#and then idk i was thinking of playing some more baldurs gate

[lettuce-gremlin]

Extra day off from work, what will I do

[amatres]

stuck between liking the freedom having tav and durge separated gives for making players own characters, and feeling like bc of their separation the writing becomes watered down as it doesn't focus on telling one story

[invinciblerodent]

i saw this tweet and have not known peace since (fits the early game stuff better but ykwim)

[waterbearable]

fuck bhaal all my homies hate bhaal

[thedreamlessnights]

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it. 

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing. 

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long. 

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path. 

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel. 

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face. 

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch. 

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war. 

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now. 

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

 “Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.” 

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same. 

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel. 

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best. 

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too. 

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees. 

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?” 

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.” 

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud. 

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything. 

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound. 

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion��s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood. 

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?” 

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision. 

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind. 

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething. 

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief. 

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps. 

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him. 

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck. 

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it. 

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand. 

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again. 

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot. 

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment. 

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements. 

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble. 

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire. 

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals. 

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

 You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

[randoimago]

I always wondered how the romanced companions would react if Orin kidnapped the player character. Especially Astarion, Gale, and Halsin. Any thoughts?

Reactions to Romanced Tav Being Kidnapped by Orin

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Astarion, Gale, Halsin

Type of Request: Headcanons

Note(s): Idk if you've played Dragon Age, anon, but the first game (Origins) has companions rescuing the main character and that's very fun. I feel like for BG3 it'd be much less lighthearted 😅

Also, alternatively, if Player Character is Dark Urge I can just see an "Oh no!... Well anyways..." cause the companions figure Orin's head will just be eaten off or something

Astarion

While he has all the confidence in your abilities (you did capture his heart), he does feel that deep seated fear of what may happen. Wyll's father be damned, he'll play along with Orin's plan to deal with Gortash if it means getting you back.

Doesn't care who he has to manipulate and bribe to get extra help. So many innocent people have already died in this stupid fucking conflict, if more die from him trying to save you then so be it. He'd burn down this damn city to get you back to him.

Depending on if Cazador has been dealt with or not, he also has fear of not having you by his side because Cazador might find out and use that to get to Astarion.

If he's become an Ascendent vampire, then he finds it hilarious that Orin thinks she can steal his prized pet from him.

Gale

Tempted to just activate the orb at Orin's mere appearance and the information she gives, but knows that that would be a bit too much of an overreaction (and he doubts you'd end up safe due to the blast radius).

While Gale is a very intelligent and capable man in spellcasting, he knows that it's best to rely on Wisdom for something like this, as much as he wants to immediately run to your rescue.

There is fear for you, of course there is. Fear that Orin will kill you anyway, fear that he won't be in time to save you.

But he knows that he has to stay calm while using time in camp to practice his magic and prepare whichever spells he thinks would be best.

Halsin

Oh he is livid when he learns that you've been kidnapped, but he knows that acting on his rage won't solve anything. There's obviously a time limit on this, but he knows it's best to make a plan first and decide what to do.

While Gortash is an obvious evil that'll eventually be dealt with, Orin is a disgrace upon nature. He'd prefer to strike the snake in her home, but he also understands that it could prove risky to your safety.

But he remains calm as he strategies with the other companions on ways to get you back and the best course of action.

Although, he can't help losing his temper due to some of the disagreements and arguments from the others when your life is on the line.

Taglists: @reo-the-leo @unhelpfulnpc

[oh-theseus]

the sound

pairing: astarion ancunin x gn!reader, astarion ancunin x gn!tav summary: your relationship with astarion has ran its course, but what happens when he recognizes the sound of your heart in a crowded tavern? word count: 4,071 a/n: this is post-game spawn astarion!! he's a freak here. like he's kind of a obsessed weirdo. idk, i wanted to play into all the weird things vampires can do 🤷‍♀️ also shamelessly admitting that the basis of this comes from 'the sound' by the 1975. def recommend giving it a listen :) anyways though SORRY I WAS GONE!! hope you guys accept this as a decent apology gift <33

warnings: ooc spawn!astarion, mean/toxic astarion, he's also kinda obsessed, astarion chokes reader???, blood depictions, blood drinking, stalker astarion if you squint, not a happy ending. SORRY I LIKE WEIRD FREAK SPAWN ASTARION!!! lmk if i need to add more!

Your relationship with Astarion had always been tumultuous. Perhaps that was because it was forged amidst the potential ending of the world, or perhaps it had something to do with the insane emotional baggage both of you brought to the table. Whatever it had been, it had not been enough to keep the two of you together.

Somewhere between killing Cazador and defeating the Absolute, things fell apart. And it wasn’t just Astarion’s fault, or just yours. Both of you… stopped trying? That didn’t feel right. Because you were trying, you really were. But it was never enough, on either side. So, you decided to part ways. It was better that way. At least that’s what you told yourself so that you could sleep at night.

Months passed, and Astarion became but a distant memory of fangs in your skin. Or, you tried to make him little more than that. You kept yourself busy in Baldur’s Gate, running errands of all sorts. You traveled some, but never as far as you did in order to defeat the Absolute. The days were long and grueling. Some nights you woke from nightmares, other nights you spent with lovers you’d never see again. Despite feeling a bit lonely at times, you have learned to enjoy this new circle of life for yourself. The routine kept you grounded. Kept you from thinking too hard about the vampire you once loved.

Taverns also helped. Not just because of the alcohol, but because everyone always wanted to talk about something. You had come to learn that most of the stories you heard were lies - or at least very embellished truths. Regardless, the fellow patrons were good company. They would laugh or cry shamelessly and were always willing to buy you a drink when you looked particularly rough. They didn’t pry, either. To them, you were just some other lonely fool coming to distract themself for an evening. And a good distraction it was, too.

Until that vampire you were trying so hard to forget walks in. 

For a moment, the world stops. Your eyes are locked on the figure in the door, his white curls seeming to glow in the moonlight outside. He winces when he steps inside - he didn’t like loud places, you remembered that. He looks just the same as you remember him, of course. A man unaged for two hundred years. What was a few months to his eternal not-quite-youth?

You look away before he can see you. And though you try to focus back on the adventurers in front of you, you find it difficult to do so. Your heart pounds with anxiety. You aren’t sure why you’re worried. Even upon parting with Astarion, he had remained relatively civil. But you knew Astarion better than most, so you knew that time did not heal Astarion’s wounds. No, time only seemed to make the vampire’s wounds fester up and get infected. If he wasn’t angry with you then, you had a feeling he would be angry with you now.

“I’ll be right back,” you say to the group of strangers you’re sitting with. You stand slowly, eyes scanning the crowded tavern for Astarion. You don’t see him, and your eyebrows furrow together - had you imagined him? It wouldn’t be the first time you saw something that wasn’t actually there.

The bar is crowded, the bartender working quickly to try to please everyone. You take one look at the scene and decide that slipping out the back door into the quiet street outside will bring you more relief than waiting however long for a single drink will.

As predicted, the streets of Baldur’s Gate are quiet. The moon is high in the sky, the fullness of it casting a soft glow over the street before you. A cat scurries out of a barrel nearby, but other than that, you are alone. Your back presses to the wall of the tavern beside the door, sliding down until you’re crouched on the ground, your hands rubbing across your face. 

This was all rather silly, wasn’t it? Running and hiding because your ex-lover showed up at the most popular tavern in the city you knew he resided in. It was childish, pathetic even. Still, you don’t get up. You let the cool night breeze dance over the exposed parts of your skin while your hands fall away from your eyes. Your eyes remain closed though as you inhale and exhale slowly - you were getting quite good at this self-soothing thing, weren’t you? You hear the door opening and the sound of feet stepping outside, but don’t think twice about it. People were allowed to leave the tavern, weren’t they?

“Ah, I thought I heard you.”

Correction - everyone except for Astarion was allowed to leave the tavern.

Your eyes fly open, and you’re on your feet in a moment. Astarion stands before you, wearing that all too-familiar smirk of his. You watch as his crimson eyes flicker across your body twice over, stunned into silence. Your heart is racing still, though you would wager it’s beating faster now based on how loud it was in your own ears.

“Cat got your tongue, my dear?” Astarion tilts his head to the side when he speaks. He is mocking you, of course. You were right to assume that he had grown angry with time. “I could hear you all the way inside, you know. Isn’t that just so interesting?” Hear you? What in the Nine Hells was he going on about? “What are you talking about?” You manage to ask, face wrinkled up in confusion. Astarion seems confused for a moment too, a distant look in his eyes that you knew meant he was trying to recall a memory. Impatient with him and his growing silence, you shift from foot to foot. Get on with it, you think.

“Hm, seems I forgot to tell you about that,” Astarion seems to say to himself. He focuses on you fully once more, waving his wrist when he next speaks. “Your heart, darling. I can hear it.” If this information had been presented to you a year ago, you might have slapped him. But you’d become quite desensitized to weird things - especially weird things pertaining to the nature of vampires. At least this part of Astarion’s nature made sense to you, unlike his inability to cross running water. If he was meant to live off of blood, then you supposed he should be able to hear the thing at the center of every living creature that made that blood flow.

But there were countless people in the tavern. You scoff - he’s lying. He couldn’t have been able to identify your heart among the numerous others in there. He must have seen you when you slipped outside.

“Your lies flatter me, Astarion. Truly,” you state sarcastically. Once, your sarcasm might have been full of mirth and lightheartedness when it came to him. But none of that is present now. Perhaps time had made your hurt fester, too? You always were more alike Astarion than you cared to admit.

“You wound me.” Astarion presses a hand to cover his dead heart in mock hurt. But he smirks down at you still. “Don’t you think I know exactly how to flatter you?”

Astarion takes a step closer to you. You’re suddenly very aware that the wall of the tavern is pressing against you. It’s almost frightening how much he looks like a predator like this. It’s almost… exciting. Your heart races faster, and Astarion’s smirk turns into a knowing grin.

You should’ve ran a stake through his heart when you had the chance.

“I do not have time for your antics.” Your voice conveys the same authority you once used to lead a makeshift army against the Absolute. Astarion finds it funny that you think it will work on him, the person who resented authority more than anyone or anything you had ever met.

“My antics are simply me wishing to catch up with an old friend. I hadn’t realized that was a crime these days.” He takes another step forward, that knowing grin of his not disappearing.

“Oh, a friend? Is that what we were?” Somehow, the implication that you had only been a friend hurts more than any insult he could possibly hurl at you right now. Had he truly thought so little of your nights together? Of the secrets you shared, the times you let him feed from you? “You wear your heart on your sleeve, my love. So easy to hurt it, isn’t it?” Astarion has moved so close to you now, that if he required air to breathe he’d be breathing in what you were exhaling out. You watch his eyes dance across your face, then trail down to your neck. Wordlessly, he grabs your chin and tilts your neck to the side.

Your hand is on his wrist immediately, the other one reaching for your blade strapped to your hip. You think he’s going to bite you. 

“Ah, ah,” Astarion stops your hand from grabbing your weapon with a tight grip around your wrist. “I’m just looking. Always so hungry for blood, aren’t we?” You don’t like the comparison of your desire to protect yourself to his need to drink blood. You don’t comment on it though, too busy watching his eyes burning into your neck.

If he wasn’t going to bite you, then - Oh. The scars.

Two puncture wounds on the right side of your throat, scarred over from the amount of times Astarion had bitten into that exact same spot to drink from you. You feel his hand leave your chin and push your collar to the side, exposing the scars to him more. He chuckles darkly, and you use your free hand to shove him away from you.

Astarion stumbles back, a look of surprise on his face. It’s quickly replaced with anger - an emotion you had seen on his face so many times before, but never directed at you until this very moment. 

“Do those make finding a little playmate difficult?” Astarion asks, eyebrows raised in mock interest. You would ask how he knew about your habits, but he did tell you once that he had a remarkable sense of smell. He could probably smell the elf you’d taken home last night on you still. You have half the mind to be embarrassed. The other half of your mind really wants to hit him.

“That’s not really your business anymore, is it?” You counter, crossing your arms over your chest. You’ve moved off of the wall now, making sure there’s empty space behind you should he try to approach you again. “But, I am glad you are still as jealous as ever.”

“Hah! Jealous!” Astarion does that fake little laugh of his. He goes so far as to bend over and then wipe a non-existence tear from his eye when he stands. “Darling, I truly could not care any less who or what you are doing in your free time. Rather - I could not care any less about you.”

It’s your turn to laugh at him. “Bold words for the man who just confessed to knowing the sound of my heart amidst all those other ones in there.”

Astarion doesn’t like this response in the slightest. You grin wickedly as he clenches his fists at his side and narrows his eyes. You two always did know how to hurt one another, didn’t you?

There is a truth to your words though. It was bold for him to claim not to care about you anymore, but to still have the sound of your heart so well memorized that he could find you in the middle of a loud, crowded tavern after months of not seeing each other. It’s almost romantic, if not a bit obsessive. Though, Astarion’s version of romance always had been a bit obsessive, hadn’t it?

“Cat got your tongue, Astarion?” You use his own words on him, tilting your head in the very same way that he had done not five minutes ago. You don’t suppress the wickedly pleased grin that spreads across your face when Astarion’s jaw clenches. Yes, you knew exactly how to hurt him. 

“Very original,” he hisses. You simply shrug - as if all of this and him are not worth your time. He does not like that. Not one bit.

When you and Astarion were together, he was always very careful with you, unless you requested otherwise. You had seen that he was strong in a way that was inhuman, but had never been anywhere close to being on the receiving end of that strength. Until now.

You let out a gasp when you are pushed back against the wall of the tavern. You immediately regret it, given that it leaves you with no air in you when Astarion’s hand wraps around your neck. Not strong enough to bruise, but certainly strong enough to have you reaching for your blade. Again, he beats you there and pins your hand to the wall

“You forget yourself, little dove,” he whispers, mere inches from your face. If someone else were to slip out the back door of the tavern, they would likely think you were two lovers with no shame. 

Given that you can not speak, you simply look at him. If you weren’t terrified of choking to death, you might have glared at him. Instead, you look at him with big, wide eyes. They plead for you - they show your fear. Your heart gives it away too. And the way your blood races beneath his hand. Your anatomy betrays your emotions more than you do.

But Astarion’s does, too. In his eyes, you see many things. Anger, of course, but there is also guilt, sadness, fear - hunger. His eyes go to those scars again. Your eyes go impossibly wider in understanding.

Your free hand taps at his wrist repeatedly, begging him to release you. He must see your desperation, because he relents. You would have fallen to your knees while you gasped for air if his hands did not catch you on either side of your waist. 

His crimson eyes are darting over your features, watching as you catch your breath. He’s got that far-off look about him again. His hands squeeze your waist gently, as if he was making sure you were still there. You know what this means - how many times had you seen Astarion act just like this because he hadn’t fed in a few days? And given that he was still a spawn and was limited to nights hunting alone, you imagined it might get hard to find something to eat every once in a while.

“I forget myself,” you mumble when you can breathe properly again. You straighten up, expecting Astarion’s hands to remove themselves, but they do not. “Does your hunger always make you act as a feral beast?”

Astarion winces at your insult, as if you had hit him instead of just spoken. He had thought you wouldn’t notice. But those big, wet eyes of his never kept his secrets when he desired for them to be kept most. 

“Perceptive as always.” His words are almost a compliment, just as his hands are almost comforting. 

“You haven’t come out here to taunt me, then?” You ask, anger seeping into your tone. Did he truly think you would just give him your blood after the stunt he had just pulled? “Were you seeking a meal for the evening?” Astarion is the one to shrug now. His hands leave your sides - you find yourself almost missing his touch. “I didn’t have a plan, darling. All I knew was that your heart was racing, and I wanted to know why.”

When he said it like that, it made it almost sound like he was worried about you and your safety.

A thick, uncomfortable silence settles over you both like a wet blanket. He’s thinking again, but this time, so are you. You’re thinking about the scars on your neck, the hunger in Astarion’s eyes. You’re thinking about how it used to be comforting to let him drink from you. You’re thinking a lot of stupid, foolish things. You’re also tugging the collar of your shirt down and tilting your head to the side. 

“Be quick.” You always were too generous for your own good, weren’t you?

Astarion doesn’t seem to understand what you’re telling him to do until your index finger taps over the scars on your neck. A look of pure delight fills his face, mixing together with surprise and something like mockery.

“In public? My, you’ve gotten dirty, haven’t you?” Astarion says, placing one hand on your side again. You don’t give him the pleasure of a response when his second hand comes up to your neck and traces feather-light touches over the marks. His gaze goes soft when he speaks next, peering into your eyes as if he can see into your very soul. “You are certain?”

No, you are most definitely not certain. 

“Yes,” you force out, tearing your eyes away from Astarion. “Do not be greedy.”

Astarion needs no further invitation. The hand that had been tracing your skin finds its spot on the back of your neck, holding you in place while his hand on your hip keeps you steady. The gasp that leaves your lips when his fangs puncture your skin is anything but quiet. Your hands have moved to his shoulder, gripping him so tightly that your knuckles have gone white. You’d forgotten how uncomfortable it was to have someone’s teeth in your flesh.

He drinks in slow, measured gulps. Those plush lips of his suck gently on your skin, his tongue laps up the liquid that tries to escape his mouth. There is a strange intimacy to it all that you choose to ignore. You choose especially to ignore the soft groan of pleasure that falls from his mouth when your fingers start to get cold and dig further into his shoulders. A single half-shove to his shoulders, and he pulls away, a trickle of your blood making its way down his chin.

Silence sinks into the (very limited) space between the two of you once more. Astarion wipes your blood from his chin, then shows the same courtesy to your neck before covering the puncture wounds with your collar once more. You wrinkle your nose a bit when he takes his thumb into his mouth, sucking the last taste of you from his skin - while maintaining eye contact, of course. It’s revolting - it’s erotic. You don’t let that thought linger.

“Better?” You ask, hoping that the swirl of strange emotions inside of you is masked in your voice. 

Astarion smirks - your voice has betrayed you. “Oh, much. You’re too good to me.”

You swallow your spit, your throat bobbing up and down with the movement. Astarion watches it carefully with dilated pupils. He’s still holding your waist, you’re still holding his shoulders. Neither of you makes to move away from the other.

The silence seeps into your very being. It finds the deepest parts of you and closes around them like a pale hand squeezing your neck. It finds your guilt - the old guilt of giving up on the man before you all those months ago. The new guilt of betraying yourself by letting him feed from you. You hadn’t even made him ask. 

“Would you like to hear a secret?” He whispers, his eyes back on your face once more. 

No. “Yes.”

He smiles at your response. His hand not gripping your waist begins to trace the slopes of your face with practiced familiarity. “I’ve been coming here every night. I heard you in there a few weeks ago - I only just got the courage to step inside tonight. I was hoping to see you.”

For some reason, your mind brushes over everything else he has just confessed, instead focusing on his final sentence. I was hoping to see you. It makes your heart skip a beat like you’re some kind of lovesick schoolgirl. Astarion’s smile widens, and you curse yourself for not being able to control your racing heart. It’s humiliating to know he can hear the exact reaction your body had to every word he said.

“Why?” You ask, far softer than you wanted to. 

“Oh, is it not obvious my dear? I miss you.”

You’re reminded of the time Astarion told you he loved you after only a few nights spent together. He had been trying to manipulate you then - was he doing the same to you now? 

“You expect me to believe that?” This time, your voice is forceful as you intended for it to be the first time. “You do not know me if you think I am foolish enough to take you for your word.”

Astarion laughs with his whole chest. His head tilts backward for a moment, the moonlight catching in his stunning white curls for a moment and making them appear to glow. His eyes have narrowed when he looks back down at you - you’re playing his game better than he thought you would. Unfortunately for you, though, he knew exactly what he could do to make you lose.

“No. Let me show you.” Astarion waits for no response before he leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. As soon as the familiar pressure of his lips is on yours, your body tenses. You are trying to decide what you want to do. But then he presses more into you, and you melt.

You can taste your blood on his lips. There’s something else, too. Bitter, yet a bit sweet. Some kind of wine, if you had to guess. His fangs brush over your lower lip, threatening to sink into the plush flesh there. But the puncture never comes, and inside it’s his tongue intruding your mouth. You let him explore the space of your mouth, your body shivering when he trails his tongue along your lower lip.

And then he’s gone - his lips glistening with a mixture of your spit and his. You are panting a bit, bringing a hand up to touch your lips as if you can undo what you have just done. You do not even register that Astarion has finally removed himself from your body, too busy trying to make sense of why you hadn’t pushed him away. 

You had come to the tavern tonight as part of your routine. To talk with old friends and new, and to not think about the very vampire who stood before you. How had you ended up kissing him and letting him feed from you? You might be sick from the deep sense of betrayal you feel inside of you. You’ve betrayed months of personal work to forget him. And for what? A single kiss and words you know are empty.

“You are perfect, every time,” Astarion remarks, his tongue darting across his lips to clean them of the wetness decorating them. He grins wickedly, then straightens his back. No, no. You know this look. He thinks he’s won.

You fell for his trap.

Again.

“Unfortunately, I do have rather important business to attend to.” He doesn’t even bother to look at you, too busy with straightening out the sleeves of his shirt. “Do keep yourself safe, darling. I would hate for something to happen to my little treat.” And then he’s gone, slipping inside of the tavern through the back door as if he hasn’t just ruined you with a single kiss.

You stand there, heart racing and eyes wide. You want to peel off your skin, to hide within your bones so that no one else could ever bother you. You are mortified. How could you be so stupid? You had known from the beginning that he was toying with you. Yet, you let him drink your blood, kiss your lips. And you would have given him more, if he wanted it. 

You clear your throat - it’s your turn to straighten out your clothing now, especially your collar.

Your heart is still racing when you walk away from the tavern. All the way down the street you find yourself repeating one thing, over and over and over: “Don’t you think I know exactly how to flatter you?”

You’ve never wished someone had been wrong more.

taglist: @bowtomytenderdays @misscrissfemmefatale @letsstargaze @peterpankat @sukuna-connoisseur

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[zwolfgames]

Idk, but I think bg3 reader would try to leave the group, if they know about their yandere personalities, lol. Please, your bg3 works are so good. I expect the new one

(So, not a continuation of the last drabble. This is hypothetical for now. Also it deleted my answer the first time :( so this is try two, it may seem a bit rushed. And I got a bit off track, woops.)

Warnings: mentions of yandere stuff I suppose.

Y/N in this au (aka teen tav) really isn't stupid, sure they grew up in a village with just their mother and pulled random spells out of their ass like a true sorcerer, but they're not stupid.

The party started with variable reactions to a minor in the group. Act 1 doesn't showcase a lot of Yan tendencies due to everything still going kind of fine and everyone getting to know each other.

The yandere part really starts in act 2 when they enter the Shadow cursed lands. Unlike the normal region of act 1 are the Shadowlands riddled with danger.

The party quickly gets their wake-up call after things like Kar'niss (who gets his little momemt) and the other bosses and dangers. Katherine Thorm, being a threat, also doesn't help ease the party's feelings.

The group would go from silly to way more protective in act 2. But Y/N can't do anything about that yet. The shadows would eat them alive, or someone else could get them. Better left with unease rather than dead, right?

I've purposefully mentioned Y/N's mother in the drabbles to show the main goal of the reader, which is to return to their mother. This goal is being held back by a party of people who no longer seem intent to part ways with you once this is over.

Sure, Y/N wanted their cool adventure with heroes like Wyll Ravenguard, but staying with them permanently? Haha... no.

So after the wake-up call of act 2, Y/N would take their chances at escape in Baldur Gate. The thing is, though, Y/N isn't from Baldurs Gate. They don't know the alleys like the back of their hand in the same manner that Astarion does. They didn't grow up playing in the secret passageways like Karlach...

This is a dangerous game you're playing. The more you wiggle, the tighter their hold. It's just how it goes with people who have faced enough to lose it.

They handle you in different ways, of course.

Wyll, Gale, and Halsin strike me as the type to have wanted to protect this poor kid from the start, so their resolve just strengthens to unnecessary levels. You wouldn't mind just being carried to bed by a bear man, would you? He knows some good elvish lullabies.

Lae'zel is her own separate category, she's a githyanki, they have very diffrent ways then most folk on faerun. I'm basing her motherly ability on the prologue where she raises the gith egg. She may not be affectionate, but she does not want you out of sight. Expect training.

Karlach and Astarion surprisingly go together here. They don't seem like the parental type. More of an aunt/uncle. Would try and stay your friend. Guiltripping from Karlach that she may or not be aware of herself, and straight up manipulation from Astarion. They both had a bad past. You can stay, right? As a little gift from the gods?

Shadowheart didn't like you from the start, not a fan of kids. Her yandere strikes a lot later. First, she had only been worried about your health as a cleric. After her arc at the end of the shadow cursed lands (freeing Dame Aylin etc) she gets a bit of that parental feeling nonsense too. Though I'd say she shows it the least. You'd be tricked easily into thinking she's the only normal one in the party.

Minthara, I'm unsure if I can find a good way to let her join, but she'd be similar to Lae'zel, just crueler and definitely bot secretive about her want for your stay. If you ask her directly, she'd just plain out and say that if she catches you, you're getting bound.

Jaheira, natural mom, she's got kids, protected the kids. Don't expect her to be sweet, but you're definitely not going out of sight.

Minsc joins in Act 3, so really, he doesn't have the time to get to know you, he's funny, you're funny. Friends. Not that the rest appreciates the time you spent with him. They're scared you're gonna make up a talking animal next.

All in all, Y/N would try and escape. It just isn't very likely to succeed. If you get far... well, there are other beings out there still after you, you know?

Just forget your mom. Aren't they better family now? Your mom didn't teach you spells, did she? Or swordplay? Maybe how to make balms?

Cmon, they're the best option. Stay.

Just an answer lol, hope i didn't make anyone too OOC with just this. Xd.

[y-rhywbeth2]

To-do list for the inheritor of the newly re-established office of High Primate of Bhaal of the City of Baldur's gate, circa 1480-something: politics, re-establishing the faith and getting Bhaal more sorely needed worship. And because there's only so much entertainment you can get being a group of twitchy killers living under the sewers.

Negotiate terms with local government for freedom of religion (presumably a private audience with the Grand Dukes, maybe the Parliament of Peers, maybe both, idk) Negotiations will probably begin with a more diplomatic version of: "I apologise on behalf of my Father for that thing where he manifested an avatar and went on a murderous rampage through the streets just over a century after my siblings almost drowned the world - and this city specifically - in blood. But also, considering the power just illustrated I think it's fair to say that it's in the best interests of a quiet life and an easier clean up that you just give us our temple back and let us worship in exchange for assassination and spying work on your behalf." This being the usual arrangement with evil faiths, it is in fact a winning argument. You don't kill anybody who matters (so criminals, travellers nobody knows, the homeless, etc) and honestly nobody will consider it worth the time and resources to stop you anyway. -

Weaken the political hold of enemy faiths Ilmater, Lathander and Helm have an established presence in the city, and the Ilmatari have done well enough since 14th century to upgrade from a shrine to a temple. All three of those faiths are better established, more influential, and will oppose the growth and activity of a Bhaalist presence, for some strange reason, -

Re-establish ties with traditional allied faiths (such as they are) Bhaal's traditional allies were Loviatar, Talona, Bane, Myrkul, Mask and Hoar. While none of these faiths hold the same level of sway in the city their enemies do, they all have at least one shared enemy. -

Eliminate rival/dissenting thieves and assassin guilds and organisations. Maybe establish some. Don't expect to have the thieves guilds at your beck and call (Mask is their patron god, but Bhaal generally worked with him fine - and you'll be fighting the Sharrans for influence too) but do make a space for yourself in there and ensure they understand that patronage and cooperation is mutually beneficial. Assassins? They're Bhaal's and he and his worshippers are going to expect all killers for hire to be paying their dues to the Lord of Murder or expect a "cease and decease" regarding their attempts to profit off of his domain without paying him back. -

Acquire Temple holdings Most of a temple's wealth and influence is going to come from owning land and properties. All members of the clergy of pretty much all faiths are expected to go out and claim some. Unfortunately being out of the picture for a century+ means the temple has lost a lot of its original holdings, so you might need to start working on taking some from the other temples... -

Network, Infiltrate and Recruit Gods always need more worshippers, and that goes double for gods who've been dead for a long time. Serial killers need the law to play nice. It's time to remind the peasantry to pay their "don't murder me taxes" (known as "tithes" for legal purposes) and find the city's more murderous members - even many who'd proudly call themselves upstanding citizens may just desire the execution of certain criminals the law won't touch or can't catch - and seek sympathetic ears amongst the rich and powerful... and remove and replace those who aren't. There are plenty of people like unscrupulous younger children whose ear you might have if only you helped them remove the pesky barriers standing between them and control, known as their relatives. And then you have blackmail! Things like that. Remember to wash the blood off before attending any fancy wine tasting parties in estates and pavilions in the upper city. You want your faithful in the ranks of the city watch and the Fist sooner rather than later. -

Establish presence in the Undercellar As the local criminal underworld hub where the law dare not tread (unless they're off duty and here for some crime themselves) this is where a lot of your "public" work and contracting is going to be. Remember to buy one of the back rooms for the "private shows". -

Consider a Daytime Identity, if you don't already have one An important part of being a typical Bhaalist is maintaining a separate, normal life outside the temple that allows you your own income and solid alibies... or you could just live in your dad's house, cling to your divine status and refuse to do any of that mortal stuff, I guess. -

Start repairs on the Temple It's been a dusty, out of date ruin for 100+ years. Consider the structural damage. Maybe have the butler do a bit of dusting.

[imperator-titus]

Some personal Astarion headcanons because I'm bored.

Some are rooted in my experience as a player or digging in the files, some might be from other player discussions, and others are purely made up. I don't take any of it seriously

Astarion is not ORIGINALLY from Baldur's Gate. Where is he from? idk. I don't know that much about Forgotten Realms/DnD. But I think Cazador is too smart and paranoid to not vet his potential spawn, if they were Baldurian they'd have to be "forgettable" and it seems unlikely anyone in the Gate is forgetting Astarion. I think it was smart for them to nix the Noble background for Astarion because of this, although he could be a noble from somewhere outside of the Sword Coast.

That being said, Cazador compelled Astarion to forget everything about himself from before he was a spawn, so to spawn Astarion, he IS Baldurian and after 200+ years, he blends right in.

Astarion came to the Gate as a fresh-faced adventurer rogue, which explains... being a rogue. Why? I don't have a real why, I've considered everything from "rebelling/getting away from his family" to "for fun, maybe his family is full of retired adventurers"

"I was a magistrate" was one of many stories to lure victims. Even if he was for even a brief time, I don't think he'd remember that. also possible Cazador told him that.

Astarion may not have been the only one luring people back with sex but I think he learned it was the most effective way. When you're getting tortured for failure, it doesn't matter if success turns your stomach.

Cazador carefully seduced Astarion, but not with the promise of eternal life. His resemblance to Vellioth caught Cazador's attention. Cazador lured him with promises of patronage or just good ole "rich powerful man wants me?" energy. Cazador attacked Astarion himself and sold him a lie that Gur (easy to blame, as they are widely disliked and considered barbaric) attacked him.

The graveyard Astarion was buried in is small and has a mix of noble mausoleums and paupers' graves. Likely Cazador had enough sway and money, through a intermediary ("oh, the poor boy, Lord Cazador hired him for tasks and he did so well, what a tragedy"), to get Astarion an expedited burial with no questions (seeing as anyone with eyes can see he's got 2 big bite marks in his neck). Astarion says he's never been there since he came out the first time, but I believe Cazador has put him back in there on occasion as punishment (along with putting him in a proper tomb, possibly borrowed from the Hhunes), he just represses it. That's why Cazador keeps the plot and headstone, to torture him, but it remains overgrown.

Astarion's original hair color is silver, but it was a bit more lustrous, and his skin was already fairly pale but now it doesn't have the glow of life/blood (and they should have picked a paler skin tone, but it is what it is). I know that this would probably make him a Moon Elf, who commonly have blue or green eyes, and while I love me some vibrant blue or green eyes... I am a "golden brown" fan, sorry. They looked dark while in the shade and turn golden when hit by the light. I really enjoy the brown hair/brown eyes fanart and edits though, good job everyone

They say vampires feel only hunger. They are paranoid, loveless, and cruel. They believe they are superior to all living creatures, even the spawn. In a fucked up weird way, Cazador really did love Astarion and his spawn (but especially Astarion) and believe they were like family. The Szarrs were a vampiric family in blood and... well, more blood. Cazador took out his hate and twisted love for his master Vellioth on Astarion. Cazador hated that Astarion constantly wriggled out of his grasp, testing him. Sometimes Astarion would play along just to get Cazador to cool off, but Cazador would find out it was a lie and punish him harder for "breaking his heart."

Astarion is THE MOST self-interested person in the party and it's perfect that he is. He is paranoid, hungry, cruel, and superior. He needs to get back as SOON as possible to Baldur's Gate because Cazador will probably scalp him and hammer bamboo shoots under his fingernails for disappearing. Then he realizes that he could feasibly BEAT Cazador and the sooner it happens, the better. Stop helping orphans, I need to get home, tick-tock! He also has no foresight, even though that would be a GREAT trait for a fucking ROGUE. He wants you to stop helping and saving people even though they will help you in the future because he projects his own personality on others: they're selfish and won't do shit for you.

I could probably go on forever but I've forgotten some things at this point. I'm supposed to be doing math right now.

[selfshipgushing]

any games you'd recommend to a selfshipper? I know the sims but like... I want Options™️

anything you can create characters in. I don't play Roblox but ive heard there's some cool dress up games on there. I think dti has a Freeplay mode? idk.

if u have baldurs gate, you could make your f/o in there! or your s/I ofc, although, it's a hefty game and also $50. hmm

make your f/o in the papa louie games. it's fun

plants vs zombie has a zombie maker. but then you would have to kill your f/o with your plants. maybe Stardew also? there's a character creator in that, you could play as you f/o :)

there's some building games you could maybe build a home for you and your f/o in. (again the sims) but there's also tiny glade (I think that's the name?) and you can eventually make your own home in house flipper.

not a game but you could make your f/o as a Minecraft skin!

give more suggestions guys I can't think of anymore

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

idk if this is something you would answer but how do you unlearn shame of being horny 😵‍💫

hi anon,

this is a complex question. unlearning shame of any kind can take a long time to sort out, and will be driven more by internal work you do to challenge and shift your own thinking than by anything else.

a good place to start may be by doing some reflection as to what you find shameful about being horny in the first place and working back from there to recognize sexuality and desire as morally neutral things.

for instance, I get a fair number of people asking if it's okay to think about real people that they know when they're horny, or masturbate to fantasies about those people. they feel a lot of shame about this, as if they're causing harm to these people by imagining them in sexual scenarios. but making up funny little scenarios in your head to nut to is a harmless act that only you will ever know about. it's not like whipping out your dick (gender neutral) and masturbating at strangers on public transit; what you do to get off in your private time only impacts you.

a problem would only arise if you decided to start treating your real, actual acquaintance, not the imaginary sexy version of them, differently, for instance by making untoward comments about their body, treating them as if they are obligated to be interested in spending time together or having sex with you, or, god forbid, telling them in detail about your sexual fantasies. now you're doing sexual harassment, which is inappropriate because of the hurt and discomfort is causes the recipient. being horny isn't the problem here, it's how you're treating another person.

people also feel a lot of shame around many other types of fantasies, especially if they involve dynamics that are off-limits or illegal in real life. often, the worry seems to be that being aroused by these imagined scenarios is akin to expressing support for these things to happen in real life.

listen: sexual fantasies about rape are some of the most commonly reported among cis women, and that's not because tons and tons of cis women secretly think that rape is a cool thing that should happen more. the people playing Baldur's Gate 3 and fucking Halsin while he's wildshaped into a bear aren't all chomping at the bit to commit a sex crime against a real animal. noticing that "teenage" characters on TV played by actors in their 20s and 30s are hot does not make anyone a pedophile. fiction is a safe realm to explore and enjoy things that we would never in a million years want to see happen in real life. I love Batman, but I can assure you I would not be a happy camper if a real-life billionaire started running around doing vigilantism in a fursuit while endangering a gaggle of teenage sidekicks.

and if you want to explore some of the stuff you're into in real life, awesome! great! there are ways to go about negotiating a lot of different kinks safely and responsibly (although probably not the bear thing, sorry about that). the world is full of people who want the experience of being stalked, beat up, kidnapped, and sexually assaulted - all mediated through pre-negotiated arrangements with people that they have chosen to enact these fantasies with them. so what is there to be ashamed of in that situation? sure, the situation you're engaging in might sound scary without proper context, but so do a lot of things. a stranger cutting open my skin, very likely causing bleeding, and leaving me with a mark that I'll have for the rest of my life sounds scary, and it definitely would be if it wasn't a situation that I agreed to! but that's also what getting a tattoo is, and that's an experience that I love so much that I pay for the pleasure. nothing to feel bad about there as long as you're playing safely!

listen: there's nothing wrong with being horny. the human sex drive is a completely natural one born from biological need that makes getting off feel good. there's no more sense in feeling shame about being horny than there is in feeling shame about being hungry or needing rest, although people do of course manage to feel bad about those as well. regardless of what causes it, when you feel the shame well up you have to push back on it and ask yourself who actually directly benefits from you feeling badly about yourself in that moment, and who is actually tangibly hurt by the actions you're shaming. and if the answer is "no one," move it along!

[galoogamelady]

I got an Xbox for my birthday a month ago and I recently downloaded Fallout 4 (totally not bc of Buttons..) and I wondered if there’s a specific order to play them? If so, which one should I play first? :}

Depends on how deep you want to get into it, I guess? If they're available on Xbox and you are up for the original turn-based games, I would start with that. Don't let anyone tell you that they're unenjoyable, I played through the original Fallout in 2020 and had a BLAST! So in that case I would go Fallout -> Fallout 2 (I still gotta play this but I keep putting it off because I know I'll be too into it) -> Fallout 3 -> Fallout New Vegas (still gotta finish this myself, might just start over) -> Fallout 4 The latter 3 also have DLC-s you should get, especially for Fo3 and NV.

I've seen people recommend new fans to start with Fo4 and work their way back, I'm not sure why... Playing Fo3 right after Skyrim really showed its age, and the difference is even larger between Fo3 and Fo4. I think it's easier to start with the less intuitive titles and better to start with the original vision but I understand turn-based stuff is not everyone's cup of tea (no I don't, look at how successful Baldur's Gate 3 is and Act 3 was a PILE OF BUGS!). There's also Fallout Tactics as part of the old games but ehh I think it's one of those titles most fans don't count as canon. (Except my ex, who for some reason? thought it was the best shit) And we don't talk about Fallout Brotherhood of Steel. I think you couldn't play that one even if you wanted to, probably for the best. I can't say I recommend Fallout 76, perhaps if you don't have more Fallout content left to consume and you don't mind nonsense lore stuff and just want to hang out with your friends. I have it but I can't say it brings me more joy than idk... Rust. It's just surface level Fallout for me.

This is just my personal take obviously, feel free to ask other fans.

[dergnblaze]

Finished Dragon Age Vielguard.

Here are my thoughts... spoilers ahead. I romanced emmerich. he became a lich.

You could REALLY TELL they fired all their writers.

I loved how beautiful everything was, the combat was delicious. But so much of the game felt filler or forgotten.

There were many many opportunities to make compelling story moments that were just lost to happening off screen. Like they were afraid if they tried to animate them they would get made fun of if it didnt look right or something. But just lost all their power bc we didnt SEE them happen.

Lots of moments with bards in the environment that I think SHOULD HAVE HAD music! Maybe not voiced music! But a musical change would have been nice. Hell I would have been happy with the music from the inquisition even.

Its also the shortest Dragon Age game I've ever played. And I hate that. I hate it.

I agree having a tightly wrapped up story is better to ambiguity and lots of moving parts makes things confusing, but everything felt rushed and nothing had room to breath.

I loved romancing Emmerich, and would have loved to see all of the companions have more reactivity with your choices and the enviroment. After every big choice in inquisition you got a scene with the companions it effected the most.

The ending of the game was done very well. I thought the lead up to the big boss fight was well paced, engaging, thrilling and satisfying. But I couldnt help but keep thinking 'Wow I wish the rest of the game got this level of care and attention.'

All the dragons were a mess. We need a big boss fight? Ok here is a dragon. Thats a cop out. I dont like it.

I like all of the companions a LOT more than some of the other games. In Inquistion I only really cared about like, three of them. And how hard would it have been REALLY to bring some of what you did in Inquision into this game? The Divine choice could have been an easy way to satisfy us with a line or two of dialogue, but just nothing?

I liked that there were bodies in the tentacles, that was cool. Belarra being all gross and blighted was cool. It was dark when I needed it to be, so Im happy with that. Elgarnan looked sick as fuck at the end of the game, and so did Solas for that matter. I really like that Emmerich was in lich mode the entire end game. That was hot. I'm sad Lucanis died in my run. I feel like other games would have had a funeral for our lost companions or something, but Harding and Lucanis didnt really get anything.

And Mythal just being some white lady elf was lame. She was an elven god! You CLEARLY have some amazing animators and designers working on the game, its beautiful. It would not have been hard to give us a large, beautiful, ethereal elven goddess instead of just this random white lady ghost. Just feels thoughtless.

SO much of this game felt thoughtless. Like, just the care and attention wasnt given to it that the other games had.

And I shouldnt compare it to Baldurs Gate 3 bc that game is like, magnificent.

But how can I NOT??

They are the same kind of game!!

idk, I feel like the studio maybe gave up on it. I love this IP but after this I doubt it has the legs to keep going. No hook for the next game in the epilogue. No real epilogue for Rook and their partner. Just them standing with their hands on their hips while like four people cheer for them. Lame.

[unreadpoppy]

Fic recs

In light of some stuff I saw, I decided to make this post to briefly talk about some fics I really like and recommend them. All are BG3 related and most are Raphael. Also, there's some authors that write a lot of great fics, I'll try to keep one fic per author or else we'll be here forever (but definetly go check everyone and their other works out!)

...

Cheerful Oblivion by @sassyandsodone - Read the tags before reading this but Love me dark stuff, the writing is amazing (legitimetly gasped at a few points) and the mix of Tav not remembering what happened and the dehumanization aspects were the cherry on top. It

I Don't Think About You Anymore (But I don't think about you any less) by @sky-kiss - This fic put me in a lot of different feels, ESPECIALLY SAD (which i do like, love when stuff makes me feel) and the ending was unexpected to me but it made it all worth it. Shed a tear or two

Devil's Debauchery by ChildofYugotth - One of the first fics I read on the Raphael tag, the first chapter lives in my mind rent free for many, many days, and I really like how the three chapters kinda go like regular raphael, haarlep and then ascended fiend, like a progression. Also read the tags.

Fallen in Flame by @cambion-companion - Love the dynamic between the two characters and how their relationship developed and the conflicting feeling that Tav has of like, being an aasimar and dealing with a devil

The Devil that knows you by @timesthatneverwere - Cat!Tav was not something I knew I needed before reading this. The relationship between Tav, Raphael and even Haarlep in this one is VERY interesting to me (and has lowkey inspired me some times) and I love seeing Raphael keeping secrets and manipulating people (also i have to mention, this fic gave us the mephisto fuck chamber)

Let the dream begin by DiscordsMuse - POTO inspired, this has hit me in the feels with relating to Morrigans struggles of feeling rejected, and honestly, Raphael as the Phantom was amazing.

finirà bene by @inaconstantstateofchange - A Halsin/Astarion/Tav one for a change, this is such an interesting and heartbreaking concept, but there's also this sense of mystery that I think is really well done. Also, beware the ANGST

Her soul will burn all the way down by khapikat222 - Read the tags, another dark fic that I loved, and this one had this manipulation and fucking with someone's fears that I really liked. Also, props to the author for making the lullaby fit, it was a great cherry on top.

Baldur's gate 3 infernal oneshots by @hrefna-the-raven - chapters 1-4 are a little story between Raphael and Tav that I really liked. The dynamic of raphael being more protective and the cat and mouse analogies were really fun!

The Intimacy of Pain by @bearhugsandshrugs - This is an Abdirak/Tav fic which I found so delightfully good, like the descriptions of how Tav was feeling and the mix of pleasure and pain were really well done

The Devil's Hour by @adarlingwrites - Also one of the first fics in the tag that I read, and what made me like OC x Canon, love the complicated but also interesting to read relationship between Fortune and Raphael, and another aspect that I really liked was Fortune's relationship with art and her parents being brought up like (like idk why but those two things really stuck with me)

Sweetening the Deal by @adevilyoudo - I have to admit that I'm a bit behind on some chapters BUT it's a great work, love seeing this side of Raphael of trying to convince Tav to take this deal (and in a way, almost confusing her even more) and I loved to see the side of the Emperor constantly being in Tav's head, I think it really conveyed well how that feels like when playing the game

The Devil You Share a Room with by @djmorn - Really fun concept and the shennanigans between the two in the beggining, when Tav is reluctant to share a room with Raphael, was a delight to read and really really fun.

Damaged by @dark-and-kawaii - This is a Rolan/Tav one, it's dark but it also tugged at my heart in a sad way, with Rolan feeling all these things and doing what he does because of the abuse he suffered and Tav also trying to understand that. Like aaaa it just, it's some good stuff this fic

Who's the Daddy by Follyfall - This fic is the definition of fun and a good time, I legitimetly laughed a lot while reading it. The writing is fun, the concept is hilarious and the relationship between Raphael, Tav, Haarlep, the baby and Wyll is really really fun.

...

Also, keep in mind that there's A LOT of amazing writers in the bg3 community and i haven't read every single written work in the tags ever, so feel free to also reblog and add reccomendations of your own, or make your own post!

[randoimago]

Self Indulgent Thingy I wrote! Zevlor, Rolan, and Dammon Reacting to Reader (or S/O, relationship isn't clarified) Interacting with the Children at the Grove.

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Character(s): Dammon, Rolan, Zevlor

Note(s): Self Indulgent thingy. Idk what brought this up (I think it was just me wishing there was more cute interactions with the tiefling kids)

Dammon

Dammon has shooed the kids away from trying to mess with his tools or convincing him to forge them tiny daggers. He's a bit concerned with how bloodthirsty some of them are.

Thankfully, you're around the next time one of them walks over. You're quick to distract the child so he can keep working. Except he finds himself more distracted.

He smiles to himself when he hears you talking to the child about what weapon they wanted Dammon to forge. Something of dragon bone that shoots fire. The thought amuses him, but hearing you adding on and making grand gestures as you play along (he hopes you're playing along) causes his heart to skip a beat.

Rolan

He's had the tykes pestering him about "magic tricks" (which he acted annoyed about but he enjoyed the attention). So seeing you with the kids, he watches in amusement as he wonders what they'll rope you into.

And he finds himself continuing to watch. Sure, he could've looked away when his curiosity was sated. But seeing you laughing with them, just playing with the little buggers, it's like it rewrites his brain chemistry.

"Ooh does someone have baby fever?" Lia teases from behind him and Rolan is quick to retort with something clever that he barely thinks up. He'll contemplate and think too deeply about her jab later. He's just glad his sister took his attention away before you noticed his lovesick staring.

Zevlor

Keeping the grove safe is always priority number one. Especially keeping the children happy and not letting them realize how cruel the world can be.

Zevlor is speaking in some hushed voices to Asharak as he listens to how the training is going but also listening to how the kids that participate in training are doing.

His eyes roam the grove, always vigilant and alert, when they land on you kneeling down and talking to Doni. Zevlor can't stop the smile that drifts onto his face as he watches how patiently you speak to the boy, but also doing your best to let him attempt to communicate back. Asharak has to clear his throat to get Zevlor's attention back, something that flusters the older tiefling, but he resumes his role as leader. Even if his mind does drift to the thought of you with kids.