#astarion too wanted to ascend until last second

[daemon-in-my-head]

Back to my usual grim business, but like, who decided Gortash is past the point of saving? As far as I can tell, nobody ever even attempted to save him and if fucking Durge, who was the leader and the worst out of the old dead 3, can be redeemed, who's to say Gortash can't?

I mean, heck, he's ready and willing to kill even Durge the second they get in his way, despite what some people (hi, it's me) hc they may have had. Give that man a good argument and an option he'd never see himself, and he'd probably do it. He's practical, screwed up and has 0 morals (which is to be expected given his bg) but practical, and you can use that. After all, he wants to become/be seen as a hero. As someone benevolent. If you can convince Keteric, who's just straight up given up on life and everything within it, I do think it's possible to save Gortash too.

I personally wouldn't want to redeem him cuz I like their rs dynamic of 'is it manipulation or admiration' far better, but fr, who said he's too far gone? Yeah, sure he might be kicking and screaming throughout it, but that's a lot of ppl in therapy, isn't it? That's what some of your companions did for three whole acts, isn't it?

Idk man, I don't see a reason why he's 'beyond saving' except for the narrative of the game demands it. BG3 is all about saving people who didn't see anything wrong with their ways, so why is he written off like that? Is it cuz he's old? Astarion's certainly far older, and he can be saved. Because he isn't handsome? Well, I think he is. Cuz he did human experiments? Durge straight-up performed vivisections frequently. Cuz he fucked with Netherese/Karsus magic? A kind reminder that Gale has a piece of the karsite weave in his chest.

Genuinely, I don't understand that notion.

[blkgirl-writing]

hi!! i just read your massive headcanon list for gale (loved it btw) and i desperately need one astarion as well!! ❤️

Astarions Massive list of SFW and NSFW headcanons (Part 1?)

Literally of course!! I wasn’t sure the people wanted this so I was waiting for a request. I’m bundling a lot of my astarion requests in this one too so if you see an ask you did it’s probably inspired!

TW: Acended Astarion section, details on physical and mental abuse there. I will put a warning for where it starts and ends. Some headcanons are more illuded to "female" anatomy, not all headcanons will reveal much

Astarion is somehow so soft with his touch yet rough and almost feral when he really desires you

He will trace every inch of your body with such light, soft fingers, but grab onto your hips tight and nearly thrust you into him. Gently kiss you neck before sinking his teeth into your skin

Because honestly his true desires, wants, and needs, are unfiltered and less calculated than his normal affair

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

TW START

I do have to include acended astarion here because I don’t want to write him fully, so here’s that section. I feel like too many people want acended Astarion to be loving and caring. That unfortunately isn't the truth of the cycle of abuse

It doesn’t last, his love for you. It extinguishes fast, like water to a flame. He becomes cold and controlling

The only was I can see a happy future for tav and Astarion ascended is a Durge, where you rule the land together, ignoring the heart you once had together. It’s lots of bickering. If chaos is your turn on, this is it

Lots of hate sex and screaming matches. At least one per month where you both loose your voice before the argument ends and red marks across eachothers bodies

And honestly, I think one of you kills the other, in a fit of rage. But still whoever dies would get a grave stone. Small, unlabeled, a sort of revenge for the people who wanted it all. Forced in a common place with no success flaunted and easily forgotten

TW ENDED

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion holds hand in his sleep, rather than cuddling

A hand is all he needs to feel like he’s in the safest place in the world

Full spooning is just too intimate and personal until much later In your relationship. He wasn’t ready for something so real yet

There's a lot of pushing and pulling til he gets comfortable, but he will always make sure you know that he loves you and wants your touch, there's a lot of learning along the way

He just hasn't experienced the seriousness of true love and compassion for someone he truly feels he can't lose. It's scary, loving so much that your death would lead to his emotional one, if not physically as well

Astarion would never admit it but he would do just about anything for you

he becomes somewhat soft, which, initially annoys him, but he finally accepts it after a few weeks

He realized when you looked at him, with brightness in your eyes, asking him something important, he really wasn't listening

All he could think was to never make those eyes cry again, he'd do anything to stop you from feeling like that again

Your first date isn't very planned

After a fun but quick night on the beach, you get clothed and Astarion stares at you, taking all of your skin in, as it slowly gets hidden by clothing. A bit of a shame, he couldn't see you bare all the time

There was a blanket and you both lay on it for some time, in silence. Slowly, you feel his pinky finger graise yours. You hook them together, and simply watch the moon in the sky, fading in and out of sleep. Astarion doesn't get any closer or further, but he does sigh a few times

And for the first time, when you wake up, he's still there

Your second date was much more of a traditional date, at least for you two

Astarion had the bright idea to sneak as much alcohol as possible from the inn

feet dipped in the cold water of the docks, four bottles of quality whiskey polished off, and working on a fifth, you were positively hammered

Astarions head was leaning on your shoulder, arm slumped around your waist

the laughing and mumbled words only get louder and louder with each sip, and at some point, Astarion looks up at you, a small glint of his sharp teeth peering out of a smirk, and he leans into you further, pressing his lips against yours doe a deep kiss

it was almost aromatic. A charm whispered in your ear that made his lips taste like roses and sugar, with a hint of copper, you feel your own tongue lick his bottom lip, needing more of whatever that taste was

the night was a blur, after that. Too drunk to really remember much the next day, but you both knew there wasn't going back after that. There was a bond, now, with feelings more than just lust and need

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion fucking you feels like getting close to a campfire, warm, hot, even, like getting any closer may kill you, pounding and scraping, biting and bleeding, breath thick and hot

When you fuck Astarion, everything feels light, it flows like water over a riverbed, he lets you ravish him in a gentle, caring sense

His attention is all over you, but your neck clearly has his attention-grabbing the back of your neck, kisses down it, bite marks, hickeys, licks, even cum, sometimes, purposefully dripped on your face, but mostly on your neck and collarbone

It definitely also is just a very obvious placement, it can show that you fuck, he fucks you, and you love it. It gets to the point where there are faded bruises, bite marks, and scratches littering across your whole neck, it almost looks like tattoos, and a few passersby comment on it.

Astarion had a very smug smile on his face that day, and that night he ravished you with more passion than ever before

What else can I say, Astarion fucks, but I do think once you really start your relationship, there's a lot of re-learning of what he really wants

so sex starts off fairly vanilla, adding stuff in, changing it out, uses of safe words and communication being key, a safe, loving space between you and him where he is never used and he never uses you, it's just pleasure and ecstasy

I believe he'd be open to a closed relationship as well, at least for a while, especially if you choose the path of the underdark for your future

Literally not even once do you wear protection either lol

It's messed up so TW, I have a feeling Cazador made sure Astarion could never procreate, giving him an attachment to anyone is dangerous, and something to fight for even more so. Having his own offspring would never be an option for him

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

There would never be normalcy in your relationship, that's kind of the beauty of it

Every single day is different, there is never a moment that passes with Astarion that isn't unique

Especially when Astarion is adjusting to a life where he has to think and care for another, a routine isn't comforting to him, spontaneity is important in your early relationship

Astarion is still very romantic in his own ways, kissing your fingers hugs from behind, small, light touches across your whole body

The first time you nearly die? my god. He's incredibly distant for a few days

and when you ask what's up he would definitely blow up

like what were you thinking? Going in like that, you could have died! You could have left him alone again

He cries softly in your arms, then, repeats how you could have died. It seems like forever, that he stays there, tears dripping down your skin, cold

From then on he always looks back at you, in battle, before striking, to make sure you're ok, accounted for

------

hey! What other HCs would ya'll like me to add in the next part! I haven't romanced Astarion more than twice so I may need a little help there, haha. But thank you for reading!!

@shyminnie07 @makers-breath @claryvoyantfray @black-sapphic @fapqueen

(Consider supporting me on Ko-fi)

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

🩸 BG3 Villains as Yandere Types 🩸

TW: Yandere; Mentions of Abusive Behavior

...

Gortash: 

Possessive. Gaslights. Authoritarian. But oh so convincing. He can make you agree with him on anything, everything. He’s so smart, insultingly so, and he’s worked so hard to get here. He just wants what's best for the people, and what’s best for you. Don’t you see? Why fight him? He’s just trying to help. There are so many foes out there that would harm him through you. You need to trust his expertise. You need his protection. That’s right dear. Just listen to whatever he says. After all, he knows best, right? 

Orin: 

Sadistic. Cruel. Monstrous. She loves watching you bleed- literally and figuratively. The fear in your eyes, the way the blood rushes to your head- it spurns her on further. She enjoys all your twisted screams and pleads as she carves her mark into you. But don’t worry, pet. She’ll let it heal. It’s not like you don’t have more skin to mark elsewhere. But do not become numb to her torture. If you’re not a fun plaything anymore, she will get rid of you. There’s plenty more of you, there’s only one of her. You should give Bhal your praises, for gifting you with his chosen daughter’s company. Enjoy it. While it (you) lasts. 

The Emperor:

Calculative. Protective. Intelligent. He can read your thoughts, he knows you better than you know yourself. He has a roadmap to your psyche, you can bet he uses it. He’ll tell you what he knows you want to hear. He tells you what to do to stay safe. He’s so adept at reading people. He’ll make sure you know the truly debauched and evil intentions of everyone else around you. In the end, if it ends up he’s the only one you can trust. Don’t get upset, since he’ll feel that too. And you won’t want to hurt him like that, right?

Mizora: 

Dominant. Seductive. Manipulative. She’s the puppet master who intends to tie you up in her strings. Not by direct force. No, she doesn’t need that. She’ll wait til you’re isolated. Till you’re vulnerable. Then she’ll offer her services, looking like a savior, only to reveal once it’s too late she’s carnally a devil in disguise. But where could you go, pet? You made an agreement. Trust me, you don’t want to back out on your word. Your fate tied to her is much more pleasant than whatever torture you’d be subjected to in hell. Trust me dear, just follow her every instruction and keep her pleased. 

Raphael: 

Possessive. Sadistic. Insecure. He’s the overpowered bully on the playground. The one with the upper hand. He knows you’re not on even ground, and that’s how he likes it. Deep down, both of you know, you’re stronger than he’ll give you credit for. But that just makes him lash out all the more. Defy him, and he’ll spend every waking moment reminding you who’s in charge here. He loves your fighting spirit, however. Not because he wants you to keep challenging him, but because he loves breaking you down piece by piece. 

Kar’niss: 

Delusional. Explosive. Devout. He exists to worship the absolute. And now that he has you, you will be forced to as well. There’s no reaching him. The voices in his fractured mind cannot be reasoned with. He is volatile and unpredictable, lashing out over the little things, his outbursts will keep you on your toes. But play along with his delusions, and he’ll worship as second only to his Queen. He’ll be soft. Until you slip. Because of course, you will. He’ll find it in you, an impure thought. A mistake. He sees failure in all other worshipers- you are no exception. Escape if you can because your soul and most importantly your mind, cannot make it out of this arrangement in one piece. 

Ascended! Astarion: 

Possessive. Vengeful. Antagonistic. He was a slave before, never again. Now he calls all the shots. He makes all the decisions. Of course, he may have a soft spot for you. But you are not equals. You are his. You belong to him. He will degrade you, then reward you as he sees fit. He does spoil you. But you have no autonomy. No mind of your own. You are simply a pretty little doll for him to dress up and play with. This is your future, your eternity. A life of subjugation under a former slave. How ironic. 

Godhood! Gale: 

Jealous. Distrustful. Sensitive. He remembers very well what it was like to be on the losing side of an unjust relationship. Like Astarion, he’s decided to never let things get that way again. Here, he has the power. The authority, the control. He knows what’s best. You cannot dismiss him, or diminish his feelings. And although he promises to never minimize yours, you know he’ll rationalize away any one of your feelings he doesn’t agree with. He’s not cruel. He loves you. He needs you. You cannot leave him. He cannot be hurt again. For your sake, and the sake of the world, do not ever rebuff him. There’s no telling what he might do. 

Absolute! Tav: 

Power-Hungry. Cutthroat. Self-Serving. They see it all as a means to an end, and that includes you. No matter who you are, no matter how you’ve come to grab their attention, do not mistake this interest as worthiness. You are of no importance, merely a novelty at best. One in a million, you best hope you stay interesting enough to interfere with. Otherwise, you’ll be tossed in the scrap pile with the rest of the mindless humans, being contorted and twisted to do their will. 

… … … 

A/N: Oops. Went to post this and realized I left out Ketheric. My bad. Maybe I will edit and update to include him in the future. 

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕕𝕖 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion x f!reader the vampire bride

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, teasing, biting, choking, blood drinking, fingering, spanking, verbal degradation (mild), reverse voyeurism, PIV, praise kink, dirty talk, blowjob, begging, cum, facial, reader is quite cheeky in this one, plot what plot

➺ 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: meetings, forever boring, never quick enough. you're irritated that no one seems to be able to stay on track and Astarion is not helping at all, he's enjoying the gossip. it's time you move things forward if you want to leave the Council Room before whole day passes without anything productive being done. but Astarion is not too happy that you take initiative without his permission. he'll punish you for this and you will make sure to enjoy it.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 6,931

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: written for a friend. thank you so much for many many fun times <3

for @rhiaden

Slow. So slow. The sun coming in through the windows, the chatter of men and women, the sound of shuffling papers. It’s like time itself has slowed down in this moment. Your eyes sweep around the room and you see all the familiar faces that you have seen many times before, even in this very same room. Some laughter. You frown. This again. Why nobody just gets on with the meeting, you don’t want to spend the rest of your morning here. 

The tapping of fingers to your side begs for your attention and you glance over almost absentmindedly.

“Darling, you’re scowling again, you know that scares them.” Astarion mutters so that only you can hear and you resist the desire to roll your eyes. Of course they are scared, that’s deeply ingrained in their nature after all, to be scared of those who don’t bend or bow no matter the circumstances.

“I’m just waiting until they pick up the topic again.” You give Astarion’s tapping fingers a short glare and he stops immediately then looks around. He’s not fond of these meetings either even when they are, in their own way, mandatory.

“It might take a while unless someone makes them focus on the task at hand. You know how they get - most of them gather here to gossip and share secrets that belong to someone else.” he responds with a small grin and looks back at you, his gaze meeting your eyes.

“You are here for the same reason.” you lift your eyebrows at him and Astarion chuckles lightly.

“Perhaps. But that’s what’s fun, love. Gossip, not this…” he waves his hand trying to emphasize a thought that you know very well. 

He never has been a details person and he didn’t suddenly become one after he took his place as a Lord. He’s learning though, you can see that much. From others and from you, and it makes pride swell in your chest. Lord or not - he’s still the one you love and want to see succeeding. 

“Listen, I’m not going to sit here all day looking pretty just because they can’t keep themselves on track.” you tell him and Astarion pats your hand that’s resting on the table. He looks like he wants to say something but then you both hear his name being called out. For a second you notice a shade of annoyance pass over his face before your lover composes himself and plasters on a perfectly pleasant smile.

He stands and pulls at his doublet, straightening it out, then gestures over the room.

“My dear patriars, why don’t we get back to our topic?” Astarion asks loudly, making the room fall silent and all eyes turn to him. He pauses for a moment until every last person present stops shuffling around or moving and starts paying him full attention. “Let’s not forget why we’re here, shall we?” his charming smile is as beautiful as ever even though you can see how fake it is. He hates these meetings, after all. 

“But what can we even do, Lord Astarion?” one of the nobles asks and you don’t need to look who it is to recognize the voice with ease - he’s one annoying man you wouldn’t mind getting rid of yourself. “The assassination attempt just tells us that we have to be careful about who we cross!” what a coward, you almost scoff.

“Yes, we should be vigilant but now there’s a spot open in the council. Why don’t we try to find a suitable candidate for it?” Astarion keeps his little smile and you have to keep yours down. The assassination, after all, was your doing. Astarion even has a new candidate picked out, he only needs to make others see why they should vote for this newcomer.

“So who do you propose?” another voice and this time you look at the speaker. Lady Lyssa is probably the oldest member of the council but so far she has not been trying to interrupt Astarion’s schemes. Good for her. 

At the question Astarion glances at you, wanting to receive your confirmation before he announces his chosen but you just want to get on with it. Instead of nodding to him or giving any other sign of approval, you stand up, very much to his surprise, and decide to take over the proceedings that usually take painfully long. 

“We believe that Lord Folwin is perfect for this position, he has proven himself loyal and trustworthy to the Gate.” you begin and notice Astarion giving you a pointed look, but with a grin he sits down in his chair crossing his legs and leaning back, letting you take over. 

A murmur washes over everyone gathered and you continue, making sure your voice is loud and clear for everyone to hear exactly what you are telling them. Wrapped up in this whole discussion you don’t really notice the intense look Astarion is giving you, neither do you notice an edge to his smile that you would recognize easily - while he’s impressed that you are quickly moving the meeting and are persuading others to agree with his selection, he’s still not entirely thrilled at the idea of you possibly thinking that you can easily upstage him whenever you wish. 

By the time most of the arguments are resolved about this new candidate you start noticing something - a foot tapping rather impatiently and when you glance back at your lover his eyes immediately meet yours, burning into you with intensity of hell’s fire. You raise an eyebrow at that but turn away when your attention gets called, deciding that you can deal with whatever bothers Astarion afterwards.

And yet the tapping doesn’t stop, beginning to irritate you as you speak to the nobles, now feeling hyper-aware of it. Fortunately, the meeting doesn’t last much longer and you feel free to dismiss the patriars who start leaving the room by one or in pairs, discussing things that matter only to them. 

Tapping of Astarion’s foot only stops when you at last turn to him and cross arms on your chest.

“What was that?” you ask immediately, even before the last noble leaves and Astarion raises his eyebrows at you, feigning innocence.

“What was what, my treasure?” he smiles and finally you see that edge in his features. Ah, he’s unhappy about something although you are not really sure what exactly.

“The noise.” you respond sharply and Astarion’s smile fades as if it was never there.

“I was just waiting for you to finish your little performance.” he says sounding almost casual but both of you are irritated now and it’s obvious. 

“My performance?” you snap at him, raising your voice just enough to show him that you don’t want to take his attitude and Astarion frowns, standing up now.

“Darling, did you think I won’t notice?” he reaches out to you, trailing his fingertips along your jawline and you almost move away but his touch is warm and comforting, making it hard for you to remain serious.

“Notice what exactly?” you break into a grin and Astarion gives you a curious look then allows himself a small smirk.

“That you’re trying to be leader of our little meetings. Not the first time you speak up without permission.” his thumb finds your bottom lip and rubs it slowly, his eyes focused on what he’s doing and you press your palms against his chest softly.

“Permission? Since when I need a permission from you to speak?” you dip your head slightly forward and catch his thumb with your teeth, making him inhale sharply. You’re getting to him and you know it. So much for his bravado.

“When we’re in meetings discussing things of importance I need you to be compliant and agreeable, my dear.” Astarion grins wider and his fingers grip your chin tighter as he pushes his thumb into your mouth before you can bite down harder and stop him. “You see, when patriars of this wonderful city are watching, well… I can’t allow them to think that you’re the one speaking for us, love.” your lover’s eyes finally rise to yours and you see his thoughts clearly written in his expression, it’s almost as if you can read his mind just without the tadpole anymore. 

He wants to remind you that he’s in charge because it did annoy him that you took initiative without consulting him first. Appearances matter, that’s something he always repeats to you. And his appearance matters most of all. 

You watch his expression change immediately when you lick at his finger provocatively and bite down just a little bit stronger onto his thumb.

“Ah! Release it, darling. I need you to answer me.” Astarion scolds you softly and you are almost tempted not to follow his instruction but relent and release the digit from your teeth. 

He pulls it away and steps closer now, making sure that your eyes never leave his, making you drown in the scarlet of them. 

“You have to promise me, love.” he pauses while his hands find your waist and pull you closer. “Promise me that you will behave next time.” Astarion’s tone of voice is serious and you can’t help but melt at his touch, this closeness, however it’s just too much fun to tease him.

“And if I don’t?” you ask, grasping onto his doublet with your fingers and giving it a gentle tug. “You will punish me? Teach me my lesson? Oh no, how I will survive the wrath of one Lord Ancunin.” you tease and notice his jaw clench even though his smile remains.

“I always knew you liked to play with fire, but this is not something I’m willing to discuss. Either you agree to do as you are asked or I will have to remind you of your position.” he leans in and you expect a kiss but instead he whispers into your pointy ear. “And your position is on your knees in front of me, darling.” 

You pause, for a moment smelling his perfume and enjoying his body pressed against yours, but you don’t want to just agree with him. If he wants you to agree and comply, well, he’ll have to show you that he’s worth complying for.

You lift your face, getting closer to his ear and smile widely.

“Is that so? If I recall correctly it was you who kneeled in front of me last time.” you whisper, feeling almost giddy because it’s true. Indeed last time he was kneeling with his mouth pressed firmly between your legs while you grasped the curtains where he cornered you. The memory sends a tingle down your spine. 

Astarion pauses at your words and you gasp loudly when he suddenly bites your ear just enough to send a shockwave of pleasure down your body. Damn elven ears. You try to move your head away and he lets you as he leans back to look at your face. The grin you see on his face spells danger. But the kind of danger you like. 

“Insolent little pup, seems a lesson is in order after all.” Astarion’s voice carries a promise that you won’t leave this room without being reminded that you’re his, for eternity. 

“Go ahead then, teach me that lesson.” you smile to him and he frowns just a little bit, then returns your smile with a smug one of his own.

Without another word he turns slightly to the side and pushes you backwards until you’re against the table. You make a point to check if the door is closed, but finding it ajar you decide not to mention it. With growing anticipation to crown this boring meeting with something much more pleasant, the thrill of being seen by some spoiled noble only adds to your excitement. 

“You’re not escaping.” Astarion misinterprets you looking away from him and you return your attention to him with a chuckle.

“Would you let me if I tried?” you tease and he grins, the type of grin that shows his fangs like a promise of danger. 

“Want to try?” he asks but you’re not given the chance to answer because suddenly you feel his fingers grip at the seams of your pants then pulling at them, forcing you up the table and sitting you on the edge of it. Another moment and he easily pushes your legs apart, taking his rightful place between them. “But if you do try….” Astarion continues speaking while his fingers release the fabric of your pants and grip your hips possessively. “…I don’t promise to play nice.” with a whisper he briefly brushes his lips against yours and then his head dips down, to your neck.

You lean your head back and gasp when you feel his lips press wetly to your skin. Your hands move to embrace him, one arm around his waist and another around his neck, you tangle your fingers into his silver locks.

“Maybe sometimes I don’t want you to play nice.” you whisper, letting your eyes close as you relax into sensation of his tongue sliding across the bite marks he left you with on the night he made you his forevermore. Yet your words give him a pause and he chuckles.

“Is that so, my dearest pet?” he asks cheekily, making you smile, and you pause before replying because you begin to feel his fangs against the skin of your neck, grazing lazily, poising to bite. 

You gasp when his teeth sink into your skin and you pull his body closer to yours in an attempt to signal your growing need. After a moment or two of taking a few swallows of your blood Astarion lifts his head and looks at you, amused.

“So eager already?” he taunts and you give him a look from under your eyebrows, tugging at his hair lightly.

“You are the one eager here, I just…” you pause, then smile. “Follow your lead, as you wished.” 

“Funny.” Astarion licks his lips clean from last traces of your blood, then glances at the door himself, seeing at last that is still ajar. “You saw this and said nothing.” it’s not a question but a statement and you blush ever so slightly because you got caught.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared to be seen.”

“Oh, darling. Of course I’m not. If I so desire I will fuck you in the middle of Baldur’s Gate while the crowd cheers with my every claim to your body.” Astarion smiles and something in his tone tells you that he’s not just teasing, he truly believes he can do as he pleases within the city. It makes you squirm slightly because his confidence is something that always makes you want more of him, more of his touch.

“Then what are you waiting for? Didn’t you want to teach me a lesson?” you tug at his hair again, this time stronger, making Astarion inhale sharply and give you a dangerous smile.

“I’m not sure if you’re going to learn that lesson unless I get strict with you, my love.” he pauses, thinking for a moment, his eyes flick to the door and back to your face. You know it betrays your desire underneath the cheekiness that you’re displaying right now. He knows you maybe even better than you know yourself. “But fine. I’ll indulge you. If my consort wishes so.”

Astarion offers you a smile that you can’t quite read before he grabs your throat and squeezes, not letting you inhale. His expression turns to almost vicious satisfaction at your reaction. 

“Good. I like that expression on my bratty little love. It fits you.” he says and steps away from you while still holding your throat, making you release your grasp on him. Without another word he pulls you off the table, making you stand on your feet and walks you alongside the table until he finally seems to have chosen a spot. “Perfect.” Astarion sounds almost gleeful now but in a way that doesn’t sound unpleasant. Whatever he has in mind - you want to experience it. 

You are not given the time to read his expression and possibly understand his intentions because your lover turns you so that you bump into the table again and he leans to your face, releasing his punishing grip on your neck at last.

“Try to be quiet, little love.” there’s real threat unveiled in his words, a promise of punishment if you fail, and you know that this time he means it. 

Indulging you or not, his reputation still hangs in the balance if he’s caught fucking in the Council room. You swallow dryly and nod, not even arguing anymore. How he handled you just now was enough to make your craving for him bigger than your need to be bratty with him. 

“Let’s see if you can be a good girl for me or if I’ll have to fuck you like a back-alley slut to make sure you listen to me.” Astarion grabs your hips and turns you around, then his hand shoots up and grabs the back of your head, forcing you over the table and you finally realize why he pulled you here - from your position you can clearly see the open door. 

That bastard.

You grin to yourself but then pause as your eyes widen in short surprise because you feel Astarion’s hand slide underneath you, finding the buttons of your pants. He really does intend to fuck you here and your head swims with the promise of pleasure.

“You’re so naughty, you know that, right?” Astarion murmurs as he works your pants and you smile, almost shivering from anticipation, not resisting, letting him do what he wants. “You always try to provoke me and you always succeed.” a squeeze on your neck tells you that he is in fact irritated at your earlier behavior and you have to fight yourself lest you chuckle audibly.

“I was just doing what I thought was right. The meeting was going nowhere with the pace it was crawling at.” you respond and glance at the door, for now relieved that you don’t hear anybody approaching. You don’t want to be interrupted before he fills you in that deliciously familiar way you can’t get enough of. 

“You always say that.” Astarion replies and his hand slips from under you, then his fingers curl around the waistline of your pants and yank it down your hips, exposing your rear. Another yank on your pants and they end up somewhere near your knees. You bite your lower lip because you don’t want to respond, you don’t want to risk stopping him.

Astarion easily elicits a gasp out of you when his fingers press between your legs, right against your clit and rubs it slowly, teasingly even.

“Quiet now.” he reminds you and you just hum in agreement, moving your hand closer to your mouth just in case you need to silence yourself. Your eyes do not leave the maw of the open door but your focus is entirely on what you feel - his fingers and the arousal that quickly makes you feel as if your body is on fire. He knows what he’s doing and he’s good at it. 

Your lover continues for a while, making your body shiver and your legs tremble until you give in and allow the table to support your weight entirely. You remain quiet the entire time, just breathing heavier when a familiar pleasure begins to build. You say nothing, enjoying yourself but then gasp in protest when his fingers retreat. You want to move your head, to look at him with a question of why, but the grip on the back of your neck is not relenting so you remain as you are, with your cheek pressed against the wooden tabletop. 

“Not so eager, darling.” Astarion says with a smug chuckle and if you weren’t so much in need to have him fuck you, you’d reply. However, your own desire right now overrides your wish to tease him further. 

But you fail to obey him. Just a moment after he says those words to you, you feel his two slender fingers slide right into your cunt and you moan, forgetting your promise not to. Astarion’s hand immediately leaves your neck and he smacks your rear, leaving a sharp sting in its wake. 

“I told you to be quiet.” he hisses and you let out a quieter moan but then a louder one when he slaps your rear again. “What did I say, hm?” his tone is harsh but laced with his own evident desire. You know he’s hard if not leaking for you already. “If you’re going to moan like a cheap whore, then I’ll have to fuck you like one.” 

You swallow heavily, your need almost choking you now and you move your head when you hear his movement, but don’t get to look at Astarion standing behind you. You just feel him push his fingers deeper into your sopping core and his other hand comes into your view. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, unsure but you hear only a low chuckle before his fingers seek out your lips.

“Open, my precious spawn.” he commands and you nearly moan again but part your lips for him, letting his fingers into your mouth. Two of them anchor on your lower teeth and tug at your jaw. “Keep it open for me like that, darling.” Astarion croons and you blush heavier now. He’s not making it easy for you to follow his instructions about being silent as if he wants you to fail. 

With his fingers in place, Astarion begins to move his digits inside of your pussy slowly, teasingly so, knowing very well that you want it harder and faster yet not giving it to you.

“The lesson here is-” Astarion begins speaking, his tone sounding like he’s giving a lecture to bored patriars instead of having his fingers buried inside you to the knuckles. “-that you don’t like to listen, do you?” a pause while his fingers keep working, not increasing the pace just yet, and you move your hips, trying to buck them against him but he only laughs at your effort. “Nod instead of acting like a slut worth 5 gold coins.” 

Slowly you nod and can’t help letting out a small moan. You want him to know how badly you need him to do just about anything else instead of only teasing you because if someone came over to the Council room and interrupted you, you’d probably kill them on spot and that would not be a good thing for either of you.

“Oh you’re always so impatient.” Astarion chuckles again and at last, gloriously, his fingers pick up the pace. But he’s not done teasing you. “You act like a little spoiled brat, my beloved consort, acting with no grace or decorum befitting your status. Do you do this on purpose? You like to be punished, don’t you?” he coos again so sweetly that you almost believe he’s going to stop any moment and tell you to pull up your pants. But you know better. You know him better.

To his words you simply nod while at the same time swallowing the saliva beginning to pool in your mouth. Your eyes are still on the door but you don’t see it anymore because all you can see is Astarion’s face and his intense, loving gaze so clear in your mind’s eye even if you don’t see him in front of you right now. You remember it so clearly because you have witnessed that face portray pleasure thousands of times already, every single time you share the joys of intimacy, whether it’s him fucking you senseless or you just pleasuring each other, trying to discover new and unique ways to make one another tremble.

“Good, you’re starting to listen.” Astarion comments and with a disappointed whine you express your disapproval when his fingers leave your core. “Now now, best is yet to come.” he chuckles and you close your eyes, moving your legs and your hips, trying to find better footing in preparation of him claiming you which he does with almost religious fervor every single time. 

Another unexpected slap on your ass makes you flinch and you hum a question.

“I’ll fuck you when I’m ready, I thought I made that clear.” Astarion hisses at you again, then falls silent because you both hear the same thing - footsteps. 

Dread fills you and not because you are afraid to be caught, not at all, you just don’t want this to stop here. You’re so close to getting what you desperately need right now and you do your best to keep quiet instead of expressing your frustration. His fingers on your teeth twitch ever so slightly when the footsteps get closer then stop and you both hear a male voice humming a tune making seconds stretch to eternity making you so sure this is it. But no, seems fortune favors you after all because you hear the footsteps resume, except now they echo away from the Council room.

You exhale with relief and hear Astarion do the same, then he laughs quietly.

“That was close. I hope it’s going to be worth it if we get caught.” 

Your body relaxes on top of the table because you didn’t even realize how tense you became but you sigh again, letting yourself enjoy the thrill of nearly getting caught like this, it almost makes you giddy. And just to remind Astarion where you both stopped, you swing your hips again, only to receive another sharp slap.

“I swear to gods, you’re not leaving this room on your own two legs, darling.” Astarion snaps at you and you chuckle lightly but remain still.

Instead of responding to your chuckle with yet another smack on your already sore skin, he caresses the spot instead, his palm is warm and soft against the burning patch and your eyelids droop. You know he likes to play games but this is starting to become unbearable. Especially with the risk of being walked in on he’s definitely taking his sweet time to toy with you. 

“I think you’re forgetting what this is all about.” your lover begins as if he just read your thoughts. “This is about reminding you who you belong to.” Astarion’s palm keeps caressing but then it leaves your skin entirely, leaving you aching for more of his touch. “And I fully intend to remind you of that.” 

Vampire’s fingers seem to find a better grip on your lower teeth and you feel puzzled for a moment, but then you cry out because he drives his full length straight into you without a warning. 

“How is it that you never listen?” Astarion scolds you but you hear smugness in his tone, he knows exactly what he’s doing to you and the fact that he doesn’t proceed to move is telling enough - it is a punishment, and you’re not enjoying this as much as you thought you would.

You try to buck your hips against him again in a futile attempt to get him thrusting but he just tugs at your teeth and grips your hip with his other hand.

“I’d want to hear you beg but I like when your mouth is busy doing other things.” he says in a tone of voice that tells you he’s enjoying this very much. You mewl slightly in response, trying not to be too loud now just in case he decides to prolong your torture any further but it seems that this time he is satisfied with your response. “That’s much better.” he gives your hip a squeeze and finally begins moving.

You can feel your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head from relief that you feel right now and the pleasure that envelops your body. Finally. Finally he’s giving you what you want most - himself. And sensation of him filling you at last is divine. It’s everything. It’s familiar, it’s desperately needed and it gives you a sense of being one with him. A feeling no other indulgence in this world can even come close in comparison. 

Astarion’s thrusts begin slow, lazy even, in reminiscence of his teasing earlier and you moan again, wanting him to hurry up, to give it hard and fast - he made his point after all.

“Tell me you will listen to me from this point on.” Astarion’s voice reaches your ears and you nod slightly. “Do you promise to behave?” you nod again but smile too, you know your promises are empty and so does he. It’s not the first time you two perform this dance and it always ends the same. The most delicious cycle you will never tire of repeating. “I could almost believe you.” he laughs but then you feel him lowering himself over you. “Still, pet, if I hear a sound out of you - I won’t hesitate.” the warning is clear even if you don’t know what that entails. You nod once more and have to choke back a moan when he nips at your ear again, his teeth sending another shiver down your body. 

Astarion’s fingers leave your hip and his palm finds its place next to your shoulder, then, after a briefest pause, he picks up the pace. Faster and harder. What started as almost gentle love-making is becoming just fucking and it’s exactly what you wanted. His hips snap against your ass, the room fills with sounds of his skin against yours and you keep your eyes open, once more watching the ajar door as if it’s a threat to ruin your fun. You try to keep silent, you really do, but more and more moans begin escaping your throat with Astarion’s increasing pace until he’s nearly punishing your body with how hardly he slams into you with each thrust. Saliva pools at the base of your teeth and begins dripping down his fingers that are still clinging to your bottom teeth while your fingers try to find a grip on the smooth tabletop.

“Shut up!” Astarion growls right above you and you try to move your head to look at him, but he does not let you because his fingers keep your face pinned to the table. “You want to act like a spoiled little brat, I’ll show you that you can take it only this far.” his tone is not seductive anymore, it’s carnal and deep and you recognize it well - he always loses himself when he’s with you, this time is no different than countless others. It almost makes you grin with satisfaction that you can get this deep under his skin with just a little bit of teasing. 

His trusts assume a punishing pace, one that will leave you sore afterwards and you know it. In fact, you welcome it and try to keep your voice down but fail miserably. You don’t care if anyone comes around anymore, because when Astarion gets like this - you know there’s no stopping him. As you begin to sink into the feeling of pleasure, letting it spread through your body, you suddenly feel your lover’s fingers leave your mouth and wrap around your throat. You only manage to lick your lips before you feel yourself being pulled up, his thrusts not stopping and keeping their pace, but Astarion makes sure that your back is now pressed against his chest. His other hand moves to your folds, sensing with his fingers how he’s moving within you and you feel his grin against your cheek.

“So obedient when filled with my cock.” he says right against your ear and it makes you moan. Your fingers grasp for purchase against the table while Astarion leans his head lower and you feel his fangs in your neck again.

You whine slightly as your head swims from pleasure and you grasp onto his hand that’s still gripping your neck, yet when you do that he releases your throat and moves that same hand to your face, his wrist all bare for you. When he presses it against your lips you pierce Astarion’s skin with your fangs, drinking his blood that tastes sweeter than nectar. Vampire’s fingers still are feeling how his cock is thrusting into your cunt but in a moment or two he moves those digits to your clit and begins rubbing. It’s practiced and you shiver while he pumps himself into you, making sure that you’re fitted on his dick neatly, just like he prefers it. 

And the you hear a whisper again, you didn’t even feel when he pulled back from your neck.

“You’re most beautiful when you’re unraveling on my cock.” he whispers and chuckles. “You’re such a hungry whore when it comes to me, aren’t you?” you nod, you don’t want him to stop but he pulls his wrist away from your yearning mouth and you open your eyes, trying to look at him but not being able to. “Moan for me like the slut you are.” 

And you do. You let your voice fill the room, completely lost in your body being taken by your lover. Lost in the feeling of him claiming you as his and his fingers working you to your bliss. You still grasp onto his arm when he returns his grip to your throat and you let your eyes close once more, smiling when you hear his strained grunts right against your ear. 

“Cum for me.” he orders and you gasp for air because he knows you’re close. 

You hold his arm firmer and lean your head back onto his shoulder, giving into the sensation of your orgasm as it washes over you, letting it overwhelm your mind. You tremble and shudder, not able to focus even though you feel Astarion suddenly stopping his thrusts and just working your clit to let you ride out your bliss. 

“Good girl.” Astarion whispers while you’re still at the height of your ecstasy and you feel him kiss your cheek. “My perfect consort, so easy to please.” he taunts with a grin and you mewl as you begin to come down from your pleasure.

You’re out of breath and you can barely stand straight. You probably would collapse if Astarion wasn’t pressing you against the table. With your body satisfied you are ready to take a moment to recover, forgetting that Astarion still has his lesson on his mind.

“You did well, my treasure.” he coos and you hear that he’s panting too but then he pulls back from you, his hands leave your body and you hurry to support yourself against the table before your legs betray you.

Confused and still dazed you glance at him over your shoulder, finally seeing his face that is sweaty and flushed from all the exertion but his smile is as smug as ever. He raises his hand and with one finger points to the floor.

“On your knees, darling.” he commands and it takes your blurred mind a moment to process the task at hand, but when it does you turn and drop heavily to your knees, looking up at him and trying to understand what is it that he wants you to do.

Astarion smirks and caresses your jaw, his hard cock coming into your view and even without a command you open your mouth for him. Pleased with your willing obedience he grips the base of his length with his free hand while propping your head higher and he traces the tip of his velvety soft tip against your lips, leaving trail of your own arousal in its wake. You lean in trying to capture it with your mouth but Astarion chuckles.

“Tisk tisk, darling. Beg for it.” he taps your lips with his cock and your eyes meet his before you swallow dryly, wanting nothing more than to taste him right now.

“Please, Astarion.” you begin, you were never good at this, but he always tells you what to say.

“Please, my love, let me taste you.” he instructs and you lick your lips, tasting yourself.

“Please, my love, let me taste you.” you repeat carefully but eagerly and Astarion grins wider, satisfied.

“You always obey.” he says smugly as he positions his dick at your lips. The moment you part them for him, he thrusts himself into your wet awaiting mouth, letting your lips clamp around his hard shaft. “That’s much better.” Astarion exhales with satisfaction and you can see it clearly in his face with his eyes clouded from pleasure. “I do like when you talk, but I can’t resist silencing you.” 

His hand tangles in your hair while he’s pushing himself deeper into your throat but he’s careful not to push too deep, almost gentle now, letting you begin to bob your head instead of thrusting his hips against your face. You watch his expression, so beautiful when painted in colors of lust, and it makes you eager to please him. His satisfied smirk remains on his lips and stays there while you keep swirling your tongue against his shaft, feeling the bulging vein with the tip of your tongue, caressing the tip of his cock gently, all while you suck on him with dedication only an eternal lover can show.

“Mind the fangs, darling.” Astarion comments and you have to tame your smile to keep focusing on pleasuring him, but suddenly his grip on your jaw tightens, preventing you from moving your head and he pulls his dick out of your mouth with a wet pop. It looks beautiful in the sunlight cascading from the windows, still glistening from your eager ministrations. “Finish what you started.” he orders and your eyes search his for answers but then you understand what he wants.

This is your lesson. Utter submission. 

And submit you will.

Your hand replaces Astarion’s, gripping his shaft and you begin pumping his cock with your fingers clenched firmly around it while his hand still grips your hair tight enough to keep your head in place as if you would even dream of moving away. No, you want this just as much as he does.

With your eyes locked on him you keep moving your hand, parting your lips wider, watching every micro expression on his perfect features because you know that each and every one of them is meant for you and you alone. 

“Wider.” Astarion gasps, you see his shoulders tensing and you recognize the look in his eyes - he’s so close, he only needs to let go. 

You open your mouth wider, eager and more than willing to make him happy right now, completely forgetting where you are and what you are doing, because nothing else matters besides making sure that he knows that you want this, want him. 

“Fuck, you’re too good.” Astarion gasps and his eyes close the moment his orgasm hits.

His fingers clench almost painfully in your hair and you keep stroking his dick, trying to aim it but his seed ends on your face rather than your mouth, lacing hot webs across your nose and your cheek until you manage to aim it at your mouth and take what’s left. Astarion moans loudly and shamelessly as he empties himself with your help, your hand working to draw every last drop out of him but when he finally looks at you his eyes slightly widen at the sight of mess.

“Darling…” is all he can say for a moment while he’s out of breath, then he moves your hand away from his softening length and leans down, lifting your face ever higher by your jaw he kept holding onto through his ecstasy, then he presses his lips against yours. You only have a moment to gulp down what little of his cum ended up in your mouth and you answer his kiss before he pulls back. He chuckles and wipes his seed from the tip of your nose with his thumb. “I should clean you up before we leave but I can’t help admitting that this is a very lovely sight.”

You smile proudly and grasp at his hand, bringing it closer and giving it a kiss before Astarion helps you to your feet. 

“Here.” he takes out a handkerchief, beginning to wipe your face with a smile on his lips. “I don’t think you learned your lesson.” 

“Maybe I’ll need another reminder later?” you ask with a grin and Astarion raises an eyebrow.

“It’s dangerous to let you out of the palace.” he laughs and you smile even wider now, feeling mischievous again while you let him get your face clean.

“You love it.” you say and tuck him back into his pants while Astarion rolls his eyes at you.

“You say like you don’t.” he comments making you laugh, then you receive a kiss on your cheek. “You did well.” he whispers to you and you smile.

“Oh I know.” you respond smugly and Astarion pauses then sighs as if he’s fed up but you see playful embers in his eyes.

“You’re going to be so much trouble, aren’t you.” he leans down and helps you pull up your pants. You button them up quickly and then grasp at his doublet with a fist, bringing his face close to yours.

“You wouldn’t dare to stop me.” you smile and he grins right back at you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 3: An Empty Throne

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Ban confronts the Ascendant on his subterfuge.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Originally beta'd by @leomonae

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Astarion by @morebird

Ban entered the study in the morning, slamming the contract down in front of him. Astarion sat at his desk, studiously ignoring her.

“So you found them,” she snapped.

She saw a quick flash of crimson as he looked at her, then his eyes returned to the sheaf of paperwork in front of him, the contract sitting accusingly beside it.

“Whatsoever do you mean, Ban?”

He lifted his quill, tapping the nib against the parchment. He couldn’t seem to make sense of the text, eyes running over the words without registering them properly.

“Oh, come off it,” Ban hissed. Liar. “You sought them out, bought that mirror, fucked me in front of it to distract me-“

She seethed at the memory of Astarion spreading her open in front of that immense mirror he’d bought, telling her what, in hindsight, had been an obvious fucking lie:

I didn’t buy this from your family, if that’s what you’re so concerned about.

Astarion shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I commissioned the damned mirror, yes. But I-”

“What? You didn’t know? The shop and I share the last name!” Ban bit out, crossing her arms.

“It was meant to be a surprise,” he grumbled.

“A surprise? Oh, ‘hey love, here’s a mirror I bought from the family you didn’t want to ever see again’! Is that what your plan was?”

“They still don’t know. I just gave them my name, Ban.” Astarion finally put the quill down, looking up at her. “I wanted to have the information on hand, should you ever desire to do anything with it.” His lips draw into a tight line.

He’d been trying to anticipate her moments of withdrawal, but her anger was something he was still never quite prepared to manage.

Ban deflated, the anger morphing into an all-too-familiar resignation she couldn't say she'd missed. He was right, she supposed. She could simply ignore this, and her family would be none the wiser. But she knew she’d want to see them, to find out what had become of them.

“You could have just told me, Astarion, instead of hiding the information away and waiting until I found the contract myself.”

Astarion flapped a hand at her; the fingers trembling a little too much to give the intended effect. “And get this reaction? You can see why I was reluctant, darling.”

Ban scoffed at him. She looked down to the table where the contract sits. The name emblazoned across the top of the parchment looks back, mocking her.

Glasscraft and Son

Astarion watched Ban, noting the tense set of her shoulders. The guilt gnawed at him and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, a fang tearing the skin and drawing blood.

“You could simply discard the information, Ban,” he said, the snark slowly slipping away from his tone. “Now that you have seen it, it’s for you to use as you see fit.”

She drew in a deep breath, patience trickling away with every passing second. “You think it that simple, Astarion? One look, and I can decide whether I want to see them or not? Whether I want to know what happened to them or not? I don’t even know if they’re alive!” The shop, after all, could be run by some other family now.

“I could help with that,” he managed to say, his tone clipped. Uncertainty flooded his features; a look that would be rather unbecoming for the Ascendant, if he’d still let that side of him rule his life.

Ban watched as Astarion finally put the quill and papers away, pushing his seat back to stand. He regarded her for a moment, his eyes obviously doing what he always seemed to do nowadays - searching her, trying to read her. She liked it most of the time, appreciated that he tried, but at the moment it did nothing but intensify her pique.

A small click of his tongue, barely audible to her, and he took a small step forward. Close enough that should she want to, she could close the gap but far enough that she had space to leave. “I met him. I could tell you-”

“Oh!” she sneered, all venom and mock surprise. “I’ll now have to thank you for being so, so kind as to gather information for me, sweet Astarion.”

She saw the barb hit his heart; his pupils widening in a fraction of a second, face falling slack. Astarion looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed heavily. At any other time she thought she’d feel guilty, but the anger roiling through her drowned everything else out. Even the idea that she should feel guilty merely served to enrage her further, driving her next words out without thought.

“Since you want to be so kind, then, my love, tell me: what did you discover?” There wasn’t any reason not to find out, not at this point. She eyed him dispassionately as he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

“The proprietor is named Roderich Glasscraft,” Astarion said, with forced calmness. “I assume he would be your father.”

The hurt simmering in him had only grown, hidden underneath the now carefully-schooled expression; but even if Ban saw it, she cared little at this moment.

If anything, a not-so-small, irascible part of her wanted to twist the knife even further, the savage desire for petty revenge suffusing her.

“That he is,” Ban nodded. “Still a little bald shit, is he not? And what of my dearest mother?”

Arlette. Mom. Who’d always demanded the respect she thought she was owed, because I birthed you. The memories flowed in, Ban’s lip curling into a snarl in response.

Astarion shifted again. He retreated to settle back into his chair, apparently giving up on his rather futile attempt to offer her comfort. Crossing one leg over the other, he leveled a look at her.

“He mentioned her, but she wasn’t present.” The crossed leg bounced erratically. “There was also talk of your sibling.”

At that, Ban’s anger abated for a moment, a small sigh escaping her. “Yes, my younger brother. The only one in my sorry family whom I actually regret leaving.” She couldn’t help the next question. “How is he?”

Astarion looked uneasy. “Rode-” He ran a hand through his curls, looking exhausted and strung out. “He said your brother hasn’t taken a wife yet.” There was something else at the tip of his tongue, however, and he bit his lip.

“There’s something more, Ban...” A mere hunch, but Astarion had always been good at reading people, a skill honed over two centuries.

“More.” She sneered again. “Just say it then! Why even dither like that? You’ve already done it - don’t act like some sad puppy now. The Vampire Ascendant wouldn’t - I know you’re still in there, prick!”

Astarion recoiled as if slapped; his jaw clenched and his mind reeled, trying to come up with something, anything to placate her. “Love, pl-”

“Shut up!”

She knew she was being unreasonable, cruel, saw that the conversation iwas hurting Astarion more and more, but she found she didn’t care at the moment; there was only indignation, the white-hot mixing of rage and a creeping sense of being violated. She wanted to keep digging in, to see just how much he could take; see if he’d revert to his old ways, and fight fire with fire.

The Ascendant made an appearance, Astarion’s eyes narrowing sharply, his lips contorting into a sneer. He raised an index finger. “I’ll have you know, Ban,” he began, venom lacing every word. But then he paused for the briefest moment. He took a quick breath, and-

…And just like that, the Ascendant was gone. The fight seemed to fizzle out of him as he collected himself. He let his breath out slowly, face rearranging into a neutral, guarded expression, his hands clenched into fists.

“Your father seemed aggrieved by something, whenever he spoke of your brother.” Carefully said, enunciated slowly and without allowing any feelings to show.

“Aggrieved?” Ban laughed, the sound loud and completely without humor. “My father probably disapproved of something trivial he did, like folding clothes in a way that he didn’t find satisfactory.”

“Ban.” Astarion’s eyes locked onto hers. “It wasn’t that. I think-”

“Fuck what you think!” she screamed. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Assume you know better, because - what - you’re the man of the house? Because you can buy anyone?”

He almost lost control at that, lips curling angrily. “I have hurt you, kept you, used you - but I have never bought anyone; you of all people ought to know that.” His chest heaved, jaw working as he attempted to calm down. “And am I not attempting to fix this? Do I not try so hard to atone for my sins?” He sighed, all the fight in him having evaporated at her accusation.

“As wretched as I am, love, I am not that.”

His anger dissolved away - Ban could almost see it leaving his body. His eyes lost their hardness, and he sagged back against the chair. He covered his face with his hands, obviously resigned.

“You have me confused with someone else.”

The tone was quiet, despondent. There was no mistaking the pain.

Ban stared at Astarion for a long moment. He was right - instead of her husband she saw him, a small man by any measure but immeasurably powerful to her back then.

Roderich had never been a physically imposing sort, even as a younger man, but he’d always had an air about him that had made people inclined to respect him.

It was a respect often mercilessly exploited to great success - a ruthless businessman, rising in the ranks of the artisan guild through various machinations and dealings that had pervaded - tainted - Ban’s childhood. He’d passed those lessons along to her in the hopes that she would help her brother take over the business one day, or help her future husband run his own; lessons that had helped her consolidate power at the Ascendant’s behest, in the first months after they’d moved into the palace.

“I don’t have you confused,” she snapped. “You’re not him, but you’re close.” She wasn’t sure if she should elaborate, but did so anyway. “Power-hungry, manipulative, self-centered bastards.”

Astarion lifted his head from his hands to look at her, realizing exactly who Ban saw in him when she shut him out.

She could see him trying to read her again, his eyes darting across her face with their usual thoroughness.

“Exactly why I wished to know about them,” he replied with preternatural composure, hands clasping together on top of the still raised knee. Astarion’s gaze slid away from her as he looked to the side again. “To know them is to know you, and to know you is to know what you require of me.”

“I don’t need your drivel, Astarion.”

She’d had enough, wanted - needed out of this conversation. She didn’t want to let herself acknowledge that he was right, that their relationship would benefit from him knowing exactly what pitfalls to avoid. Didn’t want to acknowledge that she was blaming him for past deeds he was never made aware were painful reminders for her.

“I’m heading out,” Ban continued, when he didn't answer. She grabbed the contract from the table. From the corner of her eye she could see him keeping his eyes fixed upon nothing in particular, avoiding looking at her. He sat stiffly, almost painfully still, chest seemingly not even rising or falling - frozen, as though he was made of marble, except for the erratically bouncing leg.

A small breath escaped him. “Then I’ll see you when you come home,” he said, trying and failing to hide the question in his voice, tone rising at the end of the statement.

Will you come home?

Ban stared at the shop from across the street. It looked like it always had - squat and unpleasant to the eye - but now it also looked worn. The dust on the windows was of particular interest - her father would have never tolerated that back in the day. For a moment she almost started walking; her legs wanted to drag her forwards, through that door, back through memory and to the people she’d sworn she would never see again.

Days spent in the shop, helping out. Logging inventory, deliveries, receipts. She remembered running around the mirrors in the stockroom, delighted to see multiple Bans running alongside her - her only friends, save for her brother, in what little time she had been allowed to be a child.

A few happy years, before her parents decided to begin training her for what they’d said she was meant to be - a businessman’s wife, capable of assisting with the running of his shop as well as being in charge of his household, skilled at all the social niceties needed to help her husband elevate his standing in society - a relatively useful thing, though not her choice, but they were only surface level qualifications to ensure she’d be successful in her real role…

A pawn to be married off. A name on a contract to bind family fortunes together.

She stayed rooted to the spot for a long time.

The moon shone brightly when Ban finally returned to the palace. She walked in to find Astarion lounging on his throne, arms draped over the armrests, his legs spread slightly. The scent of alcohol filled her nose as she approached him; she sighed. That would explain the unbuttoned shirt and the steely, teasing, not-quite-focused gaze that locked onto her.

“You’re drunk,” she said, arms crossing as she came to a halt in front of the dais.

“Slightly inebriated.” He tilted his head at her, expression coy. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”

In truth, he hadn’t expected her to come home at all. Fingers tapped on the armrests in a rhythmic pattern, and he leaned forward.

“You were asking for the Ascendant,” he crooned, ignoring the lump in his throat. That wasn’t him, not all of him; he knew that now, she’d taught him that. He’s Astarion - always was, is, and will be. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring the monster out to play, if that was what she wanted.

Anything she wanted from him, she would receive. Including this.

A look of consternation crossed her face. “That’s not what I meant.” Ascending the dais quickly, she placed herself between his legs; he sighed but shifted them farther apart to accommodate her.

“What did you mean, then?” His gaze hardened and fingers wrapped around her wrist, nails digging in a little tightly. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He tugged her abruptly, pulling her down and pressing his lips to hers in a single, well-practiced move. It was rough, his tongue pressing in without much preamble, merely seeking to consume her.

Did she want this? This painful, angry, meaningless sex they used to have? He thought he knew the answer, knew that this was wrong, but the ache of worrying all day at the prospect of losing her again had sharpened his edges significantly.

“Stop,” she gasped against his lips; he immediately stilled, pulling away from her.

Astarion’s bared chest heaved. “Ban, I-”

I’m sorry. Words he’d never learned to utter, and so they got stuck in his throat.

She offered him a sad smile, understanding. “No. I’m sorry. I was, am, still upset, but I should never have lashed out at you like I did. Can we- if you still want this, can we try again?”

“Were you going to leave?” The words came out of him in a desperate rush, spitting them out before he could reconsider.

He said it before he thought, hands gripping the armrests to hide their trembling. His one greatest fear, the one thing he could not endure. He worried it was happening again, that he was bound to lose her again - she was here right now but what if she started slipping away again bit by bit like sand slipping through his fingers like before and he didn’t want to think about it because she won’t leave but what if-

“Please. I need to know,” he choked out, barely managing it around the swirling chaos of his mind. His eyes shut, heart racing, frantic and frightened and trapped inside his ribcage and everything’s too tight-

And then her. He felt strong, muscled arms wrap around him, holding him close. Her scent filled his nostrils and he breathed in deep.

I’ll give you anything you want; just don’t leave, don’t let me be alone again. Never again.

He heard a whimper; he wasn’t even sure if it was him. He heard her shush him, heard her whisper, her breath tickling his sensitive ears.

“I wasn’t leaving, love. I just needed air. I’m never leaving you again. I’m sorry I left without making sure you knew I’d be back.”

The words soothed little of the panic drowning him, but even that felt like a boon. Part of him found this ironic: here he was, in the seat of his power, so utterly powerless against the weight of his feelings for her. Not that he minded. Not that it would ever be any different. Not that anything else ever mattered.

“I…” Another rough intake of breath, and Astarion forced his eyes to open. She was staring at him, arms still around him, eyes full of worry. She’d pulled away from the embrace, but only far enough to see his face.

“Astarion-” Ban began, but he interrupted before she could finish.

“I’m… fine.” he managed to say it, although he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. He wrapped his hands around Ban’s wrists, gently prying them away from him. He wanted her touch more than anything, but he didn’t deserve it.

Not when he’d lied to her, not when he’d just grabbed her for a kiss he worried she mightn’t have wanted. Not when he was… this.

These vacillating thoughts raced through his mind and he attempted to rise, to push past her and go to ground somewhere - anywhere - else. He didn’t deserve those worried eyes, that kind touch. He never had, what was he thinking, he was a monster, he was never enough.

But before he could stand and escape, Ban’s hand was on his chest, the touch cool yet comforting against his too-hot skin. “Love,” she murmured, and it was softer than he’d ever heard it since the rite; it gave him pause.

“Sit,” she said. “Let me help.”

He was powerless against her, stilling under her touch. Nervous eyes tracked her and he licked his lips, settling back down on his throne. Ban’s hand followed his chest, palm still pressed over his hammering heart.

“May I?” She inclined her head towards his lap and all he could do was nod. Yes, of course, yes. He’d love nothing more than to have her close, to remind himself that he still had her. He watched her lift her skirt and settle over his thigh, her rump a pleasant press of weight on him.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, feeling the cold, smooth skin slide against his fingertips. She was here, she was on his lap - even asked to be there. He didn’t dare feel relieved quite yet, but her mere presence ensured it slowly seeped in regardless. She shivered a little at his touch; his hand paused midway on its path across her back and he waited.

Ban’s hand glided from his chest to his chin, tilting it up so he’d meet her gaze. “Astarion,” she said, her tone still unusually tender. She could tell he needed the gentleness, that he was at the end of his rope, that she had scared him. “I’m sorry. About today. I didn’t think before I said that, or, well. Maybe I did.”

The admission hung in the air, and Ban swallowed.

“You meant to hurt me,” Astarion stated, unsurprised. “It isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last.” He allowed his hand to resume moving, and his fingers curled around her waist, resting around the curve.

I love you. I forgive you. Just don’t go.

“I understand,” he continued, “and will continue to do so. There is nothing to apologize for.”

She shook her head, the hand on his chin falling away to grasp his shoulder, squeezing. “No. That’s not fair. You’ve been putting in so much effort, and while I still resent you for going behind my back and… and even prying in the first place, really… I know what I said was out of line.”

Difficult words for her to utter. She’d never been open, never been outwardly affectionate, but she knew he'd been trusting her with his heart and she had purposefully cut it open.

Astarion let her words sink in, relishing the moment despite himself. A small smile played on his lips, the calm suffusing more and more of him, but nowhere near enough to defeat the lingering fear. “A favor then, love, if you’ll indulge me.”

He took a moment to think it through, then gently linked his free arm with the other, encasing her in an embrace. The smile widened, and his eyes were painfully soft when he spoke.

“Make love to me, will you?” The tone was teasing, the smile playful; the gaze was anything but.

Make me feel loved. I need to be reminded.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygmer-blog

[cringecannon]

I’m obsessed with the idea of there being some Normal Person ™️ who was kind to Astarion when he was a vampire spawn that maybe he’s a little unhealthily obsessed with. Maybe they’re a bartender at one of the establishments where he picked up victims for Cazador, maybe a seamstress who gave him thread for his embroidery or to patch up his clothing, maybe just someone who had kind words for him and didn’t try to hit on him, who knows? But it would be verrrrrry interesting to see an Ascendant Astarion encountering that Normal Person again, maybe deciding to “reward” them for being kind to him when he was nothing. Though I’m not sure if his idea of a reward would be what they would consider a reward….

(Also as an aside, I love your writing! I check your blog daily and my friends and I are constantly sending each other your Gortash and Astarion posts like “wake up, babe, new cringecannon dropped”)

He wasn't entirely sure why he was so enamored with you. To put it bluntly, you were just so... plain. Unassuming. Normal. Sure, you were nice. Plenty of people were nice to him though, and he didn't spare them a second thought. He watches you over the chalice of wine in his hand, seated in a dark corner of the bar.

Dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers as you carefully flip the page of whatever book you're reading. He glances up to your mouth, memorizing the twitch of your lip as you half-smile at some thought. Vanity rears it's head. You must be thinking of him. You had spoken to him for maybe a minute, one transaction out of hundreds, but how often did you get to see a face as pretty as his?

Not often, he hopes. A bolt of insecurity cuts through him. He feels pathetic, desperate. It sickens him. He could take anyone in this tavern home with him, and he's not going to sit around and let you make him feel inferior. His eyes settle on some pretty thing sitting alone at the bar and takes his wine with him, swaying over to his mark. Out of the corner of his eye, he tries to see if you're watching. You're not, staring down at your book like it's the most important thing in the room. He refuses to let you deflate his ego. His master wouldn't want you anyway. He'll waste no more time obsessing over some boring nobody.

He does, though. Watching you becomes a treat for him. Speaking with you when he shops becomes a whole event. The last time he saw you, you'd finally started to recognize him. A warm smile lit up your face as you reached for the exact kind of thread he always comes in for. It was fate, of course, that he'd be abducted the next day.

That first night in camp he wonders if you'll miss him. If you'd think about him as fondly as he thinks of you. Reality crashes in, and the fact that you probably won't is bittersweet. He had been playing a dangerous game with you. Any closer, and Cazador probably would have found out. You'd have been just another thing to take away from him. It was safer this way.

He doesn't think about you much after that. Facing death everyday tends to do that.

It's not until Cazador's blood has long since dried on his hands that he thinks of you. He washes his skin absentmindedly, trying to remember all that he could about you. It wasn't much, honestly. He didn't know your name, but he knew the kind of books you liked to read and the way your eyes shined when your hand touched his when he paid for his thread. It was a start. No one else in camp had kept his attention long. He needs someone to sit by his side and look good for all eternity, and you'd do just fine.

That settles it, in his mind. When the elder brain business is over, he'll start courting you. He thinks he should start by buying the shop you work in. Get rid of the owner somehow, and then he'll give it to you. Once you fall for him (and you will, because you're just too perfect to be so ungrateful after receiving such a thoughtful gift), he'll invite you to live in his new manor. If you're a bit more stubborn, it won't matter. He's not yet sure what hovel you live in, but he's sure you'll appreciate the upgrade.

He sits up a little taller, a small smile on his face as he dries his hands. Should he make you his spawn before he marries you, or after? On one hand, it'd be the perfect way to start the honeymoon. On the other, if he turns you early your cooperation would be guaranteed. He hums to himself. Decisions, decisions. Honestly, it's too soon to worry about it. He has the rest of his everlasting life to woo you. No point stressing over it now.

[raviolirash]

pls don't delete your posts on the ascendant Astarion topic. first, they are very good. and second, the last post you reblogged is from a person committed to "debunking all characters are pansexuals allegations", despite that being repeated time and time again by the writers and the voice actors. quite panphobic and biphobic if you ask me.

Welllll fuck. Thanks for letting me know!

God this site makes me want to use lava to rip out my pubes sometimes I swear to gond's glistening dong.

I only deleted the posts that got too personal (don't want to talk about my own real life on here especially the Fucked Up Stuff.).

Tldr of the gone posts:

Young people these days are bittersweetly enough terrible at recognizing patterns of abuse.

I lost dear friends to people who loved someone they didn't know was abusing them until too late, and lost friends succumbing to their worst selves. People going gungho about Ascended Astarion just brings up a lot of terrible memories because oh boy have I seen a lot of roads.

It's nice to have a game where you have the option to tell a friend "I love you and you have to believe that what you're doing is stupid" and it working.

[tauri91]

The confrontation with Cazador is a disaster. Astarion is helpless as he watches Tav fall in battle. He barely has time to process the horror in front of him when he opens his eyes… and finds himself lying in on the ground, sunlight warm on his skin. The smell of the nautiloid burning nearby. He’s at the crash site again. More than that, it’s the morning after the crash. He’s reliving the past. His mind is a hurricane of emotion. The memory of Tav’s lifeless body just out of reach… the feel of the infernal contract burning away his soul… it’s all so fresh. But it hasn’t happened yet. He’s been given a second chance! A chance to save Tav!

He knows what to do. He finds the spot he first met Tav and waits. It won’t be long now. But the sun sets, the boar runs off, and Tav doesn’t come. The fear that he somehow missed them eats at him and finally he goes to look for Tav himself. What he finds is a swirling arcane rune. “Please! Someone help, me! I’ll perish!” Gale calls out of he vortex. Astarion rushes to the rune. Magic isn’t his thing but he grabs Gale’s arm and pulls with all his might. The wizard doesn’t budge, but Astarion won’t give up. He tries again. Tav would have gotten him out easy. Tav *did*. Finally Gale falls out of the portal. Before Astarion can ask if Gale remembers him, Gale gives an all too familiar introduction.

They travel together to look for other survivors. They find one. Shadowheart sits on a rock. Alone. She looks tired and doesn’t notice their approach while she stares at the astral prism. It takes every ounce of self control to keep from yanking the thing out of her hands and demanding the Emperor tell him where Tav is. Why aren’t they here? They should be here. He was supposed to protect them! But Shadowheart notices his interest in the artifact and keeps her distance.

They make it to the tomb. Of course! He pushes them to in, but his haste nearly gets them all killed. Gale goes down and Shadowheart only just manages to save him. He had forgotten just how weak they all were at the beginning. ‘We would have been fine if Tav were here’ he thinks.

They make camp. It’s quiet. Gale’s bruised face eats at Astarion until he can’t bare it any longer and retreats to his tent.

He’s more cautious afterwards. He double checks for traps he may have forgotten about, and makes sure to take all the weapons off the skeletons before they reanimate.

Withers is in his sarcophagus as expected.

Astarion thinks of Tav’s smile, their hand in his, the warmth of their arms hold him tightly. “Everything. A single mortal life… it’s worth everything. You know, don’t you? Please tell me you know where they are.”

“What is the worth of a single mortal life?”

Withers regards him for a moment. “The name thou seeks as been recorded.”

Astarion chokes back a sob. “But you can bring them back! I have gold. You’ll bring Tav back!”

Withers raises a halting hand. “A price has already been paid. The balance, unsettled, was restored.“

“I don’t understand. Where is Tav?”

“When thine own life was cut short, thy soul rended from body, a resurrection was not possible.”

“My soul? Are you saying *I*died?”

Withers nods. “Thou spoke true, one mortal life is infinitely valuable. A price most high was set. For one soul so damaged to return another must take its place.” Withers looks at him in a way he can only describe as pity. “The price was paid.”

Astarion knows he’s not the smartest man, but he understands all too quickly.

Cazador succeeded. He sacrificed Astarion and all his spawn to ascend. And Tav, his dear Tav couldn’t accept that. Cazador’s ascension must have been short, Astarion almost wishes he could have seen his old master when everything he worked hard for get taken away from him.

He feels dizzy. He feels sick. He wants to laugh. To cry. To curse the gods, every last one of them. Tav isn’t here because Tav is gone. Their life for his. He can’t help but think his wasn’t worth it.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 36

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Hey, did you know that if you're a spellcaster and take even just one (1) level in Wizard in BG3, you can learn whatever fucking spell you want from scrolls? Now you know. (Also, did you know that there's art of chapter 26? Now you know that too.) ***

“You can let go of that hand, love. It’s not going to fall off again. I think.”

Astarion’s comment didn’t get Durge to let go of his hand, but it did get a chuckle out of Halsin. “Not to toot my own horn, but I am a more than decent healer. Your hand is permanently regenerated. It won’t fall off.”

“Unless cut. Or burned off.”

“Unless cut or burned off.”

“I’m not entirely sure the nails are quite as well maintained as they were before...”

“We’ve been in the Hells for the best part of four months.”

“Ah, yes. That will do it. My hair still looks good though, doesn’t it? Durge?”

“It’s not as well coiffed as usual, but the fact we were having sex until a couple of minutes ago might have something to do with it.”

“Ah, yes. That will do it.”

There was a chuckle and then a long, peaceful silence. The room they had taken for themselves - Wyll and Karlach, understandably enough, had opted to have one of their own; Raphael had gone on his own in an unoccupied one - had ice walls and ceiling, and stone floor. Even the beds were made of ice. Still, with resistance to cold and enough bedrolls and blankets piled on the ground, they had made themselves comfortable enough. 

That, and an hour or so of strenuous activity had kept them warm, too. They had yet to catch their breath, and for a while they did just that. The silence was pleasant, but not… entirely silent. Durge sat up, listening.

“... Is anyone else hearing thuds?”

“Wyll and Karlach.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Bet you a hundred gold that Wyll is going to come out walking funny in the morning.”

“May as well bet a hundred gold that it will be snowing outside.”

“I don’t think he’s going to complain, though.”

“I mean, who would?”

More chuckling, and Astarion leaned back between them. Or rather, on them: Durge and Halsin apparently made a good mattress when put together. He settled with a sigh, and waited for Halsin to pull the covers back up on them all before speaking again. 

“... So. Fighting the second most powerful archdevil of the Baator. Lord of the Eighth, master of hellfire, archmage of the Hells. How much gold would you wager on us pulling that off?”

Durge shrugged. “All we have,” they said, and Halsin smiled.

“Your confidence is reassuring.”

“Either we win it big, or we won’t need the gold anymore.”

Halsin’s smile faded. “That’s… not as reassuring.”

Durge shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. They snuck a hand over Astarion’s back, rubbing the back of his shoulder with a thumb. “Destroying the Netherbrain seemed impossible, too. But that we did, Crown of Karsus and all. And we now can count Raphael as an ally, far more powerful than he was before.”

“Is he really? More powerful, I mean. Are we just going on the gelugons’ word, or is it some kind of sorcerer sixth sense?” Astarion glanced up, causing Durge to chuckle. 

“His ascended form was much more powerful this time around. But yes, it’s something I can just sense. There is something there, yet untapped. Did you feel that too, Halsin?”

“... No. But perhaps it is a kind of power too far removed from nature. It is not a sort of magic I know, or even much wish to know,” Halsin muttered. He seemed thoughtful, and Durge leaned their head a little more against him. Durge and Wyll had discussed whether they too should try their hand at learning this infernal ice magic that could counter hellfire, and it had not been a long discussion: the more people in their party could make use of it, the more chances they had to get an edge over Mephisto. 

“Bit of a shame that Gale isn’t here,” Wyll had sighed. “He’d learn it in no time and help us out, too. Worst possible timing to take a sabbatical. But, imagine his face when he finds out we fought the archmage of the Hells without him!”

Durge, who just so happened to know precisely what Gale's sabbatical was about and who may or may not have been responsible for it, had chosen to say nothing. “Don't worry, we'll be able to handle it. Gale gave me a pointer or two. Or twenty.”

Halsin had spoken up at that point, saying that he too would learn to use this Plume… but something about his expression had given Durge pause. They hadn't said anything about it then, but they did now. “You don’t have to do this,” they said, quietly. To learn hellish magic was no joke. Wyll was used to the touch of the Hells; Durge themself had been more than touched by something just as unholy themself. But for Halsin… it would feel like a corruption of every principle he held dear. “If three of us learn to control it, it should be enough.”

Halsin shook his head. “I came to aid you in every way possible. And aid you I shall.”

“Or,” Astarion spoke, “you can join me and Karlach in taking a break. Most we get to do is sharpen up our knives and axes while the spellcasters do the hard work for once.”

Durge snorted, a puff of cold air through their nostrils and into Astarion’s hair. “For once,” they repeated, and felt Astarion’s grin against their scales. 

“Implying I don’t pull my weight?”

“I don’t imply. I move specific accusations.”

“You pull weight ?” Halsin asked in a reasonably good impression of a truly stunned gasp. 

“Hilarious. Truly,” Astarion huffed, in a tone that somehow conveyed the fact he didn’t find it hilarious at all, except that he sort of did. “We have the King of the Hells getting a cambion and some mortals to kill an archdevil for him, and I’m the one who’s not pulling weight.”

That got a few chuckles, but they died down quickly and for a time, there was silence. In the next room over, the thudding sounds had ceased. Durge turned to the other wall, but no sound at all had come from that room, where Raphael had retired to sleep alone. 

“... It is a cruel burden which Asmodeus has placed on his shoulders,” Halsin spoke. Clearly, he’d followed Durge’s gaze. “One would assume the Lord of all Nine Hells would be able to take Mephistopheles off the lanceboard, so to speak, by himself.”

Durge hummed. “Who knows. The politics of the Hells are an intricate thing, and I suppose moving against one archdevil himself, so openly and seemingly without open provocation, might spark a united reaction not unlike the Reckoning of the Hells,” they added. No archdevil on their own could hope to defeat Asmodeus, but all of them - or at least most of them - united… then perhaps they’d have a chance. Astarion hummed.

“Didn’t Asmodeus emerge victorious from the Reckoning? That’s how the story goes.”

“He did, but the sides looking to unseat Asmodeus were split, waging war at one another before they even turned their attention to Nessus. They might act as one, if one of theirs is killed by their king on a whim - each of them wondering who’d be next. I imagine that’s why Asmodeus wishes to pull strings, rather than being seen as the one dealing the fatal blow.”

“He demoted archdevils before.”

“Demoted, yes. Punished severely, too - Levistus is never leaving that tomb of ice he’s in. But killing is another matter entirely,” Durge replied. Truth be told, they wondered if they’d even ever learn the reason why Asmodeus had decided to put an end to Mephistopheles’ reign after so many eons of tolerating even his most obvious ambitions. They were curious, really. 

But for now, all they had to focus on was the battle ahead… and on surviving, with some luck.

A lot of luck.

***

“Lord Mephistopheles.”

“Duke Hutijin. Has there been any development of note in my absence?”

“Duke Barbas returned form Phlegethos scarcely half an hour ago.”

“Empty-handed, I assume.”

“He did not find the incubus, no. He seemed quite cross about it.”

“Of course he did not, and of course he was. Word from Bifrons and his soldiers?”

“They wait. I’ve been keeping an eye out from the windows, but I’ve seen no sign of a battle.”

“And no word from my High Cantor, either.”

“No, my liege. There have been no reported sightings of Raphael, either. Did questioning the Lord of the Seventh yield any answers?”

“Not the sort I was expecting.” Mephisto stepped past Hutijin, to the window. “Baalzebul said he has not seen Raphael nor was aware of his presence in his layer at any point. Did you see him return from Nessus?”

“Yes. No slug,” he said. Mephistopheles almost laughed. No slug - how concisely put. 

“It seems that Raphael was more clever than I thought. He must have known I’d have expected him to turn to my greatest enemy in the Hells, and kept away from Malagard.”

“Mh. That makes sense. Unless Baalzebul has found a way around the curse.”

“Not if Lord Asmodeus is speaking true.”

Duke Hutijin tilted his massive head, crowned with horns not unlike Lord Bel’s. “... And is he?”

A scoff. “Don’t you think I wondered as much?” Mephistopheles turned, meeting Hutijin’s eyes with an arched eyebrow. He almost saw it again, that oddly veiled gaze that Asmodeus had given him. He found he couldn’t read it; it caused a kind of unease that was near impossible to put into words. “I don’t entirely discount the idea - I discount nothing - but I also fail to see what interest the Lord of the Nine would have in aiding a fugitive halfbreed.”

“Is he still a fugitive if he’s heading here?”

A scowl. “Was that your idea of a jest?” he asked, a cold note to his voice. 

Hutijin’s grin immediately died down. “Apologies, my lord. I meant no offense.”

“... Hmph. Be grateful I took none.” Mephistopheles waved a dismissive hand and looked back out of the grand window. Beneath, all the way to the base of the glacier, through the snow storm, there was no sign of life. “I will settle for the simplest explanation, for now - that Raphael avoided Malagard and pressed on for Cania. I wouldn’t put it past him to have some prior knowledge of viable passages which are not guarded. The whelp has an annoying tendency to hoard knowledge,” he added.

With his gaze on the frozen wasteland outside, he entirely missed the way both of Hutijinìs eyebrows arched as the pit fiend somehow managed to convey, through expression alone, that he was currently thinking of a very specific saying about apples and trees. “Yes,” he said in the end, having bitten his tongue quite hard. “That’s entirely feasible.”

“Of course, if the situation remains unchanged I shall take further steps. But for now, I'll wait.”

“Should we send word to Lady Antilia? We have traps ready to be sprung here.”

“No, not yet. For all I know the whelp may have been delayed and is simply yet to pass through Malagard - in which case, she should be there to meet him. And besides, any communication may be intercepted and expose her as my spy. I’ll do no such thing.”

“Of course. She is a valuable asset.”

“Yes. Very.” Mephistopheles turned from the window. “Raphael’s fiendish half will attack the other on sight, but perhaps I will add another failsafe. I want you to go guard the vaults, too.”

Duke Hutijin did not like the notion, and made it clear. “I am to guard you. Not your trinkets.”

“You are to obey me, first and foremost. Should you be needed, I’ll summon you,” he added.

And, as always, Duke Hutijin did obey.

***

“Very well. Are you ready?”

“To clobber you good? Oh, I’ve been looking forward to it for months.”

“I’m flattered, truly.” Raphael glanced over at Durge, who had put away Mourning Frost - not much point in relying on cold spells in Cania, they’d said, and Raphael couldn’t argue with that. Now they were preparing to fight with a different quarterstaff. An exceedingly rare one. 

And incidentally, it was also one that Raphael found suspiciously familiar. 

“... You found your way into my vault as well as my bed, I see.”

“Ah, yes. I made quite the habit of breaking into infernal vaults, did I not?” A grin, all fangs, as they held up the Staff of Spellpower. “Mind if I borrow it?”

“Seems rather late to be asking that,” Raphael grumbled, but decided to drop the matter. Some distance away from the courtyard that was to be their battleground, hidden to the outside world by a powerful illusion of rocks and ice, he knew that Tuncheth was watching. Him and half the gelugons of Nebulat, most likely. That had been their idea; they were keen to see how Raphael fared in battle, to decide whether he was ready to learn about the Plume. 

“You were rent asunder body and soul, and your halves grew in power separately through different means. You may struggle with your new power. We must be certain you’re ready.”

Raphael had wanted to protest - he had no time to waste with Haarlep and his mother in the vaults - but he knew he had a point. He felt that arcane power his father had channeled into half of his soul, thrumming in his chest and veins as if a living thing… and like all living things, it could turn against him if he failed to keep it in check.

He’d been born a spellcaster, and he thought he was familiar enough with arcane magic. Now, he knew he’d barely scratched the surface by a scant inch. Only that one inch, compared to the depths Mephisto has been plundering for eons. Would some ice magic truly tip the scales in any way?

“Ah, but we should let bygones be bygones! Ready?” Ravengard called out, causing Raphael to recoil and chase away the thought. Not far from him, Astarion was nocking an arrow; he’d put away the hand crossbows for a longbow Durge had pulled out of their bag of holding. It glowed faintly, and Raphael could sense something unsettlingly celestial about it. 

“... Are you quite certain you’re safe to use that?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, it is safe for the wielder. I don’t mind celestial light when it hurts somebody else. You, in this specific case.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow, faintly wondering if that fight - five on one - had been entirely Tuncheth’s idea after all. “You best be careful not to shoot yourself in the foot, vampling.”

“Oh, I’ll aim for yours. And we have a healer,” he added, causing Halsin to chuckle and nod at Raphael. Around above them, wind and snow hit a shimmering, barely invisible dome.

“I’ll heal you as well, of course, should you need it. This is simple sparring, after all.”

“Much obli--”

“Oh, he will need it,” Karlach cut him off, holding up the halberd she’s picked for th fight. Or, as she referred to it, her ‘big fuck-off halberd’. Raphael raised his other eyebrow. 

“You seem just a touch too enthusiastic about this.”

“Hey, all practice before we move on to your daddy. Go on, soldier. Give us your best shot.”

“Very well.” Raphael looked past her, at Durge, and almost returned the smile. Instead he focused on that thrumming thing within him - potential, he’d called it. What he’d earned in his travels and what was forced upon him, all of it now as one. All parts of him, human and devil.

Both and neither, forever and never, he’d thought once, a very long time ago, and it still was true. It would always be true. Both and neither… and all the more powerful for it. He’d need no pillars now, no souls to sustain him. It was all him. And as he lifted his hands to let the flames roar to life - let that power sing through his every nerve ending with a staggering sense of wholeness - he thought, for a wild moment, that perhaps it would indeed be enough.

***

When Duke Barbas arrived at the vaults, Haarlep could hear him from several rooms away. And through the crackle of the flames Raphael’s ascended form was wreathed in.

He tended to make a lot of noise, they’d noted, especially when in a foul mood. That was certainly the case now: he stomped around, snapped at guards, muttered and harrumphed an awful lot - all for no reason whatsoever other than reminding at least someone of how important he was, tasked with ensuring all was well in the vaults on a daily basis. 

The reason for his foul mood was easy enough to guess: a wasted trip to the Fourth, to look for Haarlep. They were not certain whether that false lead had been planted by Duke Adonides or Lady Baalphegor, or who among their agents, but it had been a masterstroke. Archduke Belial had little love for Mephisto, and Archduchess Fierna… well, if tales were to be believed, she would have loved to have another incubus at court. 

Honestly, Abriymoch truly was someplace Haarlep had long wished they could visit, if not for the not negligible detail they wouldn’t be guaranteed a chance to leave should they not find it to their taste. Overall, a perfectly believable but ultimately false lead which had sent the chamberlain on a wild goose chase between layers. Delightful, truly.

Haarlep may have laughed, had that not been a sound Raphael’s ascended forms was incapable of making. They only listened to the Duke’s complaints and most of all, to the guards’ responses. Adonides’ gelugon guards did modify their memories with the spell - a nifty little trick, that - but of course, there was always the chance the spell may fail on one of them, which would mean the end for them, for Adonides, and of course for Dalah. 

Haarlep had never claimed to be an expert in hellish politics or any politics for that matter - it was not what they were made for - but they had a vague inkling that would not be an ideal outcome. So they were relieved when Barbas ceased snapping at the guards, and began muttering something about useless spies making him waste his time.

And then they were more than a little concerned when they heard a low, rumbling voice at the entrance, seeming to reverberate between the walls. Duke Hutijin was not the kind to fly into violence without reason, but his presence was both intimidating and highly unusual. 

He hasn’t found out already, has he?

Duke Hutijin was pretty much Mephistopheles’ right hand guy, and was never too far away from the throne room. Haarlep had to wonder what he was doing there, in the vaults deep beneath the citadel. Apparently, Barbas was wondering precisely the same thing. 

“Duke Hutijin. What a pleasant surprise it is, to see you here,” he spoke, in a tone that implied he was very surprised indeed, and not pleased at all. “A welcomed sight, if… unusual.”

A light grunt. Well, as light as the massive pit fiend could make it. “Lord Mephistopheles said I should stand guard at the entrance of the vaults, for the time being.”

“What? Did he say why?”

“He did.”

“And…?”

“And you’re welcome to ask him yourself. You’re going to get a chance soon enough, aren’t you? He’s curious to hear all about your fruitless search for the incubus in Abriymoch.”

A sharp intake of breath. When Barbas spoke again, he’d clearly forced himself to stay calm. “... Of course. I am certain he can understand, a creature who may change appearance is--”

“It’s not me you have to tell, chamberlain. Feel free to take your spiel to the throne room at your earliest convenience,” he added. Several rooms away, for the second time in only minutes, Haarlep almost laughed in spite of that form’s limitations. Ah, what a clever idea of Mephistopheles, placing his most powerful servant at the entrance… but it had come a few hours too late. Lucky, that.

They could only hope that luck would hold.

***

Later, Durge would not be able to tell how long the sparring had gone on; they only knew that by the time it ended they were barely standing, out of any spell that wasn’t a cantrip, in awe and, to be entirely honest, more than a little turned on. 

It was staggering to think that only a short few months earlier, after setting off from the Last Light Inn on the road to Baldur’s Gate, Durge had to really hold back while sparring with Raphael’s weakened human half. He’d been still recovering from his injuries, got winded fast, and was obviously unused to relying on a mortal bard’s array of spells with no trace of hellish powers.

They’d had to purposely aim something as simple as a splash of acid a little off target to give Raphael a chance to dodge and counter; the only way he’d been able to truly land a blow on them was through deception - admittedly, a valid strategy in itself. 

They’d watched him grow more powerful as the journey continued, more accustomed to fighting as a human. He’d become more precise in his casting, more controlled, no longer burning himself out in anger - he makes mistakes when he’s angry, as Hope had put it - until he could hold his own against a couple dozen armed devils, long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Until he could hold his own against his own sister, if with their help, and win.

They’d been warned, too, that his fiendish half had been imbued with arcane power beyond what most mortals could even imagine. All things considered, Durge had known the fiend they were about to spar with would be someone different, and stronger, than the cambion they took down in Avernus a year past. 

They still had not been prepared for the show of unbridled, raw power on display - the cracking stone, the shimmer of arcane magic, the fierce heat of hellfire none of them could withstand… and that was before he’d taken it up a notch and ascended, with no need to consume any souls and probably for little true reason other than showing off. Durge found they could not fault him for it. Besides, showing what he could do was the point of all that. 

They hadn’t necessarily made it easy, of course. None of them individually could match him anymore, but all together they were still a force to be reckoned with, and could hold up well enough. The fact remained that, had that been a true fight and not a sparring match, it was unlikely they’d still be breathing. They were not really breathing now, but they could chalk that up to awe rather than… well. Death.

“That was magnificent.” The praise left them with almost no thought at all, while Halsin healed a deep burn on their forearm and Karlach pulled Wyll and Astarion back on their feet. Raphael was bloodied too, his clothing torn, casting a healing spell on himself. He glanced over at the praise, and smiled.

“Very kind of you to say,” he replied, in the tone of someone who is well aware the praise was earned and very pleased with himself indeed. A shame he did not have peacock feathers to unfurl: they would not have been out of place. But it was the best mood Durge had seen him ever since Antilia’s death; they’d bite off their own tongue and swallow it before spoiling it.  

“Heh. As Lae’zel would say, I don’t play compliments. I make observations.”

“Ah, yes. Your gith friend. What has become of her?”

“She leads her people in rebellion against Vlaakith, in Orpheus’ stead.”

“Against the lich queen? I’d say it’s folly, but we’re attempting something more daring still and with no armies nor dragons at our beck and call.”

“After seeing you fight, I think we truly do stand a chance.”

Raphael looked at them, making a gesture of his hand; blood and sweat on every one of them vanished, the slashes and dents in armor mended. “Flattering as that is, and you know I am not one to let sincere flattery go unappreciated, you have only seen what I can do. You have no inkling of the extent of Mephistopheles’ power.”

“Have you seen him fight at the full extent of his capabilities?”

“If I had, I doubt I’d be here to tell the tale. But what I have seen and heard is enough, believe me. More than this will be needed if we are truly to complete this mission.”

“Well, isn’t that what you’re getting the ice magic for?” Astarion asked, holding up a hand to wriggle his fingers as though casting a spell. “If it is as powerful as the ice devils claim it is.”

“I can assure you, it is.” They had not seen Tuncheth approaching but there he stood, looking with some distaste at the devastation in the courtyard, at the flickering hellfire still burning here and there. Still, he did not complain aloud and only nodded at Raphael. “... Very well. You do possess sufficient control. I’ll have my wizards deliver the scrolls to you so that you may read all about the Plume, before they teach you to wield it.”

Raphael grimaced for a moment. “Scrolls are not how--”

“Of course not. Your unfortunate bardic tendencies aside, you’re a sorcerer. You’re used to innate power without ever having to work for it--”

“Nearly all fiends have some form of innate--”

“But the Plume can only be learned through rigorous study,” Tuncheth cut him off. “The theory first, then the practice. You’ll have to take a leaf out of your father’s book for this.”

“I can help,” Durge spoke quickly, before Raphael could voice his distaste. “Both Wyll and myself got a few lessons from Gale, when it comes to learning spells from scrolls. We’d be happy to help you and Halsin with it.”

That, at least, defused the situation… although Raphael was still scowling he turned and headed back towards their quarters, saying nothing more. Durge hesitated a moment before they felt a nudge on their back. 

“Go check on the princess,” Astarion said. “We’re going to rest up, and get those scrolls. See if you can convince him to stop pouting meanwhile. And to donate to the Astarion Blood Bank Fund while he’s at it, since we took one literal hell of a beating to help him practice.”

Durge chuckled. “I suspect his blood runs too hot now,” they said, and went after Raphael.

They caught up with him at the door of the room he’d picked for himself, a hand on the handle. They cleared their throat before they spoke. “I understand it is not ideal,” they said. “Being told you’re to do anything the way your father would.”

There was a brief silence, a light scoff. Raphael spoke without turning, still holding onto the door handle. “Let me hazard a guess. Personal experience? Knowing of Bhaal, I don’t suppose it was something as mundane as learning a spell the wizard's way.”

“It was more along the lines of butchering an innocent to gain his favor, and the Slayer form.”

“Heh. That is quite powerful. You should have probably done it.”

“The innocent in question was Isobel Thorm. You have her healing powers to thank for the fact you did not pass away from your injuries in the Material Plane. And-- her sway on Dame Aylin to thank for the fact your head is not currently at her belt.”

Raphael chuckled. “Touché,” he said - whatever that meant in Infernal. Durge hesitated. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” they asked, gaining themself a chuckle. 

“Pleasant as the sound of my voice is, talking about it is the last thing I wish to do.” He sighed, and rubbed his face. “I simply have to study the theory. I’m probably overthinking it.”

“You are.” Durge tilted their head, and met Raphael’s eyes. They stared at one another for a few moments, blood red and molten gold. “... I could help you with that. If you’d like.”

I want to stop thinking, Raphael had groaned that night by the campfire. Now he said nothing for a moment, more in control than he’d been then, but he did swallow before speaking. 

“I would appreciate that, I believe,” he said, with only the slightest tremor in his voice betraying his eagerness as he opened the door of ice leading to his room. 

Durge smiled, all fangs, and made sure to close it behind them after pushing Raphael inside.

***

“You have done well.”

The words were whispered by the servant working next to her, as they prepared a long table for yet another lavish banquet. Of course that was no servant at all, although nothing about her appearance would give away her true identity. 

There seemed to be something about her, however, that kept other indebted souls out of earshot - a sort of instinctive avoidance they did not seem to be even aware of, leaving some empty space around them. “Your pleas against his sire’s hold on his mind, and Mephisto’s will did not win out,” Baalphegor mused. “If bragging was ever a good idea for someone in your position, I’d say you earned the right.”

“I just want him safe.”

“That he cannot be. Not until his sire falls.” Baalphegor’s voice was quiet, and perhaps it was only Dalah’s imagination that the silence between the two sentences had stretched out a little longer than it was necessary. She took her eyes off her work for just a moment, and glanced over at the plain human face which hid the former consort of the Lord of the Eighth. 

Most of the time, devils were easy enough to understand - ruthless and cruel and ambitious, attached to their laws but certainly not to other devils. Lady Baalphegor, however, was more of a mystery. She took in the souls of women who died after bearing Mephisto’s spawn as her own entourage - I have equal claim to all things my consort claims, she’d once heard her say - and it was a mercy, because their workload was lighter and they were, overall, safe. 

Not all the souls in her entourage had been tricked or coerced into bearing a cambion; more than a few had done so willingly, and some even knowing full well the consequences of carrying and delivering a half-fiend. Lady Baalphegor had never seemed to hold any animosity towards them, their offspring… or indeed, towards her consort. 

“... Why become his consort at all?” Dalah found herself asking. A naive question, most likely; but it remained so difficult for her to imagine how someone who may choose to reject him would not do so. Dalah had no choice; and while many of her memories from the last months of her life were distant and faded, more like a horrid dream she had once, the night Mephisto claimed his due was seared in her mind. A nightmare that part of her never awoke from.

She remembered a looming presence reminding her the terms of the contract she had signed - a business translation like any other, to him. She recalled the terror upon realizing how she’d been fooled, feeling so small and helpless. Staring above without seeing anything, thinking of nothing but the fact Rahirek would get to live, that it wouldn’t all be for nothing. 

Looking back, it was everything she’d feared her wedding night to be like, after her father brought her to Fort Starspire to marry a man twenty years older than she was, for a foothold into the area and the nearby trade road. But it had not been so: Rahirek had seen her anguish, and had not touched her that night. Or many nights afterwards, until she’d--

There was a chuckle, snapping her from her memories. Baalphegor shook her head. “Why not? He had power, the second highest position in the Hells, with a brilliance few may hope to match. And I am also quite the catch, if I do say so myself - an asset as well as easy on the eye. I did not displease him, and he did not displease me.” A pause, a look, before she spoke again.

“I have had no reason to complain. I hold nothing of what he did to you or other mortals against him; we are devils and you signed a contract, seeking to sell out others for your benefit. One does not resent water for the lives taken by a flood, particularly if they chose to stand on a floodplain. The one thing I do blame him for is--” a pause. For the first time, she looked tired. “... He needed not bring this on himself. But he did. This time, it was him who crossed the line into the floodplain. And as the ice melts upstream, the flood shall come to take its due. Will it bring you joy when it does, and the devil who tricked you is no more?”

Dalah saw no reason to answer with anything other than the truth. “Yes,” she whispered.

A smile. Faint. “Then I do hope his demise will taste sweet,” Lady Baalphegor said, “for at least one of us.”

***

Raphael did not stop thinking. Not quite. Not entirely.

For all their commendable talents, Durge was no incubus; they did not quite empty his mind the way Haarlep could. But they certainly could turn his thoughts to much more pleasant things than an imminent battle against his sire and near certain death. That did not go unappreciated… although he wasn’t planning to be particularly vocal about that appreciation. 

The grip on his horns forcing his head down on the pillow - that, too, was cold against heated skin - tore a moan from his throat regardless. He almost scowled at the lapse, but the pull at his tail and the throaty laugh that followed nearly tore another noise out of him. He clenched his teeth against it, determined not to moan. It was no easy feat with  the heat in his groin and a tremor in his limbs, his ears buzzing, breath coming out in pants already.

Then sharp teeth grazed at the base of his tail, and got another noise out of him. He’d have been annoyed, if he’d been able to recall what annoyance was right there and then. Perhaps Durge was capable of emptying his mind, after all. He might have to revise that assessment, annoyingly eno-- ah, never mind. There it was.

“Do you manhandle all your lovers like you’re trussing a calf?” he snapped, trying to turn back. The grip on his horns kept his cheek firmly pressed into the pillow; Raphael could barely catch a glimpse of the red scales on Durge’s throat, the gleam of bared fangs.

“Only when they enjoy it.”

“What makes you think--”

In lieu of a reply, Durge’s hand closed around his cock, already hard and leaking. They said nothing - didn’t need to - and Raphael tried to pass off the groan that left him as a grumble. But he could not hide the shudder nearly as well: he kept his hips still, but he forgot about his wings entirely. They quivered, and gave him away. 

Durge laughed. “You asked me to take you like I owned you, last time.” The hand let go of his cock, greased fingers pushing inside again - rough and thick, prodding, spreading. They pressed against just the right spot, damn them. Raphael shuddered again, spread his knees wider, and tried to push back just as the fingers retreated. Another throaty chuckle, almost a growl. “Is that still how you want it?”

“You bothersome creature-- yes!”

They were still holding his head down by the horns, keeping him nearly bent in half on the bed. Raphael could rise if so he chose, but at the moment he chose to forget the fact he had that option. Especially when Durge’s other hand went to pull his tail to the side, roughly, to expose him entirely. There was pressure, slick and warm and thick, against his greased hole. Pushing in, stretching… and then, maddeningly, pausing .

“Beg.”

Another rush of heat to his groin, a twitch of his cock he did his best to ignore. His fingers clenched on the sheets, almost tight enough to tear. A single beat of his wings would have thrown that insufferable tease off him, but he had no intention to do that. “No,” he ground out.

“Then perhaps you don’t truly want--” Durge trailed off when Raphael’s tail wrapped around their thigh and he clenched around the head of their cock, trying to keep them there, to pull them deeper. He turned his gaze to their left, where a wall of ice reflected them as clearly as a mirror - himself on his elbows and knees, head held down by the horns, the dragonborn’s body over him. No longer large enough to dwarf him but not all that much smaller, either. 

Their cock in particular still felt nowhere near small. They didn’t seem to have even noticed the mirror and were just looking at him, an unmistakable hunger in their gaze.

He drew in a shaky breath, cock twitching with need. “If you’re to take me like you own me, own me,” Raphael rasped. “You do not need me to ask for--”

His words broke with a cry when Durge grinned, suddenly, and snapped their hips forward without warning - quick and unyielding, all of it. The hand gripping his horn gave a rough yank, forcing Raphael to arch back his neck with another strangled cry. Durge did not thrust as much as they ground into him, tilting her hips, for several torturously long minutes. Raphael had to bite his lower lip not to groan, teeth piercing skin, and tasted his own blood. It was too much. It was not enough. He struggled to put together any coherent thoughts.

He reached up to grasp Durge’s arm, scratched at the scales with his claws. It made Durge hiss, and bite down on his shoulder… or try to. The wings were very much in the way, and it caused them to chuckle before they pulled back… and out, to Raphael’s dismay.

“Durge--”

“I want you to ride me. I want to see you.”

Of course they do. Is this not the form they were after, when they took Haarlep’s offer?

He did not look exactly as Haarlep’s mimicry of him; he’d been much younger when the incubus had taken his form, and admittedly Haarlep’s jab on how his stomach had never been quite that chiseled had not been without merit. Durge did not remark on any of that; when they leaned back against the headboard and Raphael sank down on their cock, the look on their face was hungry as ever. “Perfect,” they rumbled with a roll of their hips, running a hand across his chest, down his stomach, stopping only a scant inch from his cock. 

Raphael would never know whether the jolt of pleasure that ran up his spine was more for the upward thrust or the praise - such high, sincere praise - but it did not matter. He arched his back, rolling his own hips. “More,” he rasped. It was in his nature to want, it was in his nature to take, and this - oh, he’d gladly take every drop he was offered, beg for more if he had to.

“Of this--” A sharp thrust, a gasp. “Or praise?”

“Everything.”

And he did get everything - the bruising grip on his hips and the teeth grazing at his neck and shoulders, although not hard enough to pierce the tough, leathery skin. The relentless thrusts and the snarled praise, until finally - finally - Durge’s hand closed on Raphael’s cock, squeezed, and gave just a few merciless, rough strokes. 

The orgasm was harsh as the touch, the thrusts; it tore a sound from Raphael that was almost a wail. He crumpled forward, wings opening and shuddering, palms hitting the wall on either side of Durge’s head. They laughed, breathless, and grazed at his neck. 

“I’m not done,” they reminded him, and Raphael felt them grin. “I still own you, don’t--”

The transformation came without warning, causing them to trail off and then moan. Raphael’s human form was lighter, easier to wrap their arms around… and most of all tighter around their cock. Raphael laughed, breathless, tucking his face against their throat. A small victory but a victory nonetheless, and they savored nearly as much as the overwhelming sense of fullness. He drew in a panting breath and leaned against Durge, chest to chest, heart beating furiously against his ribcage. Their heartbeat, too, was frantic.

“Why ask,” he groaned, tilting his hips against the next thrust, “when you can just claim?”

And claim Durge did, nearly snarling by his ear, biting onto Raphael’s shoulder, drawing blood and savoring it like a fine vintage. They chuckled against the wound. 

“Does not  burn nearly as hot as wyvern whiskey.”

“It burns far hotter,” Raphael groaned, wrapping his arms around Durge’s shoulders to cling closer, tucking his face against their throat while they fucked him. “Only not in this form.”

The rumble of a laugh against his own chest. “Astarion will be glad to know as much.”

Raphael scoffed and laughed at the same time, panting against blood-red scales. “Make me come again,” he gasped out, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. He was beginning to harden; even without incubus spit, a devil’s refractory period was short. “And I’ll consider it.”

Perhaps, he should have clarified how many times he wanted Durge to bring them to orgasm; in their daze, he’d thought one more time would be it. As it turned out, it was three.

For once, he did not mind being wrong.

***

Wyll knew that something was not quite right halfway through the third scroll. 

With Durge and Raphael obviously otherwise occupied, he and Halsin had decided to go ahead and start reading through the theory and details of this hellish ice magic the gelugons were so proud of. It was quite a few scrolls, because the Plume was not a spell - it was a vast array of spells, each of them involving channeling the arcane focus of all of Cania to create… well. The sort of ice one may find only in the Hells.

Just looking at the amount of scrolls they were expected to go through before even attempting to cast any of those spells, Wyll couldn’t help but think that the much-ridiculed annoyance of wizards towards sorcerers - and warlocks, obviously - made sense. He wouldn’t much like it either, having to study so much to learn each spell and then watch others just cast from birth or through a deal with a devil. 

“Ah, this spell is something like Abi-Dalzim's Horrid Wilting. Durge can do that one. I’m sure they can help us out, once they’re--” he cleared his throat, and shifted a little on the seat. Honestly, sitting was not the most pleasant of positions for him at the moment. And not because of the earlier sparring match. “Once they join us.”

“Of course,” Halsin said. There was no amusement to his voice, no chuckle. Looking back, Wyll would think that he should have known right there and then that something was wrong. But he was focused on the scroll, he thought nothing of it and continued. 

“Anyway-- yes, as I said, it’s something like the Horrid Wilting in that you manipulate moisture, but you push it in instead of drawing it out. You release a vapor that enters the enemy's pores and then freezes into countless tiny pellets within the bloodstream. Kills weaker opponents on the spot, immobilizes more powerful ones. Horrifying, but useful.”

No answer, and that was what caused Wyll to look up, wondering if Halsin was still too tired from the earlier fight. But that was not it: Halsin was pale in a way Wyll had only ever seen him as they journeyed through the shadow curse.

“... Halsin? Are you all right?”

Halsin recoiled, and cleared his throat. “Ah, I… yes, of course I’m well. Apologies, I must be tired. Perhaps I’ll need a few hours’ rest before I can--”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know. You’re not well at all,” Wyll cut him off, and Halsin held his gaze only a moment before he sighed and looked away. “... It’s the entire notion of infernal magic, isn’t it?” Wyll asked. “It’s the farthest thing from nature I can imagine.”

With a long sigh, Halsin nodded. He finally glanced back, and he looked more than tired: he looked haunted. “My apologies. It must seem foolish, to one who took a deal such as yours to keep an entire city safe. I know that this Plume can make the difference between victory and defeat; as many of us as possible should learn to wield it. But it’s difficult to… the more I learn, the more I see how it goes against everything natural in the world. Just like hellfire.”

Wyll sighed, and pushed the scrolls to the side. “Halsin. Can I say something that is going to sound incredibly stupid from someone who’s lived a quarter of a century against your three-hundred fifty-something years? Learn from my experience.” He leaned forward on the table - that was too made of ice - to make sure to meet Halsin’s eyes. “I accepted the corruption of the Hells for the sake of my city and if I were in the same situation, I’d do it again. It was no true choice. But also, I was alone. It had to be me to shoulder that burden and stand in Tiamat’s way, or no one would. You are not alone at all. Raphael, Durge and myself can wield this. You don’t have to.”

Halsin sighed, and shook his head. “I owe you more than words can say, and I came here to help. So help I shall, to the best of my abilities--”

“And your abilities are already enough. You don’t have to do this.”

A moment’s hesitation, plain as day on his face, before Halsin shook his head again. 

“But if I do, we’ll have better chances--”

“Maybe. But I thought we’d have better chances against Zariel if I took the sword and attuned to it, even if it would change me for good. I’m sure you remember how well that idea went over with Karlach. Or anyone else, for that matter. Including you.”

That, at least, seemed to drive the point home. Halsin stared at Wyll for a few moments, biting his lower lip, and finally he sighed. “I am sorry. I promised I’d do anything I could to help, but this…” A gesture at the scrolls before, finally, he said it. “I cannot do this.”

Wyll grinned. “Well, no promises broken. You are doing everything that you can do. And pretty well, too, since now you can reattach limbs and-- what else? Resurrect the dead at full health? That’s plenty of help, Halsin. It can make a difference, too. And there is not a single person among us who won’t understand if you sit this one out.”

The look of gratitude and relief Halsin gave him made Wyll almost feel guilty he hadn’t seen it before, just how much Halsin was putting up with for their sake. He hid it well, sure enough… but he of all people should have known better. So he smiled, and stood. 

“You know, I think I can wait for Raphael and Durge to start learning this. Want to come see how the target hitting contest between Karlach and Astarion is going?” he added. Karlach was more for melee fighting than anything else, but she did take on board the suggestion that a little training with a heavy crossbow would do her good. 

Halsin smiled. “I’d appreciate that.”

As they headed out, Wyll must not have been able to hide his limping as well as he thought. Halsin cleared his throat. “I can provide some salve for that,” he said, earnest as always. 

Wyll was, once again, rather grateful that his complexion did not allow his cheeks to flush red.

***

It was not unusual for Mephistopheles’ focus to split and shift, from one project to the next, from one scheme to the other. It was as fickle as his moods, as fickle as his favor. Everyone at court knew as much, and each one of them would do anything to anticipate his wants, or be at least prepared to meet his demands as quickly as possible. Get him what he wanted, or give him answers he needed.

But this time, no one could answer his question - Where is Raphael? - and they grew increasingly nervous as days passed and his mood became bleaker. They were still desperately seeking that answer as the question shifted to another - Why is my High Cantor still not reporting? - which in turn hid another, different question. More urgent. More visceral. 

Unspoken, so that no fool could take it for weakness, but growing from a whisper in Mephisto's mind to a hurricane, drowning out all and any thoughts of his runaway whelp and his whereabouts. Perhaps Raphael’s corpse rotted submerged in a mire in Maladomini; perhaps it was frozen beneath snow and ice at the bottom of one of Cania’s crevasses.

Well, let it rot, let it remain frozen in time. It did not matter. There was only the new question, relentless, howling in his mind like a storm - where is my daughter?

“You are to approach Malagard with utter discretion, and find my High Cantor. Disguise yourselves. Should you be caught your lives are forfeit, either by Baalzebul’s hand or mine.”

“Of course, my lord. And of this Raphael…?”

Mephistopheles scowled, a hand clenching on his throne’s armrest. “Forget him. Find the High Cantor. Ensure no harm has come to her, and report to me. If she has been imprisoned, ensure that Baalzebul knows I am willing to negotiate and report to me immediately. ”

“As you command, Lord Mephistopheles.”

The Lord of the Eighth was still clutching the armrest of his throne, claws digging into ice, when his spies left. Unheard through the hurricane in his mind, ice kept melting, dripping from his throne like a ticking clock.

***

Raphael was a creature of fire. 

Tuncheth had said as much with a grimace as soon as they’d arrived; unpleasant, but not  wrong. It was something Durge had noted as they fought in the House of Hope: he was entirely immune to any and all types of fire, even hellfire - but he could suffer injuries from cold based attacks. He had a high degree of resistance, of course, but no immunity. 

That did not necessarily have any bearing on one's ability to master different spells: Durge’s fire spells were no less powerful than their cold or lighting spells, for one. Still, the Plume was a different type of magic from anything they had known; even with their own affinity for cold, they struggled to truly draw power from the essence of Baator itself - the heart of Cania, as Tuncheth called it - and channel it into the array of spells the gelugons had designed. 

Not impossible, but difficult. Very much so: Wyll struggled with it, too. If it took Raphael time to command it, none of them would fault him for it.

And yet, to their moderate surprise and a rather embarrassingly fierce sense of pride, Raphael took to it like a duck to water. A very powerful duck, wielding extremely dangerous water. They were probably not going to use that wording aloud, though. 

Some distance away, a fiendish direbear some gelugons had brought in roared and charged straight at Raphael. Durge watched in silence as Raphael brought up his right hand; a fine mist of condensation rose from the icy ground, and was then cast against the creature with a swift, precise gesture of the left. It hit the bear, who had just enough time to roar again before Raphael closed both hands into fists, and the spell took hold. 

The creature reared back, then stilled. For a few moments it remained standing, frozen mid-act; the eyes dull and glassy, every drop of blood - every bit of moisture in its body - solid ice. Then it fell, dragged by its own weight, and shattered onto the stony ground in chunks of frozen gore. It was safe to say that hex, too, had been mastered.

“Very well. I think that is enough for today.”

Tuncheth stepped forward, and Raphael - who had been smiling down at the remains of what had been more test subject than opponent - frowned. “There are more spells I ought to--”

“You shall, soon. But now you have to come with me. Let your companions keep practicing - plainly, they need to. Desperately.”

Durge may have protested, if that hadn’t been an obvious fact. With a sigh, they went back to practice with Wyll - wondering only faintly about the reason why Tuncheth had come to collect Raphael in such a hurry.

***

Raphael knew who the visitor was the instant he stepped on the ice ledge he’d been directed to, as soon as his eyes fell on the gleaming ruby on top of the rod he was holding. 

The unholy aura he emanated was enough to make any annoyance Raphael still felt melt away into a sort of dread he’d rarely felt before; enough to make him stop mid-stride as though he, too, had been hit by the full power of the Plume. 

Before him, clad in red robes, was an avatar of Asmodeus. 

“You are lucky he found that little plan of yours concerning the Crown of Karsus amusing as well as doomed,” Lady Baalphegor had told him not too long ago. It had annoyed him, then. Now he could only think that he had been lucky indeed, so very lucky, to only face Mephisto’s wrath and not that of the Lord Below.

Raphael swallowed, tried to speak, he had no time to force out a single word before Asmodeus turned and met his gaze.

"Raphael," the Lord Below spoke, and smiled. Even so, those eyes made something at Raphael's very core tremble. “It’s long past time we met. You know who I am.” He turned fully, the ruby rod tapping once on the ice. “Now, let us speak of who you must be.”

***

[Back to Chapter 35]

[Back to Start]

[jessiemeows]

New OC's :) Well not really but kind of!

Rae (Storm) Nightshade & Amaya (The end) Aníara Othzál

Both are redeemed durges

Rae is for Ascended Astarion & Amaya is for Spawn Astarion

I've written a little bit of their back stories below as well just an FYI Amaya has a full story to her already while Rae is brand new so I need to cook with her a little bit.

Rae is going to be sort of power hungry and will most definitely influence all of her companions to take whatever they can and never give. Unfortunately this will lead to very bad paths :( (I will not be raiding the grove that is too much for me lmfao only one tied will die, IM SO SORRY KARLACH ITS FOR WYLL). I am also going to try to figure out how to save Last Light Inn without murdering everyone when I have Shadowheart kill Dame Aylin, I'm sure I can figure it out, I watched a YouTube vid about it the other day. Therefore I'm once again playing as a chaotic good person?? I think? I'm not sure what it is called if you are power hungry low-key do evil things but are so chaotic you end up doing the right thing. What I've come up for her backstory well what little I thought of is her as a siren, that's how she brought back her victims in sacrifice for Bhaal (similar to Amaya but I've cooked longer with Amaya so she has much more trauma). I don't think she ever liked being under Bhaal's influence similar to Amaya, I believe it is cannon that all Dark Urges have left the cult at some point (I could be wrong but I read somewhere that they have) but she did leave the cult before. I haven't cooked long enough for me think of why she rejects Bhaal's power since she is power hungry but I feel like maybe its because she's so bitter, her dad didn't save her, no one saved her from Orin and all the fucked up shit that happened in the mind flayer colony but I'll get back to y'all on that soon lol. I may give her bluish skin but I might not because tieflings can have human color skin tones, I like Rae's color scheme too it's going to be dark royal blue which reminds me of electricity. I'm not sure if I should keep her as a storm sorcerer it just fits her I suppose, I originally wanted to be a monk. If anyone knows how to use a sorcerer let me know, I've tried to play as one before but didn't understand the mechanics lmfao.I only created her in customization, I'm waiting to get to the grove with Amaya and then I'll create her for real.

Amaya is my go to playthrough that I adore so much and already thought of so much lore for her (her former name use to be Eris but I changed it lol. She's my funny little cry baby chaotic good girl, different from Rae is she always wants to do the right thing but ends up doing it in the most chaotic way lmfao. She's a cleric/paladin of Selune mainly because her mother was a cleric of Selune and her dad also worshiped her but was a ranger, after her adoptive parents died when she was 12 (she did not kill them the Zhentarim did) she was kept as a slave for them, did unimaginable things that a teen should do :( this was mainly because one of the zhents took a gross liking to her, she was also forced to thieve, her main schemes back then were using her cleric abilities to scam someone out of money and then pickpocketing the rest. She had her first Bhaal urges happen to her just before her parents died but vowed she would never act on them after their deaths. This wasn't until she couldn't take it anymore at age 16 and killed her main abuser (there's more to this but I want to write it out eventually in story form.) After a few more years of being on her own other bad shit happened which was when she finally found the cult of Bhaal at the young age of 19. After this, Bhaal of course demanded kills from his lovely daughter and she became a siren but hated every second of it and tried to run away more than once but never couId and would be punished for it which then eventually leads to her wound on her wrist which will occur she will bleed bleed and have a lot of pain, she will also have one of the worst headaches that can even make her physically ill every time she rejects one of her worse urges (this was a joy with Lae'zel thinking she's transforming every day lmfao). I think of this as similar to Shadowhearts wound but more graphic, basically a conditioning to make her do bad things. Again there's more to it that I written about already and will eventually release in future. I changed her color scheme from purple to red bc I hated all the purple eyes lol and I prefer to keep a theme going tbh lol. With Rae her physical appearance will not change when she rejects Bhaal (I may change her appearance when Astarion makes her a spawn though but only a little) but Amaya's appearance does! Her natural eye color is dark brown which is why I chose the eyes that looks like a red haze is over natural color. Her hair will also no longer have dark red streaks and will be just normal black and the glowy horns I think will change from red to white :)

I know there will be another dark urge OC soon it will be for Wyll though but that OC is literally just gonna be me lololol. I'm waiting for Larian to fix Wyll before I start that though. Hopefully SOON!

[dearlydarlingdahlia]

The Second Chance

Thoughts on my first one shot and short story.

I exclusively wrote longfics until last week. The first one I wrote was a Ascended Astarion x Durge story, where basically the toxic man tried to win back his girl. I was actually hesitant to post it because this book on abuse I'm reading said that media often perpetuates a problematic idea that someday the abusive man will realize his sins and the love of his woman will change him. I was and still am worried that I am further contributing to this harmful idea that can trap victims with dangerous people as they mistakenly hope the abuser can change.

However, I decided to post it because I wanted to imagine what 'winning her back' could look like ideally in the best circumstances. I also wanted to write what a genuine apology could look like. I've received plenty of apologies from abusers in the past and I am only just now unraveling why those were inadequate. From the book on abuse I'm reading, it said that these apologies are often hollow even if the abuser might experience genuine remorse. They're just sorrier for themselves. They book provided examples of what can/should be done in addition to an apology, and I was happy to include some of them in the short. These were - giving the victim adequate space and time to feel hurt/angry, creating space to listen to the victim's experience without invalidating or making excuses, making efforts to ensure the behavior won't repeat, and making amends as necessary.

I realize all of this is very complex, and I am still sharpening my analysis on abuse. Regardless, I felt very satisfied with how this short story turned out. It was healing for me too to write it and read it because it validates how wrong the fake apologies I've received were and it provides an example of how things should have been.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Can I get more bg3 yandere, maybe what starts the obsession with the reader? Punishments?

A/N: Yes, more yandere coming up! (Wasn’t sure if you were referring to just the baddies list I posted or the companions, so I went with the main companions this time.)

And apologies for the wait… This was one hell of a week.

Yandere!BG3: What Triggers Their Obsession 

Astarion: 

Astarion is drawn to your innocence. 

At first, he thinks it must be an act, for someone to be so kind and open around a vagrant group of misfits they just met. 

But once he understands that’s just who you are, he feels he must protect that innocence by taking it all for himself. 

After all, he deserves it, doesn’t he? After two hundred years of slavery, he finally gets to possess some kindness of his own. 

Because that’s what you’d show him, isn’t it? You’d love him, understand him, and treat him the way he so longs to be treated. And all he has to do… is make you his to get it. 

Ascended! Astarion: 

Ascended Astarion is drawn to your inner fire, the way you don’t submit when he demands you ‘bow’. 

Initially, he finds it rather amusing that such a helpless thing like you dare defy him. Then he becomes irritated before being overcome with righteous anger. How dare you continue to thwart his plans? You shall pay, indeed. 

He wants you begging, pleading on your knees for his mercy. He wants to be the only one with the power to grant such benevolence to you.  

You will know his name, you will know his power. Your insolence will not last long.

Gale: 

Gale is drawn to your inquisitive nature, how you always seem so fascinated by any knowledge he has to share. 

No one, not even his students, has ever looked up at him with those big doe eyes the way you do. 

You appreciate him, in a way no one’s ever appreciated him before. 

He’s always played second fiddle, to greater wizards, to his goddess, but not to you. Never to you. 

He needs you to need him. He wants your awe but should push come to shove, he’ll settle for your fear. 

Godhood! Gale: 

Godhood Gale finds you so impressively driven. Your bold choices and lack of apprehension call him to you. 

On one hand, he wants to empower you, to help you soar even further than your wildest dreams. On the other hand, he wants dominion over your confidence- he should be the one to grant it to you. You couldn’t possibly command your own destiny. He’s a God, after all, he should have reign of it. 

Just let him take control, he swears it’s only for your good. Gale would never overstep your boundaries. He swears on Mystra’s honor. 

Wyll: 

Wyll wants to protect and cherish you like he believes he’s always been destined to do. 

For him, he was always burdened with this great privilege of being a hero. And you, you are the thing that makes everything he’s ever endured or sacrificed all worth it. 

You need him to save you. Sure, you’re capable, and yes, you could make it on your own, but why make it harder than necessary? Why not just let the man who would lay down his life for you, honor you and take care of you for the rest of your days?

You’re so sweet. You’re such a light in these dark, dangerous times. Wyll will ensure you’re safely hidden away from all the danger that lurks beyond. 

If that means Wyll is all you know of the outside world, then so be it. 

Karlach: 

Karlach is drawn to your spunk, the conviction you must possess to keep on fighting.  

You remind her so much of her younger self, always eager, always ready for the next challenge. But alas, that’s what she fears. 

Her eagerness blindsided her to the truth about Gortash. She didn’t see what was coming until it was too late. She can’t let that happen to you. She won’t. 

Don’t you understand? No one else out there in the cruel, cruel world would tell you the truth. They are all self-serving and undeserving of your intentions. 

Karlach knows her conditions aren’t ideal, living in hell never is. But please, try to understand. 

A lifetime spent in hell at Karlach’s side is much, much safer than a world spent alone on the surface. 

Shadowheart: 

Shadowheart is drawn to your inexperience, your childlike innocence in which you believe all that she tells you. 

She was always being taught that obedience mattered over intelligence. She thought such a statement was wrong but then, you came waltzing into her life. 

You exemplify compliance. Every word, every thought she has you take to heart like gospel. 

For you, there shall be no gods, no goddesses, no Shar or Selune to worship. 

There will only be you and her. 

La’zel: 

La’zel, despite herself, is drawn to your kindness, your simplicity. 

She thinks you are weak, and undeserving of her affections, yet she feels the need to seize you and shield you all the same.  

Your flesh is soft, your heart is malleable, and your mind is guileless. Without her intervention, you would surely perish an otherwise avoidable fate. 

No. She must keep you away from the others, away from their grasp. 

It would be futile to try and navigate the world without her. 

[inquisitornocturn]

⊱─ 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟: 𝕔𝕙. 𝟟 - 𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕖 ─⊰

➺ 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Ascended Astarion/f!reader

➺ 𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: no y/n is used, rating - E, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, smut, body worship, cunnilingus, grinding, fingering, vampiric bites, blood drinking, PiV, breast play, creampie, happy ending.

➺ 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: you're skilled, driven and most importantly - ambitious. but even as someone in your position, a trained assassin and a leader of your own Guild, you still lend yourself to jobs that are of importance. even if those jobs sometimes mean attending parties. tonight - it's a masquerade and you're bored out of your mind, until the man who hired you to protect him leaves you alone, at the mercy of a stranger who suddenly took a keen interest in you.

➺ 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 5,626

𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: it is done! it is over! honestly i don't even know what to say. first i want to thank those who followed this story from the very first chapter and those who kept supporting me along the way of writing it even when i had doubts. second, i want to thank everyone who commented, liked and shared this fic, every thing, big or small, is always appreciated by me. and now, i bring to your attention - the ending of this story, please enjoy♡~

➺ 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: [link]

Last time you were at the luxurious mansion you were met with hostility. Not only from Astarion’s spawn but from the Vampire Lord himself, yet when you show up at the iron gate this time you don’t have to wait or wonder when you will be noticed if at all. The moment you stop by the locked entry a thrall appears through the open door and scurries your way.

“My Lady.” he addresses you and to your surprise you notice that it’s the same man who came to question you the first time you were here, yet his attitude right now is furthest thing from sour. “Wonderful evening.” he adds and you raise an eyebrow, watching him pick a key on a steel ring and slip it into a lock. He’s not even looking at you, his eyes are downcast or focused on his fingers, you can’t really tell which is the reason, and it takes you a moment to realize you should respond.

“Good evening.” you simply say, not bothering to make small talk because this spawn is obviously only polite to you because of his Master.

“This way, my Lady.” the gate is opened and you step inside, then stop and look behind you as the thrall locks it again, but you’re not looking at him, you’re looking to the houses and streets that you are leaving behind. For a second you wonder if you will be able to freely wander them again.

A moment of doubt, of worry, of fear, and your steps falter when the spawn begins leading you towards the massive door, but you press your lips into a thin line and follow him anyway. It’s not too late to say no, you know that, it’s not too late to ask Astarion what exactly he has in mind for you. And as you make your way through the corridors, you begin preparing questions in your head.

This is not something you forgot to consider since last night, when you both at last made yourselves presentable and returned to the party. Duke was furious, obviously, but Astarion’s charm and your apologies eventually calmed him down enough to warn you specifically not to do anything like this again or he will make your life in Gate unbearable. You heard the threat loud and clear and accepted it. The price could’ve been bigger to pay if Duke Sanolin wasn’t the man to see any worth in you. Thus, when you returned to your own home instead to the Guildhall, not wanting to deal with jobs and reports, you did spend considerable time thinking about what happened.

And yet you still came.

The truth is simple to you now, even if you still doubt the longevity of it, but you can’t resist the pull of a man who tried so damn hard to make you his. And your tired, yearning heart compels you to keep walking, to keep following the silent spawn, because there’s a promise. A promise that you won’t have to struggle again, a promise that you won’t be hurt again, a promise that everything you had to suffer through had a reason, even if that reason is to be loved by someone. Doesn’t everyone want that? Even to you this notion feels silly and naïve but you can’t help it. How Astarion makes you feel overrides your logic, the lessons you have learned in the past and your worries for the future.

After all, you are used to chains, but you have hope, however gullible that hope makes you feel, that maybe this is exactly what your life led you towards.

“Here, my Lady.” the spawn interrupts your musings and you stop when he bows his head and gestures towards the door. You recognize it, it’s the same one that you stood in front of before when you visited Astarion in his bedroom.

Puzzled you look at the thrall but he’s not moving nor is he looking at you, his glowing red eyes focused on the noses of his shoes as if there’s something written on them so you sigh and lick your lips swallowing dryly before you take the handle and push it down. The moment you do it, you hear the vampire spawn turn on his heels and leave in hurried footsteps.

You resist the desire to look at him leaving you here, as if he’s a friend who suddenly abandoned you in the crowd of faces, but instead of letting your anxiety get the better of you, you push the handle down and open the door.

The view that opens in front of you surprises you. Your lips part in a silent inhale and your eyes widen. What you saw it last, the lair of a spoiled slob now is a wonderfully tidy bedroom. The curtains prevent last rays of light entering the room, but there’s red lit candles everywhere. The tables are clean and there’s flowers in vases on them. There are no piles of clothes in front of a closet, the canopy over the bed bears dark red curtains neatly tied to bedposts and the sheets themselves are white, tidy and clean. No bodies hidden behind furniture, no blood stains left. It’s like a completely different room to what you saw first time and the contrast takes your breath away.

Except Astarion is nowhere to be seen.

You walk past the door, letting it close behind you, and you look around, searching for a glimpse of silver hair but you realize you’re completely alone. So you step deeper into the room, walking to one small table and touching the blooms of flowers with your fingertips, then look around again. You can wait of course, until he appears. You are sure he has been informed that you arrived already but you feel tense enough. Enough not want to be alone.

“Astarion?” you call out gently at first, not sure if you should rise your voice, but when nothing happens and no reply comes, you try again and louder. “Astarion, are you here?”

You suddenly get startled when a door you haven’t noticed until now, the one on your left, swings open and Astarion steps in with a smile.

“Pardon my delay.” he apologizes and closes the door, strolling right up to you. Before you can say anything, for a moment focused on his expensive-looking navy blue and silver embroidered clothes, you feel Astarion’s hand slip around your waist and pull you against his body with a dance swing.

“Wait!” you gasp, caught off guard as your steps falter to follow him but Astarion only laughs and lifts your chin to him, his crimson gaze intense and his smile wide.

“Wait for what? You came and I’ve waited enough.” he says and steals a kiss the moment you part your lips to speak. You make a noise of protest, but feeling his tongue against yours makes the heat engulf you on the inside and his arm around your waist only holds you against his chest firmer, stronger.

When Astarion releases your lips from the devouring passion of his, he smiles and strokes your chin with a thumb while still holding it up.

“I missed you terribly.” he announces and you can’t help but smile slightly.

“You saw me last night.”

“I didn’t see you today yet, have I?”

“No, but-“

“No buts, you came because you want to be mine. And I want to make you mine. I waited for this long enough.” Astarion reasserts and leans in for another kiss but this time you have your wits about you and you quickly push your palm against his chest to stop him. Vampire cranes his neck in further attempt to press his lips against yours but you slightly shake your head, your expression becoming serious.

“I have questions.” you say quietly and finally he stops, there’s a flash of emotion in his eyes and his face but he just smiles and straightens his back, releasing your chin and gripping your waist with both hands now.

“Questions? And what could they be?” he sounds almost dismissive if not for the smallest sound of strain in his voice. You realize he’s worried.

“I want to know what…” you pause, picking your words. “What turning me into a vampire will mean for me.” you stop again to think and Astarion remains silent, letting you speak. “I want to know what to expect, I want to know if… if you will take my freedom. If I’ll be just like the rest of your spawn – a servant, a slave.”

This time you see a clear flash of fear in his crimson gaze but Astarion quickly masks it and lets go of your waist, turning from you and walking to the small table that has a what looks like a carafe of wine, he then proceeds to flip the glasses up and begin pouring the liquid.

“What do you know about me, little assassin?” he suddenly asks, his voice serious and you raise your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you gathered as much information as you could about me, didn’t you? If not, you’d be a lazy assassin.” Astarion teases with a smile and a glance cast in your direction. This makes you relax, smile and approach him, letting him hand you one of the glasses.

“You are right, I did gather as much about your past I could.” you take a sip and Astarion turns to face you, a twin glass in his hand and he cocks his head slightly to the side and gestures for you to go on.

“Don’t hold me in suspense then, please share.” he smiles even if you notice that his eyes remain serious. He has a point he wants to make, you are sure of it.

“I know you have been a vampire spawn to a man named Cazador for several centuries. I know that you used to be courtesan. I suspect you killed your own Master when you had the chance, given the mansion that originally was in his name.” you now too gesture around you and Astarion nods.

“Quite correct without the lurid details. Clever, but I always expect you to be clever.” he sips his wine and looks around briefly, as if for a moment reliving all the memories of haunting these walls as a mere spawn and not as a Lord he is now. “Yes Cazador, my old Master, sent me out to get him victims. For blood or other purposes, me and other spawn were never made aware of his plans.” Astarion’s eyes return to yours. “But he’s gone now. He served his purpose.” you open your mouth to ask a question but he lifts a single finger, wanting for you to wait. “So you see, I have a history of slavery. Just like you.”

Dread fills your heart and your insides fill with freezing led at his words. You can’t move, can’t speak, can barely move and your eyes widen.

“How do you…” you finally gasp out rather than speaking up and Astarion’s eyes soften, his smile is gentle and he reaches out with one hand cupping the side of your face, his touch so tender.

“Clever as you are, you’re still a mortal working with other mortals. I am a Vampire, little assassin, I have power and influence. Finding about your past wasn’t hard. Fiends and demons like to brag way more than you may realize when they think you match their depravity.” words spoken softly, but they cut like a dagger’s blade.

You can’t help it, sorrow fills your chest and you look at Astarion, the only man that ever made you feel so fragile as you do now, the only man that makes you want to seek his comfort. You don’t know what to say so you just close your eyes and try not let tears gather behind your eyelids as you lean into his touch.

“Tell me now, darling, do you really think I would seek to take away your freedom?” Astarion whispers after he takes a single step to stand closer to you and you look at him again, searching his eyes for an answer or maybe reassurance. “I want you to be mine willingly. I could’ve made you into a spawn any time when we were together, but I want you to be mine because you want it. Because you are special. Do you think I want to shackle you in a gilded cage now that you’re here? No, the beauty of a bird is when it’s free, not when its song is echoing among cold walls.”

This time you can’t help it, tears do gather in your eyes and you step away from him, turning your back to the man who somehow managed to prod at your scars and make them hurt but in a way you never experienced before. You take a big gulp of your wine and pause when you feel Astarion’s hand on your shoulder.

“I know how you feel, darling. I know. Who can understand the pain of a former slave better than another such slave. But your past still weights on you and I want nothing more than to mend your clipped wings.” as he speaks Astarion leans closer to your ear, whispering gently, then he pauses to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “So no, I won’t cage you if you’re worried about that.” he keeps whispering and this time moves just enough to look at the side of your face. His unoccupied hand slides around your waist, and your back is brought against his chest gently and carefully. “I just want you to be with me. Do you want that?”

You turn your head to look at him, managing to tame your tears and not let them spill down your face then you swallow heavily, struggling against the knot at the back of your throat, but you nod, feeling how your heart fills with so much emotion once you do.

“Then tell me, little assassin. Tell me you want to be with me, tell me you want to be my consort and let me show you just how much I need you.”

A pause as you both look at each other, as you explore your emotions like it’s a puzzle to be solved, looking for doubts, for fears, for anything that will make you step away, but you find nothing.

This is what you want and you will take the risks, whatever they are.

“Make me yours, Astarion.” you whisper and Astarion’s eyes leave yours to land on your lips, then he presses a brief kiss there.

“Then trust me.”

With that he releases you and gently takes away your glass, momentarily stepping away to put it and his own on the nearest table, then he turns back to you and offers you his hand. You glance at it, then at his face, seeing nothing but soft emotion displayed there. If you don’t love him yet, you know that you will soon.

So you take his hand and your heart feels light instead of heavy, opposite of what you felt when you came to the mansion just earlier, as you walked the corridors, even when you entered this bedroom. No, you want this and everything that comes with it.

Astarion smiles when he gently clutches your fingers and he leads you across the bedroom to the bed, then turns to you once again and pulls you into his arms, pressing a heated kiss to your lips. You return his passion, your fingers finding his waist and pulling him as close as possible against your body. You feel your heart beat heavily in your chest and you exhale when Astarion separates from your lips, beginning to trail open mouth kisses along your jawline.

“You will never hurt again, I promise.” he whispers passionately and you let yourself be held, feeling his lips trail lower, on your neck, his tongue searching for your pulse and stopping there when he finds it. “I’ll make sure that no one ever hurts you again.”

You believe him. Not because you are now aware of the power he can wield, but because of how he says it – with such utter conviction that it dismisses last trails of doubt that were lingering over your mind like shadows right as dawn comes, fragile and weak.

“I know.” you answer with a whisper and Astarion raises his head then smiles in such a way that it makes you smile in return.

“Good. You won’t have to worry about anything ever again. You will be my consort, free to do anything and to be anyone.” with a finger he traces a line against your bottom lip and you see the passion blazing in his eyes, then he kisses you again, letting his fingers wander to your clothes and to your shirt, which he quickly proceeds to unbutton.

While he does that you kiss him back and let your own hands wander, undoing his coat and sliding it off his shoulders which gets quickly followed by your shirt. Astarion pauses then, releasing your lips from the heated kiss to find the end of your strophium and begin to undo it. You lift your arms and let him proceed until the soft leather is spooled around your feet.

“Primitive.” Astarion gives you a glance with a smile and you raise an eyebrow, amused by the comment but smile in return.

“Functional.” you correct him and Astarion chuckles, letting the leather drop from his fingers before he cups your breasts and puts his face in between them, inhaling your scent.

You slightly blush and pause as he does this, watching the vampire give more open mouth kisses to the mounds that his hands have formed, leaving wet trails of his tongue when he stops to suck at one nipple, then another, and then his face is in front of yours again before your lips are captured with his.

Your fingers proceed to work on Astarion’s shirt and quickly it follows rest of the garments to the floor. Breaking away from his lips, you trail your palms over his chest and lean in, kissing his collarbone, feeling him gently cradle your head as you do, as you raise to his neck, giving it a playful bite and making him chuckle again.

“I’ll have to teach you that we ask before we bite. But that can wait. First-“ he says playfully and releases your head, now working on straps of your pants, then you are forced to stop your affectionate kisses because he kneels right in front of you and lifts his face up. “Do you really want to be with me, forever?” Astarion asks and you notice a slight hint of worry in his features.

Smiling, you reach to his chin and gently hold it as you look deeply into his sanguine eyes.

“Yes, Astarion, I do want to be with you.” you hope that this is enough to reassure him at last and it looks like it is because he smiles and leans in, pressing his lips to your stomach ever so briefly before he suddenly yanks your pants downwards, making you yelp from surprise and then laugh.

“Then let’s have some fun. On your last night alive.” he gives you a playful look and you let his silver curls wrap around your fingers as you push them into his hair, then you help him take off your shoes and rest of your clothes.

As you stand completely naked in front of him, Astarion presses his palms on the sides of your thighs and slides them up until he reaches your hips. His eyes keep wandering over your form like he’s trying to memorize every detail about you.

“Perfect…” he whispers and then dips his head towards you, his tongue finding your soaked folds and making you gasp.

Your fingers clench in his hair and you bite on your lower lip as you feel his hot tongue lap at your cunt with devotion of a worshipper, his fingers hold your hips tightly and don’t let you move, making you stand still while he’s tasting you like you’re the sweetest nectar. After a moment or two you begin to moan softly and Astarion continues for a while longer, the tip of his tongue working against the sensitive nub of your clit, making you shiver. When he finally leans back you are slightly out of breath and your face is flushed.

“Go to bed.” Astarion whispers as he licks his lips and lets go of your hips.

You nod, turning and taking few remaining steps to the bed. You trace your fingertips over the white silk sheets until you hear Astarion walk to you and then his naked chest presses against your back, his hard erection finding its temporary resting place in the cleft of your rear and his hands are on your shoulders as he leans in and kisses your neck again.

You feel him grind his length against you and it makes you even more aroused as pressure against your back makes you lean slightly over the bed.

“Like this.” Astarion whispers against your skin then he leans just enough to grab your thigh and guide your knee over the edge of the bed, giving you more stability. “Stay just like this.”

You exhale and then moan when you feel vampire’s mouth return to the side of your neck, the hand that guided your leg now slips between them from the front and his fingertips tease your folds while his other hand grabs your waist to keep you exactly how he wants you to stay. At first it’s easy but then his fingers make your back arch from pleasure and you have to support yourself with one hand on the edge of the bed. You want to say something, not even sure what, but before you can you feel the piercing sting of fangs in your neck. You gasp and your eyes snap open as Astarion swallows couple gulps of your blood.

“Don’t worry, I’m not turning you just yet. Right now it’s about pleasure.” he reassures you with a whisper and this time you feel his fangs in your shoulder, making you moan instead of yelp.

“You’re confident this is pleasurable.” you tease with a smile even though your eyes are heavy lidded from lust and you move your other hand behind you and over your own shoulder, finding the back of Astarion’s head and pushing your fingers into his hair again, encouraging him to continue.

Astarion playfully scoffs at your words and his fingers part your folds for a moment, then he pushes two of them inside of you.

“I’m confident because your body does not lie, love.” the vampire teases when you moan and the wet sound of his digits working your core fill your ears, only making his words more true.

“My body and I may not agree sometimes.” you can’t help but chuckle and you try to look at him, quickly being met with his crimson glowing gaze and a smirk on his bloody lips.

“Then I have to make sure that both are in harmony with each other.” he says and makes you mewl when the fingers are removed from your body, making you crave for him to fill that emptiness immediately.

“Astarion…” you whisper and feel him reach deeper between your legs as he moves his hips away from you for a second, then guides the tip of his weeping cock at your entrance with his fingers, his gaze locked on yours.

“This - for eternity. You moaning my name...”

And with that he thrusts himself into your cunt, making you cry out and grip his hair tighter in response. His fingers, now done with their task, find your hip and grip it tightly as he begins to thrust deep and hard. Astarion’s eyes quickly become clouded with passion as he looks at you and he gives you a brief kiss.

“Open that pretty mouth of yours and let me hear you.” he says with an already audible strain in his voice and you briefly bite the tip of your tongue before he drives a particularly deep thrust into you, making you moan before you can even think of allowing or stopping yourself. “There we go, perfect.” he smirks and kisses the side of your neck again, lapping at the blood that seeped out of the bite mark he left there just moments earlier.

You hold onto his head and keep yourself up with a palm and a knee on the edge of the bed but you don’t know how long you will be able to stay like this as Astarion pounds into you, making you moan with his every thrust, making your body shiver and your back arch as if on command. You feel your climax approaching and you give into the feeling before Astarion suddenly stops, making your last moan falter on your lips.

“Huh?” you ask while panting and get even more confused when you feel his length leave your sopping cunt with a wonderfully wanton sound, making your arousal leak and smear against your inner thigh of the leg that’s still on the floor.

“Get into bed.” Astarion instructs with huskiness in his voice and you have to pause for a moment, trying to make your mind comprehend his words, but when you finally understand you let go of his head and climb into the bed on all fours.

You feel him climb in after you and with one hand he guides you to lie on your side, then makes you move onto your back as he crawls on top, his knee pushing your leg apart and leaving you spread for him. Unceremoniously he thrusts into you again the moment he’s in position and you cry out, grasping at his back and feeling the scars there. Astarion lowers his head and drags his tongue over your nipple before speaking again.

“Just a little longer, love, for me.” he breathes against your skin but you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your legs around his hips, locking your ankles on the small of his back, urging him to go faster, deeper, harder.

“Astarion, I-“

You yelp when his teeth pluck at your nipple and then graze your neck in a span of couple seconds. You lean your head back for him, feeling Astarion’s fangs on the other side of your neck, the one that doesn’t have his bite mark yet, and your nails dig into the skin between the markings on his back as you urge him.

“There, there…” Astarion responds with a strained moan of his own, his thrusts quickly becoming erratic as he chases his own climax, timing it with yours. “Let go, my love.” you feel him panting against your lips, a pleasurable sigh so hot against your skin when it leaves his throat and you finally do let go.

You are sure you cry out his name when your bliss takes you, when your body wraps tightly around his, your cunt clenching on his cock and urging him to spill himself within you, which Astarion does the moment he hears his name like a prayer on your lips. You hear him moan your name too, first against your lips, then into the crook of your neck as he lowers his head for last few thrusts.

When he stops and your body begins to relax, you remain still, clinging to him for as long as you can as you gasp for air and try to return from whenever this feeling of overwhelming pleasure took you.

“You’re so beautiful.” you hear Astarion whisper and you smile, finally unclenching your thighs and releasing his hips. At the same time you gently stroke his back, scars and all.

“Am I?” you open your eyes and smile, feeling sweat on both of your bodies quickly cooling.

“You are. And you will be beautiful forever.” Astarion lifts his head, his curls sticking to his forehead. His smile is gentle and relaxed when he lifts his upper body from you and looks down upon you. “Do you still want to be mine?” he asks and you know exactly why he asks – one last chance for you to change your mind. Somehow, this time you know that if you did exactly that, he would let you walk away. The feeling of this knowledge is comforting and perhaps it’s the last thing you needed to truly, fully make peace with your decision, with what is about to happen, with the transformation that will change your life forever.

“Yes. I want to be yours. Your lover and your consort.” you feel weird saying the last word, you didn’t imagine yourself in a position like this, you were always sure that you will forever dwell underground with other society’s undesirables. But Astarion wants to elevate you from that, you can see that in his eyes even now, you could hear it in his words when he spoke to you about freedom just earlier.

You want him.

“Thank you.” he suddenly says and the small smile you had disappears as you look at him with mild confusion. “Thank you for trusting me and giving everything that you are to me.” he says and with that he leans to your neck again.

The sharp, piercing pain is not unpleasant when his fangs pierce your skin one more time and you hear yourself inhaling sharply only because this bite is stronger than before. Astarion moves his body, pulling out of you in the process so that he can cradle you in his arms as you listen to him gulping down your life’s blood with greedy swallows. At first your fingers cling to his sweaty back, but then you begin to feel your grip loosening until you don’t have strength anymore to keep your hands up.

As your arms fall to the bed next to you and the canopy over above you begin to blur, you realize you don’t have a shadow of doubt. You trust him, even if dying feels scary right now.

Before darkness consumes your mind and vision, one last thing you feel is Astarion’s arms holding you firmly against him and the weight of his body on top of yours, as if he’s shielding you. And then…

…nothingness.

“This is my beloved consort, that I wanted to introduce to you all as soon as possible!” Astarion’s voice is loud as it booms through the ballroom of his palace. His hand is around your waist, a palm resting on your rear possessively.

He picked the dress for you, fancier even among the dresses you had bought yourself when you work for richest patriars. A wonderful piece of black and blue made from velvet and chiffon, all embroidered with golden threads. A dress made to match the outfit Astarion himself is wearing.

You have a hand on his shoulder as you gaze upon those that gathered tonight. Your Lord gave you exactly three days to adjust to your new state of being and you suspect only because sending invitations to infernal allies and dark associates takes time despite the speed of magical means. He was burning with desire to show you off the moment you woke up after your death, pride brimming in every word he spoke to you since then. And now as you stand by him, still trying to adjust to the feeling of fangs in your mouth and the strange hunger that is lingering just beneath the surface of fullness, your eyes sweep over the see of faces, so different but also so alike in many ways.

This is going to be your life from now on.

And it makes you excited.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Astarion asks the guests and most of them cheerfully agree. Who would in their right minds disagree with the Vampire Ascendant after all, especially while they’re in his domain.

“Stop bragging.” you turn to whisper in his ear with a smile and Astarion looks at you with a grin that would look evil if you didn’t know him better already.

“Let them see what they cannot have. You, my dark consort.” Astarion makes you turn to him chest to chest and you feel his palms find positions on your lower back and between your shoulder-blades as he looks into your eyes so deeply it’s like he’s trying to read your thoughts. “You’re mine, forever. I don’t want anyone to forget that, little love.” he says with such determination it warms your unbeating heart.

You smile and caress his cheek gently, feeling wonderful warmth under your touch, then he leans in and presses a kiss so fierce against your lips that it makes you bend backwards, and you would fall if not for his strategically placed hands. You chuckle and kiss him back, then you hear some applauds, not quite sure how to feel about those, but when Astarion breaks away from the kiss, he looks into your eyes once again.

“The most beautiful red I have ever seen. Prettier than blood itself.” he whispers, making you smile softly at him, and then he helps you straighten your back, once again turning to the crowd.

You glance at the faces again, noticing that they are seem curious about you, or maybe this union between you and Astarion overall, but it matters none. Who are they to judge your happiness now that you finally have it?

Then with one hand Astarion gestures widely over the crowd with a big, arrogant grin on his face and speaks loudly again:

“Let’s celebrate!”

[darth-shado]

I think we all have really chaotic first playthrough in bg3 so here I'm going to share mine because I did few very stupid things and it's funny

Act 1

So to start things off I forgot to rescue Lea'zel and only added her to the party when I got to Mountain Pass.

When I talked to Zevlor about the situation at the Grove I was so used to playing genshin impact that I didn't care about the dialogue options so I accidentally started a fight with him.

After recruiting Wyll (I was in the middle of defeating goblin leaders when I decided that I want to swap out Gale so I recruited Wyll) I decided to look around the top of the entrance to the Grove. I accidentally opened a crate and began a fight with two tieflings that I killed (until my third playthrough I had not idea how to activate non-lethal attacks) after defeating the goblin leaders I couldn't enter the Grove because those two NPC's that were responsible for opening the gate were dead.

After a reload I was bored so I decided to go to Mountain Pass (and accidentally progressed tieflings quest) and when I got back to Blighted Village I was like "oh sick there's so much loot here!" After few seconds I realized that those were the tieflings from the Grove.

My party was eating tadpoles like crazy.

It took me like 6 hours to get tiefling party because I didn't want to do Kagha quest so I stole the idol, killed druids near it and I was good to go. (I think they fixed it in one of the early patches so that now tieflings are fighting druids once you steal the idol.)

I didn't recruit Karlach at all. I went to her when I had a full party and she didn't went to camp so I just thought "oh you're probably recruiting her later because I saw something about Karlach in Act 3 so it must be it." No, it wasn't it.

I refused to give Gale magic item three times so he left my party.

Act 2

In Last Night Inn I sided with Marcus because I thought I could betray him during the fight either way I had the refugees and Isobel outnumbered and until my third playthrough I didn't know you could save Isobel.

I didn't know how to get to the crèche so I ignored it.

I convinced Shadowheart to spare the Nightsong because I just wanted her to have white hair.

Battle in Moonrise Towers took me like two days to complete because I left Harper's to die but I only had Jaheira to help me and I used her as a human shield and later I found out I actually lost two people that I could recruit to the party. It took me two days because it was too hard with so little people even on Explorer mode and the funny part is that literally another two days later was next patch that increased hp on Explorer mode (it was like +50% I think)

I forgot to do Halsin's quest and I left him in Act 2 (but I doubt it would be even possible to do since I killed the Harpers.)

Act 3

I skipped obtaining Lower City pass by going to prison and I obtained it like few days before finishing the game.

In my camp I only had Shadowheart, Astarion, Wyll and Lea'zel who later got kidnapped.

I think it took me like two or three times of Astarion exploding before I googled how to stop Cazador from Ascending.

Speaking of my camp I don't know why but in Act 3 Scratch and Owlbear cub bugged and they weren't moving and Owlbear cub couldn't be petted. Idk if this bug is still happening but I didn't had that in my other playthroughs.

I thought you could multi class after level 12.

In the last battle I forgot to read the description of the most important attack that destroys the crown and it takes one round to charge it but I decided to begin charging it in the last round.