#but him taking that and using it on tadpole to push all the good things away???

[hellish-tremcrs]

[[ mmm thinking about evil au tadpole where he's not EVIL per-say, but fraus just gets sick of the hotel and it's redemption crap, especially after realizing it WORKS. and it makes him nervous that possibly, someway somehow, Tadpole could very well be ripped out of their deal and taken from him and he's back to square one again where he's gotta find someone else to take and leech off of.

so he possess tadpole and makes shit just,, hell for everyone in the hotel

like any minor inconveniencing thing he can think of, he just does it. but he does it as tadpole so its like,, one way or another he'll eventually make everyone sick of this little brat and they'll kick him out. or he'll just make the redemption process harder than what it is already which is a real thorn in everyone's side.

everyone puts their trust in tad bc he's just a little guy and they know he's like the least threatening person there. but fraus just takes that full throttle and uses it to his advantage to piss everyone off and make everything annoying and miserable.

something about tad being possessed and acting like fraus and not himself is so bizarre but so cool to think about... u rarely ever get to see tadpole mad or pissy about ANYTHING bc he's just way too nice and innocent to want to be like that. even if there's an unfair situation handed to him.

so this whole child being mean and conniving and sneaking around in order to make things awful for everyone is just,, mm good soup

also to add: him not even stopping with the hotel, but with any and every positive relationship tad has built up until that point. like just doing his best to push everyone away and out bc he can't fucking stand tad having anything good that messes with his power ]]

[orkbutch]

Rambling about Astarion bc im bored at work. I like Astarion because I think he is a genius take on The Evil RPG Companion, and is an especially great take on The Fixable Bad Guy. I don't think hes evil, but I do think Astarion is a genuinely bad person at the beginning, and I think Astarion is only drawn away from being a bad person - and experiences a great redemption arc - via active intervention from others. Astarion would not redeem himself without guidance; he is absolutely bent toward self destruction and evil at the beginning of the story.

I think comparing him with Shadowheart is what drew me to that conclusion. If you are nice to Shadowheart, as in you talk to her and respect her boundaries and do stuff she generally agrees with, she will choose to free Nightsong all on her own. You don't need to roll to convince her at all, or romance her or even push back on her Shar worship that much. You just leave it up to her, and she chooses that path. (Side note, what brilliant writing.)

Astarion is not like that at all. Even if you were tight as fuck he would not choose the good option, with no input, in Act 2. Astarion, like all the companions, needs help and connection to reach healthy actualization, but I think its great, resonant writing that Astarion needs the most active intervention of all. Because he's had his autonomy so completely taken away from him, he simply doesn't know how to use it anymore. He doesn't know how to connect with other people anymore. He's someone that's learned to enjoy cruelty, to resent the pleasure of others, and to be entirely selfish for survival. It makes sense that he must be dragged back into being capable of trust. He needs to be forced to be part of a community again; caring about things; allowing for vulnerability and optimism.

And like. How fucking smart is it to have THIS guy in THIS game. Because of the tadpole and the existential threat they're up against, he is actually forced to work with you. This kind of character is so hard to do in most RPGs because its like... why wouldn't he just betray you all and leave? Why would he stick with you? The tadpole clears all of that up. Astarion must stick with you or hes lost and dead. Astarion knows that you and the other companions are collectively stronger than him, so he can't betray you. He is forced to rely on you by default.

This is also what makes him SUCH a good version of the "you can fix him" romance; you are almost never the direct target of Astarion's bastardry because he can't fuck with you. The problem with Fix Him's is that usually they are a threat to the romantic lead, and fixing him requires enduring, soothing and forgiving the worst of his badness as some kind of test of loyalty, hopefully proving to him that being bad isn't necessary (toxic shit). But Astarion... can't do that. He is afraid to actually fuck you over because you are directly tied to his survival, and because you quickly show yourself to be more capable than him. He cannot have real power over you. (Until he's ascended, then he becomes the absolute worst version of the fix-it.)

I do think the trade off is that Astarion not directing his bastardry at you makes it easier to Ignore that Astarion is A Bad Guy, but I think that'd happen even if he was more of an asshole to you, so who cares. I think he's got the best written Redeemable Evil RPG Companion arch I've seen honestly. I love that he's so fun while being so tragic, whether redeemed or not.

[whaledenwtf]

Halsin x Druid!Reader - The Forest's Calling

I'm currently HYPERFIXATING on Baldur's Gate 3. This is my love letter to Mount Halsin, the elf I would climb until my limbs fell off. You're welcome (or I'm sorry). Cross-posted on AO3 here: Link Enjoy!

Warnings: afab!reader and Male Smut, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Choking, Oral (Female and Male Receiving), Kinky DRUID Forest Sex, Misuse of the Entangle Cantrip (hehe), Size Difference

I tried to keep Halsin in character as much as possible, but there is a significant change when y'all get funky

WORD COUNT: 4691

Nature calls to you, as it always had. The sounds of the forest have always been your favourite. Silvanus' creations had made you feel complete. The moss between your toes, and the swaying of trees; you had never felt so much peace during such perilous times. It's at times like this you are gracious for your god's teachings; nature is chaotic as it is gentle, and things will sort them out- if that is what is determined. This is how you kept such a level head during this adventure. Some of your companions saw your level-headedness as worrisome, but you always remind them that to persevere is in the forest's nature, and so it is in yours.

No good ever came from stressing over obstacles in your life.

"If you could stop thinking about the grass for five seconds, I'd appreciate you listening to me. Tch- tree huggers." Astarion tells you annoyed. You look into his crimson eyes and smirk.

"This tree hugger is your key to freedom. Unless you forgot about the tadpole in your brain." Astarion's eyes widen, before he smirks.

"Keep talking dirty, sweetheart. Might not resist taking a bite~" You chuckle.

"Settle down. Like I told you beforehand, we must seek out the Archdruid Halsin before we continue our journey. Nobody could come close to him in terms of knowledge-" Lae'zel rolls her eyes.

"Nobody could come close to the information about the ghaik than us githyanki. You istik entertain such useless ideas." You roll your eyes at her. Before you could speak up, Shadowheart speaks to the githyanki.

"Yes. I'm sure your barbaric race would know much more." She says sarcastically. "I, on the other hand, would much rather any other option besides yours." Before Lae'zel could fight back, Karlach speaks to them both.

"Shut the fuck up and kiss already. Wasting time when we could be slaying goblins and getting closer to being free. Stop fucking around and listen to (Y/N)." You nod your head in appreciation to the tiefling.

"Besides, even if Archdruid Halsin does not know how to help us, he may offer his services regardless. Leaving him with the goblins is a fate worse than death. His ally-ship will be indispensable." This appeases those in the group who were unsure of your leadership.

"Always the cunning one, aren't you sweetheart." Astarion speaks up. You turn your head and wink.

"Let's push forward and assist in any way we can." Wyll speaks up. Gale nods, looking over our group.

"Let's be smart and proactive, we do not want to lose eachother, nor do we want to get caught. We shall stay in hiding for as long as possible. Stealth is the best way forward with our little information we have." Astarion taps your chin.

"I like you like this." You smirk at him before leading the group to the Goblin Camp.

After killing every goblin in the vicinity, you all venture forward to a cage where a bear is roaming.

"A bear. He was probably going to be goblin fodder." Astarion says, smirking.

"Hush. Poor thing was being attacked by these goblins." Karlach speaks to him, bumping her shoulder into Astarions. He gasps, the wind being knocked out of him.

"Careful. I bruise like a peach!" He tells her angrily. She chuckles.

"And you're just as bitter as a rotten tomato-" Astarion bristles. You cut him off.

"Settle down, girls. We have time for play later. Show some respect. That bear is our charge." You unlock the iron gate before walking in alone.

"I don't think that's a good idea-" Gale says worriedly, but you shush him. When the bear makes eye contact with you, you see the gold swirling in his eyes. His mouth opens to show his sharp teeth, a warning.

You bow down infront of the bear, laying a hand out towards his snout.

"Are you sure that's... wise, sweetheart?" Astarion asks, concerned. You ignore him before speaking.

"Archdruid Halsin, it is my absolute honour to stand before you. We have come here to free you from your imprisonment and bring you back to the Emerald Grove. May Silvanus preserve us." Without a beat, the bear transforms into a tall, handsome, elf. Your eyes widen at his stature, but more at his beauty.

"Ah, a fellow druid. Silvanus has certainly looked upon me in favour. Thank you for assisting me." You realize you are still kneeling, at crotch level with the Archdruid. Your eyes flicker to his pelvis, and eyes widen at what you see. You rise to your full height, which makes you eye level with his chest. Your head tilts to look into his eyes, and notice him watching you, with a small smirk. He saw you gazing at him, how embarrassing.

"Of course, Archdruid Halsin." He shakes his head softly, braids swaying with the movement.

"Please, call me Halsin. My savior shouldn't have to call me by such a title." You nod, before looking over your shoulder at your companions. They are all looking at the tall elf in shock.

"He just- he just turned into a man!" Astarion says out loud. You chuckle.

"Yes. My preferred wild shape is a bear." He responds to the shorter elf, not looking away from you, glancing over you in curiousity. You turn back to look at him. Your eyes stay locked while you speak to your party.

"Let us leave. We will bring Halsin back to the Emerald Grove and then we can rest. I want to wash off this gods-awful goblin blood before it stains my armour." Everyone nods at that. They turn to walk out, ready to escort Halsin back. You follow your group, Gale and Wyll leading you all forward.

"Thank you, little flower. I truly appreciate you aiding me." Halsin whispers to you, matching your strides behind the group. Little flower... the nickname made you giddy. You blush softly, the heat reaching to the peaks of your ears.

"I can't leave a fellow druid behind. Especially with what those goblins were doing to you." You shake your head, looking over him and the dried blood that caked him from his wild shape form. He chuckles at your worried gaze.

"Nonetheless, the Oakfather has blessed me with your assistance. I am indebted to you for life." You turn to look at him, his easy smile and warm eyes making you feel something... magical.

"The Oakfather has blessed us many times anew. The air we breathe, the ground we walk upon, the forests. But alas, I did come to release you because we need your assistance-" His eyes widen lightly, before he looks down at you.

"What do you need, little flower?" The way he speaks to you is soft, unconcerned of the questions you will ask him. His caring nature speaks to the softest parts of you.

"I will ask you once we bring you to the Emerald Grove. However, I must warn you-" You stop walking and grab his arm. Holy hells his arms are buff. You must have paused for a moment too long.

"What is wrong?" You shake your head at your own thoughts. You're acting like a toddler, instead of the adult elf you are.

"At the Emerald Grove... Kagha is planning to do the Rite of Thorns, and is releasing all the Tiefling refugees..." Halsin's eyes almost bug out of his head.

"We must stop them! That rite does more harm than good! Those Tieflings... fleeing towards death. It is not right!" You tell him passionately. He takes your hand from off his arm and grips it in both his large hands.

" We will stop them, little one." You nod. He continues to hold your hand.

"The shadow curse has been on my mind for so long, I cannot believe I trusted such a-" He shakes his head, cutting himself off.

"We will continue our trek and once we stop the rite, I will tell you all you need to know." You bite your lip.

"If I could help carry your burdens, I would." He chuckles, a light blush appearing on the apples of his cheeks.

"I'm sure you would, little flower. Now, let us continue our journey. I appreciate you warning me." He lets go of your hand and waves his hand out, gesturing you to go forward, so you do. You can't help the chill that you feel when his hands release yours.

After stopping the rite, you did speak to Halsin about the tadpoles. He sighs when he says he cannot heal you of your affliction. A shiver of fear goes through your body. If someone as knowledgeable with healing like Halsin cannot heal you, you cannot imagine how to move forward. Its then that he tells you that the Shadow-Cursed Lands may be the key to assisting you in your journey. You bite your lip worriedly.

"I will continue to assist you. I will follow your party and do what I can. Not only for the cursed lands, but also for you." He says it with such conviction, such passion, you cannot help but feel safe and warmed from his sentiments.

"I feel indebted to you Halsin. Truly." He shakes his head.

"You will be helping me much more than I, you." You smile up at him. He cannot help but be captured by the radiance of your smile. Oakfather preserve him, you are the most beautiful of his creations.

"I will help you with this shadow curse. Take back nature and restore balance. I just hope I don't grow any tentacles in that time." You say humourlessly, your laugh hollow. He grabs your chin with his hand, his thumb stroking the side of your face.

"I promise on all of the Oakfather's creations, I will not let anything happen to you." Your eyes flutter, and you glance down at his lips before looking back into his eyes.

"Thank you." You whisper to him. His attention is taken elsewhere, and his hand caresses down your neck before releasing you, and moving to the Tiefling asking for him.

You feel this feral need to have him, to help him. You're attracted to him, and you can tell this will be problematic. Oakfather preserve you.

That night, the Tieflings throw a party for you all. The music is loud, and you can see them enjoying themselves. You look over your companions and see all of them enjoying themselves; albeit in their own ways. While looking over the festivities, you see Halsin standing away, gazing over the festivities and people watching. Your eyes make contact and you blush.

"This wine tastes like goblin piss." Astarion tells you, gagging on the swig he just took. You chuckle at him, breaking eye contact with the handsome druid to look over at the vampire.

"Not your type of red drink?" You ask him flirtedly. He smirks at you and leans into you.

"No, sweetheart. My type of red is standing right next to me, as radiant as ever." His face gets close to your neck and he sniffs you deeply.

"All of a sudden, I am thirsting for something else." He tells you. You chuckle at his advances.

"Are you now?" You flirt back. He smirks down at you.

"You're much more fun to speak to like this, sweetheart. I can't help but want a taste." You giggle at him, before taking the wine from his hand and taking a couple mouthfuls.

"Oh gods it does taste like goblin's piss." You splutter out. He laughs at your turmoil.

"Oh darling, you make me laugh." He tells you. You grin at him.

"Glad my misfortunes bring you joy." He smiles at you, sharp teeth glinting in the campfire's light.

"Mm. The only thing that would bring me more joy in this moment is having a taste of you." His voice lowers to a whisper. You roll your eyes.

"Easy there. If I didn't know you better I'd say you're a bard, singing my praises so I could follow you to your tent for the night." You push his chest gently.

"I'm sure I can make you sing, sweetheart." He tells you, looking at you with a smirk.

"As much fun as we would have, I think you've had enough to drink." You tell him jokingly, waving the bottle of wine in his face. You take another swig, and swallow down the bitterness. You go to walk forward, the alcohol driving you to your destination; Halsin.

"Ah, my little flower! It seems you were having fun." Halsin tells you, smile on his face. The crease between his brows tells you that he'd much rather had been the one sniffing your neck, rather than Astarion. You feel a rush of confidence surge through you, aided by the alcohol in your system.

"I decided to turn my attentions elsewhere." You tell him confidently. He smirks at your words.

"Is that so? Well, I am honoured to have such attentions on me." He tells you in a whisper. You almost whimper at his words, feeling hot. You feel as though molten lava has replaced the blood in your veins, and the heat is centralized at the apex of your thighs. You rub them lightly, which catches the elder druid's attention.

"You could have much more than attentions on you tonight, Master Halsin." Your voice lowers to a whisper, and the effect is immediate. His eyes shine golden and his smile becomes wider, more primal. Just like in the Goblin Camp, it was a warning.

"Is that so, little flower? Are you offering yourself to me?" He asks you gently, taking a step forward. You are now flush with his body, and the carvings on his undershirt graze the peaks of your breasts deliciously, hardening them. You moan quietly, looking up at the gargantuan man through your eyelids.

"I'd like to explore you, Master Halsin. See if those rumours of your... generosity are true." You feel his arm wrap around your waist, his hand resting at the small of your back. His fingers seem to tighten, digging softly into your skin.

"You seem to enjoy calling me by my honourifics." You hum, smirking at him.

"I'm just calling you by title. You would like to be my master, would you not?" He growls lowly, much like a bear would.

"You're playing a dangerous game, little one." He tells you huskily. You giggle at him.

"The only games I would like to play are with you, Master." In his eyes you can see him having an inner battle. You take the hand on your waist in yours, which snaps him out of his inner turmoil. The alcohol is rushing through you now, your (very little) inhibitions non-existent now. You pull it closer to your face, before taking a thick finger in your mouth and worshipping it. You kiss at the pad of his forefinger before licking it; inevitably taking it into your mouth and sucking on it softly. He watches you entranced, groaning softly as you let go of his finger with a pop. You take his hand in yours, and pull him towards the edge of the camp, leading to the forest. Once you find the small grove in the forest, you let go of his hand, spinning in place and enjoying the silence of nature. He stays at the edge of the tree line, watching you with sharp eyes.

"Little flower-" Halsin says softly. You turn to look at the man with a smile.

"Our worries are for dawn. With the moonlight shining on us, and the trees as our witness, I would like to show you the pleasures of the flesh, as nature intended." He groans loudly now, far enough from the camp that your voices would not carry.

"I'm afraid to lose myself. The beast-" You pull off your nightshirt, exposing your breasts in the moonlight. You then pull off your pants and undergarments in one shot, fully baring yourself to his sight. He inhales deeply, eyes looking at you up and down multiple times. You begin to to dance sensually, your hips seeming to beckon him forward. He takes a couple of uncertain steps.

"Halsin. I am not one so easily afraid of beasts. Let me help you forget your woes for a night." His resolve seems to crumble, and he runs to you, leaving you both chest to chest.

"Little flower, I will devour you-" You moan, pulling his hair to bring him to your lips. His chapped lips touch yours, and it feels as if there is magic flowing through your bodies. His hands find purchase under your thighs, lifting you up into him. Your legs wrap around his waist, and you moan into his mouth. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, persuading you to open your mouth to his. Your tongues find each other, and a battle of dominance begins. You lose easily, his gifted tongue prodding and licking at yours with wanton need. You release each other to inhale deeply. He inhales from his nose and groans.

"I can smell your need, little one." You whimper, looking into his eyes.

"You're overdressed, Master Halsin. Allow me to undress you." He lets you down out of his embrace, and you begin to untuck his sleepshirt out from his pants and over his head. You begin to untie his pants, helping him out of them as well. That's when you notice he is wearing no undergarments, and his cock is thick and long, closer to the length of your forearm. You whimper, falling to your knees and looking up at him.

"You don't need to please me-" You cut him off.

"I want your cock to hit the back of my throat until I am unable to speak." He moans loudly, before your hand grasps him at the shaft.

"The Oakfather blessed me with such a giving partner. I- Oh Silvanus-" You take him in your mouth, licking at the tip. You taste his musk, and he tastes like pine and mint, and something that makes you absolutely feral. Without a care for your own wellbeing, you try to swallow him whole, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and then some. He groans, eyes closing as one hand finding itself locked in your hair and the other forming a fist at his thigh.

"That's right little druid, take Master's cock into the back of your throat." His voice goes down an octave, and you feel a rush of slick leave you. Taking him out of your mouth, you kiss the shaft downward until you take his heavy balls in your mouth and suckle. You're panting with need, moaning into his skin. You let go of him, one hand stroking his cock and the other inching down your body to touch your cunt. He looks down at you then with hooded eyes, and moans again.

"Are you touching your needy cunt, little flower? I cannot wait to fill you with my seed until your entire being is satiated." You moan, needing him back in your mouth. You remove the hand on his shaft and deepthroat him again, only getting two thirds of his member into your mouth. You hear your need, the wet sounds coming from your pussy only arousing you further. He begins to thrust into your mouth and you choke on him. After making sure you were alright, he continues his movements, thrusts getting rougher. The hand in your hair tightens and pulls you off his cock, as he growls.

"I will pound your quim until you are unable to walk without my healing, little one." His hands grip your upper arms and lifts you up to stand. Your face is smeared with his precum and your spittle. Once you are stable on your two feet, he kisses you passionately and you moan into him. His hands are touching you everywhere. His touch is searing hot. His hands find themselves at your breasts, rubbing and pinching the peaks of them.

"O-Oh Halsin. Don't stop." He chuckles into your ear.

"I'm not planning to stop until dawn shows itself." You whimper at his words, thrusting your chest deeper into his ministrations. You hear Halsin whisper before your hands are being pulled behind you, tightly grasped. Your feet are also held up, spreading your legs open. You notice that vines grew from the ground and are holding you up like a platter to Halsin.

"As much as I love your touch, little one, I don't want you to push me off when I get a taste of your ambrosia." You moan loudly, almost caterwauling for the elder druid.

His large hands caress up your leg, massaging the skin of your calves, before going higher.

"I wish you could see yourself as I do in this moment, little flower. You're exquisite; truly one of Silvanus' greatest creations." You blush, heaving.

"H-Halsin, please-" He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

"Don't fret, you will be chanting my name soon enough." His confidence is addicting, you could feel how drenched you were even with your legs spread so far apart. His hands finally reach close to your core, and he spreads your slit further open to look at you. You could feel your hole contracting, as if begging for an intrusion.

"By the gods... Look at your tight cunt begging for my cock. Can't wait to have a taste." You feel his breath on you. You look down and see him watching you, as his hands slide up to your breasts to play with your nipples like he had before. The first stroke of his tongue on your clit sent a sensation of pleasure up your spine. You struggle against your bonds, with an insatiable urge to grasp his hair and tug him deeper into you.

His tongue then ventures lower, tasting your essence. He moans loudly into your body, the vibrations of his moan pleasing you greatly. He continues licking you, tasting you as he tweaks your nipples, tugging before massaging. You felt powerless against the bonds, barely hearing anything more than the rush of blood in your ears.

"Your nectar... is just like honey. I can't wait to have you cum on my tongue multiple times." You moan. You can tell you're already close to your precipice, his words, moans and tongue vibrating and licking against your clit deliciously.

"Please... please Master Halsin-" He groans at the honourific. He plunges his tongue into you, lapping you at your source. His nose nudges your clit and that sets off your orgasm. You feel yourself leak onto him, his tongue cleaning your mess. You're shaking with oversensitivity, but he does not stop. One of the hands on your breast caress back down the length of your body, before he pulls away from your core. He grins up at you as he thrusts two of his thick fingers into you. He curls them, as you begin to shake harder.

"That's it, little one. Let all those in the forest know who is making you feel like this, making you cum and feel pleasure-" His words go straight to your core, and more of your slick leaks around his fingers.

"Halsin-H-Halsin- Oh GODS-" His lips wrap around your clit, sucking and licking at you. The attention was too much; you cum again. This time, you can feel much more than slick leave your body- did I squirt? You wonder to yourself, as your body is now lashing against the constraints. You didn't have much time to think about it, as he pulls his fingers out to taste you, moaning. You look down at him, panting. He spreads you open again, this time with both hands, before his tongue is back in you, tasting you like you were water and he was a man dehydrated. You whimper, begging him to give you reprieve. He pulls off of you, his mouth and chin covered in your release. He was panting, his eyes glowing a bright amber.

"You have no idea what you unleashed, little one." He growls out. You feel the vines dissipate. You're laid on the forest ground gently. Before he could move, you flip yourself over with enthusiasm, laying your upper body parallel to the floor and your lower body in the air. You wiggle your ass, one of your hands going between your legs and spreading yourself open. You look over your shoulder and look him directly in the eye. He is watching you with wonder, before you speak.

"Breed me, Master Halsin. Empty your seed in me and fuck me into a stupor." He growls, before kneeling behind you.

"I'll make sure you can't walk for weeks, little one. I'll spread you nice and good." You feel the tip of his cock at your entrance. He rubs himself up and down your slit, gathering your juices.

"Look how wet you are. Such a good little druid for me." You whimper at his words. Without warning he thrust into you, going to the hilt. His heavy balls hit against your clit, and your mouth goes open in a silent scream. He begins a brutal pace, pounding into you. One of his hands reach around your body, his large hand grasping your neck. His hold is tight, but not painfully so. You feel lightheaded, all your senses being overwhelmed by the Archdruid. You feel as though your floating, the only thing tying you to this plane of existence is the continuous thrusts from the elf behind you. You felt as though you were split open repeatedly, his cock reaching places in you that you were unsure existed before today. He growls as he pounds into you, and you begin to feel claws against your neck, before they retract.

"You make me feral, little one. I'm gonna fill you with my seed, fill you with pups." You moan, breathless. His thrusts begin to falter, but they seem to go deeper. You feel yourself fluttering around him, as you gasp.

"I-I'm close." You whisper to him. He groans.

"I feel you fluttering around me, little one." He chokes out. After a handful of thrusts he cums with a shout, and you constrict around him, cumming once more. You feel his seed in you, so abundant that it leaks out around him. You both pant for a couple seconds. He releases your neck and you gasp an inhale.

"Did I hurt you?" He asks you softly. You shake your head enthusiastically.

"N-no. Oh gods Halsin. I am unsure how I will walk right ever again." You tell him breathlessly. He chuckles at that, caressing your back and thighs with gentleness. You feel him slowly pull out of you, taking care to not punish your core anymore. You whimper at the loss, feeling your mixed spend leaking out of you. He flips you over softly, wanting to look you over. His hand goes to finger you lazily. You shriek, body seizing up.

"Not a drop goes to waste." He tells you huskily. After a couple moments, he pulls his fingers out too, and directs them to your mouth. You suckle on the digits, the taste arousing you once more. You both look into each other's eyes as you did this. Once he removes his fingers from your mouth, his lips replace it, tasting both of you on his tongue. He groans into your lips. You kiss for a couple moments, before you both need to separate so you could inhale. You felt utterly spent. He goes to lie down next to you, and your eyes follow him.

His hands begin to massage your sore muscles, before pulling you onto him. You felt utterly spent. He holds you into a lover's embrace and you can't help but sigh into his chest, caressing his pectorals and cuddling into him. You feel his lips on the crown of your head, leaving a trail soft pecks and kisses. You both lay there, absorbing the beauty of nature and speaking about your lives before the parasite and the shadow curse until the sun rose.

END

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

I Would Have Killed You

Astarion x Evie (Ace!Tav) Masterlist

Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Asexual!Tav, Astarion x OC, Astarion x Evie

A/N: This took forever, but hey! It's done. This is also my first experiment in using third person instead of second person when writing for Evie (Ace!Tav), so let me know if you want to stick with this or switch back to how it was before.

Warning: angst, blood, dissociation, Astarion being bad at emotions, heavy kissing

Summary: Astarion is reminded of the person he was before the tadpoles and what that means for his and Evie's future.

Word Count: 4.1K

It was so easy. Astarion almost felt bad for the little tavern mouse waiting at the door.

Almost.

He had been instructed to bring a bard to the palace. His master gave no explanation and Astarion knew better than to ask. 

He had found this one playing at the Elfsong. They were a newcomer to Baldur’s Gate. No friends. No connections. Nobody who would miss them. 

He gestured them into the hallway, plastering his most practiced smile. 

The mouse gave him a tentative nod in return as they looked up and around, taking in the space.

 The entryway succeeded in its intended effect, dwarfing all who stepped foot into its open maw. The walls were lined with deep reds contrasted against gold finery before pushing down a dark hallway. The only light came from a handful of candles and the clouded night just outside the windows. Of course, it didn’t look any more inviting during the day. Sunlight had not touched these halls in centuries. 

Astarion guided them forward, placing a hand on their shoulder, just in case. 

He tried not to worry. This was a new kind of trap he had put together, one improvised in the moment. It was rare for his lines to fail him so completely, but he had managed to salvage the conversation with the promise of employment. He was fairly certain it would work, but hardly the guarantee getting on his back would have assured. 

Words drifted in his ears, something clever to disguise nerves. 

He replied with his usual flattery; a few words assuring them how they were the best he had ever heard and something about his master being entranced. 

He could hear their heart hammering as their eyes flickered from window to window, never focusing on one thing for more than a few seconds. Searching for an exit perhaps. 

He kept his footsteps measured, quick to engage them in banal conversation. Couldn’t have the scurrying off now, not when he was so close. 

A pair of double doors forced him to pause before turning to his offering. He said something he supposed was encouraging as they gave him something akin to a smile. At the very least their breathing was less shallow. 

It was good enough and with a grand gesture, he opened the doors, revealing a table set for a lamb to slaughter. 

Foods of various kinds covered the entire surface. The noise of smells bombarded his nose, sickly sweet and ripe as rot. Steam from vegetables and freshly prepared meats choked his lungs. Candles littered every surface. He could feel his eyes start to burn, whether from the smoke or brightness, he couldn’t be sure. All the same, he didn’t need his senses to feel his master’s smile as the lord rose to his feet.

Astarion gave a bow, followed quickly by the mouse. 

It didn’t escape his notice how resolutely they maintained their gaze just left of his master’s shoulder and not the feast in front of them. 

“I am glad to see you have found your way,” the master said, his voice decadent. “Please, join me.”

The mouse hesitated, caught between proprietary and something else. Astarion didn’t know how he missed it. Gods knew he had seen it in the face of his “siblings”. He wore it himself often enough. Little thing was starving. 

A sense of calm came over him. He had been worried over nothing. Desperation was just as secure a motivator as lust. 

Still, the mouse did try to maintain some dignity; something about not being able to accept such hospitality without earning it. 

His master raised a hand in dismissal. “Nonsense. If Astarion’s praise is anything like truth, you will more than earn a meal here.” 

It was the excuse they needed as they took deliberate steps to the lord’s side. 

“Astarion. You will join us.”

It wasn’t a question and he wasn’t in a position to make it one. This held the promise of being wholly painless. Whatever game his master was playing, he would do his part. 

Astarion spoke his thanks and took a seat on the master’s other side. 

The mouse tried so hard. They waited patiently for the master to start the meal before serving themselves, careful not to overload their plate. This was an audition after all, they couldn’t risk making a bad first impression. Of course, it did nothing to quell the hunger in their eyes. Each bite was brought carefully to their mouth with such slowness it appeared painful. 

Despite himself, Astarion had to admire their restraint. He wondered what they would do differently if they knew this would be their last meal. 

He did his part to appear engaged. He moved food on his plate around and pretended to take a drink of wine, mindful to not let any pass his lips. 

It would all be over soon. He would return to the kennels tonight with food in his stomach and the skin remaining on his back. He would not give the master an excuse. Besides, his lord seemed occupied assaulting the bard with questions. 

Astarion tried his best not to listen. If the master wished to play with his food, there was little he could do to stop him. His part was done. The mouse was nothing to him. Sure, some of their conversation had been stimulating, but it did not make up for their fundamental stupidity. They deserved what was coming if they allowed themselves to be caught in such an obvious trap. So what if they were starving? What did they know of true starvation? Let them rot in a tomb for a year, unable to die. That would teach them to accept anything too good to be true. 

“It is good to see you fed,” his master said. “If I may be blunt, you seemed near faint when you came in.” 

The mouse gave an embarrassed look, answering with a self deprecating affirmative. 

“Perhaps now you may give us a proper performance.” 

They nodded, rising to their feet with more confidence than what they came in with. Astarion supposed a full stomach would do that. He wondered idly if that somehow made a difference to the quality of the blood. He knew his master too well to assume he was granting the little snack a kindness before their death. Perhaps fear spoiled the taste. 

The bard took a position on the small podium just to the side of the dining table, pulling out a well kept violin out of a travel worn case. 

“Let us see if your songbird lives up to expectations,” his master said, the words coming as light as a knife pressed against his throat.  

Astarion’s spine stiffened, forcing himself not to swallow. 

So, that was the game. Each of his siblings had received similar instructions no doubt. Find a bard in the city, any bard. He didn’t know the prize for finding the best, but he had a fair idea of what the punishment would be for bringing the worst. 

His offering held their violin across their chest, ready for the lord’s request. 

“Whatever is your favorite,” his master replied. 

Astarion held his breath as the bard let go of theirs allowing strings to fill the air. 

The first handful of notes came like a caress against his cheek, so careful and warm he nearly flinched. It didn’t shy away, and slowly he felt himself relax into its touch. 

They were good. He had gotten an idea at the tavern, but that was for the unwashed masses of the lower city, not the private dining room of a palace. If anything, the change in scenery made their playing all the more potent. 

The music slipped past his ears, boring deeper and deeper until he could feel it in his very bones. He found himself unable to look away. It compelled him back into his body and to the ever present here and now. Each note came as a release, an inspiration to keep living long enough to hear the next. If only they could play forever, perhaps they would never die.

There was something so familiar about it. Not the melody, but the phrasing, the shape of the notes as they whispered unknowable nothings into his heart. He knew that voice. 

A smile spread across the bard’s face, content and lost in the music, wholly unaware.

Oh Gods. Evie.

Fear clutched his chest. He tried to open his mouth, but his lips remained placid. He felt the muscles strain with the effort and yet not so much as a twitch appeared on his face. He pulled at his arms, his hands, legs, neck, anything. He couldn’t move. His skin remained an impassive shell, trapping him inside his own body. 

Bile rose in his throat. Cazador found him. It was the only explanation. Something went wrong with the tadpoles. The bastard was in his head. 

To his horror the song came to a close. 

Evie held her position as every good performer would, not even opening her eyes as the remains of the strings echoed into nothing. 

A slow clap came from behind him filling the sudden stillness. How he didn’t flinch was beyond his comprehension. 

She smiled in appreciation, giving a graceful bow. The triumph in her eyes made him want to wretch. 

Run. Please, my love. Run!

“Beautiful,” Cazador said. “A truly remarkable songbird. It’s a wonder you were so eager to share Astarion. If it were me, I would keep her all to myself.” 

Astarion felt the shell bow its head in respect.  

“Far be it for me to deny you, master,” it said. 

“Indeed.” Cazador then turned his sights to Evie. “I would have this settled tonight. Join me in my study so we may discuss the terms of your employment.”

“Oh…thank you,” she said, the uncertainty clear in her tone. “Will Astarion be joining us?” 

“That will not be necessary,” Cazador said, his tone quickly losing its patience. “As it stands, Astarion has his own duties to attend to.” 

Evie wavered, her eyes darting between him and the double doors. 

This was their chance. Control of his limbs was out, but Astarion wasn’t about to give up. He dug in deeper into this mind. Surely the tadpole hadn’t been removed. It was just dormant, something. If he could just make contact. All he needed was a wriggle. The second he was free, he was going to tear the bastard’s throat out! 

“I thank you for the offer, my lord,” she said. “But if it’s possible, I would like a day to think about it. If we could meet tomorrow morning–.” 

“Do you think I make this offer lightly?” Cazador snapped. “If you wish to return to the streets in which you were found, you may. You are impressive, but do not think I cannot find another.” 

Evie’s eyes widened, her hands clutching her violin tighter against her body. 

The decision was written all over her face. She was still so hungry. 

The shell’s aloof expression faltered. Brows cinched together as its mouth turned into a line. 

“Oh go on little mouse. Off to the slaughter with you.”

Astarion froze. That wasn’t Cazador. 

“I apologize, my lord,” Evie said. “I did not mean to offend. Of course, I am honored by your offer. I will gladly join you.”  

A smile spread across Cazador’s face, one made of teeth and condescension. 

“Excellent.” 

He rose to his feet, gesturing to a side door leading out of the dining room. 

Evie’s heartbeat came hard in his ears. Still she packed away her violin, preparing to follow Cazador wherever he would lead her. 

Astarion’s throat tore with the effort to scream. His nail dug into the walls of his insides, pulling and grasping at flesh. He didn’t know how this was happening and frankly didn’t care. Anything beyond the beating of Evie’s heart was meaningless. He needed to get out. He didn’t care if he had to claw out of his own skin.

Evie all too soon joined Cazador’s side. The bastard placed a hand on her arm much as his own had before, guiding her out of the room to certain death. 

There was only one option left. Instead of turning inward to the tadpole that, for some reason, had abandoned him, he pushed his thoughts outward. 

Master. Please. Don’t do this. Hear me. I’ll do anything. I’ll bring you hundreds, thousands more. Whatever you ask of me, I will do. Just let her go. Please.

Cazador paused, turning his head slightly over his shoulder. 

“You may go, Astarion. Make sure to clean this mess. And take the tray with you.” 

The shell turned its gaze to the one closed tray left on the table. The faint smell of death and something else sickeningly familiar hit his nose. 

“Not as festering,” it thought idly. 

No, he thought. He was thinking these things. He was the one doing this. He was the one killing her. 

He didn’t even look up as the pair of footsteps left the room, the door closing behind them with a decisive thud. 

Like an animal he pounced on the tray, throwing the top aside to dig his hands into the fat, putrid rat waiting for him. 

His teeth tore into its stomach, tainted blood mixed with other bile filling his mouth, but still he drank. It was a drop of water to a dying man, not nearly enough and only meant to serve as a reminder of absence. Still, he could not deny himself. This was more than he had in a week. 

His victory would no doubt be short lived. Cazador would find some way to punish him later for some imagined transgression, but at least tonight he wouldn’t suffer. 

Evie’s heart disappeared behind the door. He almost wished it would stay that way. Silence would bring him the gift of denial, but since when had he ever been lucky. 

Somewhere far away, he heard a cry of fear transform into pleas for help, then mercy, and then just pain until even those fell to nothing. 

He couldn’t speak, but gods did he scream. 

----------------

In a sudden jolt, he was upright, darkness invading his vision blurred at the edges by orange candle light. 

He was breathing hard. His heart didn’t race, but his limbs trembled all the same. In some attempt to calm himself, he raised a hand to his brow pushing back the hair that had fallen across his forehead. 

He paused, a sudden wave of relief washing over him. He had moved his hand. He was in control. His limbs, his breath, his body was entirely his own. A quick focus inward assured the rest. The tadpole was safe and sound, wriggling away. 

The room around him started to come into focus. He was in the Elfsong. A quick glance revealed the rest of his companions fast asleep in their beds. For once he was grateful to hear Karlach’s snoring. He couldn’t be anywhere else. 

His eyes turned to that one candle burning just beside him. 

Evie had insisted, claiming she couldn’t sleep without one. It was a lie, of course. Astarion knew well enough she could fall asleep standing on her head if pressed. The candle had been for him; another small kindness to add to the ongoing list. 

A slight shift in the bed refocused his attention, turning to the other laying beside him.

“Astarion? What’s wrong?”

Her voice was low and thick with sleep. Her eyes were barely open and her hair was a complete mess on the pillow. Now would be the perfect moment to tease her, to kiss her and slip back beneath the sheets, but he couldn’t bring himself to do any of it. He was too focused on the rise and fall of her chest and the steady rhythm of her heart. 

“Astarion?” Evie repeated, concern now slipping into her voice as she turned more decidedly toward him. 

He shook himself out of his head, slipping a practiced smile to his face. 

“It’s nothing darling,” he assured. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t, I’m up now,” she said, stretching herself further awake. 

She held her arms open to him.  He knew he didn’t have to. It wasn’t a demand or even an expectation; merely an invitation, one he didn’t have the strength to decline. 

He fell into her, wrapping her in his arms and burying himself in her neck. He let her scent fill his lungs, chasing away the lingering rot with the life of her blood and subtle musk of her skin. Her heart pressed against his chest so close he could feel it echo inside him like a memory. He felt her fingers card through his hair cradling his head against her in gentle assurance, as if she wasn’t holding a monster who could drain her dry with just the slightest parting on his mouth. Gods, what had he done to deserve this?

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her breath soft and warm against his ear. 

He didn’t answer right away, pressing his lips against her neck as his mind turned searching for the right thing to say. Words continued to evade him as he moved his touch further up, catching the underside of her jaw, her cheek, the edge of her mouth, the tip of her nose until finally he landed on her lips. He kissed her softly, just a brush really, any more would be too much. 

Another thing to add to the list, the solace in knowing he didn’t need to do anything else. No performance. No seductions. Just this. 

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hand. 

Her eyes were so soft, even as a crease worried her brow. He knew that was for him too. There was a time he would have scoffed at that look, dismissing it as pity instead of the care it was. Now it just made him ache. 

His lips found hers again, kissing her long and deep.

He loved her.  He knew that now. He had a suspicion he had known for a while, but couldn't allow himself to see it.

The word didn’t disgust him as it first might have done, but gods did it terrify him. His dream revealed more than one truth. He knew now the things he’d be willing to do, the parts of himself he’d be willing to sacrifice to keep her safe. By all accounts he should be cursing her name, but he just kept kissing her. 

He couldn’t stop. His lips found new purpose, touching and tasting any inch of skin within reach. Nothing bad could happen just so long as he kept touching her. He’d hold her forever if he could, absorb her into his skin and keep her safe there. Nobody would hurt them ever again. 

“Astarion?” His name came out in a choked breath, pulling him back to himself and to her. 

He pulled back, going rigid in alarm as if he’d just be dunked in a tank of cold water. Somehow he had turned her beneath him, his body pressed between her legs and against her whole body. He pushed himself onto his hands, shame sinking into his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Are you alright?”

She shook her head, but it was plain enough by her expression to see she was overwhelmed. He could hear her heart hammering in his ears and cursed himself for not checking in sooner. 

“I should have asked,” he said. “I wasn’t trying for more. I just–.”

“I know,” she assured.  “Just needed to catch my breath. You know that thing mortals do.” 

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. He could take a bad joke if it meant she wasn’t truly hurt. 

Her hand found his cheek, simultaneously gentle and rough to the touch. He leaned into her, indulging in the sensation. It centered him in a way he couldn’t put into words. Something about the callous and healed cuts of her fingers made the reality of her all the more potent. 

“You did nothing wrong,” she said firmly. “But I do think you need to talk about it.” 

He let out a short sigh, knowing there was no side stepping the conversation and kissing his way out was now firmly off the table. 

He fell back onto the bed, mindful to keep his distance even as his body yearned to have her close. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at her, instead focusing on the darkened wood ceiling. 

“I killed you,” he said. There was no softer way to put it and he didn’t have the inclination to try. “I handed you over to Cazador without a second thought, all for a rat and a night’s respite.” 

A mirthless laugh escaped his throat. Gods what a mess, but what else did he expect? This was still his life, for lack of a better word. 

“Why do you trust me?”  he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. 

She remained silent for a long time before he caught the glimpse of a shrug out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well you did ask me very nicely.”

“I’m serious,” he pressed, turning his head toward her. “I would have killed you. The moment we met, I lied to you and held a knife to your throat. That doesn’t exactly inspire loyalty.” 

Her lips pressed into a thoughtful line, remaining agonizingly silent. He was tempted to use the worm, if only to get a glimpse of what exactly she was thinking.

“You’re right,” she said, carefully.  “And I didn’t trust you, at first. But, that was then. This is now.”

Her hand found his, slipping between his fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve saved my life more times than I care to admit, for a start,” she continued. “You’ve stayed with me when it would have been more convenient to leave me behind. You’ve allowed me to be honest with parts of myself the world kept telling me to bury away. And because of this.”

She moved forward, closing just enough distance just to press the barest kiss to his lips. It caught in his chest, imprinting itself somewhere inside him no one else had managed to find. 

“You’re still a scoundrel and a rogue,” she whispered, “but when it matters, I know you’ll be there. At least, you have been so far.” 

“Always.”

The promise came so easily to his lips, but it was the truth, one he felt more deeply than he realized until that moment. He wasn’t going to let her slip away. The world didn’t get to do that to him.

As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Evie moved closer, pressing herself against his side and draping her arm across his chest. 

He took the offer, pulling her more securely into his arms. The fever had broken, but he would not deny himself relief from the symptoms. He contented himself with the warmth of her body and the perfume of her hair in his nose. He really did need to ask her what exactly she used. He’d buy the whole supply. 

She tried to stay awake. He could feel her fingers trace nonsensical patterns into his skin. It didn’t last long. Her movements still and soon enough her body fell completely slack against him. 

He pressed a kiss against her forehead, lingering on the peace of the moment as a new resolve filled him. 

Cazador would die, that much he knew for certain the moment he stepped into the city. He wasn’t going to spend the remainder of his life looking over his shoulder. He would have his revenge and tear that bastard apart for everything he had ever done to him, made better still by ruining his long awaited ascension and taking that power for his own.  

He knew Evie’s hesitations. She’d expressed her doubts often enough, questioning if it was worth the price. He could understand why, after all it was her compassion that had allowed him to hold her like this, foolish as it was. 

What was a little more blood on his hands if it kept hers clean. His “siblings” were no better than him. He’d be doing the world a favor. And in exchange, no one would ever control him again. No more pain. No more running. Nobody would touch him. He’d be free and Evie would be safe. 

Once he ascended no force in the world would be foolish enough to try and take her from him. And if Evie agreed to become a vampire herself? If he could give her just a drop of that same power, not even time could touch her. They could have eternity. All it would take was a few meaningless deaths. 

He wouldn’t let her trust in him come to nothing. He would keep them safe. Forever. For good. 

[teavocationmagic]

an accident at the apothecary | gale x rogue!reader

summary: gale and rogue!reader are on a wee scouting mission upon discovering the blighted village of moonhaven. unfortunately, gale is whatever the opposite of a rogue is, and reader does not care for our favourite talkative archwizard. featuring cursed skeletons, the light cantrip, wizard-specific insults, and detailed descriptions of my thoughts on gale dekarios’ hands.

part two

warnings: none, gn!reader

Rotting floorboards creak under your shoes, and the light from your torch flickers over the cobwebbed ruins as you ease through the apothecary’s basement towards the dark mouth of the tunnel. The much-loved leather soles of your lucky boots move with their signature silence, and for a moment you could be on a normal job, living your abnormal life sans illithid tadpole.

A burst of harsh, radiant light just overhead has you scrambling for cover, your back slamming against the wall and your eyes burning as you blink against the onslaught.

You hear a small laugh somewhere beyond the light as it settles down into a gentler glow. “That should make things easier to navigate!”

Much like your tadpole, you would also be free of the fucking maniac wizard if things were normal.

“Are you out of your mind?!” You hiss, still scrubbing at your eyes to try and banish the dark spots dancing across your sight.

“I don’t think either of us would be much help with a twisted ankle,” Gale says, gesturing to the piles of old crates and debris with a flourish. “Unless you prefer a challenge?”

“I prefer not to draw the attention of every goblin in a hundred mile radius,” you snipe, and Gale’s brow furrows as you swat at the hovering ball of light. “Can you turn this thing off?”

“It’s a sphere of pure light energy, drawn directly from the Weave and concentrated through my sheer force of will. You can’t wave it away like a cloud of gnats!”

“Congratulations on your force of will or whatever, but can you put it back in Mystra’s underwear drawer or wherever you got it from so we can do this in peace?”

Gale levels you with a deeply unimpressed glare as he waves his hand, the light vanishing and leaving him illuminated in your torchlight, which casts stark shadows across his face.

“I wouldn’t speak so disrespectfully of Mystra, if I were you,” he says, voice icy. “Not with her Chosen standing right next to you.”

“Please,” you roll your eyes and push forwards, moving through the dark of the tunnel, noting the hard rock that replaces the wood beneath your feet. “If you were going to fireball me, you’d have done it already.” You think so, at least. Not all wizards are so up front about their intentions - some of them are as tricky as the rogues you ran with back home. Whether or not Gale of Waterdeep was among their backstabbing ranks remains to be seen.

“I wouldn’t fireball you, I’m not a complete barbarian,” Gale scoffs, trailing after you. “Besides, you’re too good with a lockpick. I’d make you a lovely little pocket dimension, maybe something inside a bag of holding -”

“You mean you’d imprison me in a magic bag?”

“It would be cozy. Maybe throw in a kettle for tea, some throw pillows. I’d even take you out at mealtimes for some socializing.” He casts you a sidelong glance, a wry smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “For good behaviour, of course.”

“Good to know chivalry isn’t dead, even among weave-eaters.”

“Among what?”

You press your lips together, holding back a grin. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I definitely am worried about it! What in the nine hells is a weave-eater?!”

“Nothing, just -” You’re cut off by a scraping, clawing sound that echoes through the shadows. You hold your breath, listening for another noise.

“Well, it’s clearly not nothing, otherwise you wouldn’t have said it-”

“Gale, be quiet.”

The wizard scoffs again, and the rustle of fabric as he crosses his arms is deafening in the quiet as you try to listen for the sound again.

“I won’t fireball you, I promise,” he whispers, still harsh in the cold silence of the tunnel. “But just tell me-”

“Shh!” You hold up a hand to silence him, but you’re already too late.

The first skeleton swings a rusted broadsword directly at your head, and you only just leap back in time - you feel it clip your chin as it arcs, and you dance forward on your toes to crack the torch across its head, the milky bone shining under the fire light before it breaks into pieces, it’s body going limp on the ground.

“There’s more-!”

But Gale is already moving, his hands swirling as a flurry of magic missile bolts rush through the air, humming red energy illuminating the approaching skeletons as soon as they are taken apart. Pockmarked armour clatters all around you, and through the chaos you catch the sound of the arrow releasing - your hands are on Gale’s shoulders before you can think, shoving him to the ground with you. The arrow lodges into the tunnel wall with a hard thunk and you are on your knees with a knife in hand before the skeleton has time to aim a second one.

As the noise of the fight rings its last echo against the stone, small crystals that creep out of the walls and ceiling of the tunnel and its adjoining cavern start to glow, bathing the foliage and the open caskets in a soft blue light.

“By Lathander . . .” Gale swears, breathless.

You lean back on your palms, tipping your head to look up into the crystal-strewn ceiling. Vines curl between the rocks and delicate white flowers bloom along them, a patchwork of light against the shadowed slate of the cavern.

“It’s a joke about mages.”

Gale shuffles to his knees next to you, and you turn to see his confused frown. “What?”

“Weave-eater. It’s a dumb joke about spellcasters who are too obsessed with magic.”

“I don’t eat Weave to cast spells-“

“No, no, but like . . . Mystra, your beloved, she is the Weave, right? Or it’s part of her? So, you guys are all so infatuated with the Weave and Mystra that you . . .”

“Please don’t finish that thought, I - I understand.”

You snort, clambering to your feet and scooping up the torch.

“Besides, in my particular case, you’re more right than you know.”

“. . . I hate that you’re making me picture that.”

“Then don’t picture me in such a compromising - hold on, wait,” and you lean back a bit as Gale turns you fully towards him, hands on either of your shoulders. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly. “That’s what tends to happen in fights.”

“No, just - here, stop moving.”

Gale’s palm is warm beneath the cloth he produces from his little rucksack (“From the most charming tiefling child in that grove, very reasonable prices, even gave me a lucky ring!”) as he dabs at your chin. The cloth is dipped in some common healing potion you swiped upstairs, the rest preserved for more serious injuries, and it stings and soothes near-simultaneously as he works.

Up close like this, you can see the sleep he needs to catch up on, and the soap you need to barter for more of back at the grove. There’s a bruise blossoming on his jaw, and his forehead wrinkles enough as he concentrates that you could count it like the rings inside a tree trunk, mapping back the years until you get to the root of all the worry and fear that’s put them there. His hands are warm, and smell faintly of something woodsy and rich. You take another breath in, contemplating, and you get to watch up close the way he smiles: starting on the left corner of his mouth and working to the right side, his eyes crinkling last.

“It’s a balm I learned to make back at the Academy,” he explains, giving your chin one last swipe before pocketing the cloth. “Good for chapped hands, and, if you add a bit of autumncrocus sublimate, a fantastic way to attract fey and celestial beings! Pixies especially care for the scent, or so they told me.”

“Well,” you say, stepping a healthy distance from Gale and his celestial-attracting hands, “If we ever need a pixie, I’ll make sure to call you first.”

“Ever at your service, your rogue-ish-ness.” He dips into a mocking little curtsy and you nod, clutching your torch with white knuckles as you shove down whatever stomach-churning nonsense Gale’s coaxed out of you.

“Right. Okay. So, skeletons dead - or, more dead, anyway. Let’s get scouting.”

“Lead the way.”

(You wait until you’re around the campfire that night to tell Gale that the charming tiefling child’s “lucky ring” is part of a scheme you’ve run yourself a few times. The sounds he makes as he rifles through his lightened pack are enough to send you, Astarion and Shadowheart into hysterics - and the sounds he makes when you show him his belongings, returned to you by the tiefling ringleader Mol, are enough to make Lae’zel join in.)

[silent-as-the-grave]

Through the Tent Flap

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Gale Content Warnings: Sexually explicit, fisting, inappropriate use of Mage Hand spell, voyeurism, chubby Gale Length: 2.226 words

Summary: A nosy vampire sneaks up to Gale's tent one night to find out why he's being so unusually quiet. And boy, does he get an eyeful. Astarion thinks he's sneaky but Gale totally knows he's there.

-

Astarion knows everyone's usual habits like the back of his hand.

He's learned over the years that few things are as powerful as the accumulation of knowledge, and the elf greedily sucks up as much of it as he can. Who knows when a certain tidbit of information might be enough to turn a particular tide in his favor? It could be as simple as knowing how to twist a conversation to his advantage, manipulating someone into owing him a favor, or even discovering something to act as leverage in a valuable bit of blackmail.

He likes knowing things. And so, when Astarion notices that the wizard's tent is suspiciously dark and quiet late one evening, he can't contain his curiosity.

Gale prefers to retreat to his tent after the group starts breaking off for the night, conjured orbs of light floating like fireflies around his head as he reads or scribbles notes onto parchment. And since he's Gale and Gale doesn't know how to shut up, it's also perfectly common to hear whispers of his voice resonating through the camp, muttering and holding solo debates on whatever topic he's studying.

Astarion used to find such mundane noise annoying—his oversensitive hearing picks up every whisper, every scratch of the quill, every rustle of fabric, and every gentle creak of protesting ligaments.

Then, over time, Gale's racket started to blend into a soothing background noise, until it grew as commonplace to hear as the crackle of the fire.

Now, the silence grates at Astarion's nerves. What is that idiot up to?

He's too nosy to simply ignore the change. Astarion prefers the peace and relative solitude of the night watch, so with no one else up and about during his shift, it's all too easy to slink across the camp for a closer look. The illusion on the tent is a good one; it's not until he's almost close enough to touch the worn blue canvas that he picks up the familiar scents of Gale's magic, a hint of ozone and petrichor, coupled with a shiver of static in the air that sets his hair on end.

Finding the lingering residue of magic concentrated there is not a surprising sensation. But it's everything else that he notices that sucks the unnecessary breath right from his lungs.

Like passing through a sound and light-proof curtain, the invisible edge of Gale's modified privacy spell gives way as the elf pushes closer, filling Astarion's ears with the tumultuous drumbeat of the wizard's heart. It's not the soothing rhythm of a heart at peace. It's more like the accelerated pace that he's used to hearing when Gale is forced to push his physical limits in battle, a brisk, throbbing pulse of hot blood that leaves Astarion's fangs aching and his mouth watering. But there's also a wet sound: a squishing, squelching noise, like–

Gale's voice catches in a gasp before rising in a strung-out moan, and the elf suddenly realizes what he's overhearing.

Well, well, Astarion thinks to himself, quite amused at this turn of events. Someone’s being deliciously naughty.

He's not a fool; it's far from unexpected to discover his stuffy companion taking his own pleasure in hand under their current tadpoled circumstances. He's certain they all do it. But for some reason, catching Gale at it makes the scenario all the more entertaining. Apparently even the surprisingly bashful wizard, who keeps himself well-covered and flushes at the slightest lascivious comment, isn't immune to more lecherous desires.

Astarion crouches just outside the tent and inspects the closed flap for a moment. There's just enough of a gap for him to slide a pinky beneath and nudge the fabric a bit farther open, should he be bold enough to take a peek. It's improper and a total invasion of privacy, but when has he been one to care about such things?

He kind of knows what to expect, but he's still not completely prepared for what his darkvision reveals.

Gale is hunched over his bedroll, his bottom thrust into the air, and without a scrap of clothing covering the vast expanse of his soft, olive-toned skin. For one who's always seemed self-conscious about getting undressed in front of others, which Astarion finds to be a bit silly after fighting and traveling together for several tendays, it looks like Gale had no qualms about shedding his modesty along with his robes here in the privacy of his tent.

And oh, what a sight he makes.

Dense thatches of dark fuzz and a smattering of freckles decorate a body wrapped in the kind of lush padding that's just asking to be grabbed and fondled. There's a sheen of stretch marks along his generous hips and the sides of his wide, chubby belly, some pink, some silver, reminiscent of the lightning Gale sometimes calls to his fingertips. Love handles bulge out from the fold of his waist, and every movement he makes leaves his sweat-streaked flesh jiggling in a way the elf can't look away from.

But it's the way his thick, dimpled thighs are shamelessly splayed that truly catches Astarion's attention. The angle of his peeping gaze isn't the best, but that doesn't stop him from catching a glimpse of dark, swollen bollocks swaying beneath a glistening hole stretched wide by a pair of… glowing magical fingers?

Gods above and below. Gale's using a spell to pleasure himself.

Soft, strangled whimpers fall from the wizard's lips as the digits plunge into his soaked, well-stretched opening, each movement sending more glistening lubricant dribbling down the inside of his legs. With his chest pressed to the floor and face buried in a pillow, Gale restlessly rocks back to meet his phantom lover, completely oblivious to his spellbound audience. Waves of sweat-damp hair stick to his flushed cheeks, while the dark hair around the cleft of Gale's ass and curling around his balls is slick and matted with oil.

The scene is utterly debauched. A better man would probably walk away and give the wizard his privacy rather than sit here and gape at him.

But Astarion is anything but a good man.

Almost involuntarily, the vampire finds himself wondering what Gale feels like inside. Those slick, warm muscles fluttering desperately around his fingers, swallowing him deeper the more he spreads the other man open. That sweet spot inside giving under deliberate pressure and forcing the most obscene sounds from the wizard's lips.

So loose.

So greedy.

So eager to be ruined.

Fuck. There's a danger here, of watching and feeling his thoughts wander in ways they shouldn't. Hells, Astarion can't recall the last time he felt so interested in partaking in anything of the sort, but that's not the point. It's like the tiniest ember of lust has suddenly flared to life in the pit of his belly, fanned by the obscene sight before him, and the resulting heat is threatening to turn into an inferno.

There's a sharp intake of breath, a heady whine, and Astarion's eyes go wide as another thick finger presses into Gale. The wizard's hands clutch desperately at the bedroll while his toes curl in obvious pleasure. The bespelled fingers thrust and swirl in a way that leaves his ample ass wobbling. And then—

"Oh yes," comes the wizard's voice, high-pitched and breathless and almost a wail. "Oh please, just like that!"

Of course the godsdamned wizard would talk in the middle of all this.

Just when Astarion thinks that this whole debacle can't possibly get any worse, Gale shifts and arches his back just enough to expose even more of himself to the vampire's view. The magical intrusion leaves the faint pucker of his hole exquisitely stretched around its near-transparent invasion while his rigid cock dribbles and twitches beneath him.

And it's not all that's twitching. The vampire refuses to glance down, refuses to acknowledge the way his traitorous body is starting to react to the stunning view. He's not aroused by the sight of Gale's luscious body on display like a banquet for the senses. He's not.

A fourth finger pushes in. The wizard makes a noise that has no business existing outside of a brothel.

Astarion is no longer breathing, no longer moving, completely mesmerized by the sight before him. The heat in his belly is shifting to a throbbing between his legs that grows heavier and more insistent with each passing moment. Part of him wants to loosen the laces of his trousers, to release some of the strain, but that feels like a concession.

Of what, he's not entirely sure. But it certainly must be Gale's fault. Sure, Astarion is the one watching without permission, but the wizard has no business looking and sounding so lewd.

How much farther will Gale push himself? Those fingers look enormous, and he's already stretched so far. Surely the human body cannot possibly take much more of this kind of abuse.

But then the spectral hand turns, its thumb tucking against its palm, and slowly starts to work the entirety of its fist into him.

The wisdom of the privacy spell is readily apparent at the moment when the hand reaches its widest point, catching briefly on phantom knuckles before that plump ass simply opens up and hungrily swallows the entire thing—and Gale keens.

It takes everything Astarion has to choke down the whimper that rises from the back of his throat.

There's pressure at the front of Astarion's trousers, and he realizes that he'd mindlessly slid the heel of his palm down to rub at his aching groin. It's growing harder and harder to pretend that he's watching this happen for any reason but his own pleasure. Gale is squirming and rocking back to fuck himself on that glowing blue hand as if his very life depends on it, and the dazed vampire finds himself torn between fondling himself and committing every vulgar sound and movement to memory for later use.

Meanwhile, Gale pants and moans with every twitch of the spell, his stout thighs quivering from the strain while his bountiful hips lurch and push back as if he can't get enough. "Gods, so full," the wizard slurs, the sound a broken mimicry of Gale's usual verbalization. "But… but it's not enough. Need… need more.”

The spectral hand rocks into his lube-slick hole, carefully turning and working its way even deeper into Gale's gaping entrance.

Hells, Astarion can practically see through the spectral fist and right into the man's ravenously clenching body. It's enough to make his own cock jerk eagerly beneath his touch.

"You feel so unbelievably incredible inside of me," Gale babbles, near senseless in his carnal greed. "Going so, so deep. Gods, I can't get enough."

That's right. Take it.

"Tell me how good I'm doing. How… how much you love the way I stretch around you."

Such a good little wizard, so filthy, so tight, so absolutely perfect.

"Please, Astarion, don't— oh, please don't stop!"

What.

Gale makes a fervent, strangled, inhuman sort of sound that's like a dagger of lust burying itself squarely in Astarion's guts. Back bowing, fingers clawing, the wizard frantically bucks back to meet the intrusion like he's trying to see how far he can force it to go. "Please, I… I'm so close. So close. Need to feel—"

He should leave. Astarion is not meant to see this.

But he wants to. So, so badly.

"' Starion," Gale sobs, and that gloriously soft body quakes as the wizard finally falls to pieces, spilling pearlescent seed gloriously over his rumpled in hot, messy spurts, his cock utterly untouched.

The vampire is scrambling away from the tent almost before he realizes what he's doing, his unanticipated carnal hunger vying with an unpleasant jumble of emotions he has no clue what to do with. He makes it as far as the relative safety of the forest before fumbling with the laces of his trousers, drawing himself free and wrapping his fingers around the familiar, rock-hard shaft.

Those cool digits barely have a chance to curl around his cock before Astarion's climax hits with the strength of a greathammer, forcing him to sink teeth into his knuckles to keep the shameful sounds of his pleasure from spilling from his lips. His spend paints the undergrowth and dribbles down his fingers with every jerk of his cock, until his sac is as drained and empty as his thoughts. His head spinning from the unexpectedly powerful orgasm, it takes all of his willpower to keep from sinking down into a woozy, panting mess.

Hells below, Astarion can't remember the last time he ever came so hard—if ever.

Quiet moments pass, and there's no sight of a humiliated wizard flying out of his tent to smite the vampire with a fireball, so he's pretty sure that he's gotten away with spying. The vampire eventually pulls himself together, shaking the worst of the mess from his fingers and tucking himself back into his clothing, as if that would be enough to hide the evidence of his illicit deeds. It doesn't stop the weird feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach, though.

Astarion usually likes knowing things.

But this?

It's just a little unexpected twist in the plot of their inconsequential, decidedly platonic relationship, that's all. Nothing to get all concerned about.

...Right?

-

AO3

[inkymoonbunny]

Astarion x Tav Fic Recs

These are just some of my favorites! <3 Mix of during game and AUs

Epistles of Saints & Sinners @elegantduelliste - Soulmate Marks AU during game. Astarion recognizes Tav’s soulmate mark, it matches his own, but he's not going to tell her that; he can't have a soulmate, it's just one more thing Cazador has stolen from him. Tav is just as drawn to Astarion, but her own history has left her guarded and wary of being vulnerable. Elle’s writing of the push and pull of their relationship is breathtaking and heart-wrenching. Matching a bard Tav, Elle's prose takes on a lyrical quality and her use of imagery is unparalleled. 

The House of Astarion by Throckmorton420 - Labyrinth AU post-Elderbrain. Ascended Astarion lost interest in conquering Faerun once he came across the Labyrinth, it's much more his style anyway. Stealing Tav’s violin, he offers her a deal: solve his Labyrinth and he'll return her violin and grant her a wish. Realizing this is her opportunity to reconnect to the Weave, Tav agrees. Did I mention goostarion? Because there's goostarion! This fic is filled with mischief, whimsy, and so much heart. 

Fools' Work @semper-draca - Pre-Tadpole AU. Cazador has sent his spawn after a mysterious box and luckily for Astarion, his latest target happens to have a lead. It should be easy to seduce her and steal the prize! Too bad she’s not as naive as Astarion believes. This mercenary Tav is perceptive and delightfully unhinged that makes her a great matchup for a scheming Astarion. 

When the Dawn Breaks… @harcourtholmesii - set during game. Before Astarion was turned, he ignored his family’s disapproval of a Drow lover. Two hundred years later, Lavender has found the lover she grieved and believed dead. Astarion brushes away her questions but still sweeps her off her feet. He can’t believe his luck in finding a target that presumably knows him, one easy to lure back when he so desperately needs to keep in good graces with his master. 

Until You @bloodinwine - Post-Elderbrain with modern world AU flavor. Effy thought Astarion needed a friend more than a lover, so now here they are as roommates and definitely not hopelessly in love pining after one another. Effy struggles to fight her way free of self-destructive tendencies and be the person Astarion needs her to be. This Tav is a loveable hot mess! I have never wanted to take a character by the shoulders and shake them so badly, thank you June for spinning Effy into the world. 

Lacunae @karinamay - Series set during game. Tav was once Astarion’s target, but she slipped away. Upon meeting after the Nautiloid crash, she remembers but Astarion does not. This is the one that inspired me to start writing again. It’s sweet and heartbreaking and deliciously spicy!

Pour One Out @aevallare - Modern AU/1000 years post-Elderbrain. A spinoff from the much loved and fandom favorite Kindred featuring an anxious Auri that doesn't remember her past life and a tailor Astarion that's in awe of finding his love again. This is an Astarion that's had centuries to heal from his ordeal with Cazador, one that's been able to flourish in freedom. Astarion gets his chance to be a hero for Auri this time around. Aevallare's characterization of Astarion is absolutely unmatched.

All these fics are ongoing so you must be patient, but DO give them a read and the authors some love/kudos/comments!

[raygunny]

Wandering Eyes

Word count: 2,203

Astarion x Fem Tav

I hyperfocused for 4 hours straight and this is what fell out. My first longer story, please enjoy 💙

Astarion often finds himself staring at Tav.

At first it’s to size her up - see how she thinks, how she holds herself, how she reacts to the others and the situations they keep finding themselves in. Searching for any information that will help him in his goal of getting this tadpole out of his head, of gaining allies in this bizarre and disorienting situation.

Maybe even allies that can help him wipe Cazador off the face of the planet, he thinks to himself.

Early on it’s obvious that Tav has become the leader of this little wayward crew. She’s the first to take action, making the quick decisions that have kept them alive this long. Leading them across this gods forsaken land, collecting more members all along the way. He’s not too thrilled about that last part, but safety in numbers he supposes. She’s the clear key to getting the others to accept him.

As soon as he thinks he has a good read on her, he turns it into a tool. A too easy tactic sharpened by years of experience. The many cataloged faces and expressions ready to be equipped just like anything else he wears. Armor is the word he can’t quite find.

It’s child’s play really, the formulas for seduction, for enticing others into his orbit. Something that has become second nature for him. He senses he will need to take it somewhat slow with her, work his way up to more. It’s a much slower burn than most of the one night lovers he’s had over the many years.

He starts with a classic - a brief but strong, intense gaze right into her eyes, as if he’s peering into her soul. Trying to convey a certain air that says, you’re the only thing on my mind. Luckily he has plenty of opportunities to perform this tactic, it seems she enjoys visiting his tent just to chat. Seeking him out most nights. No surprise, he knows he’s a talented conversationalist.

It’s strange though, she often asks the kind of questions he’s not as used to answering. She asks his opinion on all the hectic events playing out around them, on what he thinks they should do next, checks in to make sure he’s doing okay. Perfect, he thinks, she’s clearly already starting to become enamored.

He tries not to question the strange feeling in his gut every time she walks away.

Days pass, long and arduous, filled with more fighting than he’s ever had to dole out. He often finds himself back to back with Tav, each keeping their initial promise to watch out for one another. Good, at least she likes him enough to continue protecting him. They press on, trekking through the hellish wilderness. With her and the rest of the crew chatting and joking around, he finds himself minding less and less.

Unfortunately for him, he still can’t quite work out if his advances have been effective or not. He begins to occasionally throw in a prolonged look, dragging his eyes up and down her body - never lingering for too long, but still an obvious appreciation of her form. Projecting confidence and desire while catching her eyes from across camp. Pairing it with a few flirtatious comments and he’s sure she’ll be in the palm of his hand soon enough.

He's making progress, she’s definitely warmed to him, but he still senses her guard is up. Not a problem, if all else fails, everyone melts when he tilts his pretty face down and looks up through hooded lids. His long lashes and scarlett eyes pairing oh so perfectly. He’s been complimented on his eyes more times than he could ever count. Almost hypnotizing the ones he lavishes his gaze upon. Lowering his voice to a softer, deeper, sweet tone, he tells her all the things she could possibly wish to hear. How beautiful she is, how he wants her, how he needs her.

It’s not a total lie, he finds himself thinking. He pushes away the thought as soon as it pops into his head.

As the days continue to go by, he becomes less confident that she’s the easy target he first thought her to be. She seems to like him well enough, but frustratingly doesn’t react in the same ways he’s typically used to during this whole seduction business. She just smiles and looks right back, asking him questions that are much too personal for his taste. His flirtatious comments are met with her pretty smile and a good natured laugh, throwing banter right back at him with ease. He’s not sure if she’s just not attracted to him or if he’s doing something wrong.

His confusion only increases when one day a much too nice piece of armor is neatly left on his bedroll, he immediately knows who it’s from. Inspecting it, he notices the finer details - it’s something she easily could have sold for a hefty amount of gold. When he asks about it, she just looks at him and says, to protect you, with that same maddening smile.

Next time, it’s a book he’d been eyeing some days ago while looting one of the many destroyed villages they’d come across. It had been too ruined to take back to camp and he sighed, tossing it back into the pile of rubble he snatched it from. When she sees the astonished look on his face, she shrugs and says, I just saw it at the market and thought of you. Simple as that.

It’s perplexing. They’ve been traveling together for some time now and she hasn’t tried to proposition him, hasn’t asked for anything in return. If she isn’t interested, then why does she keep coming over to talk to him each night? Why does she leave all those small, thoughtful gifts?

Why did she let him bite her?

Astarion tells himself to get it together, he’s usually better at reading people than this. He tries to convince himself that it must be the long days and variety of conflicts they’ve had to deal with - strange and dangerous creatures, endless walking, Gale.

To his chagrin he starts to notice himself staring even when he doesn’t mean to. When she’s talking to whatever new foe or potential ally they’ve stumbled across, he can’t seem to keep his eyes from straying towards her. The confidence and conviction she radiates is magnetic. It surprises him, some feeling he can’t name swirling in his stomach. His eyes get caught on her sunlit profile, walking side by side and hanging a little ways back from the others. He finds his breath catching in his chest at the captivating way she laughs, how her nose crinkles and eyes light up. The way her hair drapes against the curve of her neck, tantalizing in the most frustrating way. Each time she approaches him and so graciously offers to let him feed on her - well, he begins to find himself fantasizing more and more about coming to her tent earlier in the evening.

When she’s still awake, he thinks. This time welcoming the thought.

Soon it starts to become a problem. The others are noticing, he’s not sure if she has too. Tav hasn’t said anything about it, but he also knows their fearless leader isn’t stupid. How embarrassing, is he actually starting to develop feelings for someone who just sees him as a companion? At best, a loyal friend perhaps. He’s more than okay with that, his fondness for Tav has grown considerably - but he’s not some lovesick puppy. At this point he worries that if he did try to bring it up, he’d push her away. That’s the last thing he wants.

He tries his best to not dwell on what he’d do if she wasn’t around anymore. He loathes to admit the idea scares him.

It all culminates one day in battle. He catches a glimpse of her surrounded by goblins and before he can react to help, she’s knocked them back in one blow. It’s beautiful the way she fights, so focused and intense. So powerful. The only thing on her mind is to keep moving forward, to keep protecting her allies - her friends. Pushing on until every single danger has been handled and every enemy eviscerated.

Suddenly he’s hit hard with a thunderwave spell, throwing him through the air and knocking the wind out of him. His ears are ringing and all he can do is lie on the ground trying to pull breath into his lungs. He admonishes himself while trying to get his bearings - idiot, how could he let himself get so distracted?

His eyes come to focus on Tav, sprinting in his direction as fast as he’s ever seen her run. In two hits she cuts down the nearby sorcerer who had aimed their attack at him. She’s suddenly by his side, a hand on his shoulder with a concerned look on her face. It's not fair, she’s even beautiful covered in blood and wearing that worried expression. He never stood a chance, he realizes.

She trusts the others to finish off the last couple enemies across the field. Crouched next to him and training her eyes intently on his, she asks him if he’s okay, where it hurts. He sees something in her face that he’s only seen a few times, true fear.

It’s ridiculous but the only thing he feels in that moment is an unbearable pressure in his chest.

Later that night while patching their wounds, Tav finds her way next to him. They sit in silence for a few moments before she says, “I was really worried about you out there today.” She pauses then continues on, “You scared me.”

He’s taken aback for a second, eventually saying, “While I appreciate the concern, I can handle myself just as well as anyone else here.” It comes out too harsh.

He pivots and puts on a smile, joking in a lighter tone, “Despite what it looked like today that is - I was actually just having a little mid-battle rest. Couldn’t you tell?”.

She chuckles, “My deepest apologies, how could I ever have thought otherwise.” Pausing again she bites her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment. When she continues it's with a more serious tone, but he can still see a small smile on her lips. “You know I wouldn’t dream of questioning your tactics, but how about you let me know next time you want to..rest..during battle. So I can at least watch your back.” she finishes sheepishly.

That is not what he was expecting her to say. He can’t help but think, why does it always feel like she’s pulling the rug out from under his feet. He can’t take it anymore.

He turns his gaze to look her directly in the eyes before he says, “I froze out there today because I was an idiot”, there's an obvious frustration behind it. “I lost focus and I can’t say for sure it won’t happen again.”

Now she’s surprised, “What do you mean? Is everything okay?” a furrow in her brow forming.

He takes a shaky breath in - here it comes. “Tav, I was distracted because I was looking at you. I -", he gathers his thoughts, "Sometimes it feels impossible to take my eyes off you.”

He continues on in a quieter, more vulnerable voice, “I care about you more than I ever thought I would.” He looks away as the words spill from his lips, “More than I thought I could. It’s not something I’m familiar with, whatever these feelings are. But I know they’re feelings for you.”

More resolute he looks back at her face, taking it in for a moment, “Real feelings, not just a role I’m playing. It's new territory for me.” He braces himself, “If you don’t feel the same way I understand, it’s really no problem. I just..couldn’t take another moment without you knowing.”

Tav searches his face, he’s not sure what she’s looking for. Suddenly she moves closer.

Very seriously she looks at him and says, “I care about you too Astarion, you’re a very special person to me.”

His heart soars, hope buzzing in his stomach and that unmistakable feeling he hasn’t been able to identify rises in his chest once again.

He gingerly places one hand on her neck, drawing her towards him, stroking her jawline with his thumb. Looking into her eyes he sees it on her face, she wants him too. He leans forward to meet her, placing a tender kiss on her lips as if this spell will break at any second. She smiles into it - that damned smile that’s been driving him crazy.

He kisses her a little more passionately, lavishing the feeling of her lips on his.

He pulls away and stares at her face one more time. They both break into a grin and his nerves calm as he lets out a small laugh.

Today is not the day he puts a name to the feeling that has spread from his chest and into the rest of his body, but he has a feeling it will come to him soon enough.

[pinkberrytea]

OC Deep Dive

Eeeee tysm for the tag @kalmiaphlox! 💝🫂 Doing this for my Tav/Durge Mavka, as usual!

No pressure tagging @locallegume, @bardic-inspo, @zekeen, @starryjuicebox, @bananasfosterparent, @sniickerdoodles, @judasiskariot, @honeybee-bard, @inkymoonbunny, @marlowethebard, @nyx-knox and @astarionancuntnin!

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Mav is scared of plenty of things, but first and foremost she’s terrified of herself, of not being able to control the Urge; this also means she’s scared of going to sleep, because that’s when she’s most vulnerable to it. As for her more common fears, she’s deathly afraid of thunderstorms as they’re associated with the trauma of her foster family’s demise, and also of being forsaken by all, left alone with no friends to call her own.

Do they have any pet peeves?

Mav is typically very patient and it takes quite some effort to get a rise out of her, but the push and pull of social relations does make her rather anxious. She needs constant reaffirmation, and if someone starts suddenly acting cold towards her, it will eat her up inside and yet she won’t be able to bring herself to talk to them. Also, she greatly dislikes it when people she’s not well acquainted with touch her horns.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Mirkon’s Story, as it reminds her of the first time she ever saved anyone, the first time she ever felt like there was good in her; her Corvid Token, which she often uses to shapeshift into a white raven; and Bloodthirst, the dagger her brother gifted her and that was then stolen by her sister, her only memento of him.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their eyes, and how they perceive her—whether they mean her harm, look down upon her, or glint with warm acceptance.

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Either a 10 or a 9, considering everything she’s been subjected to, especially at the hands of Kressa. While for most of her adult life she was forced to be a passenger inside her own body, as soon as she was tadpoled, the Urge left her alone to fend for herself—she woke up from a nightmare into another, her consciousness regained while she was being cruelly tortured.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Neither—she freezes.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

She was adopted into a family of four—her foster mother and father, and her two foster sisters. They were all abusive towards her, but especially her father. Eventually she made her way back to her true family: her father Bhaal, and her many Bhaalspawn siblings. Out of those, she was closest to her older brother, a Dragonborn who was conceived from Bhaal’s own gore, much like herself; yet while she was the result of a pact with Mephistopheles, the Lord of Murder breathed life into him with no external aid, at the height of his power. She was created to be bred by her brother, but put off by her tender age, he took her under his wing instead. The Urge would only ever leave her at his request, so the few times she was herself during her years within the cult were all spent by his side. He had a soft spot for her, and would treat her kindly despite his own homicidal tendencies—that is, until he was killed by Orin, when the Urge took over Mav completely and she rose as head of the cult and Bhaal’s Chosen.

What animal represents them best?

A white raven.

What is a smell they dislike?

The stench of stale blood, as it would be the first thing she’d smell upon regaining consciousness after having control over her body be stolen by the Urge.

Have they broken any bones?

Yes. Kressa made sure of that.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Mousy, gloomy and quiet, obviously unaware of how pretty she is.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

Naturally, a morning bird—the dawn in particular is her favorite time of the day, as it is peaceful and signals a new beginning, a new chance at life. In her ending with UA, however, she is forced to become a night owl, though she doesn’t mind adapting to his lifestyle as long as he is safe and happy.

What’s a flavor they hate and a flavor they love?

Mav loves sweets, especially berries and milk tea, and hates slimy, gooey foods, like okra.

Do they have any hobbies?

Reading poetry and sugary sweet romance novels. She will also tell you she loves cooking and baking, but don’t believe her—for your own safety.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

She would freeze at first—then would come the waterworks, crybaby that she is. After calming down, however, she’d be all smiles, and very much grateful for having such wonderful friends (the tears would likely return in waves though, sometimes completely unprompted).

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Mav’s not very fashion-conscious, but after becoming Astarion’s consort, she doesn’t mind letting him doll her up with expensive-looking earrings and bracelets, which becomes one of his favorite hobbies.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Round cursive, very neat and tidy, but also small to an almost unreadable degree.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Anxiety and melancholy.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Anything soft and comforting, like cotton or wool.

What kind of accent do they have?

I use Voice 2 for her, so very British!

[acowardinmordor]

This idea really only works as a tumblr post rambling to someone about a fic, but it aches, so I'm sharing.

Standard issue setup where Steve gets thrown back in time so he can fix things. One minute he's trying to keep the last of his friends alive in the final fight, the next he's waking up in bed in 1983, a day before Will would have gone missing.

Will is safe and home, but has horrible nightmares for a few weeks. After the first night, when he told his mom and his friends about it - the monster and the creepy place he went and the cold - they have nightmares too. It's strange that they all had dreams, but Will has always been a good storyteller.

Nancy and Barb get stuck on babysitting duty for the kids, where they mostly gossip about how Steve broke up with her one day and became a social outcast within two more.

The Party meets Jane at the start of summer break in 84, and they become fast friends. They know she has something bad in her past, but she's very careful not to say something she shouldn't. The boy who found her told her it was important, and her Dad agrees. The boys tell her that friends don't lie, and she quotes the boy who found her first, that 'safe is more important'

Will gets new nightmares as time goes on. Dustin dreams about a tadpole that grows too fast and eats his cat. They dream about things that could never be real, and they dream about Jane having superpowers and fighting monsters. Sometimes they talk about them a little, mostly they don't. They're just weird dreams after all, using words from DnD, and they're not little kids anymore.

Steve Harrington goes missing in early 1985. His car is found near the construction site for the new mall -- well, what's left of the construction site after a gas leak causes a massive explosion and fire.

That's when the kids start to realize something is weird. They see photos of this missing teenager who has been in so many of their dreams. It starts them talking, and they start to listen, and they've always loved to solve a mystery. They hear Nancy talking about him, and how he broke up with her out of nowhere and became super weird. How he dropped out of sports and showed up with bruises and bandages and scars after that. How he pushed away his old friends and never made new ones.

It's not until they're talking to El, who says she's not supposed to talk about him, that they decide there is definitely something weird, but they can't figure out what it is.

The dreams get weirder, and the circle grows. Nancy eventually talks to Jonathan and the kids. Joyce and Hopper talk. Over the summer, Robin, confused and shaking, finds Nancy to ask what's going on. Eddie makes it to 86 before a nightmare breaks him so badly he calls Chrissy Cunningham's house in the middle of the night to be sure she's okay.

It's not everyone who was ever touched by the Upside Down. Barb and Chrissy and Billy don't remember it at all. Benny goes about his life. Its the people that Steve knew and loved and had a connection to that are stuck with these dreams.

Once they accept that they're all seeing a cohesive thing, they start to compile it. Notes and notebooks and pinboards and post its as their dreams tell them the story.

Eventually, El confirms it might be possible by levitating the toaster.

They all accept that what they saw is real, but they also know it never happened. The Mall never opened. No earthquakes. Eddie is alive and Will never fell into the Upside Down. Even as more of them have dreams about dying, they don't understand.

It's Robin who puts it together for real, because everyone had dreams about Steve outside of the big fights and horrors, but she had dreams of long conversations and hushed confessions all the time. So at the end of 86, she's the one who hears him crying after they lost Dustin and Lucas to a pack of demodogs. She hears him talk about how he'd give anything to take it back and make it right. That's her Platonic Soulmate, and she knows him, even though they've never spoken.

So yeah, she might not know how, but she's the one that realizes what must have happened, what he must have done, and how much he achieved. They've all seen how much happier he was as years went on and they got closer. They've seen him protect them and tease them and help them in a hundred different ways.

And they know he made the choice, like he always did, to keep them safe, even if it cost him everything.

[thehypnone]

I find myself needing more daddy aether! The way you write him makes me so RAAHHHHH!!! I want to eat your writing please and thank you :]

dewther was sex+fluff, swissalps straight up porn, so this ones comfort with daddy aether and rain

800 words, non-sexual daddy kink, subspace and nudity

While Rain was no stranger to the dynamic that Aether sometimes brought into sexual escapades between himself and their packmates, the water ghoul hadn’t had many chances to experience the other way Aether used that specific thing. Dewdrop knew it the best, but when Rain—or anyone else—felt down and in need of being taken care of in a special way, the quintessence ghoul stepped up, too.

Rain hasn’t been feeling the best in the last week, sulking around and clinging to anyone that might give him some attention to take his mind off whatever it was that was rolling around his skull. Aether was busy in the infirmary most of those days, but when he finally showed up in the den for more than five minutes, he beelined for Rain.

Not even fifteen minutes later, the water ghoul was laying with his back against Aether’s chest in a bath. Rain was half asleep, purring up a storm as warm water and quintessence soothed all his physical aches. The other was singing—or more like humming, barely enough for Rain to pick out the words and he wouldn’t if he didn’t know the song already—softly into his ear, chin hooked over his shoulder as his big but gentle hands roamed all over the water ghoul’s lean body. There was nothing sexual about it, it was a manifestation of love, if anything. Appreciation.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Aether asked.

“‘s nice, daddy,” Rain slurred, mind so very lost in that nice, fuzzy headspace the quintessence gently pushed him into. There was no space in there for worries, everything was filled with cotton. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, tadpole,” he rumbled into his skin, lips moving over his shoulder. “I like taking care of you, all of you.”

“Mhm…” the other hummed and silence fell again. It was comfortable for both of them, no worries on the horizon, just warm water and each other.

Fifteen—or fifty—minutes had passed before someone moved or spoke again.

“Gettin’ cold, daddy,” Rain muttered, but only when he shivered for the third time. Aether knew it, it was cold for him so it was even colder for Rain, but even though he was a gentle caretaker, his ghouls knew to use their words.

“Okay, baby,” he said with a kiss to the back of the water ghoul’s neck. “Do you want your hair washed before we get out?”

“Yes, please, daddy.”

“Good boy, remembers all his manners,” Aether smiled, squeezing Rain in his arms for a moment before letting go and pulling away. The water ghoul whined at the loss of the embrace, but Aether shushed him and put his hand over his head, fingers tangling in Rain’s hair. “Shhh, baby, I’ve got you.”

He chirped happily at that and let the quintessence ghoul move him as he desired to make washing his hair easy. Rain purred and squealed with content the entire time, his mind completely empty except for the feeling of nice.

He snapped out of it just a little when Aether finished and was wrapping a towel around the water ghoul’s head, not sure if he’d be able to dry his hair in his current mindset. He all but dragged him out of the tub before wrapping his body in a fluffy towel, too, then a soft robe. Rain swayed when the quintessence ghoul let go of him for a second, but he was quickly scooped up into his strong arms and carried to the bed.

He melted when Aether laid him down in—probably—the softest nest in existence, but his purr turned into a whimper when the other didn’t join him immediately.

“You’ve been good today, tadpole, but don’t be greedy. Let me get dressed,” Aether said sternly, but not angrily.

Rain’s ears drooped only a bit, “‘m sorry, daddy.”

“It’s alright, baby, but you have to remember to behave, okay?”

“Yes, daddy.” The water ghoul hid half of his face in a thick comforter as he buried himself in the nest, patiently waiting for Aether to join him. He kept shifting, though, not sure on how he wanted to sleep.

“Good boy,” the quintessence ghoul said, smiling, when he crawled into the nest himself. “How do you want to lay?”

“I– I dunno,” Rain mumbled.

“That’s okay, we can always move,” Aether reassured, knowing all too well how Rain could panic over the simplest things in such a fuzzy headspace. “Wanna start out with you laying against my chest, baby?”

His eyes lit up, “Yes, please.”

“There we go, so polite.” With that Aether laid down and opened his arm as an invitation for the water ghoul. He took it and snuggled himself close to the other’s side, head pillowed on his chest, just over his heart. “Good?”

“Yes, daddy. Thank you, I love you.”

“I love you too, tadpole.”

[purdledooturt]

drink break

Summary: Astarion didn't often run into Tav awake when he drank from her at night - not since the first time, anyway. But he can't say he doesn't enjoy it.

Note: I'm extremely grateful to the members of Cinnamontails's discord for their part in getting this out of WIP hell - it's so cool being surrounded by other creative people and there's something about it that pushes one to keep creating, so please come and join us! They also helped me come up with our fruit-based nickname for Astarion 🤠 [AO3 Link]

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

He often took on first watch – he would take the time alone to hunt, get a break from the chatter of his companions, and he would read uninterrupted, winding down from a full day of travel or exploration or combat. It was the benefit of being an elf – he’d seen his companions running on less-than-ideal amounts of sleep, and their performance always suffered when they were poorly rested. Meanwhile he was free to hunt, crawl back into his tent, trance for four hours and be back to his usual perky self. He liked to lord the fact over Lae’zel, who begrudgingly agreed that being able to enter into a trance was a lot handier than needing to sleep – he cherished what wins he could have over her.

He had nowhere to be tonight – he had drained a bear the night before, spotting it sniffing around towards their camp chest which had just been restocked with supplies carefully catalogued by Gale. It wasn’t much of a challenge, and probably the closest he would have to a restaurant experience as a vampire, but the bear was extremely filling, and he didn’t want to be picky. He was feeling sated enough and didn’t really need to hunt, so he took the time to catch up on his reading while he sat watch, lounged on his carefully stacked pile of plush pillows at the entryway of his tent, enjoying the sounds of the forest and the mild breeze on his skin.

He greatly valued these moments. He occasionally wondered if this was how he would have spent his nights if he were still alive (minus the outdoor aspect of it). Often, he would look up at the sky and think about his old life at that wretched castle, and it would steel his resolve to never return. He prized his freedom, however temporary, and other than the occasional intrusions from his guardian, his mind was his own. His companions (tadpole included) made for far better company than his siblings. His companions listened to him and there was a friendly camaraderie that the surlier members of the group refused to acknowledge. They never told him to be silent, never tried to sabotage him, never told him he wasn’t good for anything but lies and seduction. They valued his input, and he, in turn, begrudgingly depended on them. It was the closest thing to friendship for him (although he couldn’t tell exactly what it was the stopped it from completely crossing over).

But what he appreciated the most was the ability to manage his own hunger. Gone were the days of mind-numbing starvation. Gone were the days where he fed on rats and bugs, getting what little sustenance he could from fetid and rotten blood. He was free to hunt as he pleased, though he stuck with animals as he’d been requested to, save for the times he got to bite into the necks of the less-friendly thinking creatures they encountered.

The most delicious of all, however, remained his first. Which reminded him —

Tav, their leader, had offered herself for a drink this morning, and he was waiting until she was well within her dreams before he wandered off to top himself up. While he didn’t explicitly need to feed, he always took her up on her offer as he couldn’t miss the opportunity to have some of her blood. Hers, for some reason, cleared up his mind the best.

He decided it was a good time to do so when Halsin woke up to take over – the two elves had an arrangement where they took turns to watch while the rest of their companions got their eight hours (or as close to it as they were afforded to). It worked out for everyone, and it meant Astarion would get his me-time guilt-free. He watched as the druid wandered towards the fire with blocks of wood and his beloved set of carving tools – he was in the process of creating little wooden trinkets for some of the party, after Shadowheart had requested he made her a little trinket of what animal he thought she would be if she were a druid. She got a little wooden goldfish the next day, which she carefully hung at the entryway of her tent, dangling like a sad, friendless mobile. She was so very pleased, smiling wider than usual as she cooed over the gift, and Astarion was surprised that the idea of being a forgetful fish didn’t offend the Sharran.

Neither of the elves said anything – they were both very good at keeping silent, not wanting to interrupt their companions while they slept. Astarion pulled himself up, leaving a folded note about camp chore allocation he’d been left one day as a bookmark. Wordlessly, he headed towards Tav’s tent as Halsin began carving away – tonight’s project seemed to be Karlach’s, and it looked to be a bear that looked more like Clive than an anatomically accurate one.

Astarion pushed past the flaps of the tent, careful not to let too much of the light from the campfire through. He didn’t want to admit it to anyone, but he was a bit soft on Tav, wanting to make sure she got her rest and was inconvenienced as little as possible by his feeding on her and accepting her generosity. Normally he would find her sleeping peacefully, exhausted from the day’s travels, and he would sup just a bit generally as a dessert before he left for his bedroll feeling lighter and happier.

He blinked at the sight in front of him as he let the tent flap fall behind him, and the sliver of light that came through from the campfire shrunk into a line and then nothing. His dark vision meant he could see her clearly even without the light.

She was hunched over, in such a poor posture he had to actively bite his tongue to not comment on it. Her hair was showing signs of chaos – she always was a bit of a wriggler in her sleep, and so her hair often tangled from the back (or so he noticed – he also noticed it tangled worse when it was freshly washed, as was the case tonight). With one eye open and the other closed, she lifted a finger at him in a gesture that he took to mean as ‘hold on’, while she chugged down the contents of her waterskin.

She looked charming. Adorable in a very unruly, wild gremlin kind of way.

She popped the cork lid back on the skin, smacking the top of it with practiced precision. Keeping one eye closed, she began to lay back down on to her bedroll, her hand gesturing towards him with palms up, inviting. Tensing her core, she brushed the hair from her neck and pushed her hair up on to the pillow, making things easy for him to access. She closed her eyes.

“Are you awake?” he whispered, as he began to kneel alongside her. Was she… sleepwalking?  Was she conscious? He’d never run into her awake for feedings since they started their arrangement. She adjusted her position as she laid down, laying her entwined fingers together over her stomach like a princess in a coffin, ready to rest. It was a comical sight with the unruly bedhead looking like a nest-crown.

The eye closest to him fluttered open briefly. She muttered, “yes,” like a childish princess impatiently waiting for her true love’s kiss. He wanted to snort at the sight.

“Shall I come back another time, darling?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. He watched as she pursed her lips and let out a forceful sigh through her nose. It had been a while since he’d fed from her while she was awake, and while the first time went better than he expected he didn’t want things to be awkward given how intimate the whole experience tends to be.

“It’s fine,” she replied, muttering under her breath. She cleared her throat quietly. Her voice was a bit scratchy despite the water, and Astarion wondered if she was perhaps getting sick. Humans were always so susceptible to illness. He wondered if the ground was too cold for her despite the bedroll. Maybe the bedroll was too thin?

Ah – he really was soft on her. The others must not be allowed to know, but he tried to scan through his inventory in his mind. He may be able to spare her another blanket to tuck under her bedroll, just to stop the cold from seeping into her back. But he’d have to do it in a way that made her think she “made him” give it up.

He enjoyed teasing her – it was so easy when she was so gullible.

He began to position himself over her neck, like he often did when she was in deep sleep and lightly snoring. “Well, at least you’re not snoring this time.”

Her eyes popped open and her mouth fell slack in shock, and she smacked his chest lightly, though she tensed when she noticed that he had his arms over her like a makeshift cage. Why did everything about vampirism hinge on sensuality? “I don’t snore,” she argued. She was on the verge of pouting, staring up at him as he hovered over her. Her eyes looked so large and so round in the dark. He could stare at them forever.

“You convince yourself that, darling,” he said with a smirk, as he lowered his mouth towards her neck. He could hear her heartbeat speed up, thudding loud in the silence of the tent. Gods, teasing her was just so fun. Excitement made her blood taste a little different. He made sure to let his breath hover over her skin. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She tilted her head away to give him easier access to her neck, almost reflexively. He glanced at her from his periphery, noting the full pout and frown that marred her eyebrows. Petulantly, she snorted. “Absolutely not do I snore,” she whispered furiously, relacing her fingers together over her diaphragm. She closed her eyes again, but the small pout remained. It looked like it could be dispelled with a kiss, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

He shushed her, enjoying the way she shivered from the base of her spine from the sensation. He knew a thing or two about appealing to someone without actually touching them. Breathily, he whispered, “Now, now – let’s be professional about this, darling.”

“Yes, let’s,” she said, quickly sparring against his flirting like she always did. Gods – he loved the sparring. It kept him on his toes, and not in the fight-or-flight manner he had grown accustomed to. “I always am. I think this is a you problem.”

He sighed again, dreamy and content. His hand found its usual place against the other side of her neck to keep her still. “I do so love dessert,” he muttered – his lips brushed against her skin closely before he bit down and began to feed. She stiffened at the action – she always did, even when she was asleep, but she remained stiff. He rubbed slow circles against the skin of her jaw near her ear. He pulled away briefly, keeping his lips mostly against her, to whisper, “relax, pet.”

She melted under his touch upon instruction, and he resumed his meal. He hummed in appreciation.

He tried to take little – he was still full, after all, and he didn’t technically need to feed. He just wanted to accept the offer, selfish as he was, to help clear his mind. He gave the puncture site some kitten licks, cleaning up the remaining blood, leaving nothing wasted. “Let me wipe that up,” he said, as he pulled back and straightened back to sitting position, studying his companion who now seemed to be at the edge of sleep. Her head lolled back as if trying to follow the sound of his voice.

“M’kay,” she slurred, as she began to turn on her side. He knew she was a side sleeper – she liked to sleep with her knees tucked up towards her chest and one hand tucked under her head. She often complained about pins and needles the next day, but never did anything to change her sleeping position. He knew she drooled, too, when she was extremely tired – he usually wiped the drool off when he was cleaning her up post-feed. “Thanks.”

“Do you… want water, darling?” He asked, as he tipped out some of the healing potion they kept explicitly for clean up into a clean handkerchief. He approached her and gently held her chin as he took care in dabbing the handkerchief against her wound. He checked for drool – nada. Good.

“D’be nice,” she muttered, her words fading into silence as sleep began to take her back into its arms. “Thanks, melon.”

He frowned. “Excuse me, darling – melon?” Where did that nickname even come from?

She hummed in agreement. “You’re my melon,” she said simply as her voice gave way to a light snore. Her breathing evened out, betraying slumber.

He shook his head as he took her empty water skin, making his way out of the tent and towards the big cauldron they used for clean, potable water. Halsin watched him with mild interest as he carefully refilled the water skin, before cautiously punching the cork back in place. No words were exchanged as he strode back to Tav’s tent, sliding in to find her with her arm stuck up.

“Gimme,” she muttered, and he rolled his eyes to hand the water skin to her. She sat back upright, eyes lidded and hair still a mess. “Gods, I’m so thirsty tonight.”

“That’s because you drool.”

“I do not,” she disputed, lips wrapped around the mouth of her water skin, but he was amused to find her reach up to her cheek anyway. She grumbled, before taking a big drink – he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d emptied the damn thing again. She gulped down the liquid greedily, before she let out a light ‘ah’ as she put the lid back in place.

Astarion’s hand shot out, offering to take the item. With a confused look, she passed it to him, and he put it back on top of the crate she used as a makeshift table. He stood and prepared to leave. “Thanks, Astarion. You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly, with a dopey smile that made her eyes crease at the corners in the way he adored. It made her look so innocent.

Never one to let opportunities pass, he countered, “well, nice of you to remember my name now, my dear. You called me a melon a few minutes ago.” He didn’t address the rest of her statement. He didn’t know how to deal with gratitude – so he didn’t.

She laid back down, closing her eyes and trying to paint herself as a picture of peace. It didn’t seem like she noticed his avoidance. “I didn’t call you ‘a melon’,” she clarified, though it did nothing to demystify the topic to Astarion, “I called you ‘melon’.”

“Yes, okay, darling – but where in the hells did that comes from?”

She frowned and one eye cracked open. “I thought you knew Elvish. Isn’t that ‘friend’ in Elvish?”

Oh. She meant ‘mellon’, but she used the wrong tone, didn’t elongate the correct syllables, and got essentially nothing of it right. He pursed his lips together, unsure of whether to correct her. It would be funnier to… not. Plus, he found he wasn’t very pleased with being called ‘friend’, but he was somehow fine with being called ‘Melon’. It was… cute. And it was special because no one had ever used that pet name on him before. He could let it pass.

“Yes,” he lied, “well, you just butchered the pronunciation a tiny bit, darling, but I see what you’re going for now.”

The single open eye rolled. “That’s what I get for being friendly. Get out of here, you melon.”

He scoffed. “Well, goodnight, my sweet,” he whispered, as he turned to head out of the tent. He cast her one final glance. He could make out her beady little eyes peeking at him and the telltale crease in their corners betrayed a grin she tried to hide beneath her threadbare blanket. He could imagine the little wrinkle her nose would make when she made such a face – it was his second favourite feature of hers.

He felt the intense urge to bundle her up and take her away – she looked so vulnerable and innocent at rest, and the fact that she trusted him while she was in this state gave him conflicted feelings. A part of his mind told him she was an idiot and the perfect target – too trusting, too naïve, too stupid. Fell quickly for a pretty face and a kind word. His insidious mind whispered there must be an ulterior motive to it all – a fetish or some such she was wanting to fulfill. Surely no one was this kind? This giving? If she were in Baldur’s Gate she would have followed him to slaughter without question. And he would have led her there, and the world would have been less bright without her in it.

It made his phantom heart clench. Another voice in his mind asked – what does that make you? You fell quickly for a pretty smile and a generous heart.

Well. It seemed they were just two fools meandering around.

“Sleep well.”

She let out a sleepy chuckle, followed by an impressive yawn. “Goodnight, my melon.”

Astarion emerged from Tav’s tent to find Halsin still carving away, deep in focus. The larger elf looked up at him and his expression softened, before returned to his work with a slight smile. The vampire walked over to his tent, slid in, located the spare blanket he was going to bait Tav into taking in the morning, and laid down to prepare for his trance. He was surprised to find his cheeks hurting.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of melons and wood carvings, and the faint scent of the rosewater that always lingered in Tav’s tent.

Tonight, Astarion was at peace.

[majorasnightmare]

OC Deep Dive Tag

Featuring MODDED COWBOY DIRGE! Yee, and I cannot emphasize this enough, haw. I rly enjoy what the hat does with his hair, and his horns, and i REALLY enjoy that his hair is black but looks bright blue in the sun.

tagged by @arach-tinilith THANK YOUUUU 🫶

no pressure tags!: @the-weeping-dawn @trappedinafantasy37 @theannoyingurge @mogruith

Phobias and Other Fears

He's terrified of losing his autonomy, he's horrified by Bhaal, and he has nightmares about causing harm to his loved ones. Existentialism aside, Dirge doesn't scare easily and tends to find new experiences, regardless of threat, relatively novel. He doesn't cope well with loss, and Orin's death forces him to think about losing his friends, and it generally unsettles and upsets him.

Besides all that, hes the kind of person who finds krakens interesting and not scary (they're technically cousins!), getting Brood Parasite-d by a Slaad would be. CONCERNING but while he was taking steps to Fix That, hes morbidly fascinated. Hes very rarely scared!

Pet Peeves

Having a lack of subject knowledge presumed of him, being stuck in conversation with people he doesn't care about because of social etiquette, and organizing something that refuses to be symmetrical, clean, or centered.

3 items you could find in their bedroom

Overflowing book stacks, a well used alchemical lab station, and an impressive collection of leather harnesses designed with tails in mind.

First thing they notice in a person

Dirge really does not pay attention to people like that LMAO He doesn't interpret individuals as people until they start being important to him in some capacity, so they all just blur together. Its an engrained point of view by this point in his life, and he doesn't really experience empathy because of it, and that isn't something Dirge is capable of changing. He has plenty of compassion and sympathy though.

When he does meet someone and notices things, its usually stand out unusual features. If they're an unusual ancestry, face tattoos, piercings. God help you if you need Dirge to describe a passerby. You'd have better luck awakening a bush and asking that.

On a scale of 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Between 9 and 10. He actively pursues pain as he enjoys the sensory stimulation, and is accustomed to torture and pain besides. There isn't really a pain you can inflict that would disorient or shock him, and he's fully capable of pushing through agonizing life threatening injuries. If push came to shove, Dirge would drag his own bisected torso across the ground to finish a fight, heedless of his own spilling organs.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

Freeze, and then fight, and then flight, with a good amount of variance but thats the baseline. If the pressure is minor, he skips freeze and goes to fight and stays there. If the pressure is immense (like Bhaal), he skips fight and goes from freeze straight to flight. The longer hes subject to intense pressure, the more he tries to hide from it.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

Bhaal famously has 9 million kids so. Big family HA. As for family hes raised in/with, he was raised in a semi big family. One sister of equivalent age, 3 direct older siblings, and Sarevok. Whos technically Dirge's brother but Dirge never thinks of him as one. Orin is technically Dirge's niece, but he always considered her a sister.

Hes VERY connection and family oriented, and thats consistent pre and post tadpoling. Pre tadpole he cared exclusively about Bhaal and Orin, and post he primarily cares for Orin and his immediate older brother Haflidi. Ornaryn is kind of take him or leave him, and Zherimon consistently terrifies Dirge, even when Zherimon is more amicable.

What animal represents them best?

HES LITERALLY OUPPY. Physically, biologically, and behaviorally Dirge is themed around wolves!

What is a smell that they dislike?

POWDERED IRONVINE. Dirge doesn't kill Gandrel in the swamp despite Astarion clearly hinting he wants to, because Gandrel's "monster repellant" actually works on Dirge. Being metaphorically a monster himself, and having a strong sense of smell besides, Dirge couldn't stand being around him and avoids killing him explicitly because killing him would keep Dirge around the smell longer. Its absolutely nauseating and headache inducing for him and he gives it a WIIIIIIIIIIDE berth.

Have they broken any bones?

Yeah. Definitely a few every now and then, and Kressa DEFINITELY broke some shit during her experiments, but he doesn't really remember. And he never gets that fucked up in battle, so he hasn't broken any bones recently.

Using this as an oppourtunity for a Dirge Lore Drop, CW for Explicit Discussion of Suicide, skip to next bolded question

Ruling the Temple took a heavy emotional toll on Dirge, and leading a Death Cult through murderous nihilism while simultaneously objectifying and depersoning himself had him in a near constant state of quiet suicidal ideation. A few years in, Dirge got into such a hollowed out state of mind, that he threw himself from the top of the temple, and shattered his spine. The fall didn't kill him outright, thus his body refused death, so he stayed paralyzed in the pool of blood until someone found him and took him back inside. It was written off as Dirge merely slipping off the roof, especially because he hadn't mentioned it to anyone or given any signs of feeling suicidal, and he only managed to try in the first place because he was so hollow and numb that he simply didn't think anything at all (as otherwise he would have talked himself out of it, like he usually did). But despite no vision from Bhaal to punish him, the meaning was made abundantly clear. This only stops when I let it. When you end everything.

Dirge took the lesson to heart.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Okay so theres like. Varying degrees of stranger here. For Bhaalist Dirge theres tools and then theres meat. For tools, Dirge is exactly as pleasant and enjoyable as to go completely stealth and match the influence you need to be pushed into extremism. For meat, Dirge is cold, inhuman, intimidating, and monstrous. The last thing you see (because meat gets fed to Bhaal) is this horror movie nightmare as inevitable as sunset.

For Tadpoled Dirge theres... tools and meat, again, LMAO. Tools get pleasant, sociable, cooperative Dirge. Neat guy, fun to talk to! Meat gets a cold standoffish unapproachable individual who seems like he'd absolutely SUCK to meet alone in a dark alley. The reality is that if your just meat, Dirge is interested in talking to you, being around you, or engaging in your life at all and he'd just prefer to be left alone.

Are they a night owl or morning bird?

Dirge USED to be a morning guy. Bhaalist Dirge was up with the sunrise, every day. Thanks to the brain injury, hes squarely a night owl now. The sunlight triggers his migraines, the migraines trigger nausea, and the dawn is bright enough to push that nausea into vomitting. So he starts every morning in camp puking his guts out. Definitely a night owl now.

What is a flavour they hate and a flavour they love?

Dirge isn't a big sweets fan but doesn't HATE it, but he REALLY enjoys savory and spicy foods.

Do they have any hobbies?

Taxidermy, leatherworking, alchemy, reading, and playing with Scratch!!

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises?

Confused. He knows logically that parties exist and can be thrown for birthdays, but hes still struggling to understand that he has one of those now. Surprises catch him off guard and throw him for a loop and he struggles to figure out an appropriate response. I think Karlach and Isobel would 100% put him through this especially for his first year away from Bhaal.

Do they like to wear jewellery?

He doesn't really think about it! He prefers stuff he can wear and stop thinking about. He has a lot of piercings, and he enjoys tight necklaces (and collars), and doesnt mind rings. If he wears anything dangly, itll be earrings.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Dirge USED to have very neat conscise handwriting. He wrote a LOT of correspondence in his bhaalist years and filled and filed a LOT of paperwork, and thus his handwriting reflected both his neurotic obsession with his work and also just the sheer amount of writing he was putting out. Post tadpoling, Dirge lost a good amount of fine motor control cuz of Orin's brain stabbing, and had to recover most of it through recovering on the Nautiloid and whatever he could pick up once he woke back up. While he recovered his dagger skills, handwriting wasn't as important. His current handwriting isnt AWFUL but its a lot messier than it used to be. Its very rushed and tends to blend into itself, but it only takes a second or two to be able to read it.

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Love and fear. He is constantly full of affection and anxiety, all the time.

Do they have a favourite fabric?

Hmmm. He almost definitely does cuz hes VERY driven by Texture and Sensation. I think he really likes soft and smooth fabrics, like cotton or animal furs. Hes prone to burrowing and bundling and likes feeling cozy. For clothes hes less picky and ends up wearing a lot of leather, which he doesn't mind.

What kind of accent do they have?

Listen to default durge/tav 5 and tell me what kind of accent that is, cuz I genuinely dont know. Thats how he talks!

[princess-of-the-corner]

Random MHA Headcanons!

Cause I am having A DAY. So let’s do something to get that dopamine hit!

Satou, while a fabulous baker, is (at best) a mediocre cook. He has a few dished that he can make consistently, but is otherwise a disaster. It’s only after he moves into the 1-A dorms that he begins improving. (Apparently he and Bakugou are trading lessons in cooking and baking, but shhhhh! We don’t mention that Bakugou might need LESSONS!)

Jirou has recordings of her parents heartbeats to listen too, when she feels stressed or has trouble sleeping. She is extremely embarrassed about this.

Hagakure enjoys photography. She’s quite good at it, especially given she’s never had any kind of training or professional equipment. If the hero thing hadn’t worked out, she could have had quite the career as a freelance photographer.

Kouda’s Quirk reacts oddly to people with animal-based Quirks. He cannot control them, like he can regular animals, but he CAN use his Quirk to translate for them if they have non-human vocal chords.

If Sero overuses his Quirk, the skin on his elbows becomes dry, cracked, and peeling. Part of his daily routine is moisturizing his arms.

If Kaminari had better control of his Quirk, he could probably utilize electro-magnetism (please look up hero series Static Shock, I just want my boy to be able to air surf, is that wrong?).

The kids, at first, would often go to Momo for things they needed replaced. Momo had no issues with this, seeing it mostly as practice. However, after she nearly fainted at one point, the class has instituted a payment system. If you want Momo to make you something over a certain size or weight, you need to give payment in food, to help her replenish her fat stores.

Bakugou has a wide range of random skills, that seem very incongruous. Most stem from Bakugou seeing someone do something, deciding “I can do that”, and then throwing himself in whole hog. Some of these random skills include knitting, surfing, lockpicking, candle-making, knife-throwing, and embroidery.

CC!Specific-Himiko enjoys doll customization. She finds it a very soothing process. At home, she didn’t really get the chance to do much with it, but at school, she’s really stretching her creative muscles. She has a few smaller things she’s working on, but her current big project is making a doll for each of her classmates in their hero costumes.

1-A sometimes has trivia nights. After the first night, they banned Midoriya from playing when the subject is Heroes, instead making him the moderator who asked the questions. After the second night, they had to institute a partner who will go through all of Midoriya’s questions, and make sure they can actually be answered.

Aoyama’s family seems to work in food imports, specifically dairy products, like cheese.

There is a cat café near the U.A. campus. Aizawa is largely responsible for why it’s still open.

Mina’s whole family works in chemicals. She has a cousin that does cosmetics, which are some of the only kind Mina can actually use.

Iida used to have braces.

Tsuyu briefly had a tadpole tail as a baby. It vanished by the time she was two.

Uraraka’s Quirk is actually misdiagnosed. It isn’t canceling gravity, it’s gravity manipulation.

Quirk Counselling can be a very lucrative job, but it isn’t particularly well regulated, so just about anyone can do the job. This is particularly problematic, because every child is required by law to see a Quirk Counsellor for a minimum of six months after their Quirk manifests. Several Heroes - including Present Mic, Eraserhead, Ryuku, Nighteye, and The Wild, Wild Pussycats - have been pushing for better laws and policy around Quirk Counselling, but are being hampered by the HPSC.

Both of Ojiro’s father and sister have more pronounced physical mutations, while Ojiro takes more after his mother in looks.

-

Oh i love all of these and I have som occasional notes(not for each so I’ll just hit them off hand)

Someone find Denki a copy of Static Shock right the hell now so he can try something absolutely stupid(affectionate)!

Momo honey PLEASE learn to say no sometimes!!

Yeah no Katsuki 100% sees something and goes ‘I might one day have to utilize this’ and learns it. But you can tell which ones she actually enjoys and was using ‘I can probably figure out a way to use this for my Hero Career’ as an exxcuse to enjoy things without guilt of not being training 24/7

Himiko absolutely would love doll customization. She used to just watch videos in secret because god forbid her parents got a glimpse of it and saw how horrifically violent it looked out of context.

Izuku honey please not everyone can do your trivia levels. The class thinks that Katsuki will be able to rein Izuku in on Hero Triva but they forget that she’s also a fucking nerd so she barely pulls punches either. Someone else is chosen. 

Ahahaha yeah that Quirk Counselling can certainly be an OOF. I think the Heroes might get some leverage in that department here soon upon finding out that the lack of regulation was just helping AfO find plenty of allies and Nomu fodder.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

A comment you said on your last post really hit me as a good point of development/angst, please take or leave as you'd like and apologies if I've mischaracterized your Tav at all, but still hope this helps turn some wheels. "As a Cleric of Ilmater Mira is no stranger to Suffering for the sake of Faith." Has Mira considered that Astarion suffered for nothing?

Ultimately Mira's suffering gets her a cool connection with a god and awesome powers. Would that not make Astarion bitter in that respect? To me it seems like Mira is constantly pushing back against Astarion with a lot of "why is he like this" and "you have to be better because it's the right thing to do." At what point does Astarion share his story with her about that boy he tried to spare from Cazador's wrath? I feel like with this dynamic, that would be something he'd bring up as proof that she just got lucky that her god gave a shit about her in particular. Like he did the right thing, was horrendously punished for it and as far as he's concerned, Ilmater was sitting around twiddling his godly thumbs.

I feel like that would be a good point to develop some better mutual understanding between the pair of them that would make Mira maybe not forgive Astarion in the Act 2 confession, but at least understand where he's coming from, rather than just pushing her worldview.

So! You gotta keep in mind that the story you're referring to isn't told to the player character until Act 3, well after his confession.

By the time he confesses, Astarion has (depending on how many cut scenes you've managed to snag/long rests etc) Only told you that he lured victims back to Cazador, and that Cazador is a monster.

He's told you about his scars, and how he pities the other 6 of his "siblings". Plus a few small anecdotes, but *none of them* about anything he's ever done for anyone else.

He has however:

- Been extremely racist towards the Gur based on being attacked by them, likely having been hired by Cazador based on how the story was told so Mira explained that you can't hold an entire race of people accountable for the actions of the few. Astarion said he absolutely can, and fuck you

- Assaults you in your sleep then begs for blood and if you do trust him enough to let him bite "I'll be as gentle as a babe! I only need a little" but u don't pass the checks he will murder you

- Tried to abandon the Tieflings to their fate and told Mira they should move on not because of the tadpole problem, but because killing goblins "would take hours" and he's too lazy to bother

- Repeatedly and loudly stated that he desires power over all else, but has NOT yet told her its because he's scared/desires to feel safe

- Asked to be left out of the Nere quest because he didn't want to ruin his nails and would prefer to move on. Mira said Nere isn't the point, the gnomes are and he was EXTREMELY racist towards deep gnomes in general. He has NOT yet explained to the PC / Mira why he is against digging through rock (the crypt for a year thing) by the time he does this

- Tells you if you get in the way of what he wants he will go through you if necessary (denying him the tadpoles) and to stay out of his way

- Snaps at you about how to deal with Yurgir if you try to figure out what's going on instead of immediately killing him, even if you plan on killing him, and also rails against PC loudly in many other instances as well

And much much more, I won't go on. The point is that by the time he confesses, you have no back story. You have nothing to go on. There is nothing to trust. And the ONE thing Mira and Astarion had together where she thought they were making headway, their physical relationship, has now just been revealed to be a huge scam from the start.

Not ONLY that, but he doesn't regret doing it. He is proud of his simple plan and upset that it fell apart (at least that's how he presents it) and does NOT apologize for trying to use her. He instead says because he fell in love and she is so incredible he feels he can trust her enough to confess his deception without fear of being kicked out of the party.

You must remember that while Astarion has reasons, he hasn't revealed them. And if you judge a man based on his words and actions, at the point of the confession scene, he's not got a lot going for him besides puppy dog eyes and a backstory of admittedly horrific slavery that has only been lightly touched on because he wants you to know Cazador is Bad, but he's not about to spill his guts on what really all happend to him yet.

TLDR: Faith is just about all Mira has to give at this point, and Astarion has made her suffer by gaining her trust through manipulation and then only messing up because HE caught feelings.

In other versions of the game, if you don't finish his quest, he breaks up with PC very cruelly.

If you make it to Act 3 with Caz and you don't make the right dialogue choices or pass the persuasion and instead just say you won't let him ascend, he says he hopes you die screaming.

This man is my fave, don't get me wrong. But without the knowledge of his entire character, when you go in blind or you play a character that you don't give High Insight to, you have to see that he is a very difficult person to navigate. Especially a Lawful Good Cleric of Ilmater who's life purpose is to help and alleviate suffering.

She feels called to him because of his suffering and she *does* have faith she can help, but that faith is majorly BLIND right now and it hurts to know the man who proved time and time again that he isn't trustworthy just confessed his love by explaining that he has been extra untrustworthy

[warrior-cats-rewritten]

Oooooh could you tell us more about Moth/Leaf/Crow in your rewrite

Mothwing/Leafpool/Crowfeather

This trio! The world's most inconvenient polycule!

Leafpool is given the go-ahead by Bramblestar after Crowfeather shows himself at the border. He figures that Leafpool has done so much for the Clans, she deserves this. Crowfeather wants to be a part of Thunderclan, and after losing a large chunk of cats to The Great Battle and The Great Storm... They let him join.

Besides, is Starclan REALLY gonna try to punish Leafpool? The cat who discovered the Moonpool?

Yes, actually. They did. Moon Flight was FURIOUS.

But that's a story for another day.

Mothwing is having a pretty rotten time in Riverclan. She loves fish (and girl can make a MEAN Salmon Bun) and she loves her family, but Riverclan's general lifestyle (and political atmosphere) do not suit her. Where Hawkfrost is focused on staying out of the spotlight and under radars, and Tadpole is actively working to push things in a different direction, Mothwing's philosophy is "if it sucks, HIT DA BRICKZ"

Which she finally does, during TBC. Mistystar doesn't get the satisfaction of exiling her, Mothwing leaves before she can officially say it.

Thunderclan's atmosphere however, is even worse. Crowfeather got himself Dishonor Titled for simply talking about his dead mother to help another cat suffering with grief. Bramblestar having renamed him Lostfeather. A missing feather that doesn't seem to know its place. A drifting feather that will guide youth (his apprentice) astray.

Yeah... No thanks. Leafpool is wonderful, and their adventure together during Squirrelflight's Freedom was downright magical... But that is not worth it. Skyclan is staying neutral and rabbit makes Mothwing feel gross... Shadowclan ain't so bad, right?

Her strong bond with Leafpool stays strong throughout the books, the two openly affectionate with one another. She loves how quietly strong Leafpool is, how selfless she has been, and just how protective Leafpool is of her loved ones.

On Crowfeather's side of things, he leaves Windclan after The Last Hope, as a storm gathers on the horizon, he finally departs from the Clan he didn't want to stay in and joins Thunderclan, becoming Leafpool's mate and doing his best to bond with his children to varying degrees of success.

Lionblaze was a wee bit too busy at first, with Cinderheart going into a false labour making him the world's Most Anxious Man. Doesn't help that Crowf just... Cannot do labor. He is the man who faints moments after telling you to take deep breaths.

Jayfeather was in a depressive spell and didn't want to speak with anyone, especially after the death of Whitewing. He... really beat himself up about it.

Well... At least Hollyleaf made a joke about them being good night hunters thanks to their dark coats.

He is trying his best, and they do come around. He reassures Lionblaze that he'll be a great dad, helps Jay with his depression management and PTSD, and supports all of Hollyleaf's ambitions. (He also makes an effort to be good with Breezey-P.)

He isn't in love with Mothwing, and Mothwing isn't in love with him, they both love Leafpool, and they are good friends. He continuously works hard to be the best mate he can be to Leafpool, with gifts, assistance whenever it can be given, as well as lots of nice massages after a long day of medical work.

Now, on for the third member of our trio:

Leafpool! Now SAVED from a pathetic death and getting to stay alive during the chaotic events of TBC. She is also Dishonor Titled, given the name Mothpuddle. It's a strange name, one that sends a very clear message to her that "Bramblestar" knows something he shouldn't.

More on that later. She and Mothwing were also strongly bonding during The Great Journey, and she debated asking Mothwing to run away with her, only deciding against it because Riverclan didn't have another Medicine Cat, and it wouldn't have been fair to make Moth decides between her beloved career and a life out in the sticks.

She loves Crowfeather for his passion, his wit, and his soft side that emerged while they traveled together through the mountains. She loves Mothwing for her ingenuity, her grace, and her ability to take charge when needs be.

It helps that they love her kids. Mothwing gets along beautifully with The Three, especially Jayfeather.

They finally get together during Dark Times/ASC's ending, when Mothwing leaves Riverclan once and for all to enjoy a peaceful life in Thunderclan. The Clans are about to enter a very tumultuous time, with Skyclan being leaderless, Thunderclan and Windclan's new leaders not having their 9 lives, while Riverclan and Shadowclan's new leaders having been given a dark blessing off of gray wings.