muddy bank and into the water's edge. The soles of her boots are slick on the pebbled riverbed, but she carries on, spurred on by some invisible force that entices her forward. She ignores the biting cold even as her body begins to shiver.

The discordant voices in her mind coalesce into a single, united entity, issuing a single command her body is compelled to follow.

The water. She must go into the water, must give herself to the current.

It's already well above her ankles when something snatches her, the force of it snapping her out of her stupor. Eyes wide, she whirls to find herself face-to-face with a scowling Astarion, his hand shackled tightly around her wrist.

The Chionthar rages on, but the sudden pounding of her heart is louder still.

“Astarion?” She finds herself shouting over the roaring water. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

“Excuse me?” His scowl deepens beneath the heavy furrowing of his brow. “Is this the thanks I get for saving your life? What the hells were you thinking?”

“I…” Ysera worries at her bottom lip, gaze darting between the riverbank and the swirling rapids. The water sweeps around her legs, Astarion's firm grip helping her maintain her balance. “I don't know,” she finally realizes. “I don't even remember walking into the water.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion grumbles, helping Ysera up onto the riverbank. He leans in close, inspecting her carefully. She finds herself flustered beneath such careful scrutiny and utters a shaky, “What? What is it?”

“Nothing, darling,” he remarks, nodding to himself. “But if I see even a single tentacle, I'm throwing you straight back in there.”

Ysera's brows disappear beneath the unkempt waves of hair that frame her face, her eyes wide as she processes what Astarion has just suggested.

“You think this could be because of the tadpole? But why would it try to harm me? I'm sure it dies if its host is no longer alive.”

Astarion scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Look, I don't know. How else do you explain –” he gestures erratically at Ysera, then back at the water “– that?”

“I don't know either,” she admits. She's afraid to consider the alternative, that the same source responsible for the voices in her head might have finally decided to resort to more drastic measures to torture her. The faintest traces reverberate through her mind, but she can no longer make out their message.

“Hold on. How did you even know I was here?”

Astarion clicks his tongue, and a smug smirk darts across his lips.

“You weren't exactly stealthy, darling.” The embarrassment that colors her cheeks sends a shiver of delight down his spine. “I heard you lumbering about in camp like a clumsy ox. It was simple enough to follow you after that. Lucky for you that we're on the same side, and lucky for me that I don't have to find someone else to make a meal of.”

The thought occurs to her that perhaps he only sees her as food, that he saved her not out of the goodness of his heart but for his own selfish intentions. It should bother her, shouldn't it?

But the fact remains that she is still alive, regardless of Astarion's motivations. The rest feels rather irrelevant in comparison.

She settles instead for thanking him, earning herself a huff of exasperation. “I suppose we're even now. All the better for it. I don't like owing anyone any favors.”

Ysera can't help but smile at the pout that colors his tone, as if the very act of kindness has caused him immense distress.

“Then I promise not to save you if you go wandering into the middle of a raging river,” she pledges solemnly, hand over her heart. “I'll be sure to let you drown with dignity.”

Astarion's laugh is genuine, fangs peeking out from behind his lips. There's something awfully endearing about him in these brief little moments where he lets his guard down, though they are few and far between.

“How thoughtful of you, darling,” he says, voice like velvet as it caresses her senses. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

He peers through the darkness at her, eyes finding the twin marks on her neck that haven't quite healed from his first – and only – time feeding from her. Her hair almost completely obscures them, but she can feel the hunger in his eyes. Ysera follows the path of his gaze, suddenly feeling exposed in her thin cotton night shirt. The buttons are open at the neck, exposing her throat and an alarming amount of her chest. Just enough to tempt him. She clears her throat.

“It's because I fed you,” Ysera quips back, unimpressed by his attempts at flattery. “My mother always said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.”

The natural response is on Astarion's lips – that of course his heart doesn't beat, so he has no use for it – but Ysera advances on him with renewed vigor, hair sweeping over her shoulders as she pulls it aside to expose the full column of her throat. Astarion swallows thickly, overcome with the scent of roses and the heady aroma of her blood. Her eyes shimmer in the starlight, large and round and inviting as she gazes up at him.

“You can feed on me again tonight, if you'd like.”

It's hardly been a day since he last had her. He has no reservations about overindulging, not when she's offering herself so freely to him. Her blood had done more than fill his belly. It had cleared his mind, imbued him with a strength he can't remember having since he was turned.

He hadn't even considered her letting him taste her again, especially so soon. But as the thought takes hold in his mind, he can't shake the desire that swells within him like a cresting wave.

“Why, you sweet, generous thing,” he croons, wetting his lips with his tongue. “How could I say no?”

Ysera's blood sings to him as she steps willingly into his arms, his broad hands pressed flat against the curve of her spine as he secures her against his chest. His mouth skirts over the column of her neck, and he can taste the salt of her sweat as his tongue darts out across her skin. 

It's a small gesture, but the reaction it produces is electric. Ysera shivers with anticipation, exhaling a long, ragged breath that tapers into a quiet moan as Astarion slips a single hand into her hair, angling her neck to allow him unfettered access to her pulse point. His fangs slot into the divots he left the previous night, poised to strike.

And when he finally bites down, it is nothing short of  relief for them both.

Today marks the fifth day since Astarion first fed on her. Five days since she offered herself to him on a proverbial silver platter, and by doing so unwittingly initiated whatever little game they've been playing ever since he snatched her from the Chionthar.

——————————————

But truth be told, everything had changed long before that, from the moment her blood had first touched his lips.

She first noticed it when she caught a quick glance at him across camp, observing her over the pages of whatever book he was pretending to read. That had been easy enough to dismiss as an isolated event, but Ysera soon realized that Astarion wasn't paying even half as much attention to anyone else but her. Even when he was talking with someone else, he was always looking over their shoulder. Searching for her.

Wherever she had gone, she had felt his eyes on her. Watching. Calculating. Worse still, visions of him had been frequenting her dreams, though she was certain there had been no more attempts from him to slip into her unconscious mind.

Once, she'd even held his gaze for more than a passing moment, but instead of deterring him, Astarion had merely curled his lips into a roguish grin, ruby eyes raking a deliciously slow path over her form as if to clearly state his intentions. When Gale had stepped into her line of sight to ask for her input on their evening meal, she silently thanked whichever of the gods had sent him.

And then there are the routine visits he's made to her tent after dark, hardly bothering to disguise his desire for more of her precious crimson. Suffice to say, he is very persuasive. Not that she has ever denied him, but he's been extremely successful at ensuring that the thought never has a chance of taking root in her mind.

Even now, as the battlefield settles and the four of them survey the damage, Yaera is unsurprised to find Astarion watching her again. He flicks his blades free of blood and slips the daggers back into the sheaths on his hip, sauntering over to her with an almost obnoxious confidence. Karlach and Shadowheart are too far away to intervene before he gets to her, busy picking about the corpses for anything of value.

Ysera greets Astarion with a nod of her head and a guarded expression.

“I'm surprised you're letting all this blood go to waste, Astarion.” If she cuts him off quickly enough, redirects his attention elsewhere, perhaps she can spare herself from becoming his next target, cut not by his daggers but by his words.

It's hard to say which are sharper.

Astarion's expression immediately sours. Feigning offense, he scoffs and says, “What need do I have to drink from common bandits when I have you, darling? Would you settle for a glass of Esmeltar Red when there's a perfectly good bottle of Elverquisst practically waiting for you with open arms?”

She's been cut to the quick yet again. Insufferable bastard.

“I am not waiting for you, Astarion,” Ysera insists, crossing her arms and ignoring his crass comparison. Astarion's brows arch, and he draws closer to her, invading her personal space. Her breath hitches when he reaches towards her, but he does nothing beyond wiping a few drops of blood off her cheek. The icy touch of his fingers lingers even after he withdraws them. He brings his bloodied fingers to his mouth as if to clean them, abandoning the motion at the last second to further prove his point.

“Is that so?” He clicks his tongue dismissively. “Any other late night visitors I should worry about? I would hate to interrupt.”

Embarrassment flares within her, and Ysera's face grows hot. Her magic stirs to life, bristling across her skin, but she tempers herself accordingly. “If you must know,” and she's certain that by now he does, “I don't sleep very well. It's just a coincidence that I'm awake when you stop by for your little midnight snacks.”

It's the truth, as far as Astarion can tell. The memory of Ysera's nightmare still unnerves him, and he can tell by the expectant way she's looking at him that she's wondering if he's going to say anything about it. It's a conversation neither of them are currently equipped to have, so instead Astarion says, quite conspiratorially, “I could help you pass the time, you know. You might even be so exhausted by the end that –”

“Enough,” she grouses, waving him away. “I'm sorry I said anything at all.” She crouches down and begins rifling through the nearest bandit’s pockets, tucking a few gold coins into her bag. “Now, are you going to help me loot these bandits or not?”

“Suit yourself, darling,” he shrugs, rolling another of the dead men over with the pointed toe of his boot.

Karlach and Shadowheart join them before long, the tiefling's arms laden with various weapons and assorted odds and ends. Astarion and Ysera have less to show for their efforts, but it's an impressive haul nevertheless. The tieflings in the Grove will be happy to have the extra armaments, if nothing else.

“Shall we get going, then?” Shadowheart suggests. She holds up a bag of root vegetables, stolen from one of the crates in the bandit camp before they were discovered and ambushed. “Gale will be quite happy to have these for tonight's supper, I should think.”

They make their way down the trail that winds through the woods surrounding the Emerald Grove, eager to return to camp. Ysera occupies herself with thoughts of the bath she plans to take as soon as they make it back. She has forbidden herself from returning to the river, but the shallow lake that borders their camp is more than adequate. As a tiefling, her blood runs hotter than most, and the placid, icy water is one of the few small comforts she's found on the road thusfar. 

But that, it seems, will have to wait. 

As they round the corner, the stench of sulfur assaults Ysera's senses, a flash of infernal magic manifesting no more than twenty paces away. Hellfire burns brightly in its wake, extinguished only when the proud figure of a man emerges nonchalantly from the flames. He is regal, both in demeanor and in dress, but there's a dangerous glint in his eye as he approaches.

The clatter of metal rings in Ysera's ears as Karlach drops her pilfered weapons and reaches for her axe.

“Be careful, Solder, that bastard reeks of the hells.”

Ysera can sense it too, though not as keenly as Karlach, who spent a decade trapped in Avernus. She's right to be wary of the stranger.

“Easy now,” the man says amicably, a relaxed grin spreading across his face at the same time he holds up his hands. “Is that any way to welcome a friend?” The man's voice has a distinctly rough cadence, imbued with just enough arrogance that she distrusts him immediately. Ysera has spent enough time around Astarion to recognize duplicity when she hears it.

“No friend of mine, that's for certain,” Karlach snorts. She tightens her grip on her axe in warning, brandishing the weapon in warning. “Who in the hells are you? Out with it, before I split that pretty skull of yours clean in two.”

“Temper, temper,” the man says, unfazed by Karlach's threats. “But where are my manners? I am Raphael, very much at your service.” He punctuates the introduction with a bow, though his eyes settle curiously on Ysera's face as his body dips towards the ground.

His gaze is no less penetrating than Astarion's, but it lacks his playful charm. As Raphael continues to appraise her, Ysera grows increasingly uncomfortable, finally sensing his interest in her for what it is: recollection.

Ysera combs through decades of memories, searching for Raphael.

She finds nothing.

“If I may,” Raphael continues. “What I have to say merits some privacy. As well as some more… let's call it refinement. I assure you, it is well worth your time. Shall we retire to a more scenic locale?”

Before any of them have time to consider his offer, Raphael snaps his fingers, engulfing them in hellfire. When Ysera’s feet reconnect with the floor, it's not the winding dirt path beneath her boots, but the intricate stonework of a massive dining hall, the table laden with lavish food and drink.

The decor is suspiciously infernal in nature, almost comically so, winged devils and horned monsters glowering at them from every angle. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?” Astarion mutters under his breath, wrinkling his nose at the ostentatious display.

Ysera can practically feel Karlach vibrating beside her, her own hellfire flaring up as the infernal heart within her chest blazes brighter than she's ever seen it before.

“Oh, no you don't,” she roars, “just where in the hells –”

“Precisely,” Raphael interjects. “Welcome to the House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed – lavishly. Quite fitting given your… situation, wouldn't you say?”

“And what exactly would you know about that?”

This time it's Shadowheart who speaks – relatively calm despite having been plucked from the relative safety of the road outside the Emerald Grove and whisked away to the very hells themselves.

“And now we come to the crux of the matter,” Raphael says. “Tell me, how long has it been since you were infected?”

A chill snakes its way up Ysera's spine, and the four of them exchange glances. “How do you–?”

Raphael smiles at them as if he's been waiting precisely for this very moment. 

“Call it a ninth sense.”

A pillar of flame erupts from the fireplace, consuming him completely. There's hardly enough time for Ysera to bemoan his penchant for theatrics before she's standing face-to-face with Raphael’s true form, leathery wings stretched wide as he greets them once more with a truly devilish grin.

“What's better than a devil you don’t know?” he asks, hand on his chin in contemplation. The question is rhetorical of course, the answer on his lips a pleased little chuckle. “A devil you do.”

Karlach has had enough of Raphael's charade. She storms forward, snarling. “Whatever the fuck it is you want, devil, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully.”

Raphael barks out a mocking laugh, unfazed by Karlach's outburst. “What a fiery little thing you are,” he observes, amusement dancing across his face. “No wonder Zariel kept you at her beck and call.”

“You son of a bitch!” Karlach gnashes her teeth and seethes with rage, but Ysera lays a hand on the handle of her axe to restrain her.

“Wait, Karlach,” she implores, “don't be reckless. Speak plainly, Raphael. What exactly do you want?”

“He's a devil, ” Karlach shouts. “What's reckless is letting him live.” She shakes herself loose of Ysera's grasp, raising her axe high before bringing it down in a brilliant arc of clanging steel directly towards Raphael.

He steps aside with little fanfare, frowning with dismay as the blade of Karlach's axe buries itself deep in the fireplace mantle. Karlach wrenches her weapon free but declines to aim a second strike at him. Ysera can see that she is beside herself, but here in the hells her infernal heart can burn with impunity.

“Your little tadpole problem,” Raphael elaborates casually, brushing a stray bit of pulverized marble from his shoulders. “I could fix it all like that.”

The offer is tempting. But as much as she wants to be free of the parasite, she knows Raphael can't be trusted. That much she can concede to Karlach.

“I think we're better off searching for an alternative solution,” Shadowheart affirms. “A deal with a devil is risky business, even for us.”

Ysera looks to Astarion for his input.

Astarion has been uncharacteristically quiet until now,, but his eyes narrow as they exchange a glance. Ysera knows the tadpole is the only thing that has granted him the freedom to walk in the sun; he'd likely be reluctant to be rid of it, even if the offer didn't come at the hands of a scheming devil. Whatever else he is thinking remains a mystery.

But the matter, it seems, is settled.

“Even if you could do it,” Ysera says warily, “it's not likely worth whatever price we'd have to pay. We'll take our chances elsewhere.”

Raphael merely shrugs. “A pity. But I have a feeling you'll change your mind – before it's changed for you. I'll be waiting.”

He lifts his hand, ready to release them, but he seems to remember something important that halts his movements. 

“Those nightmares of yours,” he says, anything but compassionate as Ysera's head snaps up to meet his gaze. “They must be such a heavy burden to bear. Consider a cure for that as part of our little bargain.”

Ysera's mouth falls open, but before she can say anything, Raphael snaps his fingers, and a familiar wall of flames obscures her vision. The last thing she sees before they're transported back is Raphael's sinister smile, barely visible beyond the conflagration. 

“Until we meet again.”

Birdsong fills their ears once again as the forest sprouts up from the flames. The party is left with nothing but the trace of sulfur in their noses and the lingering heat of the hells on their skin.

And they're all staring directly at Ysera.

It's a strange feeling that settles in her belly: not quite fear, not quite anger, not quite shame. But even if she can't name it, it is entirely unwelcome.

She deflects their pressing questions with a desperate shake of her head, choosing instead to march off down the path as calmly as her unsteady legs will let her.

Whatever they want to ask, she's not entirely certain she even has an answer to give them.

[dumbofass-homo]

Will prolly get some backlash for this buuut I had A Thought and now all of you need to hear it.

If Astarion was ugly, he would have very few fans, if any at all. Yes, reread that.

If he looked gnarly, had some odd looking scars (and not the aesthetically pleasing ones on his back), if his face was disfigured or god forbid, if he was older and had wrinkles and not a young little twink - almost none of you Astarion stans would be having him, let alone the Ascended Astarion. You wouldn't tolerate his behavior, wouldn't pursue his side quest, wouldn't think he's half as charming as you currently do.

From the fanfics, fanart and many posts I've seen - people tend to fetishize him. A lot. Also make excuses for his shitty/snarky/not redeemable traits, and I'll bet my coin purse it's because he fits the sexy vampire trope.

None of his ascended behavior would fly with you if he wasn't attractive. I imagine the people saying he "tickled the right kink" would go awfully quiet. There would be mods to make him hot. There wouldn't be half as much fanart of him. People would shit on him and his personality and probably not many would want to put up with his insecurities and grey morals.

And it makes me sad that he reiterates this point during the game. That his body is the only likeable trait he has and that's why people stick around.

I think it's time we embrace the fact that he is, in fact, a little morally grey gremlin who likes to do things that benefit him. He isn't selfless, kind for no reason or overtly affectionate. Canonically, he used to be a politician.

I do want to make it clear that this is still fiction, and by all means have your fill of the Sexy Vampire Man, but I would invite everyone who does to think a little about why they like him. For myself, I know that in reality and not in fiction, I would probably hit him in the balls over some of the things he does and approves of. His dramatics would go on my nerves and I wouldn't want him around me.

In fiction though? I love his attitude and it goes well with most of my (coincidentally also morally grey) Tavs. I love being his 'dagger-happy friend'. I love it when he hates being anyone's hero and would rather drink shitty wine and pretend he's busy than talk to anyone. I love it when you tell him you wanna be friends and he's over the moon to just have someone there. I love it when he admits him and durge would have been friends in another life.

That was a huge tangent but alas what I was trying to say is - he is an interesting character and there is so, so much more to him than his looks, which is what he was trying to say through all three acts. But somehow, that message got lost along the way to the real world.