#complaints with tav | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emmg · 2 months ago

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I got you OP, I live for crack like this.

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Tav likes to think she and Haarlep are friends. Which, honestly, is probably the most naive thought she’s ever had—but then again, good judgment has never exactly been her strong suit. Still, she clings to the idea, because surely only a friend could be that excruciatingly good with their tongue. And Haarlep, bless him, is very, very, very good. Generous too. The kind of friend who gives until she's left questioning her life choices, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember her own name.

Sometimes, when she’s tangled up in sheets with the devil and his vastly superior knockoff, Tav can’t help but wonder if Raphael could just… go somewhere? Like, take a break, run an errand, sign some souls away—anything, really. Not that he doesn’t feel good (he does, unfortunately), but Haarlep has this irritating tendency to completely steal the show. And in those fleeting, guilty moments, she almost wants to hand Raphael a one-way ticket to a nice, long show on another plane. Maybe let Haarlep actually finish what they’ve started. Raphael can come back later, no harm done, and she’ll happily get tangled up with both again. But, y’know, maybe give Haarlep a solo encore first.

So, in the spirit of deepening their bond, she decides to make a grand gesture. Something thoughtful. Something meaningful. She brings Haarlep tea. Not just any tea—oh no. This is a rare blend, the kind of luxury that barely makes its way to the Gate. Probably because it’s teetering on the edge of illegal, but that’s not important. She couldn't not bring it to the Hells.

It’s a delicate bouquet of rare herbs, one that promises to “heighten the senses” and all that flowery nonsense. What it really means is that it gets you absolutely blazed. But not the cheap, shady alley kind of high. No, this is the fancy kind, the kind that convinces you you’ve unlocked the recipe for eternal life when really, you’ve just been staring at a chair for the last hour, profoundly contemplating its essence.

It's the perfect drink for them to share, she deduces. A little something to deepen their connection beyond the usual sweaty tangle of limbs. They’ve already been inside each other more times than she can count, after all. It’s time to connect on a more… philosophical level.

Haarlep curls his lips when she serves it, giving her the kind of up-and-down look usually reserved for bad fashion choices or questionable life decisions. He repeats it a few more times, and by the third round, Tav’s starting to wonder if she’s sprouted a second head or committed some unspeakable Infernal faux pas she’s unaware of.

She drinks first, with a nervous smile, gulping it down faster than is wise.

Haarlep, meanwhile, sniffs the dainty teacup like it's filled with poison. "What," he begins, his forked tongue darting out to barely graze the surface, "is," another sniff, followed by the faintest taste, "this," and then the pièce de résistance: a full-on grimace that ruins his otherwise perfect face, "utter shit?"

He finishes it anyway and she serves him a second cup.

"Tea," she says, smiling like an overenthusiastic idiot. "I thought we could chat over, well," she waves awkwardly at the dainty porcelain setup, like it’s some kind of grand offering—the teapot, the cups, all of it. "Tea." Another forced, awkward grin. "You know, get to know each other better now that we're, um, living together, I suppose."

Because nothing says deep connection like bad small talk over an overpriced cup of legal narcotics, right?

"Ew," Haarlep says, flinging the contents of the cup onto the floor.

“Oh,” Tav mutters, eyes following the arc of hot liquid as it splashes unceremoniously onto the floor. There goes the rare blend.

Haarlep sticks out his tongue and practically scrapes it with one perfectly chiseled claw, like the tea has personally offended him. It’s all so unnecessarily theatrical. He grabs her napkin and wipes his fingers off with a flourish.

"Listen here, turtledove,” he purrs, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t care less about whatever romantic tea party you and the Virtuous Champion of the Wham-Bam”—that would be Raphael, obviously—“have going on. What I do care about is what dear ol’ daddy’s gonna say if I’m not glued to the ass of our Overseer of the One-and-Done.” He’s on a roll now, and she’s just standing there, wide-eyed, realizing this was a terrible idea.

“Now,” he continues, wagging a finger in her direction, “why don’t you be a good little girl and stay in your lane?”

He clacks his tongue in punctuation.

She blinks, mouth slightly open, trying to process. "What?" is all she manages at first. Then, "Wait, who is daddy in this scenario?"

But Haarlep’s already rising—well, trying to rise—stumbling dramatically like someone who’s forgotten how legs work. He shuffles toward the door, pauses to have an existential crisis about his own feet, and then starts touching his face like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, tracing every contour as if his own cheekbones hold the secrets of the universe.

“Whose daddy?” he mumbles, not even bothering to look at her.

Her brain is starting to fog over too, the haze creeping in. “Does Raphael… want you to call him daddy?” she whispers, horrified at herself for even asking. "Ew."

“There’s no daddy,” Haarlep hisses, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, right before faceplanting into the door. One of his horns gets wedged into the wooden frame, and he thrashes around like a possessed marionette, muttering something unsavory and creative—she’s pretty sure she hears him call her a cunt-faced sock puppet—as he tries to wiggle free. After an embarrassing dance that looks like someone trying to escape an invisible spiderweb, he finally stumbles out the door, still wobbling like a drunk goat.

She remains sitting on the bed, staring after him, now hearing colors and vaguely wondering when the floor started breathing.

****

So, they’re definitely not friends. Tav deduces this with a mix of mild disappointment and overwhelming weirdness. It’s a fleeting sadness, mostly eclipsed by the uncomfortable realization that she’s been way too optimistic about the whole “let’s be pals” thing.

One evening, she wanders into the archive, hoping for some quiet. She spots a book she’d had her eye on for a couple of days—nothing thrilling, just a dull tome on the intricacies of abjuration magic. Boring stuff, really, but Gale had once made her swear to check it out if she ever found a copy. Apparently, he managed to sneak in one ridiculous, wildly inappropriate footnote as an assistant researcher, and she’s mildly curious to see if it’s as absurd as he claims.

Just as her fingers graze the spine of the book, a clawed hand darts in, snatching it right out from under her nose.

“That’s my favorite,” a very pretty and very pissed off Haarlep purrs. “Get your hands off my things.”

She stares at him, deadpan. “You’re interested in abjuration theories?”

Haarlep lazily flips through a couple of pages, glancing at the text like it’s beneath him. “Absolutely fascinated,” he drawls, eyes half-lidded in sheer boredom.

She rolls her own, taking a deep breath before retreating deeper into the shelves. Fine. She finds something else—a collection of incredibly stupid, bawdy rhymes, the kind you wouldn’t expect Raphael to keep around unless he had a secret love for limericks about sailors and goats.

“Mine,” Haarlep sing-songs from behind, suddenly appearing on floating steps, plucking the book out of her hands like a smug, sarcastic little crow.

She grits her teeth but decides to play along. For the hell of it, she grabs a tome on geometry next. Surely even Haarlep can’t have a thing for triangles.

“Best bedtime reading,” Haarlep’s voice suddenly whispers from the side, seizing the geometry book from her hands before she can even react. “Also mine.”

That’s it. She gives up, throws her hands in the air, and stomps off to bed.

****

Shit gets progressively weirder from there

She doesn't know what she expected when accepting Raphael's offer to make his house her own—all the levels devoted to suffering and torture notwithstanding—but it wasn't this. Honestly, she’s not even sure what she and Raphael are. Do devils even bother naming whatever this is? Maybe she’s in the middle of the worst hookup in infernal history and is just too oblivious to realize it, or, even better, maybe they’re already married and she somehow missed the memo.

It’s hard to tell when some days he’s acting like she’s his future wife, already planning the registry, and other days, he looks at her like he’s trying to remember if she’s that new aide from the infernal accounting department or just another wandering debtor who got lost on their way back from eternal torment. Truly, it’s a toss-up whether he knows her name or is just waiting for the paperwork to officially cancel her existence. Romantic.

Sometimes, they’re fucking—the three of them—and it’s downright glorious. She’s ready to just dissolve into their skin, blissed out and utterly content. But then, the next day, as she flashes Haarlep a smile, he casually drops, “There’s a mole inside your nose.”

Which, first of all, what? Second of all, ew. She’s left standing there, confused as hell and suddenly the proud owner of a brand-new inferiority complex she didn’t ask for. Because now all she can think about is the mole.

Is there really a mole in there? Was he just screwing with her? And if it is real, when the hell did it show up? During? Oh gods, was it just... there the whole time?

So, naturally, she spends an entire afternoon hunting for a mirror small enough to get a good look up her own nose, like some kind of ridiculous contortionist. After several frustrating, nose-aching attempts, she finds nothing. No mole, no sign of anything even remotely mole-ish. Which leaves her spiraling into the age-old question: Was Haarlep just messing with her head, or was there some bizarre, one-time nose mole situation that disappeared as fast as it arrived?

Either way, it’s disgusting. And now she’s stuck obsessing over it like a fool. Thanks, Haarlep.

Another time, she’s enthusiastically going down on Raphael, her lips wrapped around his cock, enjoying the way he’s groaning her name, fingers tangled in her hair, losing all that controlled devilish composure. It’s one of those rare moments where she actually feels like she’s winning. And then, because her life is constantly teetering on the edge of absurdity, there’s a loud, exaggerated sigh from the doorway. She chokes a little—undignified noise included—and Raphael’s cock slips out of her mouth with an unfortunate pop.

“The technique of a mandoline,” Haarlep bemoans from the doorway, rolling his eyes so hard she half expects them to get stuck. He’s inspecting his nails, pushing back his already immaculate cuticles as though he’s personally offended by her existence. “Shall I show her how it’s done?” His gaze snaps to Raphael, gaze brimming with all the wicked intent of someone about to start trouble for sport.

She stares at the two of them, fully expecting Raphael to sigh, send Haarlep out, maybe even throw something at him. Because what the fuck. But instead, Raphael just gives a lazy wave, gesturing him in like this is all part of some incredibly twisted tutorial.

Now she’s just sitting there, awkwardly on her knees, watching Haarlep dive in with the enthusiasm of a very professional, but very over-the-top courtesan. He’s pulling out all the stops—licks, swirls, moans—like he’s performing for an audience. Meanwhile, she’s feeling less like an active participant and more like a third wheel who’s somehow stumbled into a threesome she didn’t sign up for.

Sure, it was taking her longer this time, and yeah, certainly, her jaw was getting tired, but come on, she wasn’t that awful, was she? She sits there, staring at the two rutting figures, feeling like she’s just existing in their orbit, wondering when she lost control of her life and why Haarlep somehow always ends up stealing her thunder.

****

It doesn’t stop there, of course. Haarlep seems to have made it his personal mission to remind her—on a near-daily basis—that this is his territory, and she’s merely an unfortunate guest overstaying her welcome. It’s like living with a spiteful, over-possessive house cat who swats at your ankles just for daring to breathe.

One fine day, she’s minding her own business, trying to relax in the luxurious bath—Raphael’s tub is practically a lake—and she finally feels like she’s found some peace. That is, until Haarlep waltzes in like he owns the place (which, to be fair, he probably thinks he does). He saunters over to the edge of the tub, completely naked, of course, and without a word, steps right in. Not beside her, mind you—on her. His foot lands directly on her stomach, and he uses her like a stepping stone to casually lower himself into the bath.

“Don’t mind me, sweetling,” he purrs, settling in as if this is all completely normal. “Just thought I’d take a dip.”

She’s left half-submerged, sputtering in a mix of bathwater and pure rage, as Haarlep reclines, stretching out luxuriously. He lets out a long, satisfied sigh, as if daring her to say anything.

Then, there's the breakfast incident. Tav’s sitting at the grand dining table, blissfully enjoying a rare moment of peace—and more importantly, a plate of fresh fruit and pastries. She’s halfway through a perfectly flaky croissant when Haarlep saunters in, exuding all the smugness of a cat that’s just found someone sitting in its favorite sunbeam.

Without a word—no greeting, no acknowledgment—he prances up, casually plucks the croissant from her hand, and takes a bite. Doesn’t even bother to sit down.

"Good morning," she manages to say, trying for cheerful but landing somewhere closer to barely-contained irritation. At this point, her eye’s been twitching so much she’s pretty sure it’s permanent.

Haarlep, naturally, ignores her.

"Since you're already holding it," she adds, voice strained, "would you mind spreading some butter on it?"

Nothing. No response. But this time, he does look at her, making eye contact just long enough to take another exaggerated, slow-motion bite.

"On whatever’s left," she mutters, watching her once-beautiful croissant slowly disappear into his mouth, bite by agonizing bite.

And then, just to really drive home the fact that this is his domain, Haarlep stuffs the last of it into his mouth, grabs the other pastry—oh, and the butter too, because why not—and struts out, leaving her with nothing but crumbs and the distinct urge to scream into the void.

****

One night, Tav overhears what can only be described as the world’s most passive-aggressive sigh-off. It’s not a fight—it’s far too dramatic for that. No, this is a full-blown contest of sighs. Raphael sighs, long and exasperated, like someone barely holding onto the threads of sexual frustration. Haarlep sighs right back, but his is laced with the tortured anguish of someone who’s morally opposed to their current situation—despite being very much involved.

Leaning against the outside wall of the boudoir, Tav listens, because at this point, what else is she going to do?

"Finish what you've started," Raphael demands, his voice breaking.

"Ohhh, I don’t knoooow,” Haarlep whines, dragging out every syllable as if he’s the most put-upon creature in all the hells. His tone is sugary and dripping with mock sweetness. She can practically see him batting those long lashes like some tragic, misunderstood diva sprawled across the bed. “It’s just so difficult to keep things... exciting when you smell like her.” He adds a whiny little “teehee” at the end, like a bratty schoolgirl stirring up trouble just for fun.

She winces, a mix of offense and amusement bubbling up. She should be angry, probably, but honestly, she’s just impressed with how over-the-top Haarlep can get.

Inside, Raphael groans—not just in frustration now, but something else altogether. There’s a soft, wet sound that she can’t help but recognize. Haarlep is clearly doing more than just complaining.

“You’re not even hard,” Haarlep huffs, voice sharp and full of sass. There’s the unmistakable sound of a hand lazily jerking Raphael off, but Haarlep’s attention is clearly not on the task at hand. “Honestly, do you enjoy smelling like a mortal? What is that? Is it... lavender?” His voice drips with sarcasm, and she can hear him clicking his tongue in pure distaste.

There’s another squelching noise, Raphael groaning again, this time less from frustration and more from... whatever Haarlep’s doing, though it's clear the incubus is barely putting in the effort.

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to do all the work tonight,” Haarlep purrs, still whining as his hand continues to stroke Raphael lazily. "Oh, these working conditions are just unacceptable. How am I supposed to maintain my enthusiasm when you smell like a... what was it... lavender-soaked farmhand?"

Raphael moans again, half-desperate, clearly on the edge, but Haarlep? Haarlep's barely bothered, focusing more on his complaints than the task at hand. “Really, darling,” he sighs, so dramatically, "it’s such a chore to share this lovely, twisted little house with your... mortal distraction. I’d almost rather give her a tour of the torture chambers just to get her out of my hair.”

Raphael lets out a strangled noise, probably not even listening at this point, but Haarlep is relentless. “Maybe that would keep her occupied. While I do the real work around here."

Aaaand she’s definitely heard enough. Threesomes? Fun. Voyeurism? Sure, under the right circumstances. But being stuck outside the door, reduced to a blind voyeur, listening to a symphony of sucking, licking, and incessant whining? That’s the exact opposite of fun. This isn’t some seductive night of passion—it’s turned into Haarlep’s personal therapy session, complete with complaints about working conditions.

Tav sighs, massaging her temples as Haarlep’s voice slices through the air yet again, whining about Raphael’s scent—or whatever utterly ridiculous nonsense he’s decided to fixate on this time. Honestly, she didn’t sign up for this level of infernal relationship drama. If she wanted to listen to a fiend gripe about their sexual workload, she’d have marched straight into Phlegethos, personally summoned Asmodeus, and handed Haarlep a quill dipped in his own tears. Maybe drafted a formal complaint on burnt parchment with an attached “How To Handle Your Feelings” guide.

At this point, she half expects Haarlep to start complaining about his benefits package in hell. Maybe he’ll ask for paid time off from sucking dick next.

Nope. She’s out.

****

For a while all is quiet.

And it’s all going so well for a long stretch—until that one night. She’s on top of Raphael, getting down and dirty, her hips rocking, one hand between her legs as she’s chasing her climax. She’s so close—right on the edge, ready to go over.

Then, naturally, the door creaks open. Haarlep strolls in like he’s about to deliver some scholarly lecture, plops himself down right next to them, opens a book on his lap, and with all the gravitas of a priest reciting sacred texts, says:

“Have you heard that rothé come in two main types: common rothé and deep rothé?” His hand flies up for emphasis, and in doing so, smacks her between the shoulder blades, hard enough to send her lurching forward, nearly headbutting Raphael.

“And the deep rothé,” he drones on, as if this is the appropriate time for an animal husbandry lesson, “are blind and rely solely on their senses to navigate the treacherous terrain of the Underdark.”

She literally feels Raphael go soft inside her.

Raphael pushes her off, all but growling in frustration, and reaches across them to yank Haarlep's book right out of his perfectly manicured hand. Without a second thought, he chucks it straight into the fireplace, where it promptly starts to smolder. Haarlep’s eyes widen in indignation, but before he can even react, Raphael grabs him by the ear like a schoolmaster disciplining the class clown.

“Did you know,” Haarlep begins, undeterred, “that rothé are often used by drow for—”

Raphael doesn’t even let him finish, now dragging him by both horns, and the sight is spectacularly absurd. One devil, naked and furious, manhandling his doppelganger, who’s somehow making the entire situation worse with each unhelpful fact.

“In fact,” Haarlep continues, struggling against Raphael’s grip, “the deep rothé have a fascinating bioluminescence that helps light their way—"

“Shut. Up,” Raphael growls, switching from Infernal to Common in his escalating frustration, which only makes the scene more ridiculous. Here they are, one naked, the other almost naked in that ridiculous not-quite-sexy harness, bickering like drunk tavern brawlers.

Whatever fire had been burning between her legs is now completely extinguished. She’s as dry as a desert, watching this embarrassing display of devilish domestic squabbling.

As Raphael reaches the door, practically wrestling Haarlep out, the incubus still isn’t done. “Oh, and did you know,” Haarlep throws in one last fact, “that deep rothé milk is considered a delicacy in—”

The door slams shut in his face before he can finish, leaving Haarlep outside and Raphael inside, visibly deflating.

She watches as Raphael retreats to a cabinet, wordlessly pouring himself the tallest glass of wine she’s ever seen, looking like a man who’s this close to losing his mind—and silently prays he has the decency to offer her one before he downs the entire bottle himself.

I need like a 100 fics about Raphael moving Tav into the HoH and Haarlep turning into a deeply territorial house cat or like an older sibling that feels betrayed by their parents. I need him just glaring at Tav from across the dinner table, I need him having a fit when raphael kicks him out of bed one night give it to me now pls

#crack fic from hell #Raphael x tav #bg3 #haarlep #raphael x haarlep #haarlep did not sign up for this domestic partnership #and he has complaints #will someone please soothe poor haarlep #he needs a better work contract

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dekariosclan · 6 months ago

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With you, I forget my goddess

So, I have completed Bg3 twice now, but on both runs I’ve romanced Gale (truly shocking, I know) and therefore I had never seen Gale’s non-romance discussion with Tav about the Annals of Karsus.

I recently got to see it, and what surprised me the most is how extremely angry and bitter Gale is about Mystra’s treatment of him. Rightfully and understandably so, but it’s something we do not see or experience in the romance version.

This got me thinking about the difference in Gale’s reactions in the friendship vs romance scenes, why they are different, and also how this relates to the complaints I’ve read about Gale ‘still not being over Mystra even when romancing Tav’.

(Note that I’m mainly going to focus on the portions of each dialogue that relate to Mystra in particular, and I’m not referencing the ‘alternate’ boat scene w/Gale—where he tells you beforehand that he will return the crown to her—since he doesn’t mention Mystra at all there.)

Screencaps below are from @munmomuu’s wonderful video on YouTube. The screencaps take place after Gale has read the Karsus book. If you are romancing him, before you reach this point, the conversation ends because he tells you he wants to discuss it later “in private,” during the boat scene.

But in a friendship run, he will explain what he’s read to you and then begin to make his case for using the crown:

Gale: Some gods may delude themselves into believing they care about their worshippers, but when it comes down to it - we’re all expendable. Children to be appeased, not respected.

Gale: I worshipped Mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power I was ready to wield.

Gale: Even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. She’s done nothing to help us.

There then comes a dialogue branch where Tav can ask this:

And Gale replies, with understandable bitterness:

Gale: She sent me to die.

Look at how angry he is during this whole exchange, and how he focuses all that anger on the past, and what Mystra has done to him (or not done, as he points out she’s offered them no help at all.)

— — —

Now let’s compare this to his Mystra dialogue in the boat scene:

Gale: I’ve already defied Mystra. Had I followed her command, there’d be nothing left of me but a smoking crater.

Gale: The tadpoles, the orb - these threats to our existence - the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind Ao. So let us act ourselves.

Gale: I used to believe Mystra’s forgiveness was worth dying for. But I was wrong. You showed me just how much I have to live for.

Notice how there’s no fiery anger at Mystra here, just Gale’s resigned belief that the Gods have failed them.

So what’s the key component that makes Gale react so differently in each scenario?

It is, of course, Tav.

More specifically, it’s Tav’s love for him, which has clearly helped his heart heal from the trauma that he’s experienced. Yes, Tav’s friendship is extremely important as well, and yes, Gale is still insecure even with Tav’s love (‘you would really prefer me as I am?’) but the extreme bitterness, the anger, all of that is gone. Here, Gale is no longer hung up on Mystra and the past; he’s looking to the future. Because now that he has Tav, what he desires most is to take his life and his fate back from the Gods and into his own hands—with Tav at his side.

The irony is that some people complain about Gale ‘not being over Mystra’ while he’s actively romancing Tav, but just look at the difference in the dialogue! Look at how focused he is on Mystra when he is not romancing Tav, and then how she becomes a mere afterthought once Tav has claimed his heart.

I really enjoyed seeing this level of detail. I think it perfectly illustrates Gale’s frame of mind in each scenario, as well as showing the positive impact Tav’s love has on Gale.

And last but not least—it confirms that Gale was not exaggerating when he says this:

Gale: With you, I forget my goddess. I love you.

— — —

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 #gale x tav #baldur's gate 3 #spoilers #galemancer #baldurs gate 3

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baldursgate3tempobsessed · 1 year ago

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Kidnapped Astarion

I have a very specific thing I can't stop thinking about. That involves Astarion getting kidnapped by Cazador for the ritual and him taunting him over the lie that Tav gave him away. Sold him even.

Tw: Lies, manipulation, mentions of torture, bad times had all around, it's long as fuck, betrayal (or at least the lie of it). Like Cazador is involved so all bad. Very bad. This also has VIOLENCE. Like canon game violence but it is BLOODY. You've been warned. Also happy ending :)

So now let's get to that angst:

It had all happened so fast.

One moment Astarion was laid back in the tent you share, reading a mediocre book as he impatiently waited for your return. He loathed when you went out without him, even if it was for good reason. He wasn't exactly welcome company when it came to solving Gale's problems, especially when it came to the bomb nestled in chest. You both knew his inability to keep his sarcastic quips to himself would not be an asset while exploring a sacred library. Besides, he didn't have much room to complain, not when he accompanied you on ninety-nine percent of your outings.

But that didn't mean he had to like it. Even if it was shaping up to be a nice, uneventful evening. He had set your tent a little farther away from the others, considering the complaints that some....well most had made about the volume of your nightly activities. It was quiet, peaceful even. The atmosphere tranquil enough for him to fully relax.

What a mistake that had been.

When the flap of the tent opened he didn't even look up, fully expecting it to be Shadowheart or Lae'zel coming round to dig about in his darling's things. It made sense, considering how it was one of the few times they wouldn't be risking walking in on something. You had such a bad habit with that "open door" policy of yours. One that had exposed nearly every party member to quite the show. Though in Astarion's view, they were just unreasonable. When you were both loud they complained. When you were quiet and they walked in on it they would whine even more. How could you win with people like that?

Perhaps a sign on the door would have done the trick, but Astarion would be lying if he didn't enjoy the others being fully aware of who could make you cry and moan. The risk was just more thrilling, if not the slightest bit annoying.

But the intruder was staying still at the opening, quiet as could be. It was odd enough to have Astarion glancing upward, his heart stopping in his chest at what he saw.

It was a man, frantically muttering something under his breath. A man that he recognized. The idiotic Petras, trying to cast some kind of incantation. It had Astarion scrambling upward, reaching for his dagger. But it was already too late. The spell was finished and Astarion could feel his senses start to fade away, one by one.

He had gotten sloppy, relying on the safety of camp that had never existed. And now he was paying the price, and what a price to pay. Even as he fell to the magic, one feeling managed to stay in place until the bitter end.

Terror.

And then, he felt nothing at all.

The next thing Astarion knew he was being awakened by a slap of cold water to his face, blinking up into horrifyingly familiar light. He immediately recognized where he was. The torture room, his arms hanging from the ceiling, his toes barely scraping the floor. It hurt to be suspended like this, a pain he was still so familiar with despite going months without. And in front of him was the cause of it all, sneering at him like the maniac he was.

Cazador.

"You're finally awake," He grinned, dropping the bucket that was in his hands, "You've been a very bad boy Astarion. Just what am I to do with you?"

Astarion wanted to answer, to curse at him, maybe even beg to just be left alone, but nothing came out. He was too stunned, too stupefied that he ended up here after everything he'd gone through. Everything you'd gone through. How could it end like this?

"I don't fully know what you were up to with all that time away from your family," Cazador continued, stepping close enough for Astarion to feel his disgusting breath on his skin, "But I think I may have the gist. Galivanting around with your merry-band of degenerates. Seems fitting."

Astarion gave a full-bodied flinch when Cazador started to graze along his collarbones with a gentle finger, his touch freezing and revolting. The gentleness wouldn't last, Astarion was surprised it was even there to begin with.

He should have realized there was a reason for it.

He trailed up his neck, stopping to trace a bruise you had left the night before. If only he had known that it was almost certainly the last time he would get to touch you. The realization was nearly enough to bring tears to Astarion's eyes, but he refused to cry in front of this creature, not if he could help it.

"Seems like you may have even found yourself a favorite amongst them. Tell me pet, who was it?"

"Fuck you." Astarion spat out, his fury managing to shine through his despair.

Astarion expected a hard slap for the insolence, but instead Cazador just laughed, loud and full-bellied, "You've gotten quite the temper since you've been away, haven't you? I wonder where that came about?"

It was a false question, Astarion could tell from the way his eyes were crinkled. Like a child excited to reveal a surprise. Cazador answered it for himself, "Is it that lovely little thing that you've been following around. Gods, what's their name again...Tav, is it?"

"Don't you dare say her name," Astarion growled, his righteous fury overcoming the ever-growing terror and dread, "They have nothing to do with this!"

"Oh but they do," Cazador grinned, stepping back to do one of his famous gloating sessions, "Just how do you think I found you? Luck? No my dear, you were given."

Astarion's answer was as immediate as it was hateful, "You're lying! You know nothing of them. Nothing of us."

He won't believe it, he has no reason to. You...you loved him. And you were probably looking for him as they spoke. You would never betray anyone like this, least of all him.

But Cazador remained unphased. If anything he was looking at him with pity, "Oh you poor thing. You think she cares? You think she loves you? I'm disappointed Astarion, it seems you've learned nothing from our time together. What is there to love, hm? Nothing that I can see. Though...they sure did seem to love the gold. You fetch quite the high price my dear. But it will be worth it."

Lies. It was all lies. It had to be. Astarion shoved his uncertainty back down, bellowing out, "Liar!"

It was forceful enough to even make Cazador falter for the briefest of moments, a split second that anyone else would have missed. But he pressed on, shaking his head, "Darling, don't you find it strange that you were all alone that day? That no one came to your aid? Where do you think you're love was, hm? Wait, don't tell me. I can remember...ah yes! With Gale, correct?"

Astarion swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. How...how did he know that?

"It was a fabulous excuse, was it not?" Cazador continued with a laugh, "We came up with that one together. After a little fun that is. I can see why you fell for their treachery Astarion, they are quite lovely, aren't they?"

No. No, no, no.

"Stop it," Astarion hissed, "Shut your mouth. I-It's not true."

"Oh but it is. I'm not sure if you're aware but you're quite the headache darling, not many can handle it. Not including myself. She even told me of that hilarious speech you gave. About wanting something real. It was just as funny to her as it was to me."

Astarion stared at him, at a complete loss for words. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. But...how else would he know that? In a camp full of people why did no one come to his aid? But the cruelty of it all...it was exactly the type of thing Cazador was versed in.

Setting up the same type of trap that he'd trained Astarion for, that he had used on others countless times. And he fell for it, he lost the game he thought he'd mastered.

His faith was slipping, hard and fast when he asked the horrible question, "How do you know that?"

"Because I sent them to you," He said with that disgusting grin, "It was no coincidence that you met. You were kidnapped, I needed you back, so I hired some help. It's a pity that they were captured as well. The pause to our plans was quite inconvenient. Our Tav just can't help but get distracted, can she?"

"No..." The word slipped out of Astarion without his consent, his mind racing. That couldn't be true. It didn't make sense. T-There had to be another explanation. If he could just think he'd find it. But...what point was there? He was already captured, taken. If anything, all of this being a grand scheme from Cazador was more logical than someone loving him.

He had gone through many, many tortures during his time here. Unspeakable, horrible things that he would never wish on anyone, excluding the man in front of him. But this...this was the worst thing he'd ever done to him. He had tricked him, you had tricked him, and he whole-heartedly fell for it, like the fool he was. The fool he would die as.

He didn't know it was possible, but this would be the greatest pain he ever knew. He was sure of that. Cazador had managed to do it. He had broken him, finally.

His tears were falling on their own accord, plentiful and pathetic. Cazador cooed at him, tracing his cheek with his horrid hand, "It hurts, doesn't it? I missed that expression on you my boy. You were always at you're prettiest when you had given up."

He wiped Astarion's tears away, gently holding his face as he spoke, "If only this was enough. The things I want to do to you for running away... I want to make you scream, make you beg for death. Just like how things used to be. If only we had the time."

Cazador let go, stepping back with a sigh, "How I wish that they had gotten you to me earlier. Though it's too late to pout about it now, the preparations are almost complete. But don't fret my boy, your end will have the meaning that your life failed to posses. Come along now."

Astarion hung there, limp as Cazador unhooked him from above. This was it. He was going to die here, as nothing but a pawn. He didn't even try to fight it when he was led down, deep into the palace to a place he'd never known existed. He kept his eyes closed for most of the journey, simply for the fact that he didn't have the strength to keep them open.

It was...a horrendous feeling to be incased in that red energy, floating in the air with all of his brothers and sisters as Cazador finished his preparations. It forced his eyes open against his will, making him see the hell that had been hiding beneath his feet all these years. He had been wrong about the sacrifice it seemed, it wasn't just them. There were thousands of bodies, barely alive in hanging cages, strewn throughout the place.

It was horrible, but fitting. Where else would something like him die? All he wished was that Cazador would hurry, so he could be done with it all. He has to much time to think in these last moments, too much time to examine your betrayal.

He...hates you. For it all. He hates you more than anything, enough for that same fury to come bubbling back to the surface. How dare you do this to him, after everything you'd been through. He should have killed you while you slept, while you let him drink from your throat. He should have killed them all, the vile sacks of shit.

If his soul ever found it's way back from the hell it was about to be damned too, he'd find you. His revenge was no longer reserved for Cazador, but for the wretched bitch hat tortured him in ways he didn't even think were possible. He'd do worse to you than anyone could imagine.

You were the cruelest thing to ever exist, as heartless and horrid as the monster before him.

So why was he still crying over it?

It didn't matter anyway. Not now. Now, all he could do was wait for the bitter end.

But then...he felt something. A familiar presence tickling the back of his mind. A barely there whisper, no words that he could make out. But it was getting stronger. Clearer.

It...it was you. Calling out to him with your illithid connection, begging for an answer.

My love, where are you? Astarion please, please tell me your there. Help me find you.

He can scarcely believe it. But he wasn't going to wait for his emotions to catch up to what could be an escape. He was screaming in his brain, trying to send out any signal that he could.

I'm here. I'm here. Don't let him take me. Please.

He could hear you in his head, the sheer relief from your mind nearly overwhelming, I'm coming. Hold on, I'm coming.

Astarion didn't even have the time to doubt. Because the next moment you were bursting through the ornate doors, nearly your entire team in tow.

Astarion had never seen you look the way you did then. He was so used to your kindness, the warmth and light that you tried to spread everywhere you went. You were always smiling, always laughing, always trying to share the same with others.

But now you were breathing hard, near feral in your posture as your eyes darted around, landing straight to the shocked Cazador. You looked murderous, vicious enough to send a shiver down Astarion's spine. Your teeth were bared, your whole body trembling with rage as you started to advance, weapons already drawn.

And in that moment Astarion was sure that you were the most gorgeous, perfect thing he had ever seen. Or ever would.

It was brutal, bloody battle. One that ended with you slitting Cazador's throat as Astarion watched in awe. You let the body fall to the ground, blasé before you finally ran to him, releasing him from his prison.

Then he was being pulled into the most crushing hug of his entire life. One that he was helpless to return. He clung to you, uncaring for their rather large audience.

He was too busy burying his face into your hair, breathing you in as you whispered into his shoulder, "Thank the Gods that you're still here."

The pain in your voice was so raw, so real. Astarion needed no other evidence to be sure that every word from the dead man's lips had been a lie. He was also positive that he had never cried this much in his life, but now it was a different kind of sob he was trying to choke back. The flood of relief was crushing, the truth that your love was real was nearly enough to destroy him all over again. Not for cruelties sake, but to make something new. To kill every last doubt he had that he was nothing, worthless. How could he be when you were here? When you came for him?

He pulled back reluctantly, smiling down at you with tear tracks on his face. He kissed your forehead, covered in sweat and blood, and gods knows what else.

It was all finally over. You both turned to the rest of the group, your hands clasped together as you made your way to where Cazador lay dead. It was satisfying to see, but such a shame that Astation wasn't the one to do the deed. A regret he'd have for the rest of his days.

Or so he thought.

But then you were turning to Shadowheart, your sweet face curling back into the disgust from earlier when you ordered, "Revive him."

Astarion watched, wide-eyed as she did what she was told. Cazador came back into consciousness, in what looked to be an extremely unpleasant experience. He was coughing blood, the spell doing just enough to mend his mortal wounds, but not nearly powerful enough to give him a fraction of his strength back. He stared upwards, his eyes wide at the sight of you lording over him.

And for the first time in two hundred years, Astarion saw fear in the other man's eyes. Wonderfully delicious fear.

He felt you squeeze his hand as he stared at him, speaking quietly, "He's yours. To do with what you please. Do...do you want us here for this?"

He could hear the hidden meaning in your words. This wasn't just a choice of what to do with him. It was a choice of what to do with them all. He had taken notice that he was the only one that you had freed, his brethren still suspended in air.

He turned to you, his voice strong for the first time since he'd come back to this pit, "I want you here for this."

You nodded before looking back to the others to tell them to wait outside. They did so reluctantly, obviously without confidence in his decision making abilities. He ignored the especially worried look Karlach sent his way, too focused on the piece of vampiric trash in front of him.

Cazador was still coughing, his mouth forming more vile words, "Y-You don't have to do this. I can-"

"Silence," Astation seethed, partly surprised when it worked to shut him up. But then again, he had never been placed in a position to see his master be the one without an escape, "Your life is in my hands now. Tell me the truth. How did you find me?"

Astarion could see the fury behind his eyes, the humiliation of being ordered around by his own spawn. But his desire for life won out in the end.

"Luck," he spat out, "Sheer luck. Yomen saw you in the city, at Shar's Caress with this one. He followed you, found your camp and reported back. I sent Dalyria and Petras to fetch you, gave them a powerful sleeping scroll to knock out your allies. And then you were mine again."

Astarion shouldn't have been surprised that he had the audacity to glare at Tav, seething, "Or at least you would have been."

"And my memories?" Astarion pressed, "How did you know of us?"

"The tadpole squirming behind your eyes doesn't change the fact that I am your master," Cazador said, "Your mind is mine to shape, to understand. It was more difficult than before, yes. But I had enough to know what to say."

Of course. He should have known, "So that was your last torture then?"

"Yes," Cazador said simply, a sneer managing to appear on his bloodied face, "And you have to admit, it worked wonderfully."

"You can kill him now if you'd like," You piped up from his side, staring down at the vampire like the trash he was, "Or...you can take his place."

You hesitated for a brief moment before steeling yourself, looking Astarion in the eye, "Whatever you choose, I'll be here for you. I promise."

Astarion nodded, weighing his options. It was so very difficult to not just kill him where he laid, like the pathetic dog he was. But then again...the ritual would mean endless power. Power that he could use to protect himself, to protect you. So nothing like this could ever happen again.

Astarion looked up, his eyes searching every last one of his brothers and sisters faces. They looked scared, perhaps even resigned to their fate. Just at the hands of another. Astarion hadn't expected the image to make him feel ill, yet it did.

Could he do it? Sacrifice them all, along with everyone else trapped in the bowels of their personal hell? He could. He knows he could. Yet...

He looked back at you, the only thing he had ever loved. The one person to show him a different way to live, who was giving him the freedom to be his own person. But... he wanted that person to be someone worthy of you. Someone who would make you proud.

And there was only one way to do that. Astarion let go of your hand, reaching for the dagger you kept at your belt before striding over to Cazador. He stabbed him with little fanfare, no warning, no chances to beg. And then he did it again, and again, and again. Until he lost count, until the body of his former master was mutilated, his chest nothing but unrecognizable gore.

He wasn't quite sure when he started crying again. He only realized it when he could barely breath through his own screams, every bit of rage, hurt, and humiliation that had been beaten into him coming straight to the surface. He sunk to his knees as he sobbed, tossing the knife to the side.

The whirlwind inside of him was too much, so overwhelming that he was afraid he'd be lost to it. But then he could feel it, you wrapping your arms around him, kneeling next to him as he broke down.

He clung to you, burying his face into your neck as he cried, desperate for your comfort, your touch. You were crying too he realized, your voice breaking as you gently spoke to him, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I should have been there to protect you. I love you, you did the right thing. I'm sorry."

You had nothing to apologize for, but that didn't stop your words from acting like a soothing balm to all of his internal wounds. But he would get through this. Because for the first time Astarion knew, without a shadow of a doubt he wouldn't have to get through it alone. With you by his side, he would never be alone again.

He wasn't sure how long you both spent there, kneeling in a pool of his tormentors blood. But he knew he felt different when he pulled away, changed.

Free.

He cupped your face, wiping away your tears while only managing to smear the mess about. But it didn't matter that you were both covered in blood and viscera, not when he had you.

"I love you too," Astarion whispered, finally allowing himself to unload the burden of hiding away from you. No more of that. He was yours, fully and completely, "I love you so much. I-I thought that this was it. That I'd never see you again. That you betrayed me-"

"Never," You interrupted, your voice fierce despite how it was breaking, "I never will. You're all I want, all I need. I should have been there, I'm so sorry-"

"No more apologies," Astarion murmered, pressing a quick kiss to your bloody mouth, "No more. We're here. That's all that matters."

You nodded, kissing him again, so sweet despite everything that should have made it sour. Despite his own words, Astarion couldn't help the white hot shame that passed through him. How could he have doubted you, even for a moment? Doubted this, the most beautiful that ever happened to him. Never again would he question what you had together, to let his mind be poisoned by others.

But there would be more time for the two of you later. The rest of your lives if he had anything to say about it. But for now...you freed him. And it was his turn to do the same.

Astarion pulled back, sighing as he looked around the room at his brethren. They were still hanging in the air, all privy to quite the show. He freed them, forgave them even, despite every horrid thing they'd done to eachother over the years.

But that didn't stop him from clocking Petras squarely in the face the second his feet touched the floor. The other man took it well enough, fully knowing that Astarion was capable of much, much worse. Though he was well aware that Petras had been compelled to kidnap him, it didn't change the fact that the punch was very satisfying.

As for the rest of the spawn, the thousands trapped here, he let them go as well. Down to the Underdark, where they could at least have a chance of controlling their feral nature before associating with mortals again.

Then it was time to leave this wretched place, forever. He would never be hurt here again, never controlled. He was free, finally. And with you by his side, what else could he ever ask for?

#astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 cazador #hes such a piece of shit #but I feel like this is something he would totally do #happy ending #but god damn that was rough #angst #a lot of angst #its there #front and center #long fic #you'll pry my long posts out of my cold dead hands #im feeling spawn astarion man #i started this side blog for the ascended version but...#spawn is bae #female tav

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justporo · 1 year ago

Text

Who's the goose... (1)

Finally having arrived in Baldur's Gate, Astarion finds the wrong pocket to pick - and gets turned into a goose as punishement. Peace was never an option.

PART 2 | MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: This might as well have been the stupidest idea I've ever had but I couldn't get it out of my head, so here we are. Thanks for input and giving me some more stupid ideas for this to my bf, @tatterings, @bearhugsandshrugs and @the-littlest-raindrop and @megschaef98 for already cackling about it (and everyone else on that server for your love and support!); ah also Neil Newbon for coming up with this... The wonderful little doodle is once more done by the lovely @azaani-art!

Pairing: Uhm, Goosetarion(Astarion)/GN!Tav (You)

Rating: Stupid

Warnings: goose? (I'm sorry, I'm really just running with the bit by now...)

Wordcount: 3,7k

~~~

A goose sat in front of you all.

And it looked weirdly humanoid how it sat there: tiny rubbery legs stretched out in front of it and the wings too – as if it didn’t know how to properly move or place them.

The goose’s head turned around on the long neck to look at you and your companions out of its small red button eyes. The feathers on top of its head were a bit ruffled and almost gave it the look of having a flurry of white curls right there.

It lifted its stretched out wings a little. Looked at them one after another and made a small croaking noise as it did so.

That made it shut its beak again and snap its red gaze back to you.

You looked down at the goose in shock. The goose looked at you with what you presumed was shock too.

And then it opened its beak wide and started wailing with loud honks, as loud as its avian lungs would allow.

The party had finally arrived at Baldur’s Gate. And then had quickly realised that none of you had really an idea where to start your investigation. So, you had taken to walk around the Lower City and just casually ask around to find out more about what seemed to be going on in the city – especially with this Lord Enver Gortash and his newly established Steel Watch.

The day had been long and exhausting. You all kind of had forgotten how a day without a battle, killing and mortal peril was spent – just walking around in the city, engaging in inconspicuous small talk and trying not to lose your mind by getting nowhere with it – what could possibly be more dreadful than that?

Morale had already been low since the start. Halsin had very obviously been a bit unsettled by the big, bustling city, no matter how much he had tried to hide it. Jaheira had just stoically taken in the city and what had changed since she had last been there. Lae’zel had basically been gnawing on your ears with her complaints of how stupid your approach of talking to people was. That in turn had made Shadowheart almost want to choke her (again). And Wyll had become awfully silent since you’d entered the city – too much was weighing on his mind. Gale was just sad.

Karlach probably was the only one in quite the happy mood: since it’s been a very long time for her since she’s actually been to Baldur’s Gate she was just amazed by everything she saw. And she promptly called that out. Every. Single. Thing. So really not doing anything to help with the low mood of the group.

You had just tried to make the best out of it although you certainly had had to admit to yourself that the missing success of your day had been weighing on you also. But you had tried to be stubborn about it.

Astarion had walked by your side the whole day, surprisingly diligent on his part. You had felt that he was tense – as could have been expected upon entering the lair of his master again. But he had really tried to support you with your current goals – and you were absolutely thankful for that.

But as the day had grown late you had felt the annoyance rise in him too, just as much as it had within you.

It had already become dark in the city. Lanterns and the pale moonlight now had been the only sources of light. You had known that the group should’ve soon gotten back to the inn to retire for the night – despite having found out nothing today.

But you had wanted to push for one last attempt - unfortunately. And when you had happened upon a rather feisty older fellow, Astarion’s thin-stretched patience had finally snapped.

After you had tried to talk to this guy and he had only kept answering in riddles, you had been about to give up when you had noticed that the vampire beside you had disappeared.

You had feared nothing good from this finding and sure as all Nine Hells you had seen how Astarion had tried to sneak up on this man and pickpocket him.

And this had been, when things had really gone sideways – and then backwards; and down a hill.

With Astarion’s hands still in his robe the man had turned around to the vampire and looked him straight in the eye: “What do you think you’re doing there, young man?” He hadn’t even sounded awfully angry, rather a bit amused.

Astarion had simply blinked at him, absolutely dumbfounded that he had so easily been found out. The guy had watched him for a second longer with a small, suppressed smile playing on his lips and then started to whisper as an ominous purple glow had started to emit from him.

The vampire had hastily tried to scurry back, but it was already too late. An explosion of purple light had blinded you all and made you turn away with groans.

And when you had turned around again, both men standing there had been gone, only a single goose left in their place that had looked dazed and very out of place.

So here you were now: with a vampire turned into a screaming goose.

You really didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry – probably both. The wailing from polymorphed Astarion was ringing in your ears. Gods, geese could be really loud, couldn’t they?

You looked around your group of friends in desperate need for help.

Karlach had completely lost it, almost doubled over on the cobblestone street. Even Lae’zel bit her bottom lip in an attempt to not burst out laughing, covering half her face with one of her hands. But most of your other companions just looked as shocked and surprised as you.

Gale had his hand on his chin and was obviously very deep in thought – surely, he was already figuring something out to fix this mess. At least you immediately deeply hoped for it.

For a moment you just stood there. Warm, orange light from some nearby windows was lighting the absurd scene. The goose’s wailing drifted to the background for a few moments as your vision blurred and your gaze wandered miles away.

How exactly had you ended up in this ridiculous situation? Out of everything, how had all the steps you had taken led you to this night where your already traumatised soulmate had been turned into poultry and was now shouting the whole city down? Didn’t you have enough on your godsdamned plate already? Would the damned gods ever give you a break?

Your eyes started to burn and water as you stared into the void. You really couldn’t take much more.

But how many times had you been at this point? Too many already anyways.

So, you did, what you always did: took a deep breath, closed your eyes for a hot second, pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose and tried to focus your thoughts again.

You’d find a way out of this and if not… Well, you’d find a way to live with Astarion as a goose, for better or for worse.

When you focused again on the scene, you saw how Halsin was slowly approaching the goose that was Astarion and was still honking as if his life depended on it – and maybe it did, who knew? Gale was whispering an incantation and focusing on the goose. The rest was just still standing around with quizzical looks on their faces or casually losing it and losing their last shreds of sanity.

Halsin had almost reached the crying bird, all the while softly mumbling calming words to Astarion. The druid stretched out his arms as if he planned to pick up the still screaming animal.

But just before he could reach it, Astarion saw it coming, stopped his whining and jumped up with fluttering wings. With a quickness that would have been astounding for such an animal, had you not known that it was normally a dexterous rogue, the goose got up from its awkward sitting position and snapped at the fingers of the druid. Halsin immediately recoiled and looked a little hurt.

Astarion was flaring his big white wings now – lifting them up and his long goose neck stretched out, ready to snap again at anyone that tried to touch him. At least he had stopped honking now and was just swaying his head around at all of you standing around him in a loose half circle – ready to fight anyone who would dare touch a single feather on his head.

“Astarion?”, you asked cautiously, fearing that the transmutation hadn’t altered the vampire’s mind as well. The goose immediately turned to you, a small and much more silent honk left its throat. Its wings lowered a little as soon as it heard your voice. “I know this will sound stupid given the situation, but uh, please try to calm down?”, you asked him and made a grimace while you helplessly stretched out your arms to him, bending your knees.

Astarion honked once more in a clearly annoyed tone and let his wings sink fully as if he was letting his shoulders drop in defeat.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered and felt a wave of sadness wash over you. Meanwhile the others had started to get out of their stupor or calmed themselves from their laughter. Everyone stayed clear of the clearly readily violent goose though.

You crouched down fully and stretched out your arms even more towards the animal that kept watching you intently. With no more words or honks, the goose settled down its wings and carefully waddled over to you and your opened arms.

Once Astarion was very close you couldn’t help yourself but go to your knees and reach out both your arms wider for the animal – ready to give it a hug. Astarion slowly stepped into them and you carefully wrapped your arms around the goose as it made a small honk. It sounded pretty sad and helpless and you could suddenly feel tears well up in your eyes.

You held the much smaller animal. The feathers were surprisingly soft and Astarion carefully placed his small goose head on your shoulder with another quiet honk. It was so light you could barely feel it at all resting there.

The mood in the group had suddenly soured watching you take your partner in your arms – no matter the actual ridiculousness of the situation.

You held the goose and petted it softly, until Gale interrupted the awkward silence with an exclamation.

“Aha”, the wizard made and came back out of his trancelike concentration. He looked around in some confusion as everyone watched the tragic scene of you sadly hugging the poor animal that had awkwardly stretched out its wings a little to return the sentiment – it hadn’t really worked well.

“Uhm”, Gale made and then cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. The group just looked at him in silence.

“By the gods, what is with the sudden graveyard atmosphere? You all do realise Astarion is not de- I mean…”, he started sassily and interrupted himself when he realised his mistake. And before he could start again, the bird in your arms had started writhing and honking again. Obviously, Astarion had opinions on not getting the same kind of compassion from Gale as from the others now.

He tried to break free from your arms, but you held him easily – he was just… a goose after all. Although, you got whacked in the face by his wings several times. “Astarion!”, you scolded him. “I really don’t think you’re in a position to be feisty right now. And I’m pretty sure he has something to share that will help about the situation you are in. And might I add, the situation you put yourself in on your own!” A bit of anger welled up in you at the vampire and his godsdamned shenanigans that had landed you all in this mess now. Also his audacity to still be sassy about it – not even being turned into a featherball could stop him from that, it seemed.

The goose calmed down, reluctantly. Its beak was still open as it stared at the wizard – probably the equivalent of the vampire baring his teeth at him. You carefully let him go and just sat down backwards on the ground. You could use it right now.

“Now, if we’re not in a poultry house anymore”, Gale continued cheerily and gave the present poultry a death glare. The goose gave a very slight hiss – at least he had retained that capability.

You waved Gale to please go on.

“Alright, it’s – as you might’ve figured already – a transmutation spell. And might I add a mighty one. I really have no idea who that fellow was, but it surely was the wrong pocket to pick, Astarion – or might I say Goosetarion”, the wizard explained in his scholarly manor and wiggled a finger at the goose while grinning – earning himself another hiss. At least someone present seemed intrigued about the whole situation.

Hearing that it was a mighty spell already let your heart sink. But Gale went on and everyone just listened intently: “The good news is though: transmutations spells can’t be held for overly long. So, I’d say we’re back with our sassy humanoid companion in about…” Gale drew out his words as everyone hung on his lips.

“I’d say twenty-four hours at the latest.”

“TWENTY-FOUR HOURS”, came back the answer in unison from almost all the companions – and a mournful honk. Your mouth fell open but honestly you were immediately flooded with relief that you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life with a goose – although you would have committed to that.

“Tchk, and what are we going to do with him in the meantime? Walk him around on a leash? We can’t waste any time!”, Lae’zel commented. Karlach started to snicker again, and so did Shadowheart and Wyll around her.

Goosetarion small red eyes flashed viciously and he quickly lashed out at her like he had at Halsin before, aiming for the githyanki ankle. But Lae’zel had the upper hand and quickly pushed him away with her foot – not exactly kicking him but not exactly being gentle either.

The goose landed ungracefully on its back, legs flailing in the air while it kept complaining and trying to get up again.

“Lae’zel”, you shouted but she simply shrugged at you.

“Well, what else are we going to do? Tomorrow will just be another day of walking around the city trying to gather more information. What harm can it be then? Also, it’s not like we could just leave him here anywhere anyway. Beastly as he is, but he’s still only a goose now, we need to protect him”, Wyll chimed in sympathetically. You nodded your head in agreement and the others muttered their agreement, although some just a tad reluctantly.

Goosetarion in the meanwhile had waddled back over to you to be embraced again, head hanging slightly, doing his best to look like… well, a kicked goose.

You softly stroked his long feathery neck and noticed to your amusement that his rump started to wiggle when you did that. It surely seemed he wasn’t aware that he was doing that. You couldn’t hide a grin and you saw that Halsin grinned at you and the goose too.

“Can we just go back to the inn then? It’s already super late and my feet hurt”, Shadowheart added after it had been settled. Everyone hummed in exhausted agreement.

And so you went on your way. You softly got up from your seat on the cobble road while the goose complained about the lack of caressing happening. You stretched your back and watched after your friends that had already started to walk back towards your location for the night.

“Want me to carry you?”, you asked looking down at the goose and stretched out your arms again. But Goosetarion gave a curt honk and stretched his long neck away from you in an offended manner, then started to waddle after the others.

Now that you knew that he would hopefully be back to his normal humanoid self very soon, the humorous nature of the situation wasn’t as lost on you anymore. The way the goose wiggled its whole torso around while trying to catch up with the others was a sight to behold. Especially if you compared it with Astarion’s usual feline grace. And yet he was way too proud to just accept help.

You snorted and started to follow behind Goosetarion. He heard that and swung his head around while he kept walking, making him look even more ridiculous. You snorted more. And were pretty sure you could see the small red eyes scream bloody murder at you for mocking him.

But Astarion was way too focused and needed all his energy to keep up. Occasionally, he even had to break into a sprint – almost tripping over his rubbery feet and spreading out his wings to not lose balance. It was truly hilarious.

Some idle chatter developed between the companions and you on the way back. And of course, Goosetarion was the subject matter.

“Is there nothing you can do before the spell runs out?”, you asked Gale at some point while you were careful to walk exactly by the goose to offer at least a little protection.

“Oh, believe me, I would if I could – although I have to say I’m enjoying this situation a little bit-“ (“HONK!”) “ but it is, as I pointed out before, a pretty powerful spell. And if I started to fumble with it I might make it worse and-“ (“Honk…”) “- and I guess you’d rather have him back in one piece”, Gale ended and ignored the bickering animal between him and you. You nodded in agreement with the wizard – seemed your safest bet would be to just sit this one out.

“Looks like until tomorrow you’re just going to be a silly little goose then, aren’t you, Asta-OWW!” That had been a line crossed for Goosetarion. And other than Halsin and Lae’zel, the wizard surely was not quick enough to avoid the rogue goose’s vicious attack on his ankles. Gale awkwardly tried to kick at the goose but Goosetarion had learnt from the last time and quickly ducked out of the way, rushing around you so he could hide behind your legs.

“You had that one coming”, you mumbled under your breath as Gale looked at you hurt. He walked a little faster then, trying to steer clear from the murderous bird and engaged others in conversation. Goosetarion waddled through your legs so he was walking in front of you again although you noticed that he was clearly starting to struggle

“And couldn’t you not just at least cast “Speak with animals” or something?”, Karlach took up the conversation about Goosetarion’s fate. You hadn’t even thought of that so far. You had just been too occupied with the situation as a whole. You simply shrugged because you had absolutely no idea.

“But he is not an animal”, Jaheira replied to Karlach’s suggestion in her matter-of-fact demeanor from in front of you. Halsin beside her nodded silently. “He is still his vampiric elven self, just temporarily in another form. Even if Halsin or I wildshaped into geese we would not be able to speak with him because we are at least partly beast when we turn”, the infamous druid added to her explanation. “As far as I know there is no spell to work in this situation. But quite frankly maybe we could all do without his yapping for at least a day and he learns a lesson about all of this”, she finished and gave the goose a stern look.

Goosetarion stopped and made another rather sad honk. He really must have been having the worst and most humbling of times.

You stopped just behind the goose: “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.” The look Jaheira gave you made sure though that she absolutely did, but you brushed over it. You held out your arms to the goose again. However, Goosetarion again just waddled off on his own.

But the way to the inn was long and the goose was soon almost completely exhausted, probably amplified by not being used to moving around like that. At some point, when you had already slid out of all the other conversations and were just deep in your thoughts, you were stopped by another soft honk just below you.

Astarion stood before you and had spread his wings towards you, neck craned up towards you. It again looked weirdly humanoid with the way he moved and behaved. When you didn’t immediately react because you were really just very exhausted and didn’t catch on, the goose started to kind of hop in place and honked again.

“Oh, you want to be picked up! Sorry”, you replied and bent down to awkwardly grab the animal.

After some wriggling around and Astarion’s earnest tries to not writhe around too much in your arms, you were able to lift him up. He was stretching his neck and small feet out and made small noises that made you think that he wasn’t quite very comfortable with what was happening. But he gave his best to cope.

Once you kind of had him settled down on your hip, one arm around him and one under him to support him, he seemed to be considerably more comfortable, better even. When you had caught up to the others again and Gale sassily lifted an eyebrow at the goose now being carried around, Astarion made full use of his long neck to peck at the wizard’s sleeve.

Gale squealed again – much to the amusement of the rest of the group and made sure to keep even more distance from the goose. Goosetarion gave a contented honk then and refrained from biting anyone else for the rest of the way.

You were still laughing softly with the others, when the inn came into view. At least you hadn’t lost your humour so far.

(To be continued...)

~~~

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