#but I don’t have any new astarion to post lately

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2020 vs 2024

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Unraveling Plan Meet Immeasurable Insecurity (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Rating: Teen

Summary: Tav tries their damnedest to propose, only to be rebuffed by Astarion at every single turn.

Tags: Astarion POV - alternating w/Rogue!Tav, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Spawn Astarion, Post-Canon, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, insecurities

A/N: based on a request from a kind anon on Tumblr– "Would you ever consider writing a one-shot where Tav tries to propose to Astarion but keeps failing multiple times. But Tav doesn’t give up and raises the stakes higher and higher. Astarion will completely remain oblivious because he still has some self esteem issues (why would anyone want to marry him?) and is really confused why Tav is acting nervous around him."

I ended up taking it in a slightly different direction (based on the man’s self esteem issues as you pointed out, anon). Set an undetermined amount of years post BG3, post saving Karlach from Zariel, post-Lae’zel finishing the githyanki uprising so the gang's all here. I hope the kind anon still enjoys it!

Word count: ~5.6k

Astarion first has an inkling that something is the matter when you sneak away from him.

Odd, he thinks, watching your retreating back. Usually they invite me along for this sort of skulking about.

But he understands, better than most, what a bit of privacy could afford someone who hasn’t had any in so long. So he watches you leave, pretending all the while that he hasn’t noticed a thing. Best not embarrass them, of course.

He brushes off the incident as an anomaly– after all, you continue to be your usual self upon your return. Neither of you speak of your absence, and you seem rather pleased with yourself, so he is pleased for you.

The next time he notices something is off he grows a tad more worried.

This time you don’t disappear, but you do spend a concerning amount of time staring at his hands, expression pensive.

“Darling,” he starts. He quickly tucks his hands under the Elfsong table that you both sit at and leans forward. “What are you doing?”

You blanch at the question– an uncharacteristic reaction to be sure. “Oh,” you sound startled, as if you’ve been caught doing something quite naughty. “Nothing at all. Just wondering if you’d done anything new with your nails? They look… nice.”

It’s a lie, that much is clear to Astarion. But it’s not typical that you lie so poorly. And why should you lie? No matter, you look flustered and gods does he love it when you look flustered– it happens so rarely that he feels the need to truly relish it. “Don’t they?” he asks, flourishing his hands in front of you now. “How did you know? I dipped them in an essence of ooze to thoroughly moisturize them.”

“Really?” Your bewilderment almost brings a laugh out of him.

“Gods no, my dear,” he says, reaching out from under the table and for your hands. “You seem quite out of sorts. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, staunchly avoiding eye contact with him.

Odd, he thinks again. Where is their usual daring now?

He’s forced to dismiss the thought as you flag down a waitress, ordering yourselves another bottle of wine.

Astarion becomes genuinely concerned when you return home late one night.

The two of you have grown comfortable together in your house, just on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, in a cozy corner of Rivington. The location allows you to continue your work with the guild, gives him plentiful access to any criminals that needed exsanguinating, and your former companions are never far.

It does mean that you will sometimes stay late in the city, working well into the sunlight hours– but you also know to send him a message on the days you stay out late. Otherwise your poor, beautiful vampire will waste away in worry.

“Where in the nine hells are they?” Astarion curses aloud on this particular dawning day. He’d tried sending a message to you, only to receive nothing back. He’d sent another to Shadowheart, again to silence. He considers trying someone less responsible like Karlach, when you finally burst through the front door.

“Oh! Astarion,” you say, surprise plain on your face. As if he wouldn’t be here, in your shared home no less, waiting for your arrival. “What are you still doing up?”

He watches you silently for a moment as you tuck something behind your back, straighten out uncomfortably. Then, with all of the annoyance he can muster, he rolls his eyes at you. “It’s lovely to see you too, my dear. It’s not as if I was worrying my gorgeous head off at the thought of you dead in some rank Baldurian gutter.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, shuffling around the room in a rather suspicious manner. “I lost track of time. I figured you would go to bed without me.”

Astarion can’t remember the last time he went to bed without at least knowing where you were. Even if he could, he suspects he really would rather not. “Darling, you know I need my warm-blooded lover by my side to enter my reverie. Besides, what could have possibly taken you so long?”

You hesitate, and something tugs at Astarion’s insides. He feels a sudden sense of fear, a dread that he may regret asking you this question. 

What if you’re upset at him, and this was your way to maintain space? What if you’ve finally, rationally taken a look at your situation and determined that no, you’d really rather not love a monster like himself? Or worse, what if you’d found someone else, someone who could bask in the daylight alongside you? Gods, the idea sends his undead heart plummeting.

Just as you’re about to open your mouth to answer, he rescinds his question, “Nevermind. I don’t want to know. I merely wanted to make sure you were alive. You’re looking as sprightly as ever, so I shall head to bed.”

He doesn’t wait for your response, heading to bed in a dramatic swirl and even more sensational thoughts. 

He’s right, he knows it to his core. You’ve found someone else, someone who can give you the life he never could. More than anything he wishes he had the courage to confront you, especially as all of your odd behavior clicks into place.

They snuck off to find a lover.

They were staring at my hands in the hopes that they were someone else’s.

They stayed out late to relish in another’s company.

They’re aloof because they’re leaving me and it’s all a matter of time.

It’s as plain as day. How could he have been so very, very blind?

__

You had concocted a nice, simple plan.

It involved a ring, a smattering of your closest friends, and a particularly prickly vampire. Ideally, the plan ended with the vampire agreeing to marry you.

Gods. The idea thrills you as much as it scares you: you are actually going to propose to Astarion.

After years together, you and Astarion are practically already married. This is merely a formality in your mind. But of course, for a man like Astarion, it's a formality that means only the utmost effort must be put in.

But, as it always goes in your life, your nice, simple fell apart.

The problem you're finding is that, after weeks of preparation and secretive planning, the man is being oddly distant. Distant and dismissive. It's almost as if he knows something is afoot, and he's utterly determined to make sure it doesn't happen.

Five times now he has thwarted your attempts at a proposal.

"Astarion," you had started the first time. "Would you like to take a walk in the park with me tonight?”

The look he’d given you was equal parts wary and panicked. So much so that you thought maybe you’d misspoken. But his response was measured enough. “No, thank you, darling. I’m afraid I’m quite spent today.” He gave you a yawn to illustrate his point, and you dropped the subject for the night.

You had had to send a message to Shadowheart to call off the trail of poisonous flowers that your friends were laying out for your stroll.

The next time, you had tried being a bit more casual in your attempt.

“Would you enjoy a day at the spa, Astarion?”

Again, he gave you a look that confused you. Frightened face, hackles raised– his only response was, “Why, darling, do I look that ghastly to you?”

“You know that’s not what I–”

“No matter,” he’d waved you off. “I am afraid I’m busy today.”

You’d sent a message to Karlach, telling her that the reservation of Baldur’s Gate’s spa was no longer needed.

The third time, you’d called in some more magical help.

“Astarion, what do you say to a moonlit picnic atop the roof of the Elfsong? We haven’t had one in a while.”

Appalled– utterly and truly aghast is the only way to describe the face he’d made. The words that followed didn't make you feel better either. “And why would we do that again after such a long while?”

Your stomach had roiled, worry settling in at his tone. “I thought it would be a chance to reminisce together.” Your tone stayed light, your smile just as friendly.

“It’s far too cold to bother with reminiscing,” he’d said, glowering at you. Looking at the hard set of his jaw, this is when you’d begun to worry that you’d done something to upset him.

“Is everything alright?” you’d asked, reaching out for his arm.

“It’s fine,” he’d replied, curtly, retreating from your grasp. “I just don’t want to be colder than I already am.”

You’d sent a message to Gale, instructing him to call off the magical skywriting over the Elfsong.

For your fourth attempt, you knew you needed someone with a slightly more forceful personality– and to perhaps lean a little less romantic.

“Astarion,” you’d begun, inflecting your tone with just the right amount of panic. “Lae’zel’s found a flock of mephits along the beach of Wyrm’s Crossing. She needs our help.”

“Mephits?” he’d asked, looking at you cautiously. “In Wyrm’s Crossing?”

“Yes,” you’d replied, nodding hurriedly. “We need to go now.”

He’d clicked his tongue at you and shaken his head. “As if Lae’zel couldn’t crush them all with a single swing. Seems to me like she’s grown lazy after all of her heroics.”

“Astarion,” you’d chided. “You know she will incredibly cross at us if she finds out you declined to help.”

“I’ll survive,” he’d said, returning to the book on his lap, hands turning paler than usual in a tense vice grip. “Probably.”

After, you’d sent a message to Lae’zel, instructing her to do as she pleased with the stash of fireworks on the beach.

The fifth time you’d grown genuinely, truly worried that something was wrong with Astarion because, by the gods, the man had refused to commit crime with you.

After so many failed attempts, you’d figured that you needed to go back to the roots of your relationship– to a simpler time when petty theft gave you some time alone together.

“I heard a rumor through the guild,” you’d said offhandedly over dinner. “A newly minted noble in the Upper City has quite the horde of wealth and very little security. What do you say that we pay them a visit, perhaps ‘relieve’ them of some of their wealth?”

Astarion had faltered, clearly tempted by your offer. But after nearly two weeks of avoiding going anywhere with you, he didn’t outright agree either. “And why would you need me for this particular job?”

The question had taken you aback. You’d never needed a reason to invite him along for crime of all things. It made you near certain that he knew what you were up to and that something about it was distasteful to him. Sweet hells, it made you nervous. “I, erm… well, I could use an extra pair of hands to carry it all, I suppose?”

“I could lend you my pack then,” he’d said, narrowing his eyes at you.

Why is he trying to avoid me? Have his feelings changed? you’d thought in fear. Aloud, you’d only doubled down. “Well, the company might be nice. And you know that your lockpicking is, somehow, better than mine.”

“I thought you said security was sparse,” he’d countered.

“Sparse doesn’t mean nonexistent.”

“Not much of a challenge then, is it?”

You had wanted to scream into the astral plane. Wanted to flip the table over his pretty pale face. Wanted to tell him, ‘You know what, I didn’t want to marry such a stubborn vampire anyway!’ – but you did none of those things. Because you love this man and, even when he’s being difficult, you do want to marry him.

So you had gritted your teeth and said, “Very well then. I shall borrow your pack.”

You’d sent a message to Wyll later to call off his father’s help with the upper city guards.

For your sixth attempt, you decide you first need to reconvene with your council– also known as your former companions. 

When you’d first met with them at the start of this whole ordeal, you’d snuck away from Astarion. It made you feel a bit guilty, sneaking around, hiding things from him, but the entire proposal was meant to be a fun surprise– one you are starting to suspect is a misguided effort. 

You profess as much aloud now that you’re meeting up with the five of them again, seated around the table in Jaheira’s kitchen. “Maybe there is no sixth attempt. Maybe I’ve overestimated the love between us.”

“Don’t say that,” Wyll says, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly in reassurance. “Your love is strong. And together we will find a way to make this proposal work.”

You smile up at the man, one always so willing to believe in the power of a good love story. You’re almost sorry to be disappointing him– and the smut peddlers. Really, you’re sorry to be disappointing all of your friends. Each of your companions had been eager to help you in your endeavor, in their own ways, of course.

Gale had congratulated you prematurely at first, misunderstanding your Sending spell. But when you’d clarified, asked him for his help, he’d only been incredibly enthused, arriving the very next day, offering all manner of suggestions.

Karlach, for her part, was only ever excited, practically bouncing off the walls that two of her best mates may potentially tie the knot. At the low, low price of allowing her to be your person of honor, she was entirely at your disposal.

Lae’zel had been confused initially. In her mind, you were already committed to a life together. What was the purpose of this… proposal? Of marriage? But when you’d explained to her a bit, she’d been curious– and excited at the potential of catching Astarion off guard.

Shadowheart had seemed surprised when you’d asked. You weren’t already married? Alas, she’d gotten the plot of one of the many bawdy novels about you confused with real life. No matter, she was happy to help.

And, well, Wyll– when he returned from Avernus he’d been disappointed that you weren’t at the very least engaged yet. It was no shock or awe to him when you visited him for help. In fact, he had only given you a wry smile and said, “I knew you would be the one to cave.”

As for Jaheira, well, she was allowing you to use her house as a headquarters, but had proclaimed early, “Invite me to the wedding and I shall be there, but until then– well, this is for you lot to figure out.”

And gods were you having trouble figuring it out.

“I don’t know, Wyll. I’m worried Astarion may never revert back to normal at this rate,” you say, shaking your head.

“Was he ever normal?” Shadowheart asks with a soft snort. “Besides, he can be awfully dense at times, you may just need to ask him outright.”

“There is not a single realm in which Astarion says yes to a simple proposal,” you say, brows furrowing. “You know he’d want something flashy.”

Gale raises a finger sagely before countering, “Well, my friend, sometimes what we want and what we need are two different things. I’m inclined to agree that you may just need to pop the question.”

“What if…” you trail off, your worries from the past weeks bogging down your thoughts. Somehow, despite everything you’ve been through, this seems to be your toughest challenge yet. “Do you think he knows what I’m doing and is simply too afraid to reject me?” you ask the group, turning to each of them with pleading eyes. You’re honestly not sure you can take his rejection, especially after the last five rebuffs.

“Not a chance in the hells,” Karlach answers. “I think he’s being a right idiot, actually. And if he knew what was happening, he may even say yes before you can so much as get the question out.”

“Really?” Your mood lightens a bit, her harsh words slashing through the hardened doubts that have settled over your heart. 

“Is it any surprise to us that Astarion is incapable of seeing the truth before him?” Lae’zel says, rolling her eyes. “Such sharp skills, yet completely dull in the face of our efforts.”

“Again, we may just need a softer touch,” Shadowheart suggests, tilting her head at you.

You’re not sure what a softer touch might be, and, from the silence that follows, neither are any of your companions.

Your resident wizard is the first to break the silence. “I could always create a simulacra–”

“Gale,” Wyll interjects, politely. “I’m afraid I don’t think that’s much softer.”

“Right,” Gale says, leaning back in his seat.

Another long moment of silence and you’re truly starting to feel defeated. You hang your head a bit, thoughts filled with the image of a certain beautiful, pale elf’s mouth curling at you in distaste, forming a pronounced ‘no.’

“Soldier,” Karlach starts. You look up to see her smirking at you. “If he won’t willingly join you anywhere. I think we both know what you need to do.”

–

They are going to sink the final nail in the metaphorical coffin.

For nearly two weeks now, Astarion has successfully avoided his lover’s attempts to get together in a public space– likely what they saw was the best, most civil way to dispose of him. But, foolish as it is to cling to something like a withered love, Astarion doesn’t want this relationship to end.

Perhaps, if I can do this for long enough, they will change their mind, he thinks. Gods, that sounds pathetic, even for him.

Astarion was running out of excuses, and, worse yet, running out of willpower. What is the use in fighting the inevitable? he thinks, as he walks down the streets of Baldur’s Gate. It’s a moonlit night, and he’s on the prowl for a criminal to bite– he needs something, anything to distract him from his woes.

He turns the corner, on high alert.

Then again, a more selfish part of him counters. Why shouldn't you fight for your love? They were the first good thing to ever happen to you in this damned world.

That’s when he spots them– the-first-good-thing-to-ever-happen-to-him is hiding behind a bush directly before him, facing another alleyway. There are very few reasons that they would be out at this time of night, in the middle of this particular street of Baldur’s Gate. While they could be on a mission for the guild, he had last seen them at home, reading by the fire. It’s clear that they followed him, are waiting to ambush him.

Is this it? he thinks, eyes narrowing. His chest hurts, more than ought to be possible given his lack of beating heart. Is this how desperate they are to be rid of me? May as well go out with flair, I suppose…

Astarion sneaks forward, careful to remain outside of your field of view. He settles behind you in the darkness of the bush, watching you as you look out for him. Despite the ache in his heart, the clenching of his stomach, he can’t help but think of how lovely you look under the moonlight– of how lucky he has been to have had you.

If this truly is it, he thinks. I can’t wallow or cry. I shall hold my head high and consider myself fortunate to have met them. To have loved them. At least, he hopes he’s capable of such a performance. Because right now, quietly crouched next to you, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to beg you to reconsider.

But no. He refuses to look pathetic– not after the life he has lived.

So, after waiting with you for a few minutes, he leans forward into your personal space and asks, “Darling, what are you doing?”

Astarion is ready for your instincts to kick in, so when your knife is drawn in a flash and you’re lunging for him, he’s easily dodging backward, holding his hands up in peace. “Now, now darling, I thought we were past the knives at throats.”

“Astarion?” you ask, startled. “Sweet hells, you haven’t snuck up on me like that in years.”

“Yes, well,” he says, avoiding your eyes now. He’s surprised by how much gazing into them has weakened his composure already. “You also haven’t looked so utterly distracted by your own thoughts in years either.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, ignoring his words. “I thought…”

Yes, dear, what did you think? he wants to ask, to catch you in the act with a cruel moment of revelation, to hurt you as much as you’re about to hurt him. But when he brings his eyes back to yours, he knows he can’t do that. While he’s still capable of maiming, killing, all manner of atrocities– he cannot hurt you. So he only says, “I was out hunting and I saw you hiding in a bush. What are you doing here?”

“I–” you falter, seemingly torn. Perhaps you’re having second thoughts. Perhaps this is his chance to keep you from breaking his cold, crumbling heart.

“Do you need assistance, dear?” he asks, ready and willing to show how much he would do for you. Anything, honestly, if it means you’ll stay by his side.

“Gods, I keep mucking this all up,” you mutter, head hanging in uncharacteristic defeat. “Maybe Shadowheart was right.”

What did that damned cleric do now? Is she the one you’re leaving him for? He’s about to make a reflexive, snide comment about her veritable barnyard of animals, but stops when he sees you sheath your blade. When you wipe a hand over your face in frustration.

Oh. You’re miserable. You wouldn’t look like this normally. You would never be this nervous, this stressed to see him– not unless his very presence had turned toxic. “I should go, shouldn’t I?” he asks, throat tight.

“No!” you say, reaching out a hand to keep him from leaving. Your grip is tight, painful in its panic, but he doesn’t complain. How could he when you look like this? 

More than anything, he wants this worry that lines your face to fade, the jittery movement of your hands to abate. So maybe it’s up to him to spark the beginning of the end… “Did you… have something you wanted to tell me?” he asks, swallowing down the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I…” you gulp, bringing your second hand to join the first, loosening your grip. You raise your head, and he sees the tumult in your gaze. At the very least, you must care about him somewhat to stress yourself this much. “Astarion, please don’t be upset.”

How could he not? But, somehow, he manages a sad smile at you anyway. “As if I could ever be upset with you, my love.”

Then you drop to a knee in front of him.

– 

“Astarion,” you say, voice shaking a bit with nerves. “I had wanted this to be something lovely. Something meaningful. But… I guess you love ruining plans, don’t you?”

“What,” he breathes out, confusion plain on his face. His red eyes dart between yours, as if trying to process a sudden, large shift. You suppose it would be a shift in your relationship, even if you were practically married already. If he even decided to say yes.

You release his arm with one hand, reaching into your side pouch for the small square box that’s waiting for you. Fingers less dexterous than usual, you fumble over clutching it, opening it single handedly. You’re not used to looking this foolish, and you can feel a heat over your cheeks, an anxious shake to your movements.

But before too long the box is open, a shining platinum band resting inside.

It looks like everything you’d hoped for in the moment– its inlaid red rubies catch the moonlight just beautifully. You’d spent weeks agonizing, wondering if you had picked the right one, imagining what it might look like were it to be placed on his perfect pale finger. Here and now, with this man standing before you, you know it would look exquisite.

“Astarion,” you start again, courage returning to you with that knowledge, some of the words you’d prepared coming back to your mind. “These past years together have been the best years of my life. You’re my best friend, my dual blade, and I love you more than I can even say. I don’t know what our future holds, but I would consider myself lucky to walk towards it with you at my side. So…” You pull the ring from the box, holding it up to the man you love with a smile. “Would you, Astarion Ancunín, do me the honor of marrying me?”

Astarion Ancunín, despite years of quick quips and sultry words, seems to be frozen in place, unable to speak.

You’re used to these moments, when he needs to process, but you’re not used to them when you’re on one knee, waiting for a response. “Astarion?” you hazard.

“You’re…” he says, face slack, mouth barely moving. “You’re proposing to me?”

It’s not a no, but it’s certainly not the reaction you’d be hoping for. “Erm, yes. Is that… distasteful to you?” You can feel your hand recoil somewhat, your smile slip.

His expression remains blank, lips slightly agape as he continues to take in the scene before him. “You– you don’t have a new lover? You’re not planning to leave me?”

“What?” Now it’s your turn to be flabbergasted. “Astarion, what are you talking about?”

The sigh that leaves him then could collapse a small house. “Sweet hells,” he says, face and body relaxing. “I thought… I thought that you were acting odd, like– like–”

“Like I was trying to surprise you with the magnificent proposal you deserve?” you respond, suddenly understanding his behavior and growing a smidge annoyed. “Like I didn’t want to propose to you behind some damned bushes?”

Astarion looks around, as if just now realizing where you are, what is happening. “Yes, now that you mention it, like that.”

You want to be upset, but then the man above you laughs. It’s light, breathy, and utterly relieved. “You were really worried, weren’t you?”

“Oh my sweet love, I was about ready to jump into an Oubliette,” he says, shaking his head ruefully.

“You thought I would leave you, just like that?” you ask, brows furrowing in concern. Maybe you should have just proposed in your living room.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he says, looking down at you with a tinge of sadness in his smile. “I doubt that this was the life you were looking for, darling. As a matter of fact, are you… sure about this?” He eyes the ring in your hand, all but forgotten in his confusion.

You proffer it again, raising your hand a bit higher this time. “The only life I’m looking for is the one with you in it, Astarion. I am quite sure.”

His scarlet eyes dart between yours questioningly, and you merely stare back, staunch in your words and intent. “Even if I’m a fool that forced your hand– left you kneeling in the dirt?”

“We’ve done worse things on dirt, Astarion,” you say, smiling widening at the memory of the first time he’d told you he loved you. “If you’d like me to get out of the dirt though, you could answer my question: Would you marry me?”

__

Once more, he looks between your eyes, this time his are wide, open– daring to believe that his darkest fears are just that. Fears. Ones that you would vanquish without a second thought. How could he have been so blind to that. Moisture pools at the corner of his eyes at the realization.

So he drops to his knees, reaching for your face with his hands. In a single movement, he’s pulled you toward him, captured your lips with his with an undeniable longing. A longing to hold you in his hands for as long as he is able. A longing to taste your lips on his, each and every day. A longing to never be without you, to be yours until death do you part.

You respond to his kiss in kind, lips pressing against him with your own pent up longing. He distantly hears the ring’s box fall to the floor, feels your hand brush past his ear to clutch his hair. You kiss him like he’s the answer to every question you’ve ever had and he feels a small tear run down his face as his eyes squeeze tightly shut.

Gods he would never tire of kissing you.

I ought to respond, he thinks in the back of his head, as he moves his lips against yours.

Is this not response enough? he argues, not wanting to break apart from you, for even a moment.

No, it wouldn’t do to have any confusion, not after the past two weeks.

So, before he can forget himself, he pulls back from you, far enough to look into your eyes. “That was a ‘yes’ in case that wasn’t evident.”

You laugh, short and breathless. “Oh good,” you say, leaning back further and bringing up the ring between you. “Then may I?”

Astarion removes his left hand from your face, holds it out to you with a large, gleeful smile. “You may.”

You slip the ring onto his finger. It fits well, matches his eyes, looks positively sumptuous– as always, you know him too well. “It’s stunning,” he says, angling it one way then another.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, smiling at the sight. “And that you didn’t catch me when I tried to sneak it past you.”

The vampire laughs, shaking his head free of his own silly thoughts. “I smashed your plans into tiny little pieces, didn’t I?”

You don’t say yes, but the look on your face is evidence enough. “I’ll tell you all about what you missed out on later. For now, we should, erm, go get our friends.”

“Go get our friends?” he asks, wondering what in the hells they have to do with all of this.

“Yes,” you say, planting a kiss on his hand before moving to get up. “They’re all in place for another one of these ill fated plans.”

“Ah,” he says, following you up. Then, realizing what you’ve said, he looks at you with concern. “Just what were you in this bush for?”

To your credit, you look abashed. But your words do nothing to lessen his concern. “Seeing as you were refusing to come with me, well, anywhere, we had to pivot our strategy.”

“Darling,” he starts, his tone a deceptive sweetness. “Whatever does that mean?”

“It was Karlach’s plan,” you say, as a means of explanation.

“Oh good. I’m sure whatever it was was perfectly sane then.”

Scratching at the back of your neck, you finally admit the plan, “I was going to give them a signal when you passed. Gale was going to make an illusory double of me getting kidnapped by the rest of them in disguise, then hopefully you would take chase to go save me, they would lose you just as you got to the Elfsong where I would be waiting…”

Astarion looks at you sharply, his mouth a disapproving line. “Really?”

“In retrospect, I can see the flaws in the plan,” you say, palms open. “But in my defense, I was getting desperate. Either way, we ought to go get them. Karlach seemed just about ready to explode from hiding that long.”

“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “This is what we get for having such imbeciles for friends.”

“Funny,” you start, holding out a hand to him. “They said the same about you.”

He takes your hand with an exaggerated eye roll, but can’t help the smile that comes over his face at the feeling of your fingers twining with his. “It’s a shame you had to resort to them for help.”

“I really needed it. You know, I have killed more people than I can count, but you have been my most challenging mark by far,” you say, dramatically as you begin to walk down the alleyway.

“Worse than the giant, world-ending brain?”

“Oh yes.”

The two of you walk in silence for a few steps before Astarion feels compelled to say one last thing before reaching your friends. “Darling, I truly am sorry I ruined all of your plans, but I must ask: Please don’t try to surprise me like this again.”

The expression on your face deflates a little, and you say, “I thought you would like something grand?”

He brings your hand up to his lips for a soft, reassuring peck. “Normally, yes. But, I love you so very much. I’m afraid it clouds my usually impeccable judgment.”

You don’t comment on his judgment, instead focusing on his proclamation of love. “I love you too. So, hopefully, there isn’t a second proposal.”

“One can only hope,” Astarion says with a laugh. “And, if there is, perhaps it’s my turn to do the proposing?”

“Love, if you surprise me, I may kill you,” you say, plainly.

“A risk I’ve always been willing to take, my dear,” the man replies, pulling on your hand. “Now, come. I think I can spot Wyll’s peeking eye from here.”

Hand-in-hand, the two of you walk toward your waiting friends, ready to tell them the good news.

It wasn’t the grand proposal you had envisioned. Nor was it even a particularly romantic one. But, somehow, it was still perfect, still loving, still the beautiful new beginning to the rest of your lives together.

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (4)

[Astarion x reader] A little longer than usual, I hope that’s fine for all of you :,DDD I didn't want to cram too much into the post though, so the segment at the end might be continued in full detail, or maybe not! Let's see.|Word count: 2.9k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, allusions to sex, a few ooc characters, reader being a dumbass and wahtnot.

Part 3 here!!

Masterlist here!!

A party is being held at the camp in the heroes’ honor, which greets you with a lively crowd that you’ll hopefully meet again soon. And with a gathering this large, you’re bound to garner attention. But with a constitution as poor as yours from the night before, a round of drinks is the last thing you want. 

Alternatively: A bloodless human tries to balance respectfully participating in a drinking party, while also not drinking at all. 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

The sun rises, the warmth of its rays gently waking you in the absence of the campfire’s flames. The soft chirping of the birds greet you a good morning as your eyes slowly open, ready to greet the day as a new opportunity arises.

Is what would have happened in a more idyllic scenario. Instead, you bolt awake with a pounding headache, worse than any hangover could possibly feel like, and quickly rush to get up. By the sheer brightness of the light that burns your newly opened corneas, it is far later than when you usually wake. And breakfast still hasn’t been made. 

“Well, good morning sleepy head.” One of your companions, Gale, says as he fixes his belongings. Readying himself for the skirmish that was about to take hold later on in the day.

“I’m very  sorry for waking up late. It won’t happen again.” You bow your head low for a moment before he waves you off.

“Oh come now, we all have our off days. Besides, I think the rest would agree with me when I say what you made for us last night was more than enough to last us ‘til morning.” His statement is punctuated by the lively sounds of the others training. Ready and well rested for whatever may come.

You look around. None have seemed to mind your temporary absence, so you endeavor to double check with everyone leaving and ensure that they had a sound strategy with the necessary materials and weapons should there be a need for failsafes. You remind them of certain notes that some of them have informed you about but failed to share with the rest of the group. 

‘While goblins typically go down faster than other opponents, they have no sense of honor nor pride which gives way for them the opportunity to use more underhanded tactics. But they also aren’t very bright, so you can convince the others to let them infiltrate the camp and eradicate them from the inside out.’

As the rest disperse, finalize their plans and check their supplies, your favorite character approaches you much like he usually does every morning. Only this time, you see that he looks very pleased. A more vibrant spark in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally woken up.” He looks at you, in the same way an old friend of yours would when they’re seconds away from telling a joke. 

The look fades soon enough though as he breathes out. You wonder if it’s because the joke isn't funny anymore, or if he never had a punchline to begin with.

“You looked a little ill last night, but you’ve certainly recovered.” Recovered isn’t the word you would use to describe your current state of feeling almost half dead, but you don’t bother correcting the details.

“And you look particularly vibrant today, Astarion.” The itch of your neck intensifies as you return a pointed look at him as he frowns.

“Oh, of course! Now, don’t be so upset. I will admit that I got a little carried away, I apologize.” He pauses. The frown remains on his face for a while before it is erased with his usual expression of confidence. 

“But let’s not fall out over this.” He moves to stand closer to you, taking your hand to his as he nears it to his lips as he continues. 

“We need each other.” 

And whether its done purposefully or not, you see his fangs peek out from his mouth and a shiver courses through your body.

You slip your hand out of his own in a panic and interject. 

“I know that much already, and I trust you not to let what happened last night happen again. I also apologize for not noticing sooner and dealing with the situation better.” You hold your head down a bit to apologize but quickly meet his gaze gain. “But I do need to know what we’ll have to feed you from now on.”

The look of confusion, and perhaps even shock that was once swimming in his eyes dissipates before you can notice them when he swears upon his resolve. “No innocents, you have my word. After all, you know what I am now. I can fight with all my weapons–” He grins, allowing you a clearer view than what you had earlier. “Teeth included.”

“And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They’re just as dead.” He makes a very compelling argument, at least to your standards.

You sigh, satisfied for now. You’re confident that none of your party members would end up at the mercy of his fangs, and you’re more than sure they would be able to overpower him more than your attempts did. But the same sentiment cannot be shared for possibly important, plot driving, characters that you might meet later on.

So you propose something to strengthen your trust that the unlikely will stay the unlikely.

“Look, I’m–” You breathe in, almost as if you're trying to suck back whatever courage washed over you back in as you steeled yourself for what you were about to say next.

“I’m not against you feeding from me, but!” You punctuate the last syllable as you see his grin growing wider. “We need to discuss things beforehand. No prowling over me while waiting for me to wake up or to sink your teeth into.”

The proposal greatly delights him, as is evident in his response. “Of course! That sounds eminently reasonable. I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. But until then: no more late-night surprises. You have my word on that.” 

After that, he makes a joke about feeling ‘peckish already,’ and quickly gathers the rest of the party to leave on their adventure.

You promise them a feast when they came back as the victors that they are. What you forgot, after what felt like weeks in the real world, was the crowd that would come filtering in to celebrate their heroes’ achievements as well.

————————————

When you saw the tieflings from the grove traveling alongside your companions, you knew they had come to celebrate. And you blanched at the thought of the provisions they’d be seeking to pair with their drinking. It’s been so long since you went through this event, and you no longer recall if they even ate anything during the party.

You look at your bubbling cauldron–– a bigger one as you had anticipated a few acquaintances accompanying them–– but you wager that at least a little extra things to nibble on won’t hurt to have. You still have quite the amount of camp supplies in the trunk, but you keep it reserved for the camp’s use only. So you smile at your returning comrades and alert the others that stayed behind for your reason to leave and that they can begin eating dinner. 

While others told you it wasn’t necessary, the rest just nodded with a smile and yelled that they’d wait for you to return. You return quite too quickly though, all the while informing them why you’re keeping the communal chest in your tent as you spy the child that tried to steal and swindle the group a few days prior approaching with the rest.

They have a laugh and you quickly proceed with your plan to find at least a few consumable berries and nuts or seeds to accompany the drinks later on. 

But foraging for said consumables near dark is a choice not for the faint-hearted. You came to realize this when you heard the low grumble of a large animal, thankfully far from your form. You turn to look behind you, taking great care to do so as slowly as possible so as to not alert the mysterious creature.

In the clearing, you spot a rather dark looking bear and you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your temple. Hands, growing wet in the dangerous situation you’ve placed yourself in. This wasn’t the same as being drained to death by a vampire, that, you could at least reason with. But a wild animal? With your lack of magical prowess and lesser knowledge of connecting with nature and the wild, you would be finished if it were to follow you.

The small pouch of nuts and wild berries stayed holstered on your waist, but the bear’s eyes that were previously low on the ground are now trained on you. Almost as if it were caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to be. 

You freeze. You forgot what the basic policy was around brown or black bears and therefore couldn’t do much about your current predicament. There shouldn’t be a bear around this area, not unless they had traveled from far away, or that this bear was one of your future companions.

And while the latter isn’t impossible, you most certainly did not want to gamble your life on a possibility. So you tried to compose yourself, returned the gaze of the bear with a shaky and careful nod, and turned back to return to camp. Figuring that the amount of tidbits you gathered would have to suffice.

 When you return, the company you shared seems to be in high spirits. Some more than others. But conversation was plentiful and you smiled as the tieflings cheered for your comrades. You quickly got to work and began to chop the nuts into thinner pieces. Something you learned to make the appearance of something look more abundant than it really is.

While you were chopping away unfortunately, you nick your finger along the way and silently curse. Unfortunate, but not an unforeseeable outcome given the booming drums of the bard that plays oh so nicely with your bloodless state. You quickly, but neatly, arrange the provisions on two small platters, and position them near the larger gatherings. 

“Flitting around like a hummingbird as always, I see.” A familiar, but not immediately recognizable voice greets you as you pass them. You turn and you see an unexpected acquaintance with a bottle in their hand and an incredibly charming grin.

“Dammon! How lucky of me to run into you.” You genuinely were elated to see him. You didn’t see much of him later on in the game, and being able to interact with him beyond the opportunities given to you was certainly nice.

“I could say the same. Though you’re as lively as you usually are.” There’s no malice in his tone, only an innocent observation, yet you feel embarrassed to have been seen scuttling about like a bug.

“I– promise I’m more organized. I just didn’t expect us to be having any guests.” He takes notice of how you push your fingers into your palms repetitively, a small action that soothes you.

“I think you’ve done more than a fine job already. The celebration is for you all, and it was us who planned to come and might’ve put your friends on the spot.” He later takes notice of the cut on your finger as well.

“Speaking of,” He gingerly grasps your hand, looking to you for permission, but you’re too confused to respond with anything he can understand. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy for the night? You’ve done enough. And if what happened at the grove tells me anything about you, I’m sure they’ll survive even if you settle. Just for a bit.” 

He leads you nearer to the water and produces a small washcloth to clean a bit of your finger as you respond. “The grove? They did that on their own. I just um, take notes.” You sit on a fallen tree, your head still fuzzy, as you observe his crouched form. Inspecting the cut as he cleans it. 

A curious interaction. Not one that you’d expect from an non-romanceable NPC, but an interesting one nonetheless. And it would seem that someone had found it equally as interesting, if the way he scrutinizes you had anything to do about it.

He chuckles in turn. “If modesty is how you like to live, then I won’t impose.” He smiles and gets up as you continue your conversation. You don’t recall if the tiefling has ever had this much screen time, but his voice is rather lovely so you don’t complain about it.

You end up discussing quite a bit, but you focus on what can be done about your party. Specifically Karlach as you worry for the future and you’d like to have answers for her when he isn’t around during your journey. He doesn’t have much idea of what else can be done, but he does mention that he should have something by the time you meet him again in Baldur’s Gate.

You do remember that you might meet him a lot sooner, but you don’t mention it explicitly. You do, however, advise him to be extra careful around the oxen as they can be rather unpredictable this time of year.

As you continue, you notice his eyes flit up every now and then. Like something was catching his attention ever so often. You ask him about it and he actually laughs at your genuine inquiry. “It looks like I was wrong. Your friend there looks like he’d like his turn for your company.”

You turn around and you don’t immediately eye anyone looking in your direction. You were never the subtle type, so you looked around, blatantly searching for someone. It was a bit odd to see.

Your eyes do eventually train on his, but he doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to talk to you. Sure, he’s scowling away, though that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Besides, he has a bottle of something that you hope is helping him relax.

Still, perhaps Dammon saw something you didn’t so you politely thank him for his company and excuse yourself.

You greet the others that regard you as you walk past them. Declining the offers to drink and excusing yourself politely when you were asked to stay a bit. 

As you approach him, a tiefling tries to strike up a conversation with him. With a bored look, he dismisses them and turns to look at you. He takes a sip, sneers, and begins his rant now that you’re situated in front of him.

“I hate it. This is awful.” 

“The…wine?” He looks at you as if he should be mad, but a hint of amusement surfaces past the expression anyway. 

“There’s that, but I’m talking about the tieflings. We killed some goblins to save the others. The tally of lives didn’t change much. But what do I get for my hard work? A pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” He looks down the neck of the bottle, swirling its contents before handing it out for you to take.

You look at the bottle, then him, warily. Modern alcohol is already a wonder to you, and this medieval mead could only do so much worse. Still, you take the bottle, and take a very small sip.

It’s a heavy, rich, red. Dry and sharp. You make a small sound of shock as you keep the liquid in your mouth. Offering him an awkward smile and a nod as you do.

“Ugh, see what I mean? Awful.” 

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” You would think that after an entire day of fighting whatever was out there he’d be tired. Apparently not. 

You sigh, ready to reprimand him and that he should just enjoy the night, but you stop when you feel his unburdened hand reach out to you. Eyes, boring into your own as he propositions you.

You’re here. Face in the grasp of a character you’ve longed to romance with what little time you’ve had away from your scholarly pursuits. Yet meeting him in strange, yet not all too unfamiliar, territory stirs uncertainty within you. Because while he doesn't have a knife at your throat like he did when your character first met him, it certainly does evoke the same sentiment.

‘To, “make me his”, is that right?’ While the idea is tempting, that statement alone can have various interpretations. And you didn’t want to hedge your bets on the one that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Thankfully, he releases his hold on your visage. Only the gods know how much his touch alone can influence you, and you struggle to stand upright.

“I’m– very,-- truly, sorry, but don’t you think you have the wrong person? I mean,” You gesture to yourself with both hands, a cut visible from the labor in the few hours prior to the large festivities going on.. “Uh…in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a position to make any um, lucrative offers.” 

 He looks at you, a familiar expression graces his face. He leans his weight on one leg, and you struggle to recognize what his body language is conveying. This is one of those instances you wished you had the dice roll mechanic of the game at your disposal. 

“Why, that hardly matters, darling. What matters is that you’re here.” He takes a sip from his bottle, the very same that he allowed you to partake from moments prior. Only this time, without the sneer at the aftertaste as he continues.

“But then again, what’s a sinner to do when faced with the very embodiment of chastity?” A smile graces his face, but it’s one that is all too perfect. As if he’s rehearsed the same song and dance enough to save him lifetimes.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep we’ll find each other.” 

You have no idea what to expect. Well, you do, but you’re not very sure if this is necessary. You’ll just have to find a way to continue the story without having to go through with this. For now, at least. 

“We’ll see about that, Astarion.” 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, @auszimbo, @maruichio, @iamsexytrash, @craig-mywifeisdead-boone, @grimissleepy, @fandomsfanman, @bitchyzombienacho, @r1kk, @ancuninstar, @izuoyarmin, @gracemisconduct, @kiinokochii, @marina-and-the-memes, and @life-is-hard-m8 for asking to be tagged!!

[brabblesblog]

In recent weeks, I have been receiving hate anons on my ao3 fic. I have tweeted about it here and there, but have mostly ignored it. Unfortunately, today I received another, and due to the content, I feel like I have to respond. It’s been said before but it bears repeating: public accusations like these are damaging to creators, even when they are phrased passive aggressively rather than direct. 

I shall endeavor to answer these in full in this message and then I don’t plan to address this issue again. I would have preferred this to be resolved more maturely, through conversation, but as these remarks have been placed in the public sphere, and have been happening for weeks now, I am opting to reply openly. 

The concept of an A!A that could be softer was inspired by a number of A!A fanfics, particularly 'The Rogue You Were', and I have always been open about this. In fact, were you to look at chapter 1 of Whither, an acknowledgment exists. Whither’s foundation was built on this concept, and grew into 2 – going on 3 now – full longfics from there. I have never been shy about where my original inspiration came from. 

These tropes that I am now accused of copying (masquerades, Raphael-esque characters, Astarion being murderous, comic relief, and bats) are as we all know common tropes amongst the fandom and amongst vampire literature, and were not new concepts when they were used by the person claiming credit for them.

My favorite thing about fandom spaces is that they are a place to share ideas and collaborate. The person who made this accusation was someone I considered a friend: we had openly expressed to each other various instances where she and I were inspired by each other’s work. I have credited her influences; she has not credited mine. Dredging up screenshots to support this statement would be exhausting, and I hope it doesn’t become necessary. I’d much rather be working on my fic than dealing with this, and I hope this is the end of it so we can all get back to doing what we enjoy with our time.

I have as of late retreated from reading other fanfic within the fandom; mental health issues and intense impostor syndrome have rendered it impossible for me to engage in others’ writing, no matter how much I’d like to. Art, being something in the fandom that is removed from writing, is something I really enjoy seeing and delve headfirst into, but I am not at all up to date on the latest fic trends. These ideas (the masquerade, batstarion, and a more light-hearted tone) are things my editor and I have long wanted to add to the fic, but they did not fit into the plot right away. Presenting a cohesive, well-thought-out story has always been the most important thing to me, rather than chasing the latest trend. 

We are all playing the same game, writing from the same base material, often for the same characters with slightly different takes on those characters. There is no way to write for a fandom, particularly one like this, without a fair bit of overlap. I've worked hard this year to find my peace with that, and to not see others using similar plot points as copying. We are all appreciating the same masterpiece of a game, after all.

And lastly, I’d like to add that I don’t in any way condone harassing anyone, anonymously or otherwise, so please do not do so on my behalf.

Comment can be seen in this chapter, will post a screenshot if it's deleted:

[sigloverofwords]

let me wrap my teeth around the world

An Astarion x spawn!Tav fanfic

Series warnings: violence, injury, abuse, self injury, suicidal ideation, animal death, rape (past), ptsd, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, scars, panic attacks, manipulation, transformations

Summary: You awake at the nautiloid crash, wounded and starving but free of your Master for the first time in your life. You’re determined to get as far away from Him as possible, and finally get some answers about your existence. Fortunately for you, you stumble upon another spawn. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.

Your ability to transform into a monster quickly changes his mind, though.

Posted to AO3 first!

Author’s Note: this is a y/n-free second person slow burn hurt eventual comfort fic. Lots of heavy stuff addressed, please take care of yourself and don’t read if any of the warning subjects are triggering to you.

2k+ word chapters

Chapter 3 (prev)

Astarion points out the path to the West and you walk along in silence for most of the morning. Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way he glances over at you, eyes narrowed into crimson slits as he studies you like a collector examines a pinned and mounted bug. 

Your own mind is busy piecing together your memories of the last week. Between your multiple bouts of unconsciousness and the havoc that transformation always wrecks on your body and mind, memories of your recent past are as disconnected and fleeting as lightning strikes. Carefully you trace back your steps, starting with the forest you now walk through.

Forest, druid grove, beach, nautiloid wreck, mindflayer pod…

Your throat closes a little at the flash of memory of the pod. You had come to in a haze, blood clotted over familiar wounds, fading bruises in rings around your neck. The pod had been too warm, the air heavy and humid around you, filling your lungs like blood. You had barely had the strength to try and turn away when the mind flayer forced the tadpole into you, let alone fight back. 

The feeling of the worm wrapping its needle-like teeth around your eye and wiggling back to press into your brain, biting and ripping to make room for itself, was almost the worst thing you’d ever experienced. 

A shadow crosses your face and you startle backwards, suddenly back in the present. Your heel hits a raised tree root and your lips part in surprise, arms flying out to try and stop your fall, but it’s too late and you can feel yourself heading for the hard ground. 

Before you slam into the dirt, a hand catches your wrist and hauls you back to your feet, steadying you.

“Careful there,” Astarion drawls. “Wouldn’t want to muddy those new robes so quickly.”

He’s too close, eyes too sharp, grip too tight. Your eyes widen, chest caving in around lungs that can’t hold enough air. Before you can stop it, you imagine pushing him away and fleeing to familiar arms to be cradled by hands that drip with your own blood. It makes you freeze, and you fight an invisible battle to force that instinct far, far down. 

He isn’t your home, he hasn’t been for a long time. Don’t fucking think of him like that.

You have to clench your jaw to fight back the urge to either scream or throw up. Maybe both.

In contrast, your companion is utterly unruffled. His eyes find your wrist, slim fingers unfolding like petals to reveal the mess of your skin. You watch him carefully, so you spot the almost imperceptible twitch of his eye, the shallow swallow that makes his throat bob.

“Not the prettiest mark to be left with,” you say finally, voice frustratingly weak as you claw composure back from the war inside you.

Astarion drops your wrist suddenly, turning away.

“Looks like someone didn’t learn their lesson the first time,” he says sharply. They were words meant to sting, but you had long been impervious to biting little barbs. 

You trail after him.

“Contrary to the impression I’ve given thus far, I don’t cry easily, so you’ll have to try harder than that to earn my tears again,” you say. It’s true, before the last 24 hours, you can’t remember the last time you cried. It was as if the tadpole was stripping away layers of defenses you’ve erected over the years, a double edged sword that you weren’t entirely happy with. In most cases you’d found dead eyes and unemotional reactions serve you better than weeping and flailing, but the release you’d felt at letting yourself tear up even a little had been welcome.

Now, with the sun and fresh air around you, your wrists free of all but the memory of restraint, you are finally starting to feel more like yourself. You push the last remnants of your tainted instincts away and take a deep breath.

“So, Astarion,” you say, forging bravely forward despite the cutting look he sends you. “How long have you been turned?”

The elf turns his eyes upwards, as if beseeching a god for patience.

“Good gods, you must be new,” he says. Each patronizing word drips with condescension. “You just jumped from ‘hello, my name is’ to ‘how much do you make a year and do you think your parents really loved each other, or you?’” 

You frown, tilting your head a little in confusion.

“I’m not new.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? Could have fooled me, little monster.”

You stiffen, but the nickname isn’t imbued with any venom, so you simply scowl.

“I…haven’t been around a lot of spawn,” you confess through gritted teeth.

“Obviously. You manners are atrocious, but surely you must have picked up some form of decorum, even in Neverwinter?”

He glances over to see you glowering at him and chuckles.

“If you want to pull off the intimidating stare, darling, you’d do better in your other form.”

“Stop talking about it,” you snap, shame and guilt wrapping their hot hands around your spine and electrifying your nerves. Without thinking, you push past Astarion, stomping ahead on the path. You were starting to seriously regret your choice of traveling companion.

Of all the spawn I meet it has to be the one with a silver spoon up his arse.

You fume, throwing various profanity at him under your breath. This was going to be your plan for the foreseeable future, or at least until you got tired of scowling at the ground, but something pulls you from your anger. The familiar, sharp scent of blood teases your nose.

Your head jerks up, and your steps immediately soften. In an instant, Astarion is at your side, also moving silently. The two of you head to where the forest breaks ahead of you, slipping in and out of shadows. A quietly running river has worn a small gully in the land, but a sturdy stone bridge crosses it. The raise of the bridge blocks your sight, but you can practically see the tendrils of scent that beckon you from the other side.

“Blood,” you say quietly. Beside you, Astarion looks tense and drawn, a strange pallor to his skin.

“I smell it,” he replies. 

Surprisingly in sync, the two of you head for the bridge.

As soon as you reach the crest you can see the carnage laid out before you. Human adventurers and goblins alike lay slaughtered, their bodies abandoned where they fell, pools of blood staining the cobblestones. 

“What happened?” You wonder aloud. Astarion scoffs.

“Who cares? Let’s see if they have any valuables.”

He starts towards them, but something makes you reach out and catch his sleeve.

“Wait—”

An arrow buzzes past his nose, interrupting your warning. Then you spot them: goblins, perched in a few trees on the far bank of the river, and concealed along a crumbling wall that encircles whatever poor town they took over.

“Shit!”

Astarion backpedals quickly. The two of you run back for cover on the other side of the river, black tipped goblin arrows clattering to the stone in a hail right behind you.

When you reach the treeline you start to slow, but Astarion yells back at you.

“Keep running! Those bastards have our scent now, they won’t stop til they kill us or we kill them!”

Thus motivated, you kept running.

What had been a whole morning’s walk melts away under the speed of two scared spawn. Although neither of you are too much faster than a fit human, you both have more stamina, free of a beating heart to struggle to keep up with you.

Still, you know you haven’t fed in far too long, and when you finally misplace a step you can’t stop yourself from falling. Astarion isn’t there to save you this time, and you plow into the ground. Your head is swimming and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. The scent of earth and plants fills your nose, the cool dirt a welcome relief to your fear-flushed skin.

Astarion spins around when he hears you collapse.

“Oh for fucks-” he races back, but your muscles have given out, and you can do little more than loll an arm over his shoulders. You can hear the chittering of the goblins, who have given relentless chase since the bridge. Something rustles in the forest ahead too, and you could almost laugh if you weren’t delirious with hunger and over-exertion. 

Of course they got in front of us, too. Just my luck.

Then the unexpected happens.

Out of the foliage around the path bursts a party of adventurers, so mismatched and different that you couldn’t imagine them together in any other context.

At the lead is a githyanki woman, teeth bared in a snarl and sword already raised as she dashes past you and slams into the first goblin. A dark-skinned human is close on her heels, his jaw set and a glimmer in his eye. He dispatches the nearest goblin with an adroit twitch of his blade, moving to another like a dance.

A middle-aged human man skids to a stop next to you, raising his staff and chanting. As three glowing missiles fly from him to twist and wend to the charging goblins, a final figure stops beside you.

You look up into the serious, scarred face of a young woman. Her dark eyes are hard and severe.

“Come on,” she says shortly. With her help, Astarion is able to lift you and get you off the path. After making sure you’re out of the line of fire, the woman turns and dives head-first into the fray, although the other three have it mostly wrapped up by now.

The gith impales the final goblin with a satisfied nod, then withdraws her sword and flicks the dark blood from the tip.

The other human—the swordsman, not the wizard—approaches and drops to his knee before you and Astarion with a friendly smile.

“You alright?” he asks. You blink, still processing the fact that you’re not currently a goblin arrow-cushion.

“We are now,” Astarion answers for you. “That was a well-timed appearance.”

The man stands and holds out his hand. 

You reason that it’s far past time for you to get off the ground and introduce yourself, so you get to your feet. Although you’re a little more unsteady than you’d like, you manage it with minimal embarrassment, and hold out your hand.

“Tav,” you offer.

“The Blade of the Frontiers, at your service,” he says. His voice and stature is full of the heroism you had thought a thing only in story books. “Although, my friends call me Wyll.”

The girl who helped you off the road seems to roll her eyes at this.

Astarion is about to reply when he doubles over with a groan of pain. Wyll does the same, as do the others behind him. You step back in shock, barely noticing the tremors of pain in your own head. There’s a hint of something around the edges of your mind, like a dog sniffing around a closed door to try and get inside. A moment later it passes and Astarion straightens with a gasp.

“What—”

“You’ve got a tadpole too,” Wyll says. The gith seems to curse under her breath at this.

“I, well, yes,” Astarion replies. “What was that?”

“The tadpole. At least, as far as we can tell,” the other man says, stepping forward. “Gale of Waterdeep, at your service.”

And with that, it’s introductions all around. The girl who pulled you from danger is Shadowheart, a name that makes Astarion purse his lips with faux sympathy. 

“Her parents must have hated her,” he whispers to you when attention is momentarily off of you both. You give him a sharp look and a jab with your elbow that you hope communicate “try not to antagonize the people who saved our lives” but just makes him grin.

The gith is Lae’zel, and seems incredibly put out by this entire experience.

“We have now lost time and resources,” she says, every word clipped short. “Between your ridiculous demand to rescue that druid and now helping every helpless istik that crosses your path we will be ghaik before we even see the creche.”

Shadowheart scowls, annoyed, but Wyll maintains his chipper attitude.

“No loss at all, Lae’zel,” he reassures her, then turns to survey you and Astarion with a critical, but not unfriendly, eye.

“These two are under the same pressure we are.”

He addresses Astarion directly.

“We’re searching for a cure, and our best chance is the druid Halsin, who’s fallen into enemy hands. If you can fight, another blade is always welcome.”

“How can I say no to such a tempting offer?” Astarion replies lazily, then looks down slightly at you with a wicked grin.

“What do you say, dear sister? Shall we join forces with our brave rescuers?”

You give a weak smile in reply.

“As you say,” you reply.

“Fantastic!” Wyll claps his hands together. Gale surveys you both with mild concern, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel both seem unamused by the entire conversation.

“As long as they can fight,” the gith says finally, spinning on her heel and marching away. Shadowheart shrugs and follows.

“We can,” you say, stepping forward as the rest of the group starts to move. “Fight, I mean.”

Astarion rests an arm around your shoulders, the casual touch making you want to rip said arm off. You settle for glaring at him, which he easily ignores.

“I can fight,” he corrects. “My sister’s skills lie elsewhere.”

Gale brightens slightly.

“Cooking? Another hand at the fire would always be welcome.”

“Perfect,��� Astarion replies smoothly on your behalf, making you sigh.

Let it be on his head, then, when they all find out you can’t cook for shit.

[tavyliasin]

Part 1 of Haarlep's Festive Party is now out!

The rest will follow in the next day or so, it's a fight to finish it because it grew so long, but I do hope you enjoy the appetiser~

Mind the tags, I have my usual beloved tropes of Haarlep's aphrodisiac shenanigans, bondage, power play, a little pain play, some devilishly delightful toys and new outfits, oh and this time? Gale is joining the party!

Smut below the cut with some samples, the full work for now is only on AO3 but I shall see about posting it here in chapters when it is completed too~ Happy holidays darlings, in whatever ways you do or do not celebrate~

-------- -------- The Fiend's Feast -------- --------

“Are you nearly ready to go?” Tav’s voice called through the thin fabric of Gale’s tent as he fussed over his outfit. “I still need a few minutes… Look, you all go on ahead without me, I can soon catch up.” He looked in the mirror again and shook his head. He felt ridiculous, and not at all prepared, but he was not going to miss another party. “I will be there, I promise you that.” Outside the tent, Tav shrugged, looking to her companions. “I feel ridiculous.” Astarion complained, lifting the hems of his revealing outfit. “I don’t know how I let the pair of you talk me into this, again. ”

Beside him, Halsin merely grinned, a firm slap to the rear causing the pale elf to leap from the floor in shock with a loud jingling of bells. “I think you look perfect, my heart. I fear it is my dignity taking the hit now.” “Hold still.” Tav stood on her tiptoes to reach up to Halsin as he bent just slightly for her, letting her adjust the large antlers fixed to his head before kissing his red-painted nose. “There. Much better.” The druid smiled, unable to hide his feelings whenever Tav lavished gentle affection towards him, even as Astarion huffed with exaggerated jealousy. “It would be much easier were I to be permitted use of my wild shape.” “That would be cheating.” Karlach gave him a gentle elbow in the ribs, her horn decorated with extra branches and shiny baubles. “We’re going to be late if we stand around talking here all night.” Wyll appeared beside her, linking arms, similar festive items adorning his own curved horns, ribbons sewn carefully through his hair. “Shall we?”

Lae’zel and Shadowheart were already walking on ahead, having some kind of heated argument that Tav and the others couldn’t hear. Karlach watched them with concern. “Maybe we should keep a closer eye on them, before someone gets hurt.” “Oh I think that is their plan, but I wouldn’t worry about anything permanent .” Astarion smirked, as he watched the realisation dawn on the tiefling’s face. 

“Well, let’s not keep the host waiting any longer. I’m curious what all this is about, anyway.” Tav smiled, entwining her fingers with those of her lovers either side of her. The memory of Haarlep’s last party was still fresh in her mind, and her body, and she couldn’t wait to find out what the rest of the night might have in store for them all. ----

“I hate you. You know that?” Raphael sneered, even as he allowed Haarlep to continue as they pleased, covering his wings with white feathers. Well, allowed was perhaps not the most accurate word as he was once more bound - quite literally - by their latest scheme. “Yes, yes, hellfire, brimstone, flay the flesh from my bones. I was hoping you might play the part a little better, Archdu- ” They paused halfway through his title, a far more wicked grin crossing their features. “ Archangel .” They finished on the last row of feathers, checking how firm the golden ropes and vicious daggers pinning his wings spread and open against the metal support were, ensuring he wouldn’t bother struggling. They floated back on a current of magic to properly admire their work, checking the book they summoned to their hand to ensure that everything was just right. Raphael was in his cambion form already, horns painted with gold with a large ornate ring suspended on fine thread between them as a glittering halo. He was dressed in a pure white robe that stopped midway down his thigh. Half of his chest was equally exposed, and his hands were bound with a thin but impressively strong golden rope in a mockery of prayer. A liberal application of golden glitter made his entire form appear to sparkle amidst the twinkling lights as he was held aloft at the top of an unreasonably large evergreen tree. Decorated soul coins hung from ribbons in the higher branches, out of reach of where most of the guests would be in the expansive hall below. The rest of the tree bore a variety of garish baubles, patterns of magical fire and dancing light cantrips being constantly cast by debtors hidden beneath the base, barely able to see from the ribbon-tied boxes they were secured inside, under strict orders not to let the decorations flicker or fade for even a moment. “Now, all you need do is sing .” Haarlep made a swift motion with their hand, their lovely little item buried deep inside Raphael suddenly coming to life and drawing out a prolonged whine from his lips. “Hmmm…you can do better.” Another motion sent the short mild shock of lightning through the pins piercing specific points up the cambion’s back, including several in the most sensitive points just above his tail and at the point his wings joined near his shoulders. This time, the noise from him hit a higher pitch. “Much better.” Haarlep smirked with satisfaction at the disappointed sigh as they left him without any stimulation again, only the feeling of what was there, the pained anticipation of never knowing when they’d next activate their little toys. “Now, you be nice up there, and you might just get your present later~” Their wings stretched in a lazy mimicry of flying as the magic carried them back to the floor. They noted the perfect view, if a guest were to stand in just the right spot beneath the tree, they would see everything . “Here. Hang that silly plant right here.” He motioned to one of the debtors who was helping decorate the hall, stringing the mistletoe on a fine thread they conjured from the high ceiling above. ---

--- Some time later

--- --- “Oh, right, mine’s last then.” She nervously teased the bow open, the paper falling away to reveal two items. The first was a dark flask, the glass itself looking like warm flames were moving within it, a thicker liquid swirling inside. “Do be careful with that now, Little Rat, do not get greedy . Just a drop or two in a drink should be more than potent enough, when you aren’t able to take it from the source.” At those words, they leaned in close tilting her chin up with a single claw and kissing her deeply, a sweeter passion to it, she might have been forgiven for thinking there was just a touch of genuine emotion. “Now, why don’t you look at the other half of your gift.” Their hand drifted down her arm, lifting her wrist as she still held the silk bag by the drawstrings. She passed the bottle of what was now rather obviously distilled aphrodisiac from the incubus themselves over to Halsin to hold for a moment as she began to pull the object from within the fabric. “This is…well, I assume it’s similar to other items you have?” “Not precisely.” They ran their own finger up the length of the decidedly phallic object, coloured deep red with familiar ridges along it. “Right now, it bears Raphael’s likeness , as you can tell. However, you can have it take the form of others, should you wish. All you need do is make a little deal with them - similar to my own, but far simpler. Just use it and kiss them while it is inside you, speaking their name whilst holding it will then transform it into their form.” “What’s the catch?” She eyed them suspiciously as they continued to caress the toy, squeezing at the tip for good measure. “When it’s in their shape, saying their name again while holding it will allow them to feel everything you do with it, much like you feel it if I take your form.” They grinned and dug a sharp nail just below the tip, and Tav once again heard that sound from above. “That…” She began, holding the toy in her hand as she had an idea form. “Haarlep.” She said once, watching the fiend’s eyes widen for a moment as they toy changed in size and shape, the hue changing to a dark tan. ���So you did attune it to yourself when you made it, you cheeky devil~” Astarion winked at the incubus, watching the subtle changes in their face. “Haarlep.” Tav repeated, looking them in the eye as she took the item in her hand and began to run her own fingers up and down the length. “It is you…but not the one we know.” The incubus touched the toy quickly. “Raphael.” They uttered, in a hushed tone. “Do not think on that too much, Little Thief, some things even you should not steal.” They put the toy back in the silk bag for her, tying the string. “Something for later , you will have little need of it tonight.” ---

[teamdilf]

WIPs!

Tagged by @outpost51 - thank you!

Rules:

In a reblog (or new post/w rules attached) post up to five filenames of your WIPs, not titles, file names

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be something you wrote in the last 7 days (we're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post!)

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Tagging @westernlarch, @nicolasadrabbles and @kaos-kappa

Putting my snippet under the cut because things get a little saucy. 🌶️

Late

Astarion is sitting atop a royal blue duvet, eyeing her suggestively; no indication of any lingering anger from their argument yesterday. “Would you care to feed on me tonight?” she asks him, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“A peace offering. How generous of you. Gladly.”

She sits down beside him, and he does not stop her, and she hugs her knees to her chest. “Have I ever told you about my family?” 

“It hardly seems something that would come up.” 

“I was the disappointment,” she says, glancing at him and giving him a sad smile. “I wonder if they think I’m dead, or if I’m simply maintaining a particularly long tantrum by hiding away in Rivington. I’d messed up and forgot that I was supposed to babysit my brother’s kids. Not… for the first time, and he was pissed. And maybe he was right to be pissed, but I just got so sick of him looking at me as if I were a child in need of a scolding, instead of his sister, who happens to be ten minutes younger than he is. I snapped, and… left. And now I’m a big fucking hero. Imagine that: the stage performer and occasional stripper is now what stands between peace and whatever the mindflayers want with us.”

“Have you ever considered… not being a hero?” Astarion says, as if that’s an easy solution to her problem. 

“My family lives in Baldur’s Gate. Yes, that’s a ways away, but I can’t risk them. My grandfather is a dragon - a silver one, which means by nature he’s always been more curious about the lives of us mere humanoids, and he’s lived in an elven community for centuries now. The village is under his protection, and he’s always said that it’s our duty to take care of our people. Father is no warrior but took that to heart, and when he was chewing me out for failing to meet my obligations, he reminded me of that. So - that’s what I’m doing. I’m taking care of my people, and you’re here helping out, even if you’re a whiny little pain in the ass while you are, so that makes you my people. Which means I’m going to take care of you, and you don’t need to mainline tadpoles in order to obtain protection.”

“Cute, how you think you know what I need. If only you knew,” Astarion says bitterly, but fails to open up further. He then shifts, turning flirtatious and gives her a coy smile. “Lie back; I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

She lies back, offering her neck. “You’re eating me; this is hardly gentle.” 

“Oh, but I’m not. Yet.” His fangs puncture her neck and she winces; her belly stirring with desire and her cheeks growing hot as she realizes the precise meaning of his flirtatious words. 

“I could later if you like,” he says, pausing long enough to lap at the tiny wound he’s made on her neck.

2. bg3 fic quotes

3. Shepard & Castis

4. Adrien & Aurelia Final Year

5. Cazador

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 52 - Lost in the Dark

Chapter Summary: We find ourselves back at the beginning where we first found Church and Astarion at the House of Healing. Church once again confronts his feelings of guilt and loss. Much to his horror, the other half of the party falls under attack. Church breaks the news to Arabella about her parents, and realizes quite a bit more as a result.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 272K+ words; Chapters 52/70 (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

While they wait, Church seeks out Gale, relieved to see his friend intact and well.

Or, rather, as well as he can be. Gale looks deep in thought as he stands by the river, eyeing Moonrise Towers in the distance.

“Doing alright?” Church asks him softly. The wizard turns around with a start, but smiles tightly at the tiefling.

“I would have asked you the same question,” Gale replies affably. “Karlach told me about that utterly horrifying scene you encountered within the House of Healing. That’s not something one can simply walk away from — least of all you.”

Church rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. “I’m coping. It’s not me I’m worrying about — it’s Arabella.”

Gale nods, grimly. “And you have every right to. How she survived this past week alone in the shadows… all thanks to strange magic, yes, but it still takes tremendous will not to give up entirely when alone with your thoughts.”

“I know the feeling well,” Church says dryly. 

Gale eyes him carefully. “Karlach also told me you were in a bit of a state before you all arrived on our side of town.”

“Yes, well,” Church clears his throat. “I’ve… got to be honest. When I heard — and saw — the explosion, I…” 

His voice catches unexpectedly, and Gale turns to him, taken aback with concern as the tiefling glances away with burning wet eyes.

“Gods, I thought I lost you,” Church admits softly, before sheepishly adding, “So yes. I… may have panicked a bit.”

“...oh! Whyever would you…?” Gale asks, puzzled.

“I thought it was the orb,” Church explains, gesturing vaguely at the wizard’s chest where the sigil of Netherese magic is barely visible beneath his shirt’s loosened collar. “I thought something happened and you… detonated.  

“I was… I was terrified I was too late. Again. So seeing you there, even getting wailed on by those githyanki?” he looks up to meet Gale’s eyes as he fights back the tears that he doesn’t have the strength to hide. “Gods, it’s just so good to see you just… here, you know?”

He huffs a helpless laugh and steps hesitantly forward to wrap his arms around the wizard, holding him tight.

“You…” Gale seems at a loss. “You truly were concerned for me?”

“That’s… basically what I said,” Church mumbles, still holding him. “It didn’t help that Astarion couldn’t link with your mind again, and neither could I. But like I said, I was afraid…”

Gale finally returns his embrace, resting his head down onto Church’s shoulder.

“Well, you needn’t fear,” the wizard says, clearing his throat as they finally part from each other. “That method of destruction is reserved for one thing only — the Absolute. I wouldn’t allow it to go to waste on a few zealous githyanki.”

“I mean, I didn’t think you’d do it intentionally, but I thought maybe a githyanki might’ve hurt you badly enough… to…” Church trails off, regarding Gale incredulously. “You… you still plan on doing that, then? Using the orb — yourself — to destroy wherever we find the Absolute?”

Gale smiles grimly at him and shrugs.

“Well, why not? It would all seem so straightforward,” the wizard says with forced levity. “Find whatever mausoleum that necromancer went off to, destroy the artifact, destroy Ketheric. And then we locate the heart of the Absolute and… destroy that too.”

He frowns, not meeting Church’s eyes as the tiefling ogles at him in disbelief.

“But… we don’t even know what any of that entails, right?” Church reminds him. “The mausoleum, or the artifact. Or whatever Ketheric has up his sleeve. Nor do we know what the hells this ‘heart of the Absolute’ is.”

“No, but I imagine that when we do find it, we won’t have time to ruminate on what to do next,” Gale replies evenly. “We will need to move quickly so that I may have the best advantage, and so that you all can clear out in time.”

“Oh. Gods, Gale…” Church balks. “I told you. We’ll find another way, and…”

“Well, have you found another way?” Gale snaps. “No. You have not. None of us have. I remain the one sure-fire way to destroy the Absolute. Are you telling me that I should forsake my duty to my goddess? To my friends? To…” his voice breaks, “...you?”

Church feels lightheaded. 

“There has to be another way,” he says numbly. “We just… haven’t found it.” 

Everyone you ever cared about… the voice reminds him. Doomed to die. Doomed to leave you behind too soon, because you were too slow…!

Church’s heart and mind race as his hand twitches up to reach towards his friend. “Gale. Please… I’m not… I’m not ready to lose you.”

The wizard closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck, turning away from the tiefling. “This is bigger than you and me,” he says, and Church wonders if it’s just sheer coincidence that he’s quoting Tavi. 

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Gale scoffs. “I… know you. If it were your decision, you would give yourself up to save the world, wouldn’t you?”

Church stares after him, stricken.

“Well?” Gale demands.

“...yes,” Church whispers, defeatedly. “I would.”

Gale turns away, nodding. 

“Then do not pass judgment on me for preparing myself to do the one thing I know to be right,” he says, resigned to his fate. 

Start from the beginning!

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Eight

A post-campaign Baldur’s Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

While waiting for leads to pan out, Liv and Astarion have very different means of passing the time.

Author note: a small content warning for this chapter, this chapter includes Astarion making some self-destructive decisions consistent with canon behavior. While everyone involved is definitely consenting, it is definitely not a good time for him.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

____________________________________________________________

Several days pass without word from either Astarion or Kharis, so Liv spends her evenings reading everything she can find on vampires. If she’s lucky, perhaps she’ll have some progress to show Astarion the next time she sees him. She oscillates between reading and notes and re-organizing the workroom. It’ll be undone the second Kharis returns, but for now, she has an area to do research and plenty of space to brew whatever potions and elixirs she must when stock gets low. 

There was a time when she might have been grateful for the solitude, but as the days drag on, Liv wonders if she’d perhaps protected her peace these last six months a little too well. 

Books and notes are scattered in haphazard piles she’s hastily rearranged. She shifted focus rather abruptly last night. There’s no chance that she’s going to accidentally stumble upon a cure for vampirism in the books she has access to between her and Kharis’ collections. But that was never her strength anyway. No, she thinks she can find a magical solution, a stop-gap if nothing else to give Astarion back the sun. Or at least she hopes so. 

She’s startled out of her reading by an insistent banging at the shop door. It’s late, she’s had to recast her light spell at least three or four times now. The knocking continues as she carefully enters the shop proper, inching around the counter to glance out the windows to see who is at the door. 

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly she recognizes the figure as Astarion, and even more embarrassing how incredibly happy it makes her to see that he’s here. She adjusts her sweater and smooths her hair that’s no doubt escaping from the bun she’d pulled it into in a fit of annoyance an hour ago. Then, she unlocks and opens the door. 

“Hi,” she greets him with a smile that is immediately replaced by confusion when she realizes that he’s dragging a bound and gagged man into the shop. 

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Astarion greets her cheerily. 

“Uh…who’s this?” 

Astarion looks at the man with a frown. “Funnily enough, I didn’t get his name.”

Liv represses the urge to roll her eyes and tries again. “Why did you bring him here?”

Astarion grins as if he knows he’s annoyed her. “He’s infected. I was just about to sink my teeth into him and drain him dry when I realized he smelled just awful. So I bound him up and brought him to you.”

She’s still confused. “For treatment?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. For interrogation.”

Liv can’t help but laugh. “What makes you think he’s going to tell me anything?”

“You’re a wizard, can’t you just read his mind?” 

Her stomach sinks. “Not as a general rule, no.” She’s never been very comfortable with the idea that she could violate someone that way, breaking into their mind. 

Astarion puts a hand on his hip. “Well, I believe rules are meant to be broken. Besides he’s a Bhaalist, and I’m turning him over to the Fist anyway. He’s as good as dead, so you might as well question him about his blood and if he has any other murder lord friends still hanging about. Call it service to the city if your moral compass needs the justification.”

It occurs to her that it should be harder to agree to this than it is, but Astarion makes a good point, and she can’t quite keep herself from a new lead. “Can I try simply asking first?” 

Astarion gives her a long-suffering look. “You can, but I don’t expect it’ll be very helpful.”

“Bring him in the back. We’ll sit him down for this,” Liv replies. 

“Oh, it’s much cleaner in here,” Astarion comments as he shoves the man into the workroom and toward a small wooden chair near the fireplace. 

Liv nods. “It’ll go back to chaos as soon as Kharis returns.” She approaches the bound and gagged man, crouching to be more on his level. “I’m going to remove your gag and ask you some questions. Your blood is infected with a disease that will likely kill you. It’s in your best interest to cooperate.”

Astarion makes a disgruntled noise behind her, but she doesn’t hesitate as she removes the gag. The Bhaalist immediately begins spitting threats and profanities at her. 

“Charming. If you don’t help me, I will get what I need from your mind anyway.”

The Bhaalist begins to laugh. “My lord Bhaal will rejoice when I slowly bleed you dry and present your heart to him.”

“That’s quite enough of that,” Astarion says, replacing the gag a little more roughly than necessary. “Will you simply read his mind now?” 

She knows the spell, of course she does, but she doesn’t like using it. She’s never been comfortable with the idea of breaking into someone’s mind, in sifting through their thoughts that way. And maybe it’s a flimsy justification, but if it helps them help others…It takes just a moment, but she casts it and suddenly she is falling down the connection to this man’s mind. 

It is not a happy place. Blood-soaked, angry, full of religious zealotry and celebration of pain and death. She sifts through memories scarred by violence, looking for anything and everything that could be helpful. She’s aware of her voice in the room, asking questions so that memories and thoughts bob to the surface just within her grasp. She questions, looks for Guild connections and finds none, asks about other Bhaalists and finds none except those already dead and gone, only a single face of interest materializes. A meeting in a house in the Upper City….she doesn’t recognize the man, but the home is familiar to her. 

“What in the hells were you doing at Caldwell’s home?” Liv asks. But she knows that the Bhaalist doesn’t know, it hadn’t mattered to him to know. This man hadn’t been important enough to sit in the actual meeting, so that’s just another mystery. She adds it to the ever-lengthening list. 

“The Caldwells….we found the body of a Caldwell..along with an Oberon and Linnacker…their charred corpses were near the Guildhall,” Astarion says quietly. 

“Killed by Bhaalists?” she asks. 

“Besides me, they are the most dangerous thing down there.” 

Liv lets the magical connection between herself and the man unravel. “He didn’t know why they were there or even that it was the Caldwell’s. He doesn’t know where any other Bhaalists are either.”

“How utterly useless,” Astarion says with disappointment and then slams the hilt of his dagger into the back of the man’s head. He slumps forward, out cold. 

“What…why did you do that?”

“Because I didn’t desire an audience for our conversation. What else did you find while poking through his thoughts?”

“Very little beyond death and violence. He was in attendance at a meeting at the Caldwell’s home. They met with a man I didn’t recognize. Not one of the Caldwells, I’m sure of it.”

“That certainly complicates matters. The Caldwells in league with Bhaalists…”

“An infected Bhaalist,” she says. “That’s new. Doesn’t fit the pattern. Has the Guild gotten back to you yet?”

Astarion’s lips twist in disgust. “No. Which is quite rude, honestly. If I haven’t heard in another day or so, I’ll stop by myself. But when I do talk to them again, shall I bring up the Caldwell connection?”

“Certainly couldn’t hurt. Sorry, that wasn’t more helpful.”

“His mind sounded like an absolutely miserable place. I’m sorry you had to sift through it. Any word from Kharis?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Though, he might still be traveling. So I wouldn’t expect anything for a few more days at least.”

“What’s all this?” Astarion asks as he walks around the workbench, glancing through her notes and books. 

She had rather hoped to have something more concrete before she shared anything with him, but he’s here and she wants him to know she’s trying. “Well, I did promise to help you with your condition, didn’t I?”

Astarion looks up at her, eyes narrowed. “These are all books about spell theory and Netheril.”

She walks around the opposite side of the workbench, leaning back against the opposite counter. “I pivoted a bit. I don’t think with what research I have access to I’m going to cure vampirism outright, but you talked about how the mind flayer parasite was infused with Netherese magic and it protected you from the sun. So, what if there was a way to replicate that protection with a spell?” 

“The last people I knew who were messing with Netherese magic are either dead or only alive through the intervention of Mystra herself.”

“I’m not attempting to do Netherese magic, but rather understand what it changes about the Weave that would grant that sort of protection,” Liv explains but realizes from Astarion’s unchanged expression that he's not getting it. “Okay, think of it like this: if I ask you to draw something you might begin sketching a rough shape of the object, right? But another person might begin with guiding lines. Neither approach is wrong, but they are different techniques.”

“Alright.” He looks unconvinced. 

“Netherese magic is just another technique for accessing the Weave. The magic is the same, but the access to it is different. Perhaps using some of their technique when crafting a spell of protection could replicate the effects of the tadpole. Spellcraft is a finicky business though, but I’ve got some ideas. I’m afraid they’ll require a bit of trial and error.”

Astarion seems to be considering what she’s said. “Well, aren’t you the clever one?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s not a cure -”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, brow furrowing in discomfort. “Don’t apologize.”

“Just trying to be a useful wizard.”

As expected, he seizes on the light comment immediately. “You are a very useful wizard, and the least annoying one I know.”

“I should put that outside the shop: Least Annoying Wizard Found Here.”

“Helps balance out the most annoyingly devout cleric of Lathander, I think,” he says with a grin. 

She can’t help but laugh. “It’s good to see you. Seems like you’ve been very successful with your contract.”

He sighs. “Marginally. It took me three days alone to track this one down in the sewers. Speaking of, it’s getting late and I should really turn him over to Devella and collect my reward.”

She buries her disappointment that he would leave so soon and tries to focus on the fact she’s glad he’s here at all. The Bhaalist is still slumped over in the chair. “I think I’ve got something to rouse him.”

“Good because I refuse to carry him to the barracks.”

The Bhaalist probably has a good three inches and at least fifty pounds on Astarion, she’d be surprised if he could carry the man all the way from here to the barracks, but she refrains from saying so. She dumps a health potion down the Bhaalist’s throat before replacing his gag and then helps both of them back to the door. 

“I’ll be back in a day or two whether I’ve heard from the Guild or not.” Astarion pauses on the street, the moonlight glinting off his curls. He turns back to her as if he’s forgotten something, and he smiles. “It’s good to see you too.”

And she hopes he can’t hear the way her heart stumbles over itself.

***

It is evening in Baldur’s Gate, and Astarion is hungry. So, It isn’t really that much different than the last two centuries of his life, except that it is. Or at least he tells himself that coming to this tavern is because he can and because he wants to and not out of some ingrained habit. He tells himself that he’s here to be surrounded by people and not because he’s hunting. Because he’s not. 

He has an iron grip on his self-control where it matters, and in this, it does. He will not be a monster. But the situation is beginning to get desperate, especially since he’d really been banking on draining that Bhaalist from a few days ago. He has a few options: simply ask Rolan or Rolan’s siblings for some blood, find a willing (or unwilling criminal) participant somewhere in the city, or go hunting for animals in some Upper City park. 

Rolan and his siblings are out because he lives in Ramazith’s tower and that’s already feeling like too much despite the fact that he fastidiously avoids them all as much as possible. Especially since they keep checking in on him in Gale’s absence. Animals are…fine, but it’s been months since he’s had to subsist on animal blood and it feels like failing to go back to it now. Which leaves finding someone else in the city. 

He’s kept an eye out for passing vagrants, but the streets have been obnoxiously safe despite Bhaalists attacking him and Liv. And he could ask Liv, of course. But he’s surprised by how little he wants to. He’s sure she’d be willing, and like Tavren would offer it willingly and without commentary or debt owed. But he wants to solve this all on his own…he doesn’t want favors or pity. So perhaps he simply should allow some of these flirtations he keeps entertaining lead somewhere. And if that somewhere means he gets fed, well, two birds one stone. 

“Evening,” a quiet voice pulls him from his thoughts. 

Astarion turns just slightly to see Percy has joined him at the crowded bar. “About damn time.” It’s been nearly a tenday. 

Percy for his part, doesn’t seem bothered by Astarion’s less-than-enthusiastic greeting. “Why don’t we grab a table,” he says, accepting his drink from the barkeep and weaving his way through the crowded room.

Astarion follows him to a quieter section of the tavern, to a dim corner where they’ll be able to speak and not risk being overheard. Percy moves through the space comfortably, he has an aura about him, something that reveals confidence without quite inviting anyone to approach. There’s a distance between him and all these people, and Astarion remembers Nine-Fingers’ jab about his Upper City manners and it all clicks into place. Percy is a noble and he carries himself like it, though he doesn’t dress or act the part in a way that would reveal it to a casual passerby. Astarion wonders just how long Percy’s been slumming it. He’d guess a very long time.

“So, did you find any connections worth sharing?” Astarion asks as they sit down. 

Percy sips from his drink and offers Astarion a grim smile. “Not as much as I’d hoped. Alfran and Moira were easy to link, of course, they knew each other. But they had no overlap with the dock worker or his mother.”

“None at all?”

“None. I need to know if any more of my people are infected. Have you found anyone else?”

“Funny you should ask, I did apprehend a Bhaalist who was also infected. Liv poked around in his head, and found that he had dealings at the Caldwells’, meeting with some man she didn’t recognize as being one of the family.”

“But it was definitely the Caldwells’?” Percy asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“She seemed quite sure.” 

“Caldwells working with Bhaalists…that is…I’ll have to look into that.”

Astarion doesn’t hide his annoyance. “So you’re telling me that you’ve spent several days on this, and you have nothing to show for it?”

Percy’s eyes flash, but that’s the only sign that Astarion’s gotten under his skin. “Believe me when I say, no one is more frustrated than I am. Especially since it means I’m inviting you back to the Guildhall to help look for more people so that we might be able to solve this before it gets out of hand.”

“Ah, more time together, how lovely.” Astarion accepts that he’s not going to be eating tonight. “Lead the way.”

Percy laughs. “Not tonight. We’re certainly not heading there from here. You draw an awful lot of attention.”

“Do I?” Astarion asks with a grin. He hadn’t noticed, in fact, he’d very much stopped trying to notice attention or flattery for a long time. In the last decade or so, he’d show up and flirt terribly and take the first idiot willing to go with him back to Cazador. Actually putting in the work to seduce anyone had gotten rather rote, it all ended the same so why would it matter anyway? At least if he didn’t try then he didn’t have to feel bad when he led them to their doom. 

Percy finishes his drink. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be at the Guildhall tomorrow evening.”

“I’ll endeavor to look forward to it,” Astarion replies, but Percy has already stepped away from the table. In his wake, Astarion glances around the room and realizes that Percy was right, he has drawn a fair bit of attention. There’s an elven man drinking with friends over at a table across the way who keeps glancing toward him. Astarion meets his gaze, expects him to glance away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds the eye contact and smiles, inclining his head in clear invitation. 

And before he can think better of it, Astarion goes over. 

The man recognizes him as one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate and asks if he really is a vampire with such sincerity that belies nothing beyond a passing curiosity. It is easy to tell himself that this man wants him because he’s a hero and maybe he does deserve a bit of worship. He did save the world after all. So when the man presses him against the wall, he lets it happen. The man’s kisses are hard, precise things that tell Astarion he hasn’t had nearly as much drink as his companions, though he can still taste the sourness of the wine on his tongue. 

Astarion has been touched with many sets of hands over the last two hundred years. It’s been a while, his longest dry spell in well…ever, but it hasn’t been enough time to banish the memories of other hands, of other nights. He remembers telling Karlach once that he wished that everyone who had ever put their hands on him would have burst into flames; she'd said that she wished they could trade. But this man’s hands are just this side of reverent, firm and strong, but never asking for more than Astarion might want to give. 

And that’s the whole reason he’s tolerated his attentions this long. His plan for this evening was never to land pressed up against the wall, the man’s thigh pressing between his legs, but it feels good to be desired. To have his flirtations returned. And he’s starving, and the man’s blood smells divine, and maybe that’s enough for tonight. Maybe hunger and desire are close enough to the same thing. 

He hasn’t been with anyone since the nautiloid, since the whole tadpole business. At first, it was because his seduction attempts had failed, and later it was because he realized he didn’t have to use his body anymore. Since Cazador’s defeat, he’s been trying to reconnect that piece of himself again, the one that felt pleasure, that enjoyed sex. And he had enjoyed it, once. There had been a time when he had looked forward to the respite of getting lost in someone else, in touches that didn’t mean bruises, in pleasure that didn’t give way to pain. He had once tried to convince himself that an eternity of sex and desire and pleasure might not be so bad despite the penance he paid in blood. It hadn’t lasted, had instead twisted and turned into disgust and shame, and he hasn’t been able to get back. 

He worries he never will. 

But this man with the quick smile and the nimble fingers and sweet blood might be good enough. So when the man pulls back, his lips kiss-bitten red, and asks, “Your place or mine?” with all the confidence Astarion used to have, Astarion gives the answer he’s never had the freedom to give. “Yours.”

He has spent the last few months entertaining attention like this in some manner or other, savoring the thrill of saying no, in leaving a tavern entirely alone. But he tells himself that it is nice to be reminded he can say yes, that he can have these moments. Later, when they’re both naked and wanting, Astarion bites into the man’s neck; the man buries his fingers in his hair and moans into Astarion’s ear. The blood is sweet and full and good. The sex after is…fine, but sated on the man’s blood, it’s harder to feel any real desire, urgency, or interest. He doesn’t want this, but he’s here and he’s said yes to enough and this isn’t forever and maybe if he just stays and plays this out he’ll find some enjoyment from it. 

This man is handsome and he keeps checking in, keeps asking what he likes or if this is good, and Astarion keeps saying yes, keeps nodding along and performing like he always has. This man is good and kind and wants Astarion to enjoy himself, and Astarion wishes he could. He has taken this man’s blood, so he feels as though he can’t leave now. He wants this to be fun . He should be able to go to a tavern and go home with someone beautiful and enjoy himself. He deserves this, and he deserves to not have Cazador take this away from him too. But his body keeps moving and he tells himself it is different from before. Astarion hasn’t led him to his death, just maybe a little one. This man will not end the night drained and trapped in Szarr palace. This man is not a victim, so Astarion can’t quite fathom why it doesn’t feel any different.

After, when the man finally falls asleep, an arm slung heavily across Astarion’s chest, Astarion feels nothing but relief. The performance is over; he can finally rest. Despite being fed, there’s a hollow feeling somewhere in his chest. He needs to be anywhere but here. He thinks he’d rather starve than do this again. So he dresses in the silence and slips into the night between the man’s breaths. He never even stirs. Astarion isn’t even sure he can remember his name; he knows he doesn’t want him to remember his. 

The only thing he’s sure of in the darkness is that he is painfully and irrevocably broken. 

***

When Astarion next visits the shop, Liv can’t help but note that he is more quiet, almost pensive, lacking some of his usual humor and theatricality. Liv tries for a joke or two as he enters the shop and earns nothing more than a few strained smiles. 

“The Guild reached out and it turns out they can’t find a connection between our three victims,” Astarion says matter-of-factly as he steps past her. 

The news is disappointing, but not surprising considering how many dead-ends they’ve found themselves facing already. “I see.”

Astarion waves the disappointment away with the back of his hand. “Oh don’t be so worried, I’m going back around later tonight to see if I can identify anyone else and give us more leads. Though my contact was very interested in the connection you made to the Caldwells.”

“Did they say anything about it?” 

Astarion shrugs. “Just that he’d look into it. Seemed to worry him though.”

“Well, that’s something at least.”

Astarion holds out a small twine-wrapped binding of papers. “I didn’t come simply to bring you disappointments. After our last conversation I reached out to my friend Gale, and he kindly supplied me with all of his notes on Netherese magic and the tadpole that he took over the course of our travels.”

He’s giving her the notes from Gale of Waterdeep? “Seriously?”

Astarion shrugs. “It sounded like it might help you help me.”

She takes the papers and undoes the twine, quickly skimming the messy, but detailed writing and diagrams. The notes are a mess, seemingly scribbled on whatever paper was nearest when the writer needed it. “This is…this is great. It should be very helpful. Thank you.” And it might be more for him than for her, but there’s something about the fact that he thought about it at all that fills up something inside her. 

“You’re very welcome, my dear,” he replies with a genuine smile that makes her heart jump. “I’m not meeting my Guild contact for another few hours, and I wondered…if I might stay here for a bit? I promise to stay out of the way of your work.”

He wants to stay…here? With her? “You’re always welcome here,” she says, unable to suppress the smile that stretches across her face. 

He follows her into the workroom, sits himself down in the chair nearest the door, and pulls out a book. Liv is tempted to ask him more questions to see what has shifted this deliberate change in their friendship, but she’s just glad he’s here, and it’s clear he’s a bit unsure about it. So she returns to her work as normally as she can, but she does glance up every now and again to look at him. More than once she’s almost sure she catches him glancing at her as well. 

“Is this really all you do with your evenings?” he asks after a quiet, but not unpleasant hour has passed. 

Liv looks up from the notes she’d been examining. “Sometimes. Why?”

“You don’t have friends or family or lovers taking up your time?” 

She smiles. “If my family wanted to spend time with me then I’d know the world really was ending.”

“Not on good terms?”

“No.”

“And friends?”

She sighs. “I have few of those these days. Truthfully, beyond Kharis I see you more often than almost anyone else.”

“That is…exceptionally sad.”

And maybe it is, but spending time with him has made her realize her own isolation and that perhaps she needs to change that, patch up friendships she’s distanced herself from. “I don’t know, you’re pretty alright.”

He looks absolutely offended. “Pretty alright? That’s all?” 

“What about you? Are you suffering from an overabundance of friends?”

He sighs. “No. Almost all of them went their separate ways after the Absolute’s defeat, and I…well, two hundred years of being a vampire lord’s obedient puppet didn’t exactly give me a predisposition for friendship.”

She wants to ask more about that, those two hundred years he’s alluded to but rarely talks about. It’s not hard to guess that whatever it was like it was nothing good, that much she knows. But she’s not sure about the rest, and she is especially unsure if she should ask if he’d welcome the chance to talk about it or hate her for the curiosity. She just wants to know everything about him – the good and the bad. 

“Do you…do you want to talk about it? I’m sorry, I’m never sure if I should ask about it or not.”

His eyes look so far away. “I don’t. Some other time, perhaps.”

“Alright.” She returns to her work then, trying to grant him space, sensing that he needs it. 

A few minutes pass before he speaks again. “Is this all there is?” he asks, voice quiet. 

“To what?” 

“To life? To freedom? Is it all just…surviving? I don’t know who I am or what I want, and I feel like I keep trying to find it… keep looking for it and just keep coming up so empty.”

It occurs to her then that Astarion is lost, and then everything about him slots into place. His waspishness any time she’s ever drawn too close to the truth of him. Arriving here of all places looking for a way to walk in the sun again, but seeming unhappy about ever asking for help at all. His willingness to go with her had less to do with her convincing him it was the right thing and more to do with the fact he had nothing better to do, no real reason to say no. His pride and happiness when he arrived one evening letting her know he had a job, a direction, a purpose. Astarion might be a hero of the city, but that doesn’t mean he has anything figured out. 

He is lost, but he came here. The realization knocks her off-balance a little, and she’s been quiet too long, Astarion’s eyes are skittering away from hers and he looks almost as if he regrets saying anything at all. “Don’t stop,” she manages. 

His brow furrows as he looks back at her. “Stop what?”

“Looking.” She says simply, and when his expression gives way to confusion, she continues. “When I came to this shop six months ago, I didn’t know who I was either. Some days I still don’t…but I think it’s important to just keep looking and trying. That’s life.”

“And what, now you’re happy and content and this shop is your calling?” he scoffs, but it’s less out of meanness and more disbelief. 

She laughs. “Oh, I don’t want to be here forever. Just until I have something worthwhile enough to submit to an academy to get the hells out of Baldur’s Gate.”

“You want to leave Baldur’s Gate? What sort of academy?” 

“A research academy, magic or otherwise. That was my plan…until I severed ties with my family and they sabotaged all my connections. Now I’ve no one to vouch for me or my abilities and no one will touch me.”

“Is that why you wanted to help me? With curing my condition?” 

She nods. “Some of it was that, yes. Some of it was the blood disease. And some of it was that you just seemed like you needed help.”

“So long as it’s not all charity, I can live with that, I suppose.”

She walks around the workbench so that she’s nearer to him, leaning back against it. “And you, what’s your plan? More contracts from the Fist?”

Astarion snaps his book shut, leaning back more heavily in the chair as he considers. “I was thinking I might strike out on my own, take a few independent contracts.”

“Ah, a bounty hunter then,” she crosses her arms. 

He gives her a single-shoulder shrug as he stands. “Sounds a bit more fitting than a morally questionable hero anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you can be whatever you decide to be,” she replies. 

He steps a bit nearer to her, and there’s still plenty of distance between them, but Liv can feel something charged in the atmosphere, something in the way he looks at her as if he’s trying to puzzle her out. She’s almost sure she wants him to. 

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Astarion asks, voice pitched low. 

She’s not sure what he seems to be looking for in her face, but whatever it is she wants to give it to him. She’s just not sure if it’s reassurance or comfort or–

“Arrived at Candlekeep. The blood’s something they’ve never seen before. They’ve attempted to identify it and it’s not from this plane. Be careful and safe,” Kharis’ voice is full and clear as if he was in the room beside her. 

She immediately steps away from Astarion so that she can concentrate, sending her own message along the connection she feels with Kharis. “Not from this plane? Where could it be from and how did it get here? I’m fine, keep me updated.”

Astarion sputters a bit. “What in the hells–”

She holds up a hand. “Quiet.” She waits for an answer for several moments, and when she gets nothing in response, she turns to Astarion. “Kharis sent me a message. He says whatever’s in the blood, it’s not from this plane.”

Disbelief and then frustration reigns on his face before he manages a joyless laugh. “Well, it couldn’t ever be simple, could it?”

[tadpole-apocalypse]

More on my post game musings:

Morgan and Astarion spend half the year in the Underdark, primarily late spring/summer, then travel to Baldur’s Gate in Autumn when the nights start getting longer to spend their winters there.

Astarion likes to be fancy, it will be hard to live that lifestyle in a dusty fortress full of undead freaks scuttling all over the walls and ceilings like spiderlings, so he’ll look forward to going back into the city every winter in his giant upper city house with blacked out windows and silk sheets and a closet of frivolous clothing.

During the trip back they also get a chance to stop and see some friends on the way. (Primarily Halsin and Shadowheart, as most of the others are not in this realm).

I don’t think they’ll end up living at the vampire fortress in the Underdark permanently. I just think Astarion would start getting nervous at having his mortal partner sleep among thousands of hungry vampires who have drained any living thing that’s crossed their territory. Also a huge portion of these residents are victims he slept with and then betrayed so I just feel like that would be really awkward and uncomfortable for him? At least as far as everyone being housemates.

And him and Petras would constantly be at each other’s throats like cats in each other’s territory and have to be separated.

I thought about them taking up residence in that one abandoned wizard tower, but I also like the idea of them staying with the Myconid colony. If myconids don’t have blood, which I would be surprised if they did, they’d probably welcome the new vampire community I would think, yeah? Since they would likely leave them alone and It would keep the Deugar at bay. And at the colony Morgan would have other mortals to hang out with, the society of brilliance guys, the dwarves, etc.

Also, I think it’d be neat if Astarion furthered his interest in Necromancy. He’s already got 4 little guys that are loyal to him from the book of Thay, he deserves more undead servants.

Brainstorming some post-game stuff. I think I have settled on Morgan and Astarion spending part of the year in the Underdark, and the rest in Baldur’s Gate.

While they’re making preparations for their first trip down there, Morgan asks Jaheira to manage the lawyers she hired to handle selling Cazador’s estate after it was gutted, since it will likely take months to do. Astarion teases her for using the famous folk hero Jaheira as her personal assistant. “Love that for you, darling!”

But this way when they come back, they’ll have a sizable amount of money to get a place settled in the upper city somewhere after it’s rebuilt.

Since Astarion is legally considered dead, all the money will go to Morgan’s account. Which she frets over but Astarion doesn’t care, even when she says they could get him a fake identity, and he’s like, no need for that, like he’s totally willing to let Morgan be his sugar mommy.

But she insists “ No! You need your own money! What if we break up?” These are all normal precautions to her.

And he’s so upset by this because it’s his first relationship and he hasn’t developed his communication for this kind of talk very well yet, and also he is not mortal and tends to think of things in terms of eternity? And is also prone to dramatics.

“Why would you break up with me? Have I wronged you in some fashion???”

“I’m just trying to look out for you-“

“By tearing my heart right out of my chest?! Use a stake next time, my sweet, it’s far less painful.”

It’s like their first real “fight” as a couple and he is so hurt until she reassures him she has no intention of leaving and that it was merely a hypothetical, and that these are normal things that happen in relationships. I think these sorts of moments will happen more as the terrifying reality of him truly being free to do what he wants starts to settle in.

[i-keepmyideals]

Why…are you so angry about my little hehe-haha, not to be taken so seriously post? Name calling and all is quite unnecessary. It could have just been left as a “agree to disagree, have a nice day,” situation. You didn’t have to say anything to me at all. “Peak comedy” was the irony of seeing the two post practically back to back when both are at complete opposites of the spectrum, not your opinion.

Like, dude, bro, I don’t know you and you don’t know me, so why do you think you do? I lack the ability to understand complex characters? Some of my favorite characters in media are the villains, the anti-heroes, the side characters because they’re complex. Don’t know if you’re an anime watcher or not, but my pfp is Dabi from My Hero Academia, a very complex character. Loki is among one of my favorite characters in general because of how complex he and his story is. I could go on about Miguel O’Hara in Across the Spider-Verse and how he isn’t a villain and is tragically misunderstood by a lot of people who saw the movie, or Jason Todd, or Gojo and Toji in Jujutsu Kaisen, Levi in Attack on Titan, Zhongli in Genshin Impact and so many other characters. I do this to my friends pretty frequently.

My second favorite character in the franchise is Scorpion/Hanzo Hisashi, now Kuai Liang, which…is gonna take a lot of getting used to tbh. He’s gotta be just as complex as Bi-Han is. There’s a lot to understand about his story and character.

Astarion from BG3 and all of his actually morally grey and sometimes worse little gremlin ways is all I can think of as of late. But I don’t understand complex characters, mkaaaayyyyy.

I didn’t add my little post to yours because I just didn’t see the need to? No, I’m certainly not old enough to have played a vast majority of the MK games, doesn’t mean I’m not an enjoyer and don’t watch videos about the lore from people who know far more than I do. That’s why I didn’t reference any other game, just this one specifically and what it offers. As someone else replied, the game is a touch inconsistent. Largely, Bi-Han is a dick in this game. He has his own motives and wants, totally fine good for him, they just really don’t lay anywhere near morally good lol

And seeing as how MK1 is a complete reboot, he seems quite irredeemable, or at least has some very low lows. In this game, he’s a pretty shit son for letting his father die and then lying about it to his brothers. In this game, he’s pretty shit for siding with Shang Tsung even if he feels trapped by Liu Kang and wanted more freedom. In this game, he’s a pretty shit brother for threatening to kill his younger brother’s wife to his face. Did he show concern about Kuai Liang and Tomas’ safety when infiltrating the fortress? Of course, they are his family. He can show concern and remorse. I don’t think that’s off limits to characters I see as somewhat evil or at least super shitty. I also don’t think he’d change his actions if he had the chance. He has his vision for the Lin Kuei and that goes against what his father believed and what his brothers believe.

The timeline has reset; everything else means nothing now. Fujin said Noob was born as a good person? Past tense, for starters, and that was MK11. That timeline doesn’t exist anymore. Kuai Liang trying to find a way to turn Bi-Han good again in his MK11 ending? Means he wasn’t good and, again, that timeline is gone. You say Armageddon isn’t the canon timeline. Full stop right there. It ain’t canon. He can be good in it, sure, but that’s not the main timeline. That’s like saying Smoke is a cyborg. Sure, he was, but he isn’t now. That’s not canon anymore. This is a new man - this is a new Bi-Han, and again, I made it pretty clear I was only talking about his actions in MK1, so I really didn’t ask about the other games.

You misunderstood what I meant when I said peak comedy, which I can say is my fault and could have worded it slightly differently. But then you go and say I hit rock bottom, essentially say I’m a coward, brain dead, I’m immature…somehow, and lack the capability to understand complex characters? I’m assuming you’re older than me judging by your little “dig” in the tags. That’s all a touch immature but go off

Slight MK1 story spoilers involving the Lin Kuei

Peak comedy is me scrolling through tumblr’s version of my fyp and seeing someone say Bi-Han in MK1 isn’t a one dimensional character. Which is true, he’s very complex. He feels like he is being controlled by Liu Kang. He has to answer to him to a certain extent. He probably felt the same about his father, the former grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. Shang Tsung offered him more leadership, free to do essentially whatever he wants. Which isn’t true because, be real, it’s Shang Tsung and even he answers to someone else. But then saying he was right with siding with Shang Tsung and that he isn’t evil. Then two posts later, I see this

His younger brother telling him to stay away from his wife and Bai-Han just going like “lol bffr do you know who I am?” Like, mans confessed to letting their father die just so he can take over, sides with Shang Tsung, is okay with the idea of Shang Tsung wiping out millions of lives, and then threatens to kill his brother’s wife. And we all know his threats are just promises he’s waiting to cash in.

But yeah, he totally isn’t evil