#banned from waterdeep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littlejuicebox · 11 months ago

Text

Midnight Chimes

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: Pre-BG3. You are an apothecary on holiday, visiting your family in Baldur's Gate. You happen upon a certain silver-haired rake, and think perhaps he isn't what he seems. Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 2.3K Notes: Playing around with a little something different. Tried to keep this GN but please lmk if you caught something! :)

-----

The bell sounded its subtle chime above the tavern door; your buzzed gaze drifts from the ink-splotched pages of the book in front of you as you assess the newcomer. A cold gust of winter air sneaks in behind the elf now entering the tavern, and you shiver before pulling your fur coat more snugly around your frame. As you do, you realize you’ve seen that particular elf around here before. It had been several years, not since you were a lowly apprentice at the apothecary shop down the street… but you’d recognize that head of perfectly coiffed silver hair anywhere.

Had it really been almost ten years since your father threw that very same stranger out of the family tavern and forbade him from coming back? Admittedly, the elf looked like he’d hardly aged a day in all that time, but you supposed that was far from unusual for his race.

Pristine silvery hair, annoyingly attractive and all too aware of that fact, holding himself with a palpable air of haughty confidence… yes, he was exactly as you remembered from those many moons ago. You were just a youngling then, not but twenty, and back then your eyes had tracked the rake and his behavior with suspicious curiosity, just as they did now.

You’d been a server all those years ago, working nights at your parents’ tavern for tips and studying at Valindra’s Vials during the day. He’d been somewhat of a regular, always leaving with some being or another wrapped in his charismatic spell, and always waltzing in a few days later entirely unattached, as if that being never existed. A rake through and through.

And then one day, father had thrown the rake out for pickpocketing, forbidding him from ever returning. Years flew by, you completed your apprenticeship and moved to Waterdeep, only to return on holidays to visit your family and endure constant badgering about settling down and finding a spouse… and you’d all but forgotten the silver-haired elf.

Yet here he was, as if nothing had changed, and as rakish as ever. Father no longer tended the bar on weekends, so no one was around to recognize the man and throw him out on a decade-long ban… besides you. And honestly? It didn’t seem worth disturbing the last few hours of your holiday on such melodramatics. In your mind, a paying patron was a welcome patron as long as they kept their sticky fingers to themselves.

The silver-haired elf enters the warmth of tavern and meanders about, glossing his scarlet eyes over the crowd before ordering something from your cousin behind the bar.

You turn your attention back to the book and the notes you’d been penning in the margins, a nearly empty glass of wine and barely eaten sweet roll your only company. You pick off another piece of the pastry and pop it into your mouth before flipping the page of your tome. Hopefully mama and papa would be in bed by the time your cousin closed the bar… and you could sneak into your room without any further harassment from those two.

Family was everything to you, and you loved your parents dearly, but during every holiday visit you were quickly reminded why you’d originally left for Waterdeep. Things became stifling after about a week in that tiny apartment, and you were more-often down in the tavern than up in the living arrangements above it toward the end of your stay. Distance truly did make the heart grow fonder in your case; you were itching to get back to the solitude of home and away from the relentless line of questioning from mama and papa. Thankfully, you’d be back on the road to Waterdeep come morning and done enduring the inquisition until the next holiday.

You see the rake slide into the seat next to you out of your peripherals, and he opens his mouth, no doubt to shoot you his best line, but you cut him off with a quick and firm, “Nope. Not interested.”

He’s stunned. Baffled. It’s written on his face as you turn to address him head on, your narrowed eyes meeting his red ones squarely and unabashedly. The elf’s mouth is hanging open; he shuts it and squints in your direction for a mere moment. Then, he takes a sip out of whatever is in his goblet and narrows his vermillion eyes at the contents inside instead... not a fan of the drink, it seems.

The stranger decides to throw away whatever poor line he was going to use on you. Instead, his gaze flickers down to the book in your hands and takes note of the new conversational material. He is clearly not going to be dissuaded by your first rejection.

“What are you reading, darling?” The silver-haired elf asks, his voice resembling something of a purr. He leans just a bit closer, faking interest in the pages as you feel his hand slip nearer to your thigh.

“A book, darling. Ever seen one before?” You responded flatly, truly in no mood for whatever game this was and pointedly pushing his hand out of your personal bubble. You snap the book shut and stare at the silver-haired elf incredulously, placing the tome in the space between your bodies as a barrier.

Something about your response caused the rake to laugh in absolute delight, as if being outright rejected had never happened to him before. He was seeming to enjoy this little exchange. You, on the other hand, were not.

“Look — what’s your name?”

“Astarion.”

“Look, Astarion, I can promise you I am not interested. I’m not playing hard to get, I’m not playing coy. You may not remember me, but I remember you… my family owns this tavern and I worked here years ago, before my father threw you out… or did you forget that technically you’re banned? I know your game; in fact, I’ve seen you play it more than once. There are plenty of fine people in this establishment that cannot take their eyes off you. So if you’re looking for a lay, take your pick of the low hanging fruit and bugger off.”

Astarion is silent, but his eyes twinkle in entertained delight around the edges, a small smirk dancing on the corner of his mouth as he appraises you. He hums softly and takes another sip of his drink before glancing around the room. Sure enough, there are more than a few patrons with their sights quite obviously set on the rake and whatever talents he may possess, but he rolls his eyes at the gawkers and turns his attention back to you. Finally, Astarion breaks the silence with a low murmur, quite intent on continuing whatever interaction this is.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering why the hell every word that comes out of his mouth sounds like the most salacious thing you’ve ever heard.

“And what if I’m not looking for a lay, hm? What if… I’m looking for a riveting intellectual discussion? Is that more up your alley, darling?” Astarion asks, that cocky eyebrow lifting in something of a challenge.

You sigh. Admittedly, "riveting intellectual discussion" wasn’t something you often came across while visiting your family; it was certainly more up your alley than whatever half-assed lines he thought he might throw like bones to a dog. And... it would be nice to have someone to share a decent conversation with for once, if the rake could actually stand up to the challenge.

“Fine.” You mutter before downing the rest of your wine and gesturing to your cousin, who was now watching you from the bar with vague curiosity, for a refill. Astarion smiles before tapping the cover of your book with long, lithe fingers.

“Notable Poisons and Toxins of the Sword Coast?” He asks, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Looking to murder someone, perhaps?"

“I’m an apothecary.” You explain with a dismissive wave of your hand.

This intrigues the elf even further and he leans closer to you, this time genuinely, which makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He rests his head on his hand as he watches you, bidding you with a small gesture to continue on. You aren’t interested in a rake you tell yourself, even though he’s somehow even more attractive up close.

“I sell mostly perfumes, soaps, and basic medicinals for ailments in Waterdeep nowadays. Poisons and antidotes aren’t a particularly big seller... but I still prefer to remain up to date on the latest information.”

“Do you know of any poisons that can kill the undead?”

Your brow furrows. What an exceptionally odd and particular question. But then again, this man did promise intellectual conversation, and discussing bread and butter poisons would’ve been far from riveting to you. Perhaps he was truly interested… or at least actually attempting to pursue an intellectual conversation, though most people you interacted with showed much less interest in your craft. At any rate, you were happy for an opportunity to showcase your knowledge.

“A positoxin would do the trick. Difficult to make and difficult to come by, though… and ridiculously expensive, to boot.” You murmur, taking a sip from your newly filled goblet.

Astarion nods and hums, the gears behind his eyes turning and processing thoughts you cannot read. He cocks his head slightly, raising that ridiculous eyebrow in that simultaneously captivating and arrogant way of his. His voice comes out low, tone carrying notes of teasing playfulness. “And what about you, darling? Do you think you’re… skilled enough to make this positoxin?”

“Yes.” You murmur confidently, and yet you blush. You know your skill set to be strong, sure, but it was unusual to be placed in a position where you actually had to display that confidence. Especially to a strange rake you just met that very night.

Astarion laughs again and shakes his head. “Cheeky little thing, aren’t you? Then, tell me how you would go about it.”

You continue on for several minutes, you don’t really know why, apart from the fact that Astarion is absolutely engrossed in everything you’re saying and it’s the first time anyone has actually listened to you prattle on about potions. You inform the elf that the art of positoxins is notoriously difficult and would take several weeks and a handful of hard to come by ingredients to brew just one vial. Astarion bids you to go on as he finishes his goblet, asking all the right questions to keep you talking and soaking up every ounce of information as you continue.

The conversation does not lull; you feel the passion and excitement in your voice grow as you become less guarded. The rake proves to be a wonderful audience, able to follow along with your level of intellect and interject his own knowledge in only the way an educated person could. Yet he was content to let you take the lead and just listen. It was surprisingly refreshing to have someone really hear and understand you… and actually take interest in something you were fascinated by instead of outright dismissing it or just nodding along.

Soon enough the clock tower chimes midnight and your cousin is yelling last call to everyone in the bar, much to the disappointment of the poor drunkards. Astarion’s eyes, previously lulled into a soft and cat-like gaze by your ramblings, snapped into a wide-eyed, forlorn expression. “Gods, is that really the time? I-I have to go.”

He practically jolts out of the seat, his tone hurried and gestures fidgety. “I-it was nice meeting you, uh…”

“I’m Tav.” You respond softly, your eyebrows furrowing as you study the man and his sudden change in demeanor.

“Tav. Yes, lovely to meet you. Perhaps I’ll see you around here tomorrow and you can tell me more about positoxins or perhaps some alchemical cure for vampirism… seems you have a plethora of knowledge to share and I’m all pointy ears.”

Your face falls, and for the first time you realize how much you wish that were a true possibility. “I return to Waterdeep tomorrow, I’m afraid. I can’t leave the shop in the hands of my apprentice for too long.”

Astarion’s expression matches yours and you sigh in disappointment as you drop your hand into your bag and start rustling around inside. Perhaps you’d misjudged the elf and he hadn’t been exactly what he seemed; you’d quite enjoyed his company, in the end. You pull out a small card with your shop address on it; there is a sample vial attached to the card by a jute cord.

“Here. This is my address in Waterdeep. Feel free to write. I come back at least once a year to visit my family… but sometimes more, if there’s something worth coming back for.” Your hint is subtle, but you hope he catches your meaning. Your fingers brush his as he takes the card, and you swear you feel the tingle of connection. Or perhaps that’s the two glasses of wine talking.

The silver-haired elf takes the offering, looking down at the inscription and running his fingers over the embossed words before he tucks everything into his pocket. “And what’s in the vial?”

“A sample. Like I told you, I primarily sell perfumes and soaps nowadays. That mixture is one of my favorites… a delightful combination of bergamot and rosemary... and a secret ingredient I won't name. Try it out and tell me what you think in your letter."

Astarion shakes his head just slightly, almost imperceptibly, a faraway look in his eyes. The clock tower bells chime again, their second call for the midnight hour, and he snaps back into the present. The elf turns to look at you one last time, eyes boring into yours with such shocking intensity. “I really must be going. It was… truly a lovely surprise to meet you, Tav.”

He grabs your hand in his shockingly cold grip, gives it a squeeze, and swiftly exits. You hear the tinkling of the doorbell and watch as the rake runs down the alley before dodging into the shadows and altogether disappearing from view.

You grab the goblet he left behind, along with your own dishes, and walk behind the oak bar to help your cousin close up as the final patrons make their drunken exits in a cacophony of grunts, arguments, and off-tune singing.

“Who was that?” Your cousin asks, nodding his head toward the seats you and Astarion just occupied moments ago as he wipes down the bar and all manner of filth left by the patrons that night. “A potential suitor, perhaps? Your parents will be thrilled.”

“Oh… I think probably not. A rake of a man, to be sure. He was quite cute, though. In another life… I think we could’ve been friends.” You respond as you begin with the dishes, the warmth of the water washing away the coolness imbued in your fingertips from the elf’s touch.

Tomorrow you’ll head home to Waterdeep and the solitude of your apothecary shop. Part of you will wait for a letter that doesn't show, and you'll shove your disappointment deep into the back of your mind, never once admitting it to yourself. But fate spins along as it should, and a few years from now you'll be standing on an unfamiliar beach after a horrible crash, the familiar scent of rosemary and bergamot drifting in the air.

——-

A/N: This was originally meant to be a one shot, but I loved the premise of the piece so much that I wanted to try and turn it into a series. Read the first chapter here.

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion fluff #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #rosemary and bergamot is a great essential oil combo #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x you #astarion fanfiction #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #astarion x original female character

182 notes · View notes

katyakurae · 2 months ago

Text

My, my, what a charming place is this Hazbin Tavern of yours! A DnD AU

Random headcanons under the cut!

Race: Winter Eladrin

Class: Mage, school of Divination.

Alignement: True neutral

Rosie has her tower and lives in Waterdeep, but she travels to the Underdark from time to time to visit Alastor. (He may be banned from Waterdeep)

They're besties.

Finds Hazbin Tavern idea fun, but doesn't want to get involved. Charlie's wild magic unsettle her.

She is really sweet to Charlie, tho, and has offered her guidance.

Knows Alastor has some kind of secret agenda, but she doesn't asks questions. She just wants to chill and mess with her magic in her tower.

A while ago, she found a Bhaalist cult and joined them for fun and to study their magic. Then she met Alastor, who was doing more or less the same. When they got bored after a few rituals, they left... by murdering the whole cult. Bhaal was not entirely unpleased.

Rosie and Alastor wear similar silver jewerly. This is because, after the Bhaalist fiasco, they went shopping (they looted the ones they just murdered AND ate)

So yeah, she is still a cannibal. Kinda... Does it count when you're not the same race as your dinner?

She is quiet about it, tho, since she has an image to keep in the wizard community.

Since she is a Divination mage, Rosie has seen some worrisome prophecies regarding a Wild Magic Sorceress, an Aasimar and a (ex?) Selûnite, but she is keeping that to herself for now at least.

Previous character: Niffty!

Next character: Adam

37 notes · View notes

incoherentmuses · 2 years ago

Text

ok so i need to know now - sound off in the notes if Jarlaxle has been banned from your Waterdeep tavern

#jarlaxle #jarlaxle baenre #waterdeep dragon heist #dragon heist #dungeons and dragons #dnd #forgotten realms #legend of drizzt #this is for science

355 notes · View notes

silent-words · 5 months ago

Note

Gale & cemeteries... does he like them? Is there magic there? Follow up question, is there anywhere in Waterdeep the orb is drawn to and does that change in Baldur's Gate?

Thank you for your ask from the City game! I think I'll try to answer through a ficlet. I hope you'll forgive me the inclusion of my Tav (although small). Enjoy 💜

Gale x Tav, SFW, post-canon

The City of the Dead was full of people on this bright summer day. Children played hide-and-seek among the tombstones, adults sat chatting on picnic blankets and drank wine. Waterdhavians enjoyed warm weather and the calm of the place.

Gale had chosen a bench in the quiet corner. He was looking nowhere in particular lost in thought. Just a year ago all he had dreamed of had been a cenotaph here, all alone, probably later accompanied by his mother's tombstone. He had looked at the City of the Dead from his tower, torn between a longing for life and a desire to end it all. He couldn't even come here, to look at the final resting place of many Waterdhavians.

Now he looked forward to several centuries of a long wizard life alongside his elf wife. Moreover, the status of the Hero of Baldur's Gate gave Gale unlimited access to this cemetery. He chuckled at the memory of his youth. Several very talented and smart mages from Blackstaff had sneaked in tge City of the Dead after dusk, and started experimenting with necromancy. They had nearly opened a portal to the Fugue plane and had raised a lot of very angry undead. Gale and his friend Gora had got away with a warning and a permanent ban to visit the graveyard, while three others had been expelled. Of course from his current position as a professor Gale understood why it had been dangerous and foolish. But it had been so much fun! He still had to tell Laerie all the stories from his youth. Maybe she even use them as an inspiration for her songs.

Gale felt the sliver of the Weave like a gentle breeze. He turned his head and found a woman in a black and silver robe with the city coat of arms on it. A necromancer specially hired to look after the dead and the undead, to maintain order among so many humanoid remains. Although as they told Gale, they mostly drove off vampire spawns who went there at night for debauchery and orgies unbeknowst to their masters. Gale remembered their vampire friend and how wise it was not to tell him about these night activities in the City of the Dead.

At least now Gale was not afraid of going to the places infused with the Weave. There was no more Weave-consuming bombs in his chest, and now he could go wherever he wanted, talk to whomever he wanted, touched any person with or without the Weave.

Although now he only wanted to touch one person. As if on a cue he heard the sounds of a lyre and a familiar voice. Gale grinned happily and stood up. He was ready for life in the place of death.

Hope that answered the questions!

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 gale #ficlet #bg3 asks

22 notes · View notes

inglorionamy-ammy · 5 months ago

Text

Of Home and Haven (Ch2/6)

Chapter snippet: //You were indeed familiar with danger-inspired desire. The celebration parties after battles often ended with either you or your conquest unable to walk the next day. In fact, you were rather taken aback when he only wanted to practice magic with you at the tieflings’ party. It was equally puzzling and endearing, that he had wanted to share his educated art with you, a half-orc barbarian of all people.

He was right, your muscles did glisten. You couldn’t wait to make his too.//

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale Mature

Word count: 3.3k

Thank you again @senualothbrok for being my beta and first reader!

AO3 link: Here

Chapter One: Here

Since the night that got you banned for life from the cultist-infiltrated tavern—not that you are particularly interested in visiting again—a month has passed. There have been three major changes in your life and Gale’s.

Firstly, by some miracle, you got the job at the Aurora's Realms Shop. The lady with the clipboard was the one who Sent the message — Jina, a longtime saleswoman at the place. She is to be your shift partner and mentor, and you are to be both the counter clerk and the security guard. Turns out the manager has decided to cut one of the positions, and a literate half-orc is her perfect solution. You would appreciate it more if the salary were also doubled, but right now you take what you can get. At least Jina proves to be much better company than first impressions suggested.

This has led to the much less desirable second change, which is that the time you get to spend with your fiancé diminishes significantly. Aurora's is open from dusk till dawn, which means your schedule is precisely the opposite of Gale’s, and really, most people’s. While he works a fixed seven days of a tenday, your moving shifts scatter across both his workdays and holidays. There are times when you have to rush out in the evening just as he gets back from school, and days when he is off work resting at home, and you are sleeping back your working nights.

At first, it saddens you to imagine him lying alone in your shared four-poster bed as you idly scan the empty storefront. Earlier that evening, when you bid him goodnight before you leave, he had been unsuccessful in hiding his dejected face, the force of his hug stronger than usual. It is not until later, when you overhear him and Tara arguing, that you realize at times, he has not been sleeping at all. You know he is scheming over something, but as you glance at the graphs, drawings and cursive scattered on his working desk, it seems realms beyond you. Some research, perhaps. You just hope it ends soon enough that you don’t have to knock him out by force.

Finally, there is the matter of your approaching wedding ceremony. Ever since your first meeting three months ago, Gale’s mother, Morena Dekarios, has taken it upon herself to direct the whole operation. Gale has the tendency to fuss over every single detail of the event, from the weather to the music, even fretting over whether the food is owlbear-safe. But with Morena’s firm leadership, even he has had to admit that he truly has nothing to worry about.

You, however, are relieved for another reason. You are a warrior, a fighter, but you will forever remember the day you first met Morena as the most nerve-wracking experience in your life.

----------

It was the third day after you and Gale arrived at Waterdeep. You two had spent the first two days in bed, not for your preferred reason, but to sleep away the post-adventure fatigue. Sometimes, Gale would shift and turn in his sleep, face twisted in phantom pain as he held his chest. The orb had been removed by Mystra, but its memory lingered to haunt him. You held him in your arms, slowly rocking back and forth, hoping to ease him back into sweet slumber. Other times, you would jostle abruptly awake, fangs almost bumping into Gale, to find out that he had been trying to wake you from your nightmares. You never remembered them, only the dread of losing something precious.

The third day, however, was a whirlwind.

“STOP.” You jumped up, fist ready, catching a startled tressym next to Gale’s face.

“Oh. Tara. Good morning.” You nodded, retracting your grip. She settled down and returned the nod. Between hunters, you two have always shared a sense of mutual respect since your unexpected meeting in Baldur’s Gate.

“I would say the same, Ms. Riversong. It’s time to rise, don’t you think? Mrs. Dekarios is going to arrive in an hour.”

“WHAT!?” It was Gale’s turn to jump up now, “Totally unannounced?”

“Not true at all.” Tara licked her palm with grace. “I delivered your letter about your return to her dutifully, and she replied, two days ago.”

The three of you stared at the pile of unopened letters underneath the door.

“Well, Mr. Dekarios,” you swore you could hear amusement in her tone, “I would suggest you start shaving your—”

“Thank you, Tara, for preparing us for such an important occasion. Now would you please excuse us, we need to change.” Gale declared, “Alone”.

“…As you wish, Mr. Dekarios.” She left through the window, presumably to escort the matriarch.

“…Well, what a way to start a day, wouldn’t you say?” Gale turned back to you, “…my love?”

Your brain had shut down.

----------

There was nothingin your life that could have prepared you for meeting your romantic partner’s parents.

It wasn’t like you’d never had lovers. While half-orcs are generally not seen as the type for marriage, they are rather popular venturing partners, bedtime stories to brag about. People who came to you usually looked for specific things they thought you could offer — rough, messy copulation with wild abandon — and they were indeed right. You had your fair share of sex as a mercenary, although you could never see those conquests as anything beyond tumbles in the grass. No point in getting attached when they could just leave, or die, the next day.

So that was what you assumed Gale wanted, when he told you that he ‘once read a book’ in the depths of the Shadow-cursed lands.

You were indeed familiar with danger-inspired desire. The celebration parties after battles often ended with either you or your conquest unable to walk the next day. In fact, you were rather taken aback when he only wanted to practice magic with you at the tieflings’ party. It was equally puzzling and endearing, that he had wanted to share his educated art with you, a half-orc barbarian of all people.

He was right, your muscles did glisten. You couldn’t wait to make his too.

The moment your crew arrived at Last Light Inn, you gestured for him to follow you. He trailed quietly behind as you led him to an empty bedroom. As he stepped in, you swiftly closed the door, locked it with an audible ‘click’, and ran your gaze hungrily over his physique.

He shifted, suddenly self-conscious. “…Hm,” he cleared his throat, “I suppose you are a step ahead of me! I was, uh, planning something more substantial for a romantic night. Something more magical, that is.”

You chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. He shuddered.

Over the course of time, you had learnt that he needed verbal cues more than you did. So instead of immediately devouring him, you asked, “Do wizards not fuck with their bodies?”

He flustered. You felt power rushing inside you, intoxicating.

You teased, “Are you a virgin?”

“Heavens, no!” he protested. “I-I was…well, it has just been a while. You know, after my…folly.”

His gaze turned sorrowful. That wouldn’t do. You felt for him, his year-long isolation. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to remedy that.

“Then I will take the lead,” you assured him. “Do you prefer to fuck or be fucked?”

He looked like he was going to explode.

A moment later, he finally mustered up the courage to open his mouth again. This time, he held your gaze with new-found determination and gave you a speech.

“…Ta’V, my fearless barbarian warrior. What a fool I was when I told you of my unique reading material. Of course you would have first-hand experiences, possibly beyond my imagination.” He chuckled ruefully. “But with my poor choice of words I must have misled you. What I wanted was not mindless intercourse, pleasurable as that might be.” He paused. “I wish to make love with you, naïve perhaps, but I need to tell you this. I will never forgive myself if our first time was not based on this premise.” He took a deep breath. “I love you, Ta’V. You are very special to me.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. He was visibly shaking now but refused to back down.

So, you replayed his words in your mind again and again to digest them. What did that mean, in action? What did he want? You considered for a while until you knew what you should do.

“I see,” you said, and he seemed to be holding his breath. “Take off your clothes and lay down.”

Of all the answers he imagined he would get, this was apparently not one of them. Gale’s eyes widened in shock, but after a moment of consideration, he obeyed. You restrained yourself from ripping off his robe as he slowly started to undress, and once naked, eventually eased himself down onto the simple mattress.

You followed him into the bed, hovering above him. He was tense. You positioned your left palm on his head, stroking his hair to one side and tilting him slightly so that his neck was exposed.

“Do you trust me?” you asked, serious.

“Yes.” An instant answer.

So you buried your nose into the crook of his neck and took a deep breath, letting his musk fill your lungs. You had always wanted to do that, finding his smell captivating. You wondered why.

That was apparently sensitive skin. He wiggled, but you gently stilled him with your hold. It elicited a whimper and you smiled to yourself. As a reward, you licked a long stripe following the mark on the side of his neck, tasting his sweat. He properly moaned now.

“Please,” he begged. “Ta’V, I can’t— Please tell me what you are thinking right now.”

At that you frowned. What a strange request. Yet in his eyes you could see the last thread of restraint, as he desperately waited for your answer, refusing to lose control yet. The man was nothing but insistent, so you tried.

You traced his right nipple with your leathery fingers. “I see your nipple,” you observed. “Hardening. I want to suck it.” And you did just that as he watched. He threw back his head and groaned, loud and deep as if in pain, body buckling to meet your mouth. You continued.

“I see your chest hair,” you teased him with your nails, lazily tracing down to his navel. “They are curly,” you tugged them gently, “Adorable.” And he closed his eyes, frowning in concentrated ecstasy.

“I see your orb, bright.”

Suddenly his eyes snapped open. A hand flew up to halt your lingering fingers on his mark.

“Don’t,” he quietly pleaded, and you tilted your head.

“Why?”

He looked away. “I want this night to be perfect, not tainted by my impending doom.”

You considered that. “A warrior would wear their scars with pride. I see no difference.”

“But this is no scar, just a lasting reminder of my failures, consuming me.”

“Have you stopped fighting?” Your voice strained. “If not, then it’s no failure. At least not yet.” You turned up your palm and captured his hand. “Fight, Gale. With me. Live to tell this tale. Our tale.”

A gasp. You knew he finally understood your intention as his gaze returned to you, tears spilling as he moved your joined hands away and revealed his scar, a circle, perfect in every way. You immediately descended upon it, licking, sucking, groping. As his deafening heartbeat quickened it shone brighter and brighter and brighter, so bright that it blinded you, consumed your every sense, your very being. You were holding his hand the whole time.

On that night, you learned the power of spoken words.

----------

Morena Dekarios was a petite, round human woman in her early sixties. Her fingertips were not toughened in the way that Gale’s were by years of spellcasting, so you assumed she was not an avid magic user. But as you looked closer, you saw that the skin was discolored in certain parts—perhaps she worked with the elements? Possibly an alchemist then.

“My love?” Gale called.

You snapped out of your head. Morena had extended her hand out for you to shake, not to stare.

“Sorry.” You tried to flash a courteous smile, but then you became self-conscious about your protruding fangs. “I was nervous,” you admitted.

Morena threw her head back and laughed. “So was I! When I received the letter from my son a tenday ago, announcing that he had found the love of his life and wanted my blessings for the union, I didn’t know what to expect! Certainly not a half-orc like you.”

“Mother!” Gale protested.

“Apologies,” Morena said. “I didn’t mean it the bad way.” She sat herself down on an armchair and you two followed. “If anything, I’m more intrigued by how different the pair of you are! Please, if you would indulge me, what makes you find my son attractive?”

“Mom, this is not an interview,” Gale remarked, but there was curiosity in his voice too.

With Morena you felt you must answer coherently, so you fell silent for a moment. Gale shifted in his seat as his mother stared at you, smiling but insistent. A moment later, he decided to place his hand on your lower back, an encouragement.

“My mother is a human too,” you began. You had the room’s attention, even Tara opened her eyes from her comfy nest.

“She was living in human society but ran off with my Da—father, a half-orc barbarian. They lived in the woods, and I was born.”

Gale knew this part of the story, but you continued further.

“I was close with him. Much closer than with Ma. I looked a lot like him and not one bit like her. He trained me, fighting, wrestling, hunting, and at sixteen, I was sent away to wander in the wild.” You saw Morena frowning, so you added, “As half-orcs are destined to.”

You took a deep breath. “But on some days, when I see people, families, warm and beautiful, I think of Ma. She was beautiful too. She used to teach me please and thank you, to read, to write. I didn’t appreciate it back then. But I met Gale, and I do now.”

You recited the only poem you remembered, sung to you on a hot summer night. Under a sky full of stars, the breeze-like voice crooned,

White sheep, white sheep,

On a blue hill,

When the wind stops,

You all stand still.

When the wind blows,

You walk away slow.

White sheep, white sheep,Where do you go? [source]

----------

“You two should deliver this one by hand, together,” Morena says, holding the last wedding invitation.

Today is one of the rare days that you and Gale are both at home, away from work, refining the final details for the union ceremony happening in three tendays.

Gale has prepared all the teleportation scrolls for the guests as Morena penned invitations by his side. You and Gale came up with a list of the comrades you met during your tadpoled adventures who will receive an invitation. Before your companions went their separate ways, all of them had promised to come together again for you and Gale’s wedding. Even Lae'zel has promised to attend via astral projection. The only part left is your side, the people you want to invite — which means, only your parents.

Parents that you haven’t seen in ten years, since you left home at sixteen.

Morena is right. It is fitting that you deliver your parents’ invitation in person. Gale has repeatedly lamented that he wasn’t able to ask your parents for permission to marry you like a good-mannered suitor, and there is technically nothing stopping you from visiting them. The woods they live in are in fact just a tenday’s trek away from Waterdeep, and with Gale you can always teleport back and forth at a moment’s notice. You don't know why you are so restless.

Gale places his hand on yours. “My love, I will be right by your side.”

----------

You tell Jina that you are getting married and ask for a two-tendays-long holiday to visit your parents. She almost shrieks in excitement when she hears that.

Nine shifts ago she had told you that she is a single mother of two, and has never left Waterdeep in her whole life.

“Go!” Jina’s eyes are shinning with joy. “I will find someone to cover the shifts.”

“Do you think the manager will be fine with that?”

Over the past month, you had taken as many shifts as possible, to leave a good enough impression with your manager to cover this absence.

“Well, I will do what I can, sister.” She lowers her voice, having started calling you ‘sister’ three shifts ago. “But between you and me, I never understood why you wanted this boring job so much. You are clearly capable of much more exciting things. I wouldn’t even dare to venture out of the city alone!”.

You shrug.

“The stories I tell my sons are always about adventurers. You should see their excited faces! They’d be over the moon to finally meet a half-orc.” She sighs. “Perhaps it is our nature to want what we don’t have. The grass is always greener on the other side.”

You decide to invite Jina and her sons to your wedding.

----------

Thus, one fine summer night, you and Gale finally arrive at the edge of Trollbark Forest. To be precise, you two teleportedto skip nine days’ worth of journeying but opted to walk the last day to save more time for the reunion. You weren’t sure about that — in truth you have missed sleeping in a tent with him.

Gale makes use of the light breeze to clear his mind and prepares for the occasion, gifts ready at hand. While your parents don’t live inside the chaotic swarm-ridden area but in a clearer wood nearby, you still geared up thoroughly, happy to carry the Nyrulna again.

“Are you sure I am not dressed too casually? Am I presentable by your esteemed family’s standards?” He fusses over his not-so-dusty traveling robe. It’s purple, with golden embroidery showcasing Waterdhavian craftsmanship. Simple, elegant, proud.

For three days he has been consulting you on all topics about your family and half-orcs in general. You can’t really give a generalization on the latter — you have never come across a big enough group of your race to call it a culture; only what your father had taught you. Gale questioned the best gifts for half-orcs (to which you suggested that anything alcoholic never fails), languages he should speak (when you told him he must never speak Orc in front of Da, he couldn’t hide his disappointment; he had been practicing), and now, how he should look.

“If anything, I should warn you not to be too formal.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Any other details I should take note of?”

A shadow darts towards his face.

In a split-second you tackle him down, body shielding him as he gasps. The boulder smashes into the ground hard, dust rising around you.

You quickly leap forth and ROAR, a threat, a challenge. Those who dare to harm your treasure will pay. Behind you, Gale prepares a spell, quarterstaff in hand.

At the periphery of the misty wood a roar echoes yours.

“Big rocks are against the rules,” you call. The mist slowly clears up.

You squint your eyes to decipher the silhouette. A seven-foot-tall barbarian, great axe as tall as himself shining under the moonlight. Tense, ready to parry. He wants to play.

Laugher rips through the night like a thundercrack.

“RULES ARE FOR CHILDREN. AND YOU, MY GIRL, ARE NO LONGER ONE.”

Chapter 3

Gale and his disco orb XD

Comments and feedbacks are very appreciated! Thank YOU for reading my story. Chapter three is on the way, featuring Gale meeting the parents, and mud-wrestling :D

Other things that I do

#bg3 #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #galemancer #fansart #myart #gale posting #half orc tav #barbarian tav #bg3 fanfiction #gale fanfic

13 notes · View notes

jynxeddraca · 6 months ago

Text

Thoughts on Where Astarion is From

Going to be a long post. Because there are definitely spoilers for the game in general and probably for Astarion's quest, I'm putting this under a read more.

I've seen in several places now that Astarion is commonly headcanon'd to not be from Baldur's Gate originally. Personally, I really think this makes sense since he's an elf, his parents in theory would still be alive, and - if you stick to the idea he originally was noble/patriar born - he would be recognizable to a lot of people even after being turned. Not only in the city in general but I imagine he helped 'entertain' at Cazador's palace since Cazador did host parties.

An aside, I think this holds true for all of Cazador's 'house' spawn. I know Dalyria formerly was the Physician General to the Parliament of Baldur's Gate but I have a feeling she - like Astarion - probably wasn't in that position terribly long before getting turned so may not have been around long enough for people to really recall her face.

But back to my actual thought: The common thing I see when people headcanon about Astarion's origins before he lived in Baldur's Gate is that he is from Waterdeep, or the surrounding area, because the area used to be home to most of the elves in Faerûn. Just as a note for anyone unfamiliar with where cities are: Waterdeep is 750 miles North of Baldur's Gate, Elturel is officially 200 miles East of Baldur's Gate.

I have an alternate theory: Astarion is from somewhere East of Baldur's Gate. Possibly along the Chionthar.

Why?

Because sometime before the story, at least 100 years ago - and honestly, I think it'd be before he was turned so 200+ years ago - he was in Reithwin Town (the town in Act 2) - and got banned from The Waning Moon.

And this isn't just me making an assumption or coming up with a headcanon. Now, I was too lazy to go find the in-game screenshot that I took and it's on my gaming computer, so this is from the BG3 Wiki - Here's the text when you read the BAN LIST at The Waning Moon:

The text (bold emphasis mine) reads as:

BARRED FROM ENTRY The following EX-customers are UNWELCOME. Do not let them in, even should they beg. ESPECIALLY should they beg. Martin Doughty - human? - chug-and-run Adam Smythe - lascivious behaviour, also known as 'The Pickle Incident' Gerringothe Thorm - SHE KNOWS WHAT SHE DID Kavin Ort - tall dwarf - exceedingly boring Syrah Bee - short half-elf - vomited on the waiter (purposefully) Unknown elf - pale skin, snide mouth - referring to master distiller as 'the porcine publican' Rochelle Kwark - halfling - groin-punching Yon Von Don (suspected alias) - grotesquely tall human - underpants on head

End screenshot text.

And a second screenshot where the wiki states that the pale elf is Astarion with a link to the source of Kevin VanOrd's twitter. Granted, I do not have an account on twitter so I can't see any posts on twitter and can't confirm the tweet, but I'll post the plain text (no hyperlink) links down below because Tumblr is picky about stuff.

Screenshot Text:

The names on BAN LIST are the writers of Baldur's Gate 3 poking fun at themselves, as confirmed by writer Kevin VanOrd[1]:

'Martin Doughty' (Martin Docherty)

'Adam Smythe' (Adam Smith)

'Kavin Ort' (Kevin VanOrd)

'Syrah Bee' (Sarah Baylus)

'Unknown elf' - Astarion[2]

'Rochelle Kwark' (Rachel Quirke)

'Yon Von Don' (Jan Van Dosselaer)

[1] VanOrd, Kevin. 2023. "As the book's writer I can confirm it was a juicy act indeed. All the names (aside from Gerringothe's, of course) are based on Larian writers. I can literally tag myself as Kavin Ort, the boring dwarf!" [@fiddlecub, Twitter]. 14 Oct 2023. Available from: https://web.archive.org/web/20240329212133/https://twitter.com/fiddlecub/status/1713103283026383083

[2] VanOrd, Kevin. 2023. "And yes the unknown elf is who you think it is." [@fiddlecub, Twitter]. 14 Oct 2023. Available from: https://web.archive.org/web/20231017062203/https://twitter.com/fiddlecub/status/1713103448516812817

End of screenshot text.

Supporting screenshots out of the way, here are my assumptions so far:

He probably did not have lots of time to dedicate for traveling pre-vampirism days just because law school then actually being a magistrate (yes, I am assuming that law school is a thing in Faerûn).

If he was a noble pre-magistrate days, Reithwin wouldn't be a normal destination choice since nothing in the game makes me think it really was anything more than a normal town that just happened to have fallen to horrific events.

Related to first two bullets: my personal thought is that he was probably sub-30 when this ban at The Waning Moon happened.

Cazador didn't/doesn't travel much himself (Astarion calls him 'reclusive' at some point).

I really doubt Cazador lets any of his spawn travel on their own.

What makes most sense to me personally is that he was traveling from home - wherever that is - to Baldur's Gate. Unfortunately the 5e map of Faerûn only list 4 cities along the Chionthar: Baldur's Gate, Fort Morninglord, Elturel, and Scornubel. It shows none of the towns/settlements shown in Act 1 or Act 2 in BG3. Just for reference:

Which probably is just so there is some vagueness for D&D players to add in their own towns since D&D is a giant sandbox. So that's kind of what I'm doing here. Somewhere between Reithwin and The Reaching Woods is a town that Astarion once called home.

#long post #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #Astarion #headcanon #includes screenshots

9 notes · View notes

harlequinchaos · 11 months ago

Text

I'm so mad but also kinda laughing at a series of unfortunate events that got me banned from sending and receiving messages on tiktok.

I recently received 2 strikes:

this was a comment on a Gale of Waterdeep Baldur's Gate 3 thirst video so like, that's not even fucking fair. HE'S NOT REAL LMAO.

And to provide context for the second one, on Trixie and Katya's podcast (The Bald and the Beautiful), there was a bit where Trixie was discussing how annoying it is when people comment "FIRST" on a social media post, and Katya responds "First: Get a life bitch!" (as the response to someone saying 'first'). The tiktok in question was THIS bit of the podcast clipped, and someone commented 'FIRST', so I naturally commented "get a life bitch" and lo and behold:

AND THEN FINALLY, THE ICING ON THE CAKE; my friend sent me a gross tiktok, I don't even remember the content, but this was the discussion following:

SUDDENLY IM PREVENTED FROM DM'ING PEOPLE FOR ALMOST A WHOLE FUCKING MONTH.

I can almost guarantee that I wasn't reported by any actual person, and that it was all fucking automated, because understanding an OUNCE of context involved would lead to the logical conclusion that nothing inappropriate happened. ALSO YOUTH EXPLOITATION AND ABUSE? FUCKING WHERE? And of fucking course you can appeal (as i did in the images) but can't communicate with an actual person about it. 🙄

#fuck tiktok #tiktok

14 notes · View notes

shotimus · 1 year ago

Text

Oh my god I should not be laughing as hard as I am at this.

So I started playing Baldur's Gate 3 playing my character from the Dragon Heist campaign I played in. I missed my half-elf cleric Julian Rolim Flavius Glynmenor that I had to bring him back for another round, especially knowing that Volo was in this game.

A little backstory from the Dragon Heist campaign. Julian hated Volo that entire campaign and actually tried to get him banned in Waterdeep. Why?

Because Volo promised the party money, but Volo didn't actually have the money so instead they got the deed to Trollskull Manor. Julian has been angry about this the entire campaign because he was in need of money (tldr his money was stolen before the campaign started) and had since declared Volo to be a scammer. By the end of the campaign when he became wealthy again, Volo dared to ask Julian for funding for his next book to which Julian swiftly stated, "Fuck no."

So here we are in Baldur's Gate 3, and Volo gets captured by the goblin army. Through a series of coincidences I ended up saving Volo, and I screamed laughing when I was given this dialogue option for Julian.

Julian wants his money, Volo, including backpay. You'd better pay up!

#baldur's gate 3 #dungeons and dragons #d&d #dragon heist #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #volo #julian's hatred for volo only grows further #and i'm loving it

26 notes · View notes

brabblesblog · 7 months ago

Text

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 12: I hold myself supremely blest -- blest beyond what language can express

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.

A reunion amongst friends and a little surprise await the bride-to-be.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art by @adactaaries

Ban was halfway finished with picking out cutlery, deciding between two soup spoons that looked rather similar when hands covered her eyes. Immediately she noticed the lack of Astarion’s scent, finding the aroma of parchment instead.

“Gale?”

The hands let go and he chuckled. “Congratulations are in order, I take it?”

“Thank you,” she turned to give him a quick hug. “But… aren’t you scheduled to be here in two days, together with the rest?”

He seemed to dither for a moment, and she raised her eyebrows. “I was supposed to, but Astarion requested that I come a few days ahead.”

“He- what for?” Ban watched as Gale opened his mouth to speak, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Astarion smirked at her. “I’ve asked for Gale’s assistance regarding… certain matters, which are to be a surprise.”

A surprise? Does he mean the plans to get my father to speak up? Ban assumed so. Perhaps he’d made progress and wanted to surprise her with it, although she couldn’t fathom what Gale could do to help.

“Alright.” She smiled at Gale again, then gestured in the direction of the guest rooms. “Shall we?”

As they walked together, Gale cleared his throat. “I assume things worked out for the best between you and Astarion?”

She inclined her head. “It did.”

“Not that I’m doubting you, but-”

Ban cut him off with a look. “You’ve read my letters. We… we’ve worked it out.”

“I know.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I know it’s highly unlikely, and likely rude of me to say so, but I merely wanted to be sure you aren’t trapped, that he hasn’t found some way to compel you.”

“I appreciate the concern. I really do. I assume I’ll also be having this conversation with the rest of our companions.”

They reached the door and Ban opened it, revealing a huge, ornate bed and a desk. A large painting hung on the wall opposite the window.

Ban looked around, collecting her thoughts. “Thank you for checking. But Astarion and I have never been happier.”

“He does seem more… relaxed,” Gale admitted. He sat on the bed, tiredly toeing off his shoes. “He sent his request to come ahead of time and for once he didn’t sound…”

“Off-putting?” Ban offered, and he chuckled.

“He sounded like his old self.”

Ban snorted. “Yes.” She didn’t intend to elaborate to their friends. It was enough for them to know that they were together and happy; she didn’t think it necessary to share much with the others about their relationship.

“And how are you doing, Gale? Any news from Waterdeep? I know Astarion invited Vel’s former spawn through you.”

“Nothing new, other than Enxisys and Miaxisys now apparently rule the roost,” Gale replied. He scanned the room, eyes pausing for a moment on the painting, but he didn’t remark on it. He cleared his throat. “Erm. You two have done a fair amount of redecorating since we were last here.”

“Almost tore the place down and rebuilt it from the ground up. We expanded the gardens, as you saw on the way in, redid the entrance, the dungeons…”

“Dungeons.” Gale groaned, “What joy.”

“They’re shops now. We’re not keeping prisoners. Well. I say we - but I know what you assumed. Him.”

“Oh, I figured. You wouldn’t have stayed had that been the case.” He waved a hand. “I suppose he’s not what we thought he was. A pompous, arrogant arse, and a little… domineering, in his little tyrant-y way, but that’s not really anything new from the Astarion we knew. Just… more.”

She laughed at the thought. “You’re not wrong. But… Gale, a favor, please. Something I’d ask of you, and of everyone, once they’re here.”

“Go ahead,” he said, curious.

“Be nice. To him.” She paused, searching for the right words. “He… what happened at the rite, after it, the reunion... It all still hurts him.”

She could see Gale consider her request. “I’ve always been… nice to Astarion. At the very least, civil.”

“I know, but he did feel betrayed by all of it.” She patted his knee. “A little more kindness would do wonders. He needs it.”

Gale softened at her words. “I’ll try, and I’ll inform the others as well. For what it’s worth, I could always see how much he loves you. After the rite, it seemed… misguided, along with the rest of him.”

Ban sighed. “Misguided, misunderstood, mis…” she waved a hand, “Missed. It was much missed.”

She fell silent for a moment. “Thank you for coming here, and indulging him in… whatever he wants you to do.”

Gale walked through the palace, arms clasped behind his back. Astarion had summoned him to a spare room in one of the palace’s annexes. The third room from the landing, the chamberlain had said, and Gale managed to find it, the door left slightly ajar. He stepped in and saw the Ascendant, dressed sharply as usual, in an embroidered doublet.

“You asked for me?” Gale shut the door.

Astarion turned to face him. He looked… uncertain, and Gale had only ever seen that on his face when Ban had been kidnapped.

“Gale.” Astarion cleared his throat. “I appreciate you coming ahead on such short notice. This wouldn’t be possible without your participation.”

“Of course. A few days made little difference. I simply had to ask for a longer leave from the academy.”

“I see.”

To Gale’s surprise Astarion fidgeted. He watched him cross his arms across his chest. For a long moment the two men stared at each other in silence.

Gale was the first to break it. “About… Ban. We- I was just with her and-” He tried to hold Astarion’s gaze. It wasn’t hard, and if he had to guess, there was some measure of amusement there, however veiled. “I simply want to clarify that whatever feelings I had for her back then,” he waved a hand, “are… gone. Poof!”

He saw the Ascendant’s lip curl, but was surprised it was to smile rather than sneer. Astarion pursed his lips momentarily, then huffed a small chuckle, his voice becoming haughty - and yet…companionable. “You are free to feel however you wish to feel about Ban. It is completely understandable to find yourself smitten; I myself am obviously not immune to her charms.”

Gale spluttered. “Yes, I mean, she is wonderful and all that, of course! However I’m trying to say-”

“I am aware,” Astarion interjected. His voice was chilly, but he was still smiling, and now his eyes were crinkled. The mirth in them was impossible to miss. “And I am saying it’s fine.”

“Oh.” Gale shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Alright.”

The smile on Astarion’s face was replaced by a pensive expression, and he turned away from Gale to face their little project. Gale heard him exhale.

“Between the two of us, I’d say I’m the one who needs to clear the air,” Astarion began. “I’ve yet to express my gratitude for taking Ban in when she needed it most. When she needed someone to give her aid, you were there, despite the potential risks to yourself.”

Gale swallowed. “I did what needed to be done. I wanted to do right by my friend. Whether I felt anything romantic for her or not was irrelevant.”

“I appreciate that,” Astarion turned, meeting Gale’s gaze. His eyes, to Gale’s surprise, were wide and earnest, the hooded, guarded expression absent. Gale hadn’t seen Astarion look so guileless since… well, possibly ever.

“While it… stung that none of you cared to remain friends with me after the rite, or to communicate with me before providing her assistance in leaving,” he began, “I comprehend your reasons. After all, I was with her every single day, and even she didn’t do that.”

Gale considered explaining himself, but decided to wait. Astarion took a deep breath and pushed on.

“I have to thank you, however, for aiding her - all of you, were I to be completely frank. Her departure was…” his eyes flicked away, “much needed. It was what she needed, and it was what I needed to set myself on the right path.”

Gale nodded, surprised and pleased by Astarion’s - by his friend’s candor. “Er. You’re… welcome, I suppose. Well, it all ended up for the better, so.”

He shifted his attention to the hulking object by Astarion, clapping his hands together and smiling eagerly.

“So, my friend. Shall we begin?”

Ban watched the foyer doors open and was immediately accosted by big, burly arms; she gasped out a weak “Karlach!”

“I’m here!” Karlach exclaimed, squeezing Ban tightly. “Withers said he’d be coming to the wedding itself, but-” she gestured from herself and Wyll, “-we’re his gift!”

“Delightfully considerate of him,” Astarion mused dryly from where he stood behind Ban. Karlach let go of her.

“Hey, Astarion,” she waved at him awkwardly.

He lifted his eyes from his fingertips, which he had been very pointedly studying. “Hello, Karlach.”

She beckoned Wyll over, and he pressed a horned skull onto Ban’s palms; it smelled sulphuric, and Astarion’s nose burned.

“Our wedding present,” Wyll said, looking at both of them. “It isn’t much, but-”

His words were silenced by Ban’s tight hug. As she released him he stepped towards Astarion, offering a hand.

“Congratulations.”

Astarion seemed to freeze for a moment, staring at Wyll’s proffered hand before clasping it for a firm shake.

“Thank you, Wyll. I… I appreciate it.” There was a stiffness in how he held himself, even now he was awkward in the face of kindness from anyone but her. Ban found it rather endearing and amusing.

The next face Ban saw was Halsin’s; evidently everyone had traveled together. He wrapped his arms around her, and the scent of earth filled her nose. After a long moment he set her down and turned to hug Astarion as well. To her surprise, he accepted and returned the gesture without complaint. Whatever had transpired in their conversation in Rivington had clearly established a warmer relationship between the two.

Then Lae’zel, who gave Ban a quick once-over. “I came to make sure you were healthy. And you,” she said, turning to Astarion, “are lucky they said she would likely want you alive last time. Chk.”

He bit his lip, then ground out a terse reply. “Formidable as you are, I wouldn’t be so certain I was the lucky one that day, Lae’zel.”

Lae’zel opened her mouth, but Shadowheart interjected before it could escalate. “Astarion! I’m so happy for you both.” Like Halsin, she hugged Astarion. Ban sagged in relief when he allowed it, looking only mildly baffled by the gesture. Ban mumbled a quick thank you when it was her turn for a hug. She’d told Shadowheart everything when they’d met to discuss the Sharran cloisters, and she was glad to see that had been enough for Shadowheart to warm up to Astarion.

Astarion blinked, seemingly bewildered after his second hug of the day. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat. “Thank you, Shadowheart.”

He turned, eyes roaming over everyone. “I shall have our chamberlain lead you all to your rooms. Dinner will be at sunset.”

Ban smiled a little, watching his shoulders drop as the chamberlain led their former companions deeper into the palace.

“You handled that well.”

“Well enough,” he grumbled. “They still loathe me.”

She stepped closer, cupping his cheek. “They do not. And if some of them do, love, we’ll change their minds by the time the night is over. And then tomorrow…” she pecked his lips, “Tomorrow that will be the least of your concerns.”

He sighed. “I know. I merely-” he shook his head ruefully. “Best not bring it up, I suppose. What’s done is done.”

“You could clear the air. We have all of tonight to do that,” She scanned his face. “Is there more troubling you?”

“Not troubling me, dear.” The corner of his lip tugged up into a smile, arms wrapping around her for a quick hug. “On the contrary; there’s something I can’t wait to show you.”

“Oh?” She leaned into his touch, a small moment just for themselves on this busy night. “Perhaps something between your legs?” She crooned, batting her eyelashes at him coyly.

“Your wedding gift,” he purred into her ear, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“If it’s some expensive jewelry again, or more art… Gods. We’ll run out of walls to hang them.”

He smirked. “It is expensive, and rare. But you’ll have to wait until the end of the night to see it.”

They entered the dining room to see everyone seated and waiting; Ban slipped into her usual seat to the right of Astarion. Wyll broke the silence that had fallen when they walked in.

“We’re all happy for you two,” he began, his hand reaching for the stem of his goblet. “For… working it out. Shadowheart and Gale kept us abreast of the… developments.”

Astarion, who’d been pouring himself some blood from their shared bottle, set it down with a rather loud clink.

“Working it out,” he spat out. “Of course we did, no thanks to you lot.” He knew she’d had to leave, knew it had needed to happen, but that didn’t lessen the hurt.

Karlach leaned forward. “We did what was best for Ban. And you were-”

“I know what I was,” Astarion hissed. “I merely wish someone… had approached me. Then again, why did I even expect anything of the sort? You all distanced yourselves after the ritual, avoided me as if I was some… leper, and not one of you reached out to me when Ban…” He felt Ban’s hand cover his own and he squeezed.

“I understand why you did what you did,” he pushed on. “I simply wanted you to know that it hurt me - all of it.” Clenching his jaw, he looked down at their entwined hands.

He took a deep breath. “But all is forgiven. We are here to celebrate, not throw old grievances around.”

Silence met him for several long moments, broken only by Gale reaching over to clap a hand on his shoulder. “We understand, Astarion. I meant what I said before. We’re still your friends.”

Their companions voiced their agreement and several quiet apologies were offered.

“I… Thank you,” Astarion mumbled under his breath, reaching for his goblet.

With that out of the way, conversation began in earnest. Astarion watched it all, listening to nothing in particular, unsure of how they actually felt about him. Will they always look at me and wonder if someday they’ll be called upon to rescue her from me once more? Will I ever be just Astarion to them again?

As the food was served and he prepared to eat, he caught his name.

“-starion?”

Shadowheart. He looked to her, curious.

“Karlach was asking if you’d be able to take on a cambion now,” she explained.

“Cambion, I’m not certain. An incubus, most assuredly so.” He smirked, the pleasant memory flashing through his mind.

Lae’zel fixed him with a baleful glare from the other end of the table. “If by that you mean to say you killed Haarlep… I am almost impressed.”

“I did indeed,” he preened, raising his glass to her. “As previously implied, I could probably take you on.”

She laughed, a challenge in her eyes. “Chk. I would like to see you try.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Before you challenge Lae’zel, Astarion, you should try sparring with me.”

“Only if you can stay in mist form for longer than a minute,” Astarion quipped; pleased to hear the laughter from the rest.

“The day I do is the day you’ll regret saying that.”

Karlach snickered. “Look at you two! At us! Just like the good old days, eh?”

Astarion glanced at her, a wistful look in his eyes. “With much better fare, but I agree.”

“The camp food left much to be desired,” Halsin agreed. He was seated between Lae’zel and Shadowheart, his more homely clothes a contrast to his surroundings.

“Thank you!” Astarion exclaimed emphatically, to loud snickering.

“You don’t even eat!” Gale snapped, indignant.

Astarion wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t eat, but I could smell.”

“I eat,” Karlach intoned, “and it sucked.”

“Apples, fish heads…” Shadowheart added, before sipping a spoonful of soup.

Gale spluttered. “I had no choice! That was all we had!”

“You were with Ban and Astarion most days, Gale. You could have taken the time to find more palatable fare,” Wyll suggested, deadpan.

Ban scanned them all, a small smile flitting over her features. “Astarion said my breath after I ate your stews was rancid.”

“Rancid!” Gale raised his index finger. “I’ll have you know my mother taught me how to cook!”

Laughter filled the room. The warm candlelight threw them all into reddish hues, and if Astarion squinted, it was almost as if they were back by the campfire. He looked to his beloved, saw her laughing, and it was as if no time had passed. His heart swelled.

She shot him a smile, the one that was just for him, reaching over to tangle her fingers in his, their hands set on the table for all to see.

She leaned in to ask quietly, “Feeling better?”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek before replying.

Astarion’s eyes locked onto hers and he directed his answer to her mind. I do not require their approval, or their friendship, but… I will admit that having it again is nice. He reached for another forkful of his dinner.

She nodded almost imperceptibly. You and Gale had a conversation about it, and I had discussed things with Shadowheart and Gale, as well. Halsin-

Halsin and I made amends some time ago. He fixed her with a pointed gaze, sending a small sliver of his memory-

Coming apart on her lap, Halsin’s gift spreading him open, feeling it hit his spot with every thrust. The look on her face as she fucked him, praised him, loved him, his desire and joy comingling in an overwhelmingly intense rush as he came.

She hid her answering grin from their guests, resting her head on her hand and tilting her head his way; her legs crossed. I assumed as much, seeing as he seemingly gifted that to you with no preamble.

Astarion shrugged. It was a wonderful present. I do find myself curious about how he’ll attempt to top that for his wedding gift. He let his eyes rake over her. Hopefully his new present will have me writhing with just as much pleasure as the previous one did - perhaps even more, seeing as you’ve improved your… skillset.

Ban snorted, rolling her eyes. She pointedly stared between his legs, licking her lips slowly. I saw him carry something in when he arrived. Something large and fragile, by the looks of the container. She showed Astarion what she had seen: a rather sizable box, gingerly set on the floor when Halsin greeted them and picked up with great care and cradled afterwards.

If it’s fragile, then it’s quite unlikely to be what I was looking forward to.

He saw Ban splutter mid-sip, failing to keep her laughter hidden. You want more? We already have a sizable collection - every size and shape - and we barely even use them!

I prefer having it once in a while, like a fine vintage - imbibe too much and you lose appreciation for its finer notes. Besides, most of the time I’d much rather be buried inside you.

She choked on her wine at that, a loud sound that would have captured everyone’s attention had they not been engaged in their own conversation. He watched her squirm with deep satisfaction.

You tease!

Astarion hardly recognized the carefree, throaty laugh that escaped him, but he didn’t attempt to stem it. He lifted her hand, stroking her fingers with his own. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her wrist, exhaling through his mouth to let the warm rush of air tickle her flesh. She shivered and her eyes closed as she bit her lip lightly. He chuckled and her eyes snapped open in a playful glare; it merely served to amuse him more. He was certain breaking their fast would be memorable.

There was a small ripple of nervous energy amongst their guests, and he tilted his head, shifting his attention to them.

“-don’t even know if they’d realistically survive doing that.” Gale, engaged in conversation with Karlach, drank deeply from his goblet.

Karlach’s eyes snapped towards Astarion, realizing he was listening to their conversation. She elbowed Gale.

“What? I mean, healing abilities aside, which I’ve personally witnessed…” Gale trailed off to see Astarion’s gaze on him.

The painting in Gale's room. One of their more unusual commissions, a piece depicting Ban feeding from a wound in his chest. He crossed his arms, amused.

Ban had followed her husband’s eyes. “You two taking bets?”

Karlach pointed her fork at Gale. “He said Astarion would die if you two actually did it. And I’m not betting against the wizard.”

Astarion chimed in. “You have personally witnessed me stabbed in the heart, Gale. What gives you the impression I wouldn’t survive a shallower incision?”

“I merely thought… with the size of the wound depicted on it…”

“Never heard of artistic license?” Karlach answered without missing a beat.

Gale’s glare was withering. “I know what artistic license is, Karlach. I was merely wondering if they actually did it to the extent depicted, if at all.”

“I’m not confirming nor denying anything.” Ban’s lips curled in a smile as she said this.

I’m almost tempted to tell him we did, he told her. Her eyes flicked to him.

I don’t need any rumors of me eating your heart-

Astarion shrugged. Suit yourself. I wouldn’t mind everyone thinking us debauched, senseless fools, driven mad with lust for each other. He placed a hand high on her thigh and squeezed. As if that were not true.

“You’re driving me mad,” Ban muttered under her breath, her legs visibly squeezing together.

He drank from his goblet to hide his smirk, caressing her now-tensed thigh in slow, languid strokes. One more day, Ban. I hope you’ll survive it.

For the rest of the evening, the dining room was filled with the sounds of eating, of clanking dishes, of drinks being poured and stories being told. Throughout it all, the sound of laughter reigned supreme.

After everyone else had retired for the night, Astarion led her blindfolded through the palace, hands on her shoulders. “We shall take a left, and a right in twenty paces.”

Ban groaned as her toe stubbed a nearby armchair. “Gods, must it really be this way?”

He’d led her up one of the palace’s staircases, through corridors they rarely passed through, and she kept bumping into things.

“Must? Of course not. However I’ve spent too much time and energy preparing this to merely present it without at least some fanfare. Besides - how many times do I need to decline answering that question?”

“Where are you taking me, then?”

“Ask better questions and I might consider indulging you.”

“If by indulging you mean giving yet another non-answer, no.” She laughed. “You absolute prat, I-”

Her words were swallowed by his mouth seizing hers, his tongue diving between her lips before she could react. She felt his hands slide their way to her ass, squeezing firmly enough to elicit a gasp. He pulled her hips forward, grinding himself against her, and she ached at the feel of his cock, hard and hot, pressing exactly where she wanted him. It was delicious - electric - but before she could lift her hands to tug him closer, he’d already pulled away. She could hear him panting and knew she wasn’t the only one whose self-control hung by a thread, much as he liked to pretend otherwise.

“A little more patience, my love, and you’ll-”

“We’ll,” Ban corrected, smirking.

There was a rustle of cloth as Astarion adjusted himself, then cleared his throat, the snort barely hidden. “Fine. We’ll both be rewarded for our restraint.”

“Not fair,” she whined. “You get to touch me, just like that, get to use your words, and I’m just immediately begging to have you.”

“Let me remind you: this was your punishment.” He returned his hands to her shoulders and continued leading her. “And I have not used the full force of my voice on you in quite some time.”

She noticed an odd somberness in the tone of that last statement. “What do you mean?”

“Turn right here.” He turned her, his hands gentle. He took a breath through his nose. “You seem to be longing for the old days - for those flowery, sultry words - when I could simply… speak, and you’d melt.”

She suspected them to be in the third landing of this particular wing, guessing they were close to the room she theorized he was taking her to. The sudden gust of cold air told her they’d passed by one of the arched windows. “I did notice that you’d stopped, but I didn’t want to… much as I missed it, I thought you might have seen it as performing.”

He stilled, and she stopped. She sensed him move in front of her, then felt his hands slide around her waist and pull her into an embrace.

“Is that so?” he murmured against her ear. “I had assumed you did not want reminders of before, and so I refrained. I recall you admonishing me, telling me to relax. To be clear - I do not mind a certain level of performance; not anymore, and especially not with you. Seduction is by nature, on some level, a performance. But with you it is not a cold, callous thing. Heightening your pleasure could never be cold to me.”

She traced soothing circles on his back, fingers gliding along the muscles she knew so well.

“I’m sorry. That’s not what I intended, at all. You stopped doing it after the rite, and well… you never really slipped back into doing it regularly. So whenever you did do it I assumed it was… contrived, that it wasn’t something I should be encouraging or requesting.”

“When I had nothing else to offer you, words were the one thing I could.” She felt him relax into her touch, his chin settling on top of her head.

“When I finally had everything to give, words felt… unnecessary. I did not realize until too late that words were what you missed the most - not merely the sensual persuasion, but those that spoke of my true feelings. With the quagmire our relationship had become,” he huffed, “it felt unwise to bring such talk back into our bedroom. I feared you mourning the past, and you voiced no complaint; that felt like confirmation that I was on the right path.”

She considered his words and found them accurate. She nodded, face huddled against the expanse of bare chest his open shirt exposed.

“I suppose we misunderstood each other. Again.”

“One of a multitude of such instances, yes,” he conceded. “However, like everything else, it can be discussed. So, my love. Do you wish me to…” he leaned in, lips a hairsbreadth from the shell of her ear, his voice lowering to an erotic purr, “whisper sweet words to you, soft words of devotion…” he breathed, a rough, ragged sound, the heat of it sending a wave of fire from her ear to her groin, “pant and gasp and tell you every one of the debauched ways I wish to have you…” his tongue flicked out and ran up the edge of her ear, “moan and whimper your name,” his fingers traced down her neck and across her collarbone, “sigh out every filthy thought that goes through my mind every time I see you, so that you can hear every. single. day. that every inch of my body yearns for you,” he caught her earlobe between his teeth for the briefest moment, “that every moment I’m not buried inside you, filling you with my seed, is a glorious agony only you can assuage…”

She shuddered, barely preventing her knees from buckling; Astarion chuckled, low and deep.

“I can make your name a prayer, sing your praises. Coax you to do anything and everything for me, dearest Ban.” Her name was almost obscene on his lips, velvety voice crooning directly into her ear. She was wet, her legs squeezing together.

He chuckled lightly, his breath hitching on a quiet inhale that cut off in a desperate groan when he caught the scent of her arousal. To her surprise, his mouth devoured hers again. Her arms lifted to wind around his waist, but he captured them, wrapping his strong hands around her wrists.

“Not today, my love,” he whispered, “as much as I want it too.” He pressed his hips against hers, one long, slow, grind, allowing her to feel the truth of his words.

“Fuck,” she managed to groan, pulling away. “Yes. I want that.”

He kissed her cheek. “Tomorrow, I promise. You will be lavished with all the words I’ve longed to give you again. In fact, I trust you will make some small attempt to do the same,” he teased, “although it may be decades, perhaps centuries, before you attain my level of skill.” Ban rolled her eyes, and although he couldn’t see it through the blindfold, he sensed it.

“I’ll come up with something. You’ll see.”

He loosed a quiet snort. After a moment, he resumed leading her down the corridor, and into a room. He closed the door behind them, then led her backwards until the backs of her legs hit what felt like a chair.

“Sit.”

She did as asked, and he reached down to untie her blindfold. “I’m not certain how to say this, other than that I wanted to give you something for our wedding. You’ve planned it to perfection, and this is my way of saying thank you.”

He drew away, and she opened her eyes.

She saw… herself. Slightly more ashen than she was used to, staring at herself askance. It took several long moments to realize what she was looking at. An ornate, gold-gilt rectangular mirror with an arched top. A mirror. She gasped in wonder, eyes tracing over Astarion, who was naturally also reflected in it, grinning from ear to ear.

It took slightly longer to realize what she was seated on. Mostly black, not quite the same style as his, but a throne all the same. She took a moment to find the words, but all that came out was a broken “Astarion…”

He crossed his arms, smiling still. “Meiros had made such a brilliant piece, and I thought its beauty would be wasted if it would never be able to reflect your countenance. I corresponded with Gale, who corresponded with Elminster, and…” he shrugged. “Here it is. In time for you to see yourself properly on our wedding day.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “And th-this?” She ran her hands over the armrests, feeling the intricate carvings.

“Another gift. The initial one, in fact, before I purchased the mirror. You sorely needed one.”

Ban kept her eyes on herself, drinking in everything. “Thank you. For both. I… I love them. But I’d still want to sit on your lap.”

Astarion laughed, a loud, mirthful sound. “I won’t deny you that. Still, you have to admit this sends a much-needed message to the guests at our events.” He approached her and playfully sat on her lap, angling his face towards hers. “You’re to be respected, to be seen as holding the same stature as I. Equals.”

He turned to straddle her, pressing himself close, arms around her neck. “Wouldn’t you say that was a good idea?” He looked back at the mirror, seeing them both. I should have her take me in front of this sometime, he thought. The visuals would no doubt be magnificent…

She nodded, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. She could feel the soft press of his cock against her belly; she desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, her hand lifted before she could think.

“Bad girl,” he said, returning his gaze to her. He took her hand and wrapped it around his waist instead. His eyes, however, were tender. “One more day. I promise you it will be worth the wait.”

He leaned forwards, kissing her softly, unable to keep his hips still. He ground against her, her hand obediently remained where he’d placed it.

Ban moaned, longing to deepen the kiss. She sucked on his lower lip, but he pulled away as soon as she began to nibble.

He stood up, thumb running over his swollen lip absently. They both looked at the tent in his trousers, he with chagrin and she with naked hunger. He quietly adjusted himself.

“Patently clear I’m not the only one suffering,” she said.

A small, amused bark answered her. “You have no idea.”

Bonus: Here’s the art from Gale’s room, commissioned from @kringle-c

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @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 @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

82 notes · View notes