#confirmed: astarion is a cat

[syn0vial]

[Astarion] is a cat. He's a black cat. There's a stray that comes into my house called Red... and he's quite feral. It took me three years before I could pick him up and hold him. He's totally cool with me now. Three fucking years. He gave me a lot of inspiration about Astarion.

- Neil Newbon, on developing Astarion's physicality and mannerisms

[thetrashppl]

someone once asked here for a majesty

here's my humble attempt, animals rly aren't my forte

[hellt00th]

yknow whats hilarious to me is the cats in bg3 don't want to be touched. you know who is a cat person and who doesn't like being touched without being asked first?

Astarion

[nikadonna]

Astarion is a cat person, confirmed

[kpd-zero]

Astarion is a cat person CONFIRMED

[feyascorner]

Postgame!Spawn!Astarion…

Postgame!Astarion who outright tosses out all the letters from across Faerun requesting the great hero of Baldur’s Gate for their own problems. Any letters addressed with anything other than your name is immediately chucked into a trash bin sitting idly by the front door just for that purpose. You’ve given up on telling him it’s okay—that you're alright with helping out once in a while. But he’s adamant, fussing as he refuses to allow you to drag yourself back into another insufferably long adventure when you deserve to rest. He drags you away from the bin back to your shared bed that he finds awfully comfortable.

Postgame!Astarion who takes up a lot of hobbies with his newfound freedom from his master—some of which escalate into full blown businesses. His hobby of perfuming, for one, alongside his skills in sewing. He only makes things for you in the beginning, but when other ladies begin to take notice of your alluring scent and beautiful garments of clothing, they rush to ask you of its source. But since he can't stand out in broad daylight, you take down note of everyone’s measurements and act as the middle man. He never actually meets his customers, but he likes to give each of them personalities in his head based on what they want. They're scary accurate.

Postgame!Astarion who still sleeps with his dagger close by. He doesn't need it to be under his pillow as it used to be, but he keeps it in the drawer beside his bed. He knows he has no use for it anymore, but knowing he has some form of defense lets him sleep a little lighter.

Postgame!Astarion who practically clings to you on mornings you have to leave for daylight, hoping you'll give up on whatever plans you had and just come back to bed. You do listen more often than you'd like to admit. But on days when you manage to pry him off your waist, he's extremely dramatic about it. When you return home, he has a frown on his face, arms crossed and perched on the couch like a mother waiting for her teenage daughter to return from a late night party. He huffs for a couple minutes as you change into something more comfortable. But when you kiss his forehead, asking if he wants to go out on a walk, he’s all grins and smugness again.

Postgame!Astarion who never falls asleep before you, opting to watch your breathing instead since it's not like he needs to sleep anyway. He confirms you're here. He confirms you're real. He confirms he’s not dreaming, and that he won't snap awake in a few moments to the cell in Cazador’s palace.

Postgame!Astarion who adopts/cares for the cat you bring home one day. He says he hates the damn thing, but you can tell they're the closest of friends just a few months in. He makes his newfound friend a fresh wardrobe to match his own. When you question him about it, he gets flustered and scoffs, spitting out nothing but hatred for the cat but having them sit on his lap.

Postgame!Astarion who worries. He worries that you'll be taken away from him. He worries his past will come bite him in the ass and take the payment for his crimes in the form of his very lover. He knows you'll die, while he continues to traverse the realms as a faceless entity. But he doesn't even want to think about that right now. He's more concerned you won't have as much time as possible at his side. When will you leave? When will you tire of him? When will the universe decide he no longer deserves you—or maybe he never deserved you in the first place. Does it even matter? Maybe—maybe this was all just temporary, and—

He feels you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. And here, he decides he doesn't want to spend the time he does have with you worrying over something that hasn't happened. That's a bridge to be crossed some other time. And by then, he's sure he’ll do anything to keep what remains of the sun in his life.

[avocado-writing]

Some gentle cuddles with Astarion? Him learning to set boundaries and feel at home in his own body and Tav teaching him that intimacy doesn’t have to be sexual? Love you, thanks for opening requests

notes: what a sweet request! rating: T

pairing: astarion x reader

It’s night. Everyone is in bed, mostly sound asleep - the snores gently echoing across the camp confirm it (or not so gently, in Karlach’s case). If anyone is left awake they are keeping quietly to themselves. The only sound outside is the gentle rustling of leaves.

Astarion is in your tent, pressed up tightly against you.

Just a scant few weeks ago, the two of you would have been having sex. His body on top of yours, pinning you down, tongue tracing the pulse thrumming in your neck. He’d have been buried deep inside you, hitting that point which makes you see stars, bringing you to climax over and over. All to try and prove his worth to you, make himself indispensable.

To try and make sure you didn’t abandon him.

Of course, he now knows how foolish he was being. Well, not foolish, perhaps - you’ve spent many evenings reassuring him he is not to blame for his trauma, and you hold no animosity towards him for acting in a way he felt like he had to in order to survive. That you don’t need to have intercourse unless he’s comfortable with it. But, when you saw his face fall as he realised he had no idea how to be close to you otherwise, you’ve also spent those evenings letting him know that you do not need to have sex with him to be intimate. 

Intimacy with you is so, so much more. And it’s wonderful.

You’re lying out with your back up against your pile of pillows, book in one hand, the other buried in Astarion’s hair where he sprawls with his head resting on your stomach. He likes how it feels when you breathe. The slow rise and fall of your body reminds him of the handful of times he’s been on a ship; a gentle tide bobbing him along, feeling lullabied by the waves.

Before he met you this would have been an impossibility. Being so comfortable and off-guard with someone could have meant death. But then again, he thinks, as he presses his scalp into your fingers like a pampered cat, he’s never truly known love before. Someone who’d protect him against anything. Someone who has, and proved it time and time again. A person who cared so much not only to let him be his true self for the first time in two hundred years, but helped him track down and kill the bastard who stopped him doing so in the first place.

He must have tensed up, lost in his own thoughts, because you move the hand out of his hair and run it along his arm, linking your fingers in his. You raise his arm and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

“Are you alright, Starlight?” you ask. He smiles a little. He’s never had a nickname before, but now you’ve found one for him? He quite likes it.

“Yes, my sweet,” he sighs, and for the first time in as long as he can remember - it’s true.

[theobsessivesideblog]

Hook Where it Hurts

Astarion finds himself Experiencing Emotions™ after a battle takes a turn for the worse.

Warnings: violence/injury, death, angst BUT happy ending I promise

—————————————————————

Your time in the Underdark had been relatively uneventful, all things considered. Sure there were Minotaurs, the occasional bulette, and exploding mushrooms, but there was something strangely beautiful about the alien landscape. The myconids were a friendly, if odd and slightly bloodthirsty bunch. Your conversation with Omeluum had proved enlightening, and trade with Blurg and Derryth had garnered you some useful items. Overall you couldn’t bring yourself to regret following Halsin’s advice to take the subterranean path to the Shadow-Cursed lands. 

You set up camp at the Myconid colony, heading out at first light (or at least what you assumed was first light without the actual sun to confirm) to begin your trek towards the lake Sovereign Spaw had pointed you toward. An hour into your walk a glow appeared in the distance, lighting up the gloom of the cavernous landscape. 

“I say, that can’t be… I do believe that may be a Sussur tree!” Gail exclaimed from behind you. “Powerful things, and rare, uniquely capable of completely nullifying magical forces, just fascinating!” he continued, eyes alight at the prospect of examining one up close. 

“Sussur… that sounds familiar,” Karlach pondered. 

“Ah! Right you are my fiery friend, there were instructions in the village about making a weapon with the bark! That would likely prove to be a powerful tool, we should certainly take a look.” 

You gazed towards the tree, comparing its location with the heading you had gotten from Spaw. In all likelihood you would end up passing nearby, may as well go on purpose. 

“Seems like it won’t be too much of a detour,” you announced, glancing around the group. “All in favor?”

“I’d never say no to a new kick-ass weapon,” Karlach grinned. 

“That’s two for, Astarion?” you asked, looking over towards the rogue.

“I doubt our resident magician will shut up about it until we pay a visit, so fine. Let’s go traipsing through the monster-infested dark to look at the magic tree,” Astarion said with a dramatic eye roll. 

“Anti-magic, technically, you see the—“ Gale’s chatter came to an abrupt halt as Astarion shot him a withering glance. “Right, yes, um. Shall we?” 

——————— 

You had to admit, the Sussur tree was breathtaking. Far larger than you had initially realized, clearly ancient and powerful. You glanced over to see your companions’ reactions, breath catching as your eyes met Astarion’s. His pale skin was nearly pearlescent in the ethereal glow, the blue light making his red eyes darker than usual. He stared back, lips pulling into a smirk, and a shiver of desire ran down your spine as he began prowling towards you. You’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for days, taking turns taunting and tempting each other and you were curious to see who would break first.

A movement behind Astarion’s shoulder broke you out of your reverie, eyes catching on a monstrous creature slowly beginning to descend toward your troupe from the raised roots of the tree. Your face paled and you saw Astarion’s brow furrow in your periphery as he registered that he had lost your attention, turning to see what had distracted you. He stiffened as he caught sight of the beast, silently reaching to retrieve an arrow while you hissed quietly towards Gale and Karlach in an attempt to get their attention. Karlach looked your way and you subtly gestured towards the creature as it crept closer to the group, trying to hold back the urge to laugh as she reached out and smacked Gale’s arm, interrupting his lecture on the properties of the blossoms.  

A few more wordless glances between the four of you had everyone subtly moving into position, preparing for what was sure to be a short battle. You glanced across the clearing, locking eyes with each of your companions before giving a tight nod as all of you attacked at once. The creature let out a shriek as it was barraged by both metal and magic, falling from its root bridge and hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch. 

As the adrenaline faded from your system and you walked forward to observe the corpse you were nearly disappointed by how easily the beast had fallen. Not that you ever wanted to get your ass kicked but you had certainly expected that a monster with as many teeth and claws as this one would’ve put up a bit more of a fight. Karlach had turned away with a dissatisfied pout on her lips as she sheathed her weapon and Astarion had already started to wander off to investigate the rest of the cave as you gently nudged the cooling body on the ground with the tip of your boot. It was grotesque up close, a bird-like skeletal face filled with vicious teeth and enormous, razor-sharp hooks protruding from the end of each arm in place of hands. Beside you Gale was surveying the corpse with a strangely joyous expression.

“What a fascinating beast! We got quite lucky, they’re exceptional hunters, certainly wouldn’t want to run into one of these unprepared! They’re called Hook Horrors!” he announced gleefully to no one in particular.

“Did someone say something about whores?” Astarion called from across the cavern. Karlach snorted loudly as she and Gale began making their way over towards him and you rolled your eyes as your lips curled into a smile.

“Yes, Star, Gale has deeply insulted me,” you called back sarcastically. “You may need to come defend my honor! In fact, I–”

You cut off abruptly as a shriek pierced through the air, echoing off the hard rock. You all whipped toward the sound, weapons coming back to the ready as another hook horror climbed out from behind a patch of roots close to your three companions. As you watched it emerge you distractedly thought that it would be nice to go back to fighting above ground again. The way sound bounced around the rocks always made it sound like there was something behind you, and some paranoid instinct had you sending a cursory glance back over your shoulder to calm your nerves. 

You froze in place, realizing your fears had been well founded as another hook horror silently emerged from around the corner of the cavern wall and leapt towards you. You barked out a startled curse and jumped back as it took a swing at you. The first horror may have fallen easily enough against the four of you, but your companions were locked in battle on the other side of the cavern and you were well aware that a one-on-one fight was one you wouldn’t win. 

You kept your eyes locked on the creature as you began backing your way across the cave, hoping you could get within range of your party before it lost patience and struck. Based on the sounds the other monster was emitting it wouldn’t be a threat for much longer. You tightened your hold on your weapon, preparing to strike as you crept back another step, heart skipping as the rock you had stepped on shifted underneath your boot. You glanced down for a split second, trying to find your footing, a sense of dread filling you as you saw the hook horror jump into motion in your peripheral vision. 

The hook drove into your side and you screamed. Pain the likes of which you’d never felt before tore through you as the hook horror yanked its arm across your abdomen, tearing through your stomach. You thought you heard someone shout, but they sounded a million miles away as you collapsed to your knees before the beast, your sight dimming around the edges. You vaguely registered a flash of blades and a wet thump as the hook horror’s head hit the ground before your vision was taken over by Astarion’s panicked visage. His hands gripped your face, feeling unnaturally warm against your cheeks as the world faded away.  

“No no no, you can’t die, get UP damn you!” he shouted, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged cut across your midsection even as a small voice in the back of his mind told him it was too late. His shaking hands were covered in your blood but he had never found it less appealing, appetite long gone as he stared at your unnaturally pale face. “Please, my sweet, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded, vision clouding as his eyes filled with tears. He saw a red blur on his left as Karlach kneeled down beside him and he instinctively curled around you protectively, arms gently slipping around your back as he clutched your unmoving form against his chest.

“Astarion, we need–”  

“Give me a healing potion. Now.” he ordered, voice dangerously low.

“It’s too late, Astarion. We need to get her body back–”

“Don’t say it like that,” he growled shakily. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself but choking on the scent of your blood in the air. “A resurrection scroll then,” he demanded, glaring in Gale’s direction.

“I… it won’t work. The tree–”

Astarion snarled out a curse and pressed his forehead against your frigid cheek, desperately trying to contain the sob attempting to claw its way out of him. 

“We need to get her to camp, Astarion,” Karlach repeated gently, a small line of steam rising from where a tear had just rolled her cheek. “We need Shadowheart. I can carry–”

“No,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a trembling hand before adjusting one of his arms beneath your knees and standing with you cradled against him. “I’ve got her.” 

———————

They were farther from camp than Astarion had realized, though perhaps it only felt that way because he had spent the entire walk staring at your lifeless face. He felt numb by the time they arrived, hardly hearing Karlach shout for Shadowheart as they passed the first of the tents. In the back of his mind he was aware that their other companions had gathered around them frantically asking questions, but the words didn’t register and he continued forward without acknowledging any of them. He walked to his tent in a trance, gingerly setting you down on his bedroll and kneeling at your side as his shaking hands tried to arrange your limp body into a more comfortable configuration.

“What in the hells happened?” Shadowheart snapped as Karlach pulled her roughly into the tent. He should answer, should try to explain, but he was frozen kneeling by your side, unable to pull his attention away from your unblinking eyes.

“She- she was-” Karlach bit back a sob, trying to catch her breath. “We got caught off guard. She was alone. She shouldn’t have been alone,” Karlach choked out, dissolving into tears. Shadowheart hurried to your side and knelt across from Astarion, immediately beginning to unfasten the straps on your armor and peeling the bloodied metal away from your skin.

“We need to get her cleaned up so I can see what I'm doing. Astarion, can you fetch me some water and clean washcloths?” she asked, continuing to remove your ruined clothing. When he remained unmoving she looked up to where he sat, his gaze unwaveringly focused on the brutal cut across your torso. 

“Astarion,” she repeated softly, waiting as he slowly drug his gaze up to meet her eyes. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to fix this, but I need your help.” She paused, waiting until Astarion gave a small nod of acknowledgement to rattle off the things she needed, her attention returning to your still form as Astarion rose and darted around his tent gathering what she had requested. He returned a heartbeat later, depositing the items at her side as she instructed him to wet a cloth and begin wiping away as much blood as he could. 

She began chanting a prayer as he worked, hovering her hands over your sternum while he continued to gently clean your skin. Your blood had been a gift once, a delight. Now he shuddered as he attempted to ring out the bloodied rag in his hand, barely fighting the urge to retch as it dripped from his hands into the reddened bowl of water at his side.

A light sparked in Shadowheart’s hands, warm and radiant, and Astarion stopped his work, dropping the stained cloth and gently reaching out with trembling fingers to take hold of your hand. The light in her palms grew as she focused, directing its power towards you. A glowing beam split from the whole and snaked downwards, weaving through the jagged edges of your wound and drawing them together while the remainder of the light floated upward, hovering over your heart. She continued chanting, her eyes drifting closed in concentration as the glowing orb started to lower, dimming as it sunk through your skin and into your chest. The room grew silent as Shadowheart completed the incantation and lowered her hands, looking you over carefully. 

“Did it… did it work?” Karlach whispered. “Is it supposed to take this long? Why isn’t she–”

Your chest rose as you gasped in air, the breath immediately turning to a cough at the uncomfortable stretch in your lungs. The air tasted of iron and magic and you frowned, trying to open your eyes to observe your surroundings but surprised to find your eyelids heavy and uncooperative. Cool fingers brushed against your face, smoothing away the furrow in your brow and you instinctively relaxed at the familiar touch. 

“All is well, darling,” you heard Astarion whisper, voice sounding oddly constricted. “Rest now.” 

You were still confused, still couldn't remember how you’d gotten here or what had happened. It felt as if something important had occurred, surely you shouldn’t sleep now. You heard the soft murmur of voices around you, a strained chuckle, a soft sniffle. You frowned again, struggling once more to open your eyes and earning an exasperated sigh from the vampire beside you. 

“Please, pet,” he breathed, lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Just sleep.” 

Your sense of unease fell away as Astarion began gently running his fingers through your hair. You felt him press another soft kiss against your forehead and relaxed into him, allowing yourself to drift off in his arms.

———————

The second Shadowheart had given the all clear Astarion had insisted everyone leave his tent. It was far too crowded and he wouldn’t have them waking you up when you were clearly in no condition to face their fussing. Even as he anchored himself in the sound of your steady heartbeat he still felt restless and off-balance, hands flitting over your sleeping form looking for something more to do. 

He felt ridiculous. You were here in front of him, healed and whole, and that should be the end of it. So why in the hells were his hands still trembling as he ensured your blankets were tucked around you? Why did his chest ache uncomfortably every time he caught a leftover whiff of your blood in the air? 

He huffed out a frustrated breath and sat on the ground beside you, staring at your sleeping face warily. This had never been part of his plan. He was never supposed to… care. Two centuries of distancing himself and building walls and somehow you had just waltzed right past his defenses and made yourself at home. He let out a defeated sigh and reached over, extracting your hand from the blankets to weave your fingers together with his. His gaze drifted to the steady rise and fall of your breathing and he found himself matching your pace, the tightly wound coil in his chest finally starting to loosen as you let out a soft snore. 

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he could deal with figuring out why that sound made him smile. Tomorrow he could obsess over how even just holding your hand made his whole body feel warmer. Tomorrow he could deal with the fact that in over 200 years of life he’d never before been as completely and utterly terrified as he had been today. For now, though, he would indulge. For tonight he would just let himself have this, whatever ‘this’ was. He closed his eyes and lifted your hand to his face, gently brushing his lips across your knuckles as he settled in to watch over you until morning. 

———————

The passage of time in the Underdark still confused you. You woke to the same darkness you had fallen asleep in, groggily wondering what time it was and how long you had been in bed. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding. Had you been drinking? That would certainly explain why you couldn’t remember how you had gotten here. As unappealing as getting up sounded, you were parched and you couldn’t stay here forever. You hoisted yourself up and froze as pain suddenly lanced through you, your vision flickering and arms giving out as you whimpered and fell back toward your pillow only to be caught by a pair of cold, pale arms. 

“I wouldn’t recommend moving just yet, darling,” Astarion said, looking down at you with a worried frown on his face as he lowered you gently back to the bedroll. “Shadowheart did as much as she could last night but it took a lot out of her to bring you back. You’re not going anywhere until she’s gotten a chance to check on you again.” He leaned across you, determinedly avoiding meeting your eyes as he made sure your pillow was adequately fluffed. You saw a slight tremor run through him and heard a catch in his breath before he stood abruptly and walked across the tent, silently pouring you a glass of water from the pitcher in the corner.

“Bring me… back?” you questioned. Astarion stilled, jaw clenching as you took him in. His normally flawlessly tousled hair was tangled as if he had been running his hands through it and streaks of blood threaded through the white locks. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked even paler than normal, nearly translucent in the dim light. Your eyes flitted down to his wrinkled, untucked shirt and then around the tent, catching on the blood-soaked pile of clothes and armor to the side of the entrance and the red-stained towels laying by a bowl of water next to the bedroll. A dim memory flashed through your mind: a tree, an ambush, excruciating pain, and then… nothing. 

“Oh.” you whispered, exhaling shakily as you felt your chest constrict, breaths turning quick and shallow as the air seemed to thin. Astarion was by your side in an instant, one hand smoothing back your hair while the other cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“It’s alright, darling, just breathe. You’re safe now.” he murmured, continuing to stroke your hair as your breathing calmed. He let out a tremulous sigh and closed his eyes, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “It’s alright,” he repeated even more quietly, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself, pressing against you for a moment before inhaling sharply and pulling away.

“Shit, you’re in pain, aren’t you?” he said, looking you over with worried eyes and immediately moving to stand. “I’ll get Shadowheart, she said she’d come by when she woke but surely she’s had enough sleep by now and–” 

“Wait, Star, I… can you just stay here with me for a moment?” you asked in a small voice. Warmth spread through him at your request and he obliged immediately, lowering himself to sit at your side and gently taking your hand in his. You sat in companionable silence for a moment, studying his profile as he stared at your interlaced fingers. Up close the bags beneath his eyes were even more pronounced and you frowned, gently extricating your hand from his to touch his cheek. He leaned into your palm and placed a kiss against the inside of your wrist, eyes drifting closed as he basked in the warmth of your touch.

“Have you rested at all, Astarion?” you questioned. “You look exhausted.” 

He huffed a laugh and cracked open an eye to look at your face. 

“I’m not sure you want to get into comparing looks right now, darling. You’re even paler than me at the moment,” he chuckled, eyes closing once again as he leaned further into your touch, a teasing grin spread across his face. “I assure you, however you may think I look, you look ten times worse.” 

“Hm, that’s not too bad I suppose,” you smirked. “Ten times worse than you is still at least three times better than the average person.” 

Astartion barked out a surprised laugh and opened his eyes to look at you again, something in them softening as he saw your gentle smile. 

“Whoever would’ve thought math could be so romantic,” he murmured, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against your lips. He raised a hand to brush a stray hair off your forehead and his smile faded, brow furrowing as his gaze met yours with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please don’t scare me like that again, my dear,” he breathed. “I’m- I don’t-” he sighed in frustration at the mess of emotions in his chest, hardly able to remember the last time his words had failed him so completely. 

“Don’t want to deal with this group of weirdos all by yourself?” you teased gently. He grinned back at you, gratitude in his eyes for not pushing him to collect his thoughts just yet. 

“Precisely that,” he chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you said, smiling softly at him. “Also I wasn’t kidding before, you look like shit. You really should get some rest.” 

“Hm,” Astarion hummed mischievously, narrowing his eyes. “I would, but you see someone went and bled all over my bedroll. Adept though I may be at washing out blood stains it’s a rather thick fabric, it will take a while to dry back out. I may need to stay with… someone… for a day or two. Or three. Maybe more,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you huffed out a laugh. 

“You’re incorrigible,” you replied, grinning up at him and rolling your eyes. “I suppose it does seem that I’ve made rather a mess of your tent though…”

“You certainly have,” he murmured, shifting to hover over you, slowly kissing his way along your jaw.

“And it would only be fair to let you bunk with the cleanest person in camp…”

“Mmhmm…” he hummed, kissing closer and closer to your lips.

“And I’m sure Gale wouldn’t mind letting you crash with him–”

“Excuse me??” he crowed, pulling back indignantly as you burst out laughing below him. He scowled playfully and shook his head at you in feigned displeasure. “You wicked little thing,” he chuckled, leaning back down and finally pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever it is,” you smirked, pulling him back to you for another kiss, “I'm sure I'll like it.” 

[fandom]

New year, new Fandometrics!

The world bid farewell to 2023 and rang in 2024, welcoming the initial Steamboat Willie version of Mickey Mouse into the public domain in predictably interesting ways, including drawing comparisons between the original Mickey and Sonic the Hedgehog’s eye styles. Fans are halfway through the live-action Percy Jackson and the Olympians show, and the general consensus is “protect these children at all costs.” Kenna Jean Harris, the story lead of Luca and director of Ciao Alberto, confirmed that Luberto is canon, so congrats to those fish boys and everyone who ships them. The highly anticipated anime adaptation of beloved manga Dungeon Meshi has begun airing. And we’ve made some small changes to this year’s Fandometrics lists. This is Tumblr’s Week in Review.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Mickey Mouse

Artists on Tumblr

Dungeon Meshi

Palestine

Happy New Year

Baldur's Gate 3

Annabeth Chase | Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Good Omens

One Piece

Percabeth | Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Jujutsu Kaisen

Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3

Luca

Hannibal

Crowley | Good Omens

Jerusalem

Cats of Tumblr

Aziraphale | Good Omens

Sonic the Hedgehog

[killerpancakeburger]

The wizard is dead

Pairing: Rolan x f!Reader/Tav ("She" is used to refer to the Reader twice)

Summary: You didn’t expect to end the party celebrating Ketheric's final death at the Last Light Inn making out with a certain wizard. And least of all you certainly weren't expecting to meet him again in Baldur's Gate...

Tags: Enemies to lovers speedrun, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, protective! Tav, insecure! Tav, Astarion ships it and never stfu.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, canon violence and death, spoilers for Acts 2 and 3 obvsly.

A/N: Making Rolan blush as much as possible. If you too felt murderous upon seeing his bruises, this is the fic for you!

“...up. Get up. Urgh. Get the fuck up.”

An exasperated, familiar voice pierced progressively the depths of your sleep. Didn’t mean you wanted to wake up, though. You felt deliciously drowsy and ready to plunge right back into the pit of slumber.

You grumbled in protest in response to the voice and submerged your head with your pillow.

The voice emitted a grunt of aggravation following your shenanigans. 

“I can’t believe Karlack put up with this every morning…”

Something suddenly started to shove you repeatedly at waist level, and you identified the something as a foot.

You rolled over to escape, in vain.

“Go away, Astarion”, you whined, muffled by your pillow.

“Oh! She talks!” commented the vampire sarcastically. “Maybe now she will deign to join us for breakfast!”

“Why are you even here?”, you lamented. “Where’s Karlach? I want Karlach.”

It was your morning ritual since your hellish friend recovered her ability to touch without burning. She’d wake you up with a bones-crushing hug, some physical affection welcomed by both of you. In comparison to her, Astarion was cold and sharp, bodily and verbally. 

“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling.”

He wasn’t making any effort to conceal the enjoyment in his voice, and a bad feeling arose within you, wondering what could amuse him so early in the morning. Suffice to say, Astarion was not a morning person. 

Thankfully, he kept talking without needing to ask him to.

“So congratulations for shagging the wizard last night! It was the most entertaining spectacle of the party, no doubt.”

“Gale…?” You asked, filled with confusion. You enjoyed his company but neither of you ever showed interest of the romantic… or sexual… sort in the other.

“Ugh”, sighed exaggeratedly Astarion, like it was the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in two hundred years, “no, not Gale.” The name sounded like an insult. You could hear the spawn roll his eyes.

“The stuck-up tiefling! The wannabe apprentice! What was his name again…?”

All torpor is abruptly ejected from your body with the power of a cannonball. You sit up brutally, wound up like a bowstring. 

“Rolan!?” The name erupted from your mouth way louder than you intended. Luckily, Astarion didn’t pay attention as he slammed his fist against his palm in satisfaction. 

“Yes! That haughty little… Anyway! You two gave the Inn one hell of a show, making out in front of everybody. I have to thank you for that, really, it was getting sooo boring.”

He was looking at you with the content smile of a cat who caught the mouse. You stared back with incredulity, dumbfounded. 

“You’re lying.”

“Why, darling, I would never”, he retorted smugly, putting a hand on his chest with pretended affliction, like he was wounded by your accusation. 

You wanted to stand your ground and believe that he was lying, but something in his smugness, more assured than when he was deceiving people, told you that he wasn’t.

“The whole Inn saw you, so you could ask anyone for confirmation, really. They all cheered by the way. Obviously his siblings were the loudest of the bunch…”

You covered your ears in denial. Never again you would drink that much.

“You even managed to make him dance. Well, dragged him there, really. Details. He had two left feet, so that was… endearing.”

He pronounced “endearing” the same way he called you naive that one time, and you knew that he held himself back from using a more… colorful adjective.

“Shut up”, you pleaded with Astarion. “I don’t want to hear anything more.”

He chuckled with derision. 

“Me shutting up won’t change reality, dear.”

“What are you guys doing?”

Karlach’s booming voice startled you. Astarion, on the contrary, greeted her appearance with a mischievous smile, seeing another occasion to poke fun at you.

“We were just remembering yesterday night and the boldness of our heartbreaker of a leader. It was fun, wasn’t it Karlach?”

“Oh yeah!” immediately agreed the tiefling, completely missing the horror on your face and your silent plea to not add to Astarion’s pestering. “You guys were really going at it. Didn’t see it coming but what matters is that you’re happy.”

A radiant and sincere smile was adorning her lips. You covered your blushing face in embarrassment, grunting in shame and frustration with yourself.

“Karlach, if I ever drink this much again, just knock me out.”

“I mean, if you’re sure… but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Everyone is very supportive of you both.” she added, unsure of why you looked so down. 

“You don’t understand”, you whined.

As she was about to ask for explanations, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your conversation. All three of you turned your gaze to Wyll, who had a tense smile - or grimace, you weren’t sure - on his face, and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Ahrem. Lae’zel wanted me to let you know that if you don’t show up in the next three seconds, she would add you to the menu.”

Suddenly all thoughts of yesterday evening were forgotten as you three scrambled towards the campfire.

⚡⚡⚡

As your little band resumed their journey towards Baldur’s Gate, you resolved to use that time to put order in your memories from last evening and in your relationship with Rolan. 

Your memories were gradually resurfacing, hand in hand with a pounding headache. 

Despite Astarion and Karlach’s statements, you still couldn’t believe that you kissed Rolan. Not that the idea repulsed you - far from it, actually. The man was pretty, and he was even prettier when he wasn’t busy yelling at you. However, the idea that he let you put your lips anywhere on him was laughable. 

You proceeded to rewind all your memories with the self-assured wizard, trying to find the key to decipher what was an enigma to you. 

Truth be told, you didn’t remember much from your first meeting in the Grove. Except for his shooting match with Lia, which was impossible to miss once inside the shelter, you remembered him vaguely as a pompous character whose every statement dripped with snobbishness and bravado, so much that it felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than his audience. Despite the airs he was giving himself, you caught him later during the tiefling party putting on a magic show simply to please his siblings, and the heartwarming display disconcerted you as much as it amused you. 

The moment when you met him again in the Last Light Inn, on the other hand, was burned into your memory. He had once again caught your attention by his yelling. However, as you approached out of concern for the kids tending to the bar, the yelling quickly turned on you. You were ready to let it go - after all, if you weren’t in such a hurry to get rid of the parasite inside your head, you too would have drowned your sorrows in alcohol and lashed out at well-meaning strangers - until he accused you of being responsible for his siblings’ kidnapping by the cultists. 

All your restraint snapped at those words, like a rubber band too stretched. 

How did he dare? After everything you’ve done, after all the shit you’ve been through - and were still going through. You weren’t even expecting any thanks, you just wanted to be left alone. As if you malevolently sneaked inside Cal and Lia’s mind to trick them into doing your bidding. As if they weren’t both adults capable of making their own decisions.

A little voice in the back of your head whispered that he was blaming you because he was blaming himself, that rejecting the fault on someone else was the only way he found to contain the pain and guilt that were threatening to engulf him, but you ignored it. Understanding his reasons didn’t make you a doormat.

Karlach had to bodily restrain you as you were about to punch him in the face.

“Then stop whining and do something about it yourself, since I only make things worse.” you spat with as much venom you muster, leaving the Inn to find a training dummy to take out your vexation on. His shouts still reached you though.

“Oh, I will! I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity!”

You had almost forgotten the incident until you stumbled upon Rolan on your way to Moonrise, in the middle of the shadows. He was largely outnumbered and doomed to a certain death if your group didn’t happen to pass this way completely randomly. 

Once the shadows were taken care of, you pinched the bridge of your nose in bewilderment. Did he have a deathwish or something?

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing.”

His shoulders were shaking in frustration and anger. However, something in the tone of his voice made you feel quite different from the last time you met him. You weren’t irritated, no. You felt… sorrow. For him. Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of your emotions, keeping his eyes on the ground, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze.

He was more furious at himself than at you this time. There was also a dose of embarrassment in the mix, after failing to rescue his siblings on his own. This display of vulnerability was the antipodes of his usual self-assured behavior, to such an extent that you wondered if the shadows were making you hear things. 

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for Moonrise”, escaped your mouth before you could stop it, realizing that he very probably wouldn’t be any happier to see you now than last time.

He snapped back immediately - of course he did.

“So what if I was? Cal and Lia could be there!”

You were about to retort that getting himself killed on the way there would help no one, Cal and Lia least of all, before the last thing you told him suddenly came back to you. A cold shiver ran down your back, as you wondered with horror if he was here because of your words. You never expected him to take your remark seriously. In the heat of the moment, you had wanted to hurt him, but you had never intended to send him to die alone in those cursed lands. Unease pooled in your stomach and a sharp pang of guilt twisted your heart. You gritted your teeth in frustration. Rolan kept ranting, oblivious to your inner turmoil, which was probably for the best.

“Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

That last remark was meant as a jab at you, however it failed at riling you up. How could it have, when his voice trembled like he was about to shed tears? He was finally looking at you, and the heartfelt dejection painted on his features made you want to hold him in your arms more than anything else. You quickly pushed that urge aside, though - there was no doubt in your mind that your attempt at comfort would be unwelcome, to say the least. You probably wouldn’t like it either if the roles were reversed. You two weren’t close enough for this.

Nonetheless, you tried to bring him solace through your words, keeping your tone as neutral as possible:

“You were trying to help your family - you’re too hard on yourself.”

But your efforts seemed to have the opposite effect, as he retorted in an uncharastically acerbic tone:

“Or not hard enough.”

Both his words and his timber made a shiver of dread run through you. There was something terribly final in them, that made you reconsider your thoughts about him having a death wish.

But you were nothing to him, except an hindrance, and as he bid you farewell and walked away, you simply watched him, feeling bitterly powerless, wishing that he at least made it back safely to the Last Light Inn.

Following the defeat of Ketheric Thorm and the eradication of the shadow curse, Jaheira and the Harpers had organized a celebration at the Last Light Inn the night before your departure for Baldur’s Gate. The respite was welcome for your whole party. You really needed a break before taking up the arms against two more gods. Alcohol flew freely. Former prisoners were reuniting with their loved ones. Fighters numbed their wounds and the deceased’s sacrifice was honored. 

As part of the acclaimed saviors, you were making your mandatory runs around the inn before you could slip away to a quiet and peaceful corner. It was during that errand that, once again, you walked in on Rolan and his siblings screaming at each other. You sighed, passing a hand over your tired face, somehow knowing that it would be up to you, once again, to play mediator. 

You downed your drink and approached, waiting for your opportunity to interfere into the conversation. Noticing an opening, you slipped innocently, nose in your tankard:

“Rolan was in a bad state without the two of you.”

The swiftness at which the situation defused itself would have almost made you chuckle if it hadn’t been that serious. Hearing Rolan state that his struggle didn’t matter made you frown but you bit your tongue. Truly that man had serious insecurity issues under all that boasting. But just like in the shadows, it was none of your business.

Having played your role, you mumbled a “don’t mention it” to Cal who was thanking you, and took your leave. Or at least you had started to, until Rolan’s voice interrupted you.

“Wait.”

You turned around out of curiosity, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, not sure if you were the one being addressed. Rolan was staring at you right into your eyes, erasing your previous doubt. Gods, had his yellow gaze always been that hard to hold? 

As soon as he saw he had your attention, he started talking. And what he had to say took you completely aback.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.”

You held back from clarifying that you saved him from the shadows because he happened to be in the way. And that you saved Cal and Lia because… they were in the way too. You were gonna release the Moontower’s prisoners anyway, that Rolan’s siblings had been part of them was just a coincidence. However this little speech seemed to cost Rolan, which was understandable, so you kept your mouth shut.

“You didn’t deserve that - I’m sorry. And thank you.”

You opened your eyes wide - receiving an apology wasn’t on your todo list today. Least of all from someone as proud as Rolan. Even more mind-bending, he gave you a genuine smile. You were so focused on his face that it didn’t occur to you to refuse the money he offered.

Later in the night, as you were still processing his unhoped for change of demeanor, and were a fair bit tipsy, you ended up passing him a new bottle of Arabellan Dry - who gave it to you? Who told you it was Rolan’s favorite’s wine? And that you should give it to him? You had no idea. Not noticing the wine at first, he teased you:

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

Between his taunting words, his open smile, his beautiful eyes sparkling with mirth, and the realization that he was laughing with you, something inside you snapped. Suddenly you had butterflies in your stomach, weakness in your knees, and he looked like the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You laughed heartily, before smiling frankly, noting that he looked - pleasantly? - surprised at your reaction, not expecting an audience that easy to entertain. 

You remembered talking back to him, settling yourself in a spot nearby, sharing that bottle… But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember that pretended kiss. Did you actually manage to make him blush during the night or was it just the wine?

After reflecting over everything, you still felt as much - if not more - mortified. There was no way Rolan felt happy about making a spectacle of himself in front of so many people - and in front of his siblings, least of all. Those two must have had a field day deriding their eldest. As for the kiss, it must have been a result of the alcohol and the proximity. You didn’t get a lot of opportunities for… physical affection since the beginning of your tadpole adventure, and you could easily imagine that Rolan must not have been getting a lot of action either, between fleeing the Grove, dealing with the cultists, losing his siblings and enduring the shadow curse. 

You could only imagine that after such a disaster, Rolan must be back to hating you. 

You sighed deeply, to the point of attracting the questioning looks of some of your companions walking by your side, before shaking your head in resolve. It was just one, regrettable evening. As long as you didn’t run into Rolan again, you could put it behind you. And what were the chances of coming across him in Baldur’s Gate anyway? 

⚡⚡⚡

High, apparently. Or at least high enough to make you eat your words.

Your merry band had just crossed the doors of some fancy magic shop that took up residence in a lavish tower. You were originally there to confront the man who had put a price on Aylin’s head. Whatever his intentions were with her, they couldn’t be good. Adding wizards’ characteristic hubris and what Ketheric Thorn previously inflicted to the Aasimar together, you quickly came to the conclusion that he sought to cage her and thereby attain immortality. Your purpose was therefore simple: explain in no uncertain terms to Ramazith’s tower’s new owner that he could - should -  kiss goodbye his delusions of eternal life, and, if he proved to be too stubborn to be reasoned with, deal with him in such a way that he wouldn’t be an issue anymore for your winged friend. 

However all Selune’s daughter-related considerations went out the window when you laid eyes upon the shopkeeper at the counter. Somehow the tiefling who had haunted your thoughts for weeks and made you recoil in embarrassment at night, when you were left alone with yourself, forced to cope with the memories of your last meeting, was standing right in front of you. Worse, he noticed you, and the natural blush of his infernal skin miserably failed to hide the vivid flush of his cheeks. Like his reflection in a mirror, you could distinctly feel your own face blaze fiercely. 

It lasted a minute or an eternity, you had no idea, until you were brutally ejected from your trance at the view of the bruises covering his face. Rolan had been so severely pummeled that purple had become the prevailing color on his visage. Ice-cold, overpowering fury spread across your veins and possessed you to swiftly close the gap between the two of you. 

Consumed by anger, you raised a hand to graze his tumefied skin. 

“Who did this to you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

You felt a slight pang of remorse upon seeing him struggle to not back away from you after you charged at him like a ram. His tail had started to sway wildly at your approach. 

However Rolan rapidly proceeded to regain his composure, as he always did. Coughing in his fist - maybe a desperate attempt to hide his still glowingly red cheeks, or simply a way to offer himself a moment to get a grip -, he answered you, way too nonchalantly for your taste. 

“Nothing- ahrem… nothing for you to worry about.”

His reply stinged. Bitterly. After all that you’ve been through together, he still didn’t trust you. Or he was still resolutely convinced that he had to endure every tribulation alone - you sincerely doubted that Lia and Cal wouldn’t have thrown a fit upon his appearance. 

You didn’t know which of those two possibilities hurt more. 

The righteous wrath inside you disappeared, like extinguished by a bucket of icy water, replaced by a chilling insight - it was utterly useless to fight for him when he wouldn’t stand up for himself. And, more importantly, if he didn’t consider you close enough to him to ask your help, then it was time for you to move on. 

“You suck at lying, you know that?” You felt obligated to point out.

As he was about to object, you continued.

“But you’re right. If you still don’t need my sanctimonious help, I’ll just go about my day. Sorry for the trouble.”

Immediately after spatting those words, you found your outburst childish, but you couldn’t take it back. You began to storm off, determined to fully focus on the wannabe-immortal wizard problem, but a clawed hand grabbing your forearm ended your departure.

“Wait-” 

You whirled around, losing more and more patience. 

“What.”

Rolan sighed, but not in a way that sounded like this was a chore to him. He sighed like one does to give themselves courage before overcoming adversity. The words had left his lips before he could even think them; before he could contemplate their effect on you. Being self-reliant and showing no weaknesses had become an automatic reflex forged by a life of survival. He couldn’t shrug it off overnight - but you were the first person who made him want to try.  

He then compelled himself to look you straight in the eye.

“Don’t lea- I mean, I didn’t mean to…Urgh… Gods damn it… it’s Lorroakan.”

You stared back at him, split between the newfound joy of him confiding in you, and the confusion of hearing his confession.

“Lorrowho?” You asked, slightly tilting your head in puzzlement.

 The name didn’t ring a bell for you, but according to your companions’ exasperated grunts in your back, it certainly did for them.

“The tower’s newest owner”, helpfully prompted Gale behind you. “So-called greatest wizard of the Sword Coast, aspiring to subjugate Dame Aylin, took our friend here as his apprentice?”

“Oooh! That guy!”, you exclaimed. “Well that’s perfect! We were going to kick his ass anyway!”

You could have announced to Rolan that you were planning to fight a dragon with your bare hands, he probably would have gazed at you the same way.

“By the way, Rolan, you can let go now”, you added with a pointed look towards his hand still squeezing your arm.

He let go like he got burned, cheeks reddening again, swore in hellish and apologized. You assured him it was fine. 

“Can you share anything that would help us take down Lorra… Larro… whatever-his-name-his?”

The tiefling straightened up, clearly in his element. 

“Mast- Lorroakan has four Myrmidons.”

He seemed about to carry on on the subject, but stopped in front of your confounded expression.

“Myrmiwhat?”

The apprentice wizard opened his mouth to start an informed lecture about the properties of Myrmidons, before closing it and pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated by your ignorance.

“Nevermind, I can make this simple for you.”

Feeling insulted, you proceeded to join your hands and excessively flutter your eyelashes to mimic a swooning admirer. 

“Why, thank you Master Rolan! You are ever so generous to us simpletons!”

The aforenamed choked a bit at that, but you were not sure if it was in reaction to your ridiculous antics or to being called “master”.

“As I was saying, Myrmidons are very powerful elementals. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”

You acquiesced with a nod of your head before turning to your Party.

“Let’s get going then.”

“Should we not fetch the Asimaar?” inquired Astarion, observing his nails with detachment. “Not that I particularly care, but with how strongly this concerns her, she may come after us if we keep her out of this.”

You replied without missing a beat, having already pondered the question. 

“No, I want to spare her that.”

The Vampire Spawn let out one of those unhinged little laughs he had a knack for, blending contempt and incredulity. 

“I must have misheard you - spare her? The cutthroat demigod who mercilessly crushes her enemies under her boot? That’s who you want to spare?”

You had expected that kind of reaction, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“That’s not what I meant” you grunted, aggravated by the elf’s taunting. “Of course she can take care of herself. But just because she can, doesn’t mean she has to. Dealing with relentless creeps who get off on the idea of breaking you, body and spirit, it’s exhausting, speaking from experience. I couldn’t imagine doing it for centuries. We can provide her a brief respite. If she takes it the wrong way, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

Astarion shrugged, satisfied with your answer since it sheltered him from consequences. The others agreed with nods of the head.

Rolan gave you the directions to reach Lorroakan before adding, frowning:

“Be careful. He has a beastly temper.”

The recommendation made you snicker. Before the tiefling could take offense, you brought your face closer to his, lifting his chin with your index, a wolfish smile stretching your lips. 

“I highly doubt that sorry excuse for a wizard is in any way a beast. But fear not, pretty boy, I’ll show you what beastly really means.”

Whistles and sniggers could be heard from behind you, demonstrating the maturity of your traveling companions. Meanwhile Rolan’s face somehow managed to turn even redder than when you both met again moments ago, and his attempts to come up with a rebuttal resulted only in stuttering. 

Benevolently, you did not comment, careful to not overstep his boundaries too much, and changed the subject, rising an inquisitive eyebrow:

“Are you not coming with us?”

He cleared his throat to give himself a semblance of composure.

“I guess I should, if only to make sure you lot do not ravage the tower on your rampage.”

You smirked a little at his efforts to appear indifferent, but refrained from making any remark, content with his participation.

As you made your way towards your target, Astarion sneaked by your side, a mocking smile adorning his lips. You mentally braced yourself for the jibe that wouldn’t fail to come.

“I figured out why you didn’t want to bring Aylin on our little excursion, darling.”

“Oh really.” you replied with the most blasé tone you could muster.

Unfortunately, your lack of concern didn’t seem to deter your vampiric ally at all.

“You want to keep your prey for yourself. To be the one to slaughter the Master Wizard. You should have seen your face earlier when you threw a fit over Rolan’s bruises, I thought you were going to bite.”

“So what? Is that a problem?”

“Quite the opposite, really. I’m planning to revel in the show. Let’s hope for you that the little wizard is of the same mind, uh?” 

You told him to mind his own business and he just laughed. 

Your group crossed the magic portal, entering Lorroakan’s lavish office only to stumble upon the deplorable spectacle that was the supposed great wizard sadistically torturing his servant for his questionable experimentations. Thankfully, your noteworthy arrival put an end to the loathsome display as the red-haired wizard dismissed his domestic and his mechanical construction.

“I see no Nightsong. Surely you wouldn’t have entered my tower without the Nightsong in hand. Surely my worthless apprentice wouldn’t have allowed you to waste my time.”

That last remark made your blood boil as surely as it did earlier when you laid eyes upon Rolan’s contused face. You gritted your teeth, plastering on a fake smile, before giving the man a taste of his own scorn by ignoring him completely and ostensibly turning towards Rolan.

“Is that the pathetic excuse that serves as your mentor?”

The apprentice wizard spared a glance at Lorroakan who was suffocating with indignation before focusing on you.

“... Yes, he is.”

“Great! Would have been so awkward to kill the wrong guy!”

Bestowing your most bloodthirsty smile on your foe, you made a point to talk over his outraged diatribe.

“There’s only two things you should know, really. First : you will never get your hands on the Nightsong. Second : I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy it.” 

Having said your piece, you unsheathed your weapon as the wizard invoked his Myrmidons, and the battle began.

⚡⚡⚡

Standing over Lorroakan’s battered body, you made sure that he was in too much pain to ramble again. Rolan came to stand beside you, the shock on his face telling you that he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

You looked at him inquisitively.

“Wanna do the honors?”, you suggested, referring to the final blow. 

As he remained motionless and speechless, you started to worry you had said the wrong thing, but suddenly his expression turned resolute and he nodded. 

You distanced yourself from the two wizards, not fancying getting caught in a spell’s blast. Rolan uttered his incantation with force - detono.

With a mixture of astonishment and awe, you watched Lorroakan’s body get hurled across the room and through the nearest window in a cacophony of shattering glass. You leaned through the destroyed window to glimpse at the mangled corpse before turning to Rolan with a low whistle.

“So much for not ravaging the tower, uh-”

You found yourself unable to finish your clever quip as your favorite tiefling grabbed you by the collar and crushed his lips against yours. The motion was brutal and clumsy, to the point that you briefly wondered if he was trying to kiss you or punch you in the lips… with his lips.

Barely leaving you enough time to reciprocate the gesture, Rolan withdrew, a wild look in eyes, panting slightly. Did he forget to breathe during…?

“You-”

“This is all your fault!”

You gaped at him in uncomfortable silence, immobile, truly at a loss for words. What in the nine hells did you do this time, again?

One hand released your clothing as Rolan covered half his face with it in consternation. 

“And to think I promised myself I wouldn’t lash out at you again… Do you see how I lose my composure in your presence? Every. Bloody. Time. It’s infuriating.” He sighed.

You crossed your arms, staring at his piercing yellow eyes.

“Riiight.” 

He had at least the tact to appear marginally embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Not a day has passed since Last Light Inn where you weren’t on my mind.” he admitted, albeit begrudgingly, rubbing his neck in bashfulness, and unable to meet your eyes.

Your eyes widened at the confession. This was a surprise, although a pleasant one.

“You… you don’t hate me for it?”

It was his turn to stare in astonishment.

“For what…?”

“You made a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole Inn because of me…”

“Please, I’m not tone-deaf enough to not acknowledge my own responsibility in this. We both had… a lot… to drink.”

“Oh… Well, in that case… I’ve been thinking about you too. Since the Inn.”

It was only fair to come clean too after he made the first move, which must have definitely cost him and his pride.

“Oh.”

There you were, two blushing idiots staring at their own feet in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with yourselves. That is, until you remembered what started all of this, and you raised your head so suddenly Rolan got startled.

“We need to heal your face.”

He chuckled openly at that, but instead of taking offense, seeing him happy spread warmth in your chest.

“You should heal yourself first, ô mighty hero. You’re in way worse shape than I am.”

You frowned and grabbed his face to inspect his bruises closer.

“Being injured is second-nature for me. I don’t think you can say the same. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He took hold of your hips in response. A derisive smile stretched his lips.

“What a poorly concealed way to get me to undress.”

“How dare you”, you protested, scandalized. “imply that my benevolence is anything but proper?”

“Maybe I wish it wasn’t.”

Before you could ask for clarification, he kissed you.

“Rolan…”

“Mmh…”

Again.

“I was serious about healing you…”

“Mh.”

And again.

You grabbed his robes and shoved him against the closest bookshelf in a drastic attempt to put some space between your bodies. The action didn’t seem to deter him at all, if anything it added fuel to the fire, as you could feel his claws even through your clothes. To make matters worse, you quickly realized that getting away was impossible with how tight his tail was coiled around your thigh. 

All your worries disappeared however as a very familiar voice could be heard from somewhere on the floor underneath. Rolan definitely heard it too as he looked in its direction with a mixture of dread and annoyance. 

You couldn’t discern entirely what Lia was saying, but the words “Rolan” and “Lorroakan” were definitely part of it.

You looked at Rolan with an unequivocal expression.

“We should go to them… and reassure them that you’re not dead or something.”

The new master of the tower threw his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, fine!”

“Also, we’re going to fall to our deaths in the stairs if you don’t keep your tail to yourself, Mister…”

Rolan dashed off in the direction of the stairs, grumbling about siblings and lack of privacy, not without grabbing your hand in passing. 

[egooppidum]

I found idle banters for Alfira while she is staying in the camp. They are currently inactive. Perhaps Alfira will stay for a few days until the Dark Urge awakens.

(Astarion's reaction depends on romance with player. Bawdy 'Endless Blade' I CAN'T BREATHE LOL. Alfira LOVES cats 😭 (Tara should have been in the camp not only in Gale's origin, there are other dialogues that confirm this). Volo just stop.)

[petit-etoile]

Astarion goes to the cat shelter to get a sibling for His Majesty, Tav is the worker who helps him out and it’s history from there

cat  &  mouse  ( back  &  forth )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 2,505 content warnings: set in baldur's gate but i mention designer brands, other than that,  nothing other tags: alternate universe - modern setting, pre-relationship, developing relationship, getting together, fluff, astarion is rich, gender neutral tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s be added to the taglist here

summary:  ‘But you see, I travel for business and His Majesty holds grudges,’ Astarion explains. ‘If I leave him with a sitter, he’s a true terror. If I leave him alone, he eats my Brunello Cucinelli cashmere!’

‘Hello! Is there anything I can help you with?’

The man is currently kneeling down, humming to himself, while he looks between a bundle of elderly cats and his phone. You’re surprised. Normally people who come to the shelter are looking for kittens as presents, but the sight of him giving attention to anything but kittens makes you feel better about his intentions. He looks at you, startled by the sound of your voice. His phone clammers to the ground.

‘Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!’ you say frantically. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you!’

‘  — my gods, no, I mean it’s quite alright, heavens above,’ he breathes out. He drapes a hand over his heart dramatically. ‘Perhaps you should wear a bell around your ankle. You’re…horrifically quiet.’

He huffs out a sigh of relief before picking his phone back up. He stands up, knees creaking as he does so, and shows you his screen. Thankfully, it’s free of cracks.

‘I’m looking for a companion for His Majesty,’ the man explains.

The picture he shows you is an offensively hairless cat who seems to be somewhat older as well, though it’s hard to tell due to all his natural wrinkles. You’re not sure how it’s possible, but the cat seems to be judging you through the phone. You once heard Mr. Withers say that all pets take after their pet owners' looks, and when you glance at the man before you, you can kind of see it. He’s not hairless by any means but he certainly looks at you with an air of accidental arrogance, and that makes you nervous.

‘What a cute cat!’ you say instead.

‘His Majesty is rather adorable,’ the man agrees. ‘Oh gods, I just realized he isn’t even wearing a sweater in this photo… Please look away, he is indecently exposed!’

You laugh, covering your mouth and closing your eyes as instructed. You can hear him frantically scroll through his camera roll for a picture of His Majesty that would have all his hairlessness expertly covered.

The next photograph you’re allowed to see of His Majesty shows the sphynx cat in an adorable sweater which matches the sweater his owner is wearing. Seeing the two side by side confirms your earlier suspicions. They seem to belong together. Smug, but not as if it isn’t warranted, and proud, like their happiness is something they’ve earned. You hum, nodding.

‘But you see, I travel for business and His Majesty holds grudges,’ the man explains. ‘If I leave him with a sitter, he’s a true terror. If I leave him alone, he eats my Brunello Cucinelli cashmere!’

‘He definitely sounds like he needs a friend!’ you agree.

‘But he hates kids,’ the man stresses, sniffing delicately. ‘So I doubt kittens would fare any better. He bit my sister’s niece once.’

‘I see, I see,’ you say, trying not to laugh. ‘We have a few cats here that I think could be a good companion. Right here is Kira and she’s quite the refined lady. I think she likes to gossip.’

‘Oh my,’ the man says. ‘She would fit right in.’

‘But there’s also Myshka. He’s a bit more playful, but he has gorgeous eyes,’ you say.

You kneel down where the man was sitting before, gesturing between the two cats you pointed out. Kira frowns at you disapprovingly, and Myshka continues to chirp happily. The man gasps at the adorableness and wiggles his fingers in front of the kennels. Myshka shouts like you’ve never heard him shout and bounces, shoving his nose against the doors and sniffing aggressively. He’s perhaps the least ‘civilized’ cat you have at the entire shelter, but from the way the man’s eyes light up, you wouldn’t even know it. Part of you is thankful. Myshka deserved a good home.

‘Ugh, he’s perfect,’ the man says.

‘He isn’t as old as some of the other cats, but most people overlook him because he isn’t a kitten,’ you explain. You wiggle your fingers too and Myshka forgets about the man and starts yelling at you instead. ‘He’s a little odd but I’d take him home in a heartbeat if I could.’

‘Oh? You want him too?’

‘Yeah, but my home is a bit busy,’ you say with a shrug. ‘I have a cute dog named Scratch, who is a rescue, and I’m currently helping rehabilitate a baby owlbear.’

‘A baby owlbear!’

‘Yeah! Do you want to see some photos too?’

The man grins crookedly. He’s so handsome it makes your heart stutter. You look away from him and focus on fishing your phone out of your back pocket. You find your photo album titled ♡ family ♡. You show him Scratch first. He coos over the dog, pointing out how pretty his coat is. You purple shampoo it every once in a while so that it stays sparkling and shiny and white. Compared to what Scratch looked like before, he’s so happy now.

It only goes up from there when you show the man the picture of the baby owlbear. He’s so chubby it’s cute with big, hopeful eyes. You tell the man about how Jaheira had found him one night in the woods and how you were the first person she thought of to help rehabilitate him. That seems to earn you some recognition. He looks at you like he’s really taking in the look of you.

‘You may as well be an angel in disguise,’ he says approvingly. ‘Although… Jaheira… I think I know her.’

‘You might! She owns the rescue.’

‘I think I took on a case for her once,’ the man muses, rubbing at his chin. ‘Yes, that sounds more like it. If you know Jaheira, then you must be a phenomenal person.’

You laugh nervously. Now he’s just flattering you, you’re sure of it. Either way, you try to change the subject as quickly as possible before your nerves get the better of you.

‘Mm, yes, I think I’ll take this one,’ he says, referring to Myshka. ‘But no need to put him in one of those awful boxes. I have a Prada carrier in my car. If you’ll only give me a moment.’

Prada… Brunello Cucinelli… You almost wish you were Myshka instead!

Still, now that you watch him go in and out, everything starts to add up. He’s an expensive magistrate with expensive cat carriers and expensive cats… You stare agape as Astarion Ancunin walks back in with his bright red Prada bag and offers it to you. He smiles once you realize who he is. The awe must show on your face. Not that it matters, he’s here to get a cat and you happen to have been one of the only ones working today, but you still feel ridiculously honored. Without saying anything, you coax Myshka into the bag and show Astarion the way to the counter so that he can pay.

“We take cash…or credit…’ you say faintly. ‘Or checks…’

‘Cash will have to do,’ Astarion says with a shrug. ‘Anything for little Myshka. What a little baby!’

You don’t even know what to say half the time, busy trying to get the paperwork together and not stare. It seems like Astarion has hit all your weaknesses in one go. Attractive, loves animals, adopts and doesn’t shop, and goes out of his way to wear ugly matching sweaters with his cat. You ring him up as slowly as you can out of your own desire to stare at him more, and then once everything is signed and paid for, you reluctantly slide Myshka’s carrier forward. You don’t mean to pout. You can’t really help it.

‘You’ll tell Jaheira I stopped by, won’t you?’ Astarion asks casually. He’s running his fingers over the zipper of his carrier instead of picking his new cat up. ‘We used to get into trouble together back in the day.’

‘You know,’ you say conspiratorially, ‘we’re actually having a bonfire out at my place this weekend. It’s a little bit out of the city, but Jaheira will be there. She’s bringing kidney pie.’ You leave out the part where it’s supposed to be an employee’s only bonfire.

‘It does sound phenomenal,’ Astarion hums. ‘Give me the address. I’d love to drop by. You can leave your phone number too if you’d like.’

It goes without saying that for the next three days, you do nothing besides prepare for the bonfire, go to work, and text Astarion. He sends you updates about his new family  —  Myshka is freshly spoiled with a Louis Vuitton collar, His Majesty wears a new Gucci sweater that matches Astarion’s, and Astarion himself takes ridiculous selfies at bad angles while looking ridiculously attractive. It’s almost unfair. 

Sometimes you send him pictures of Scratch chewing on his favorite toy, but mostly, Astarion seems to enjoy videos of the baby owlbear sitting in the silliest ways possible. You managed to get him to wear a hat one day and Astarion was so delighted by it he allegedly set it as his homescreen.

You’re the only one not surprised when Astarion shows up to your humble farm in his Mercedes-Benz. You might have forgotten to tell Jaheira about it. Everyone crowds around you instead of the bonfire trying to get a peek at the hot-shot magistrate, but if the attention was overwhelming, Astarion says nothing. He strolls in carrying a pot of something that Gale immediately begins fussing over. Now with empty hands, Astarion throws his arms around Jaheira and kisses her cheeks over and over. It’s lovely.

Astarion begins fussing over Scratch as though he were an old friend after that. Scratch has brought over his ball to play, and even though it’s covered in spit and roughly three years old, Astarion delights in playing fetch. You sneakily grab a plate of kidney pie to feed Scratch and sit on the ground so you can watch them play games. At one point, Scratch refuses to bring Astarion the ball and makes the elf chase him around the yard. When he’s done, Astarion sits next to you laughing and gasping for air.

He helps you feed Scratch the meaty bits from the pie, cooing all the while. ‘What a delightful beast!’ he says.

‘He really gave you a run for your money for a moment, didn’t he?’ you tease.

‘Well, he has two more legs than I do,’ Astarion snorts, sniffing delicately. ‘It’s only fair he wins.’

It makes you laugh more than it should, and you wipe the leftover pie crust and juices on your jeans before standing up. You’re surprised when Astarion does the same on his jeans, but he laughs at your expression and follows suit.

‘Do you  —  Do you want to see him?’ you ask.

‘See who  —  ’ Astarion’s eyes widen immediately. ‘The owlbear! The baby! Oh please, you must let me see him, darling. What a delight!’

‘I must warn you,’ you tell him, leaning forward like it’s a secret. ‘He may be asleep. And he’s extremely cuddly. Beware the claws.’

‘Beware the claws, yes, yes,’ Astarion repeats, waving his hand impatiently. ‘Let me see the little man!’

You lead Astarion away from the bonfire and everyone else to a quieter, fenced off part of your property. You had it passed down to you from your grandfather who wasn’t deceased as much as he was that much of a recluse who decided Baldur’s Gate was becoming too large. Inside, tucked into a cute little bed, was the baby owlbear who had picked up the habit of snoring from Scratch.

Everyone else liked the baby owlbear as well, but you weren’t expecting Astarion to gush at the sight of him. You lead him into the enclosure and very carefully sat next to the owlbear. As if trained to do so, he wakes up and blinks his large orange orbs at Astarion inquisitively.

‘Do you want to hold him?’ you ask.

Astarion almost quivers at the idea.

‘You have to be really careful!’ you tell him, probably for the hundredth time. ‘He’s just a baby so he can’t control his strength yet. He has big boy paws. They hurt if he smacks you in the face by accident.’

Astarion is the picture of serenity. He sits, cross legged, and waits for you to slowly coax the baby owlbear into his lap. He’s clearly delighted by the whole thing, visibly trembling, and watching the owlbear with the kind of reverence you only see at a temple. Astarion sits very patiently and gently pets the top of the owlbear’s head, and it only takes a minute or two for the baby to fall back asleep. Every snore is a hoot, and his feathers fluff out occasionally as he continues to make himself comfortable in Astarion’s lap.

‘This might be the best thing ever,’ Astarion tells you earnestly.

You aren’t quite sure what possesses you in the moment, but you straighten up a little bit and glance at him as coyly as you can manage. You put your hands in your lap and twirl your thumbs around one another nervously.

You say, ‘It really does seem like he likes you. Maybe  —  Maybe you could come by more often. If you want to.’

Astarion glances at you knowingly. ‘Oh, perhaps every once in a while,’ he says ‘Maybe I could teach him how to play fetch.’

‘Like Scratch taught you how to?’

‘I knew how to play!’ Astarion complains. ‘He wouldn’t give the ball back! And he’s so fast, it’s ridiculous. His Majesty would never treat me this way.’

‘I’d like to meet His Majesty too,’ you say casually.

Astarion’s eyes light up. Had they always been that shade of red? The light of the evening seems to make them glow… You try not to think about it too much, but you haven’t been very good at focusing lately. Astarion seems equally as interested in your eyes. He chases after them, intent on looking you in the face as you chat.

‘You’ll have to come over,’ he says encouragingly. ‘I cook a mean Lheshayl steak. It pairs nicely with a Silverymoon white wine.’

‘I don’t ever think I’ve had a Lheshayl anything,’ you say, and Astarion laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh. ‘Do I bring a dish to something like that?’

‘Oh no, darling, you don’t bring anything but your gorgeous self,’ Astarion says, nudging you with his elbow. ‘I wasn’t inviting you to get together with friends, you know. If I wanted that, I’d have it catered. I was asking you on a date  —  ’

‘A date?’ you repeated stupidly.

Astarion laughs again. It’s a whimsical, unpracticed sound that doesn’t go with his usual countenance but it sounds nice. It makes you want to make him laugh more. You’re not quite sure what you’ve done to warrant his attention, but the affection is nice… You nudge him back, fighting the smile, fighting the butterflies dancing dangerously in the pit of your stomach.

‘Okay,’ you say softly. ‘It’s a date.’

[omgshiftercat]

BG3 Blogging: Could this guy be a vampire? Nah, he's just a cat.

Now that I'm playing as Karlach rather than Astarion, WOW that vampire cannot help dropping hints by the dozen about what he is. The rest of the group must be thinking, "If this guy weren't walking around in direct sunlight, I'd swear he's a vampire."

The vibe:

During my Origin Astarion run, back at the crashed nautiloid I was like, "Ooh, I have a bite attack? CHOMP!" and that triggered the reveal dialogue with Shadowheart. No waiting around.

🐇: Part of the Vampiric Drama Compulsion includes dropping hints that you are a vampire.

Though there's also this: Astarion: Have you ever heard of a vampire lord named Cazador? Wyll: Not ringing any bells. Gale: Head of the Szarr family. Nasty piece of work, if the histories are to be believed. Astarion: (quietly) They likely are.

(Note: some dialogue might not be word-perfect, since I'm often going from memory.)

Now musing on how much of that "drop broad hints that you are a bloodsucker" thing is Vampire Drama Instinct and how much might have developed as a covert attempt to alert someone, anyone, about what he is without going against the Purple Man levels of control that a master vampire has over their spawn. "No, master, I have no idea how the monster hunters figured out that I'm a spawn and therefore there must be a vampire lord in the city somewhere!"

This explains why the boar carcass is still in the middle of the road: he only has 8 strength.

My friend 🦀 explained he'd been playing a wizard Tav with the attitude of, "I've had a very bad month. Everyone gets ONE chance. Threaten me at your peril," which meant that a few key NPCs got immediately nuked by fire spells... including Astarion. (Lae'zel lived, partly due to what was almost certainly the Dream Guardian's direct interference.)

Me: Just think of him as a cat who somehow acquired elven form and passed the Baldur's Gate bar exam. 🦀: 😆👍!

...I mean. It's not just that he's so frequently drawn as a cat. Or that he approves of showing proper deference to His Majesty, and disapproves of telling Tara not to eat pigeons. As a cat owner, I can confirm that "tries very hard to seem cool and dignified, but in fact has zero chill and is prone to comical overreaction" is a frequent feline trait.

(Also, if you pass your Perception check, you don't even have to do the thing where you calm the hissy cat by not pulling away when he sticks his claws into you.)

And yeah... people (including me) go on about this, but it's worth it to treat Astarion like a half-feral cat in need of proper socialization (and the occasional spritz with a holy water bottle) because the acting and dialogue for his story is So. Damn. Amazing.

A friend who hadn't yet seen Avatar: the Last Airbender got tired of hearing all the fan-babble about Zuko.

I think a lot of us feel kind of starved for redemption stories that are actually well-written? Like, so often we get heel-face turns that just feel very sudden and unearned (looking at you, Kylo Ren). And, well, I have a lot of bad feelings about the way "forgiveness" is so often presented as 1. compulsory and 2. more important than, if not an outright replacement for, accountability.

For a long time, it looked like they were going to do one of those sudden HFTs with Catra in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, and I was actually glad that they kept her a baddie for so long! When they finally had her change sides, she'd had to hit rock bottom, and I got the impression that her progress wasn't completely finished at the end of the series.

So much media doesn't want to address stuff like, "extended trauma may turn someone into more of a prickly asshole than a smol bean", "someone on the path to rehabilitation may sometimes backslide", and "sometimes the best you'll get from a character is 'morally grey'."

[atrueneutral]

"It was an insult to be ignored for so long!" Haarlep has so much cat energy. I can honestly picture them pushing (breakable) stuff off tables in retaliation for being ignored for too long while also making eye contact with Raphael the entire time.

"... and the infernal quill snapped." WHY IS THAT SO HOT?!?!?

"What was to happen if Raphael’s confrontation included an equally flustered, moaning, orgasming little mouse!" Now I really want to read a follow up piece following Raphael's perspective as he is torn between raging lust and just rage when he finds the little mouse desperate and moaning (maybe she even entreats Raphael for help idk - then Haarlep could be all, 'See? Don't say I never do anything for you, brat.').

[PART I] It was because of Korrilla’s constant reconnaissance that Raphael knew where his little mouse and her companions were hiding out and licking their wounds.

It was an encampment just outside of Rivington, and Raphael walked into it as if he owned the land and each little makeshift tent that was built upon it.

The vampire spawn was the first to notice his arrival.

“What the devil are you doing here?” His question, which had come out more with surprise than anger, caused other nearby members of the party to turn, look and see who the devil in question was.

Raphael’s eyes darted to count heads; everyone seemed to be accounted for, either standing beside their personal tent or waiting around for the late night dinner that was cooking over the fire.

Everyone was there - except for their mischievous wretch of a leader…

“I’d also like to know why you’re here, Raphael,” Mizora's pet said, stepping up with his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

The wizard was scrutinizing him from the fire as he stirred what smelled to be a stew of some kind, and Zariel’s rogue soldier was glaring at him from a distance.

He would ignore the rest.

“Where is she?” Raphael demanded of the vampire spawn; of them all, he had established a rapport with Astarion - established trust.

“She’s in her tent,” Astarion replied, staring at him sideways. “Said she wasn’t feeling well…”

“And which hovel is hers?”

Astarion took too long to decide what he wanted to say or do.

“I can deduce the answer on my own, but your assistance would make my visit shorter,” Raphael drawled.

“What do you want with Tav?” Mizora’s pet asked.

It was then that a stifled cry sounded out from elsewhere in the camp, and Raphael glanced at the vampire spawn with rage prickling under his skin.

“She’s ill, you say?” he inquired, knowing full well what ailed their leader. Then, to Mizora's pet, “I have business with her regarding the contract she signed, and I advise that you do not try to stop me from discussing matters with my client.”

With that, Raphael brushed past them and headed towards the source of the cry.

The tent was uniquely her; the exterior of the shelter was overflowing with a hodgepodge collection of stolen items ranging from useless to expensive. The lantern that would illuminate her area had been extinguished, and the canvas flap of the entrance was closed, but he could hear movement and strangled moans coming from inside.

She was not sleeping, or ill, and blood flowed to his cock.

Raphael was grateful most of her companions had, by now, gathered around the fire - likely to speculate what ‘business’ called him to their camp. To confirm his hunch, he could feel the gaze of a multitude of eyes at his back.

Raphael stepped to the tent’s entrance and ripped open the flap of his mouse’s tent without warning or care.

It was only a second, but the second was long enough for him to get a glimpse of her arched, spread legs and the fingers that pumped into her sex before her other hand slid out from underneath her tunic to frantically throw the blanket of her bedroll over herself.

The heady expression on her flushed features was quickly replaced with dawning recognition, and his mouse’s eyes widened.

The scent of her arousal permeated the tent, and a tent was rapidly being built in his breeches.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she whispered, startled by his unexpected appearance.

“What were you doing in my House?” Raphael challenged in return.

He inhaled her aroma as subtly (and deeply) as he could.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Raphael’s head tilted and his eyes bored into hers - doubting her ignorance when the repercussions of her tryst with his incubus were presently on display.

“Fine! I-” Her concession was interrupted when she bit her lip and choked down a moan. He could discern subtle movement underneath the blanket as her eyelids fluttered closed. “I was there… I wanted, ah - to see your House in person…”

“Are you fucking yourself as we speak?”

Her eyes opened and the sensuous look she gave him sent another wave of heat to his groin.

“No - that, mm, would be rude of me,” was his mouse’s brazen and breathless response.

Raphael entered the tent, flap closing behind him, and he tore the blanket away to find that his mouse was, unarguably, continuing to fuck herself while he was talking to her.

“What is the matter with you?” she shouted as quietly as she could while simultaneously pulling her glistening fingers out from her sex and clamping her legs closed. “And get out of my tent!”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account!” he retorted. “There’s no need for modesty when I could return to my House of Hope this very instant and look upon every inch of your body - it’s mine now.”

Her back arched as she was hit with what must have been a wave of pleasure. “Mm, well, I wouldn’t have - ah! Played around with Haarlep had I known this would happen - fuck!”

At this rate, he needed release just as much as she.

“Put your fingers back into your pretty little cunt,” he demanded, his voice becoming a lustful and low purr.

“No!” she exclaimed, indignant.

Vexing creature!

“You will do as I say, or I will go back out and tell your party the specifics of your situation - unless they already know?”

His mouse scowled. She slowly parted her legs and put her fingers back into her pretty-little-soaking-wet-cunt.

Raphael’s rage and reasoning for confronting her became consumed by lustful hunger; he was hypnotized - enraptured by the sight before him; his little mouse pleasuring herself with fingers that rhythmically disappeared into her, her body writhing and squirming with pert, hardened nipples that were visible through the thin material of her tunic, her face - the way her lips parted and the way her eyes stared into his with want…

“Mm, you’re still in my tent, Raphael…” she stated huskily.

Her scent overwhelmed his nostrils - his blood, already naturally hot, was on fire with desire.

His mouse bit back another cry as her slick fingers moved to the sensitive bud of her clit.

“My companions are going to talk…” Her eyes glanced at his crotch and traced the taut line that pushed against fabric. “Maybe a few of them will think we’re fucking.”

She was twisting him around her finger…

“Yes, I suppose they will,” he murmured as he watched her bite her lip and moan.

And he would let her.

“Do you want to fuck me, Raphael?���

His answer was automatic.

“Yes.”

She moaned again, as if his confirmation was something she had needed to hear.

“Since signing the contract, I’ve imagined you fucking me while you wear the Crown of Karsus on your head…”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his fingers twitched while his cock yearned to ravage her.

Is that what she wanted? Did she want him to lose control? Did she want him to take her? 

“Haarlep’s been teasing me for awhile,” his mouse said. “And I can’t seem to come by myself…”

His mouth was dry.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Little Mouse?”

“Yes,” was her automatic response. She looked delirious (delicious).

Raphael nearly came then and there.

Her fingers were back in her cunt.

“Beg me to fuck you, Little Mouse, and I may oblige.”

“Please, fuck me, Archdevil Supreme Raphael - end my agony.”

And he would! Nine Hells, the strength and willpower - the control it took to not throw himself upon her! But a change in setting was necessary. For all the times he envisioned this scenario, none of them included taking the object of his desire on her unwashed bedroll that lay in the dirt of her tent of stolen goods while her companions were lingering outside waiting for any excuse to attack.

“Get up,” he ordered huskily.

She frowned, blinking at him as she stilled her movements; her sex-addled mind did not comprehend his meaning.

“We are going to the Devil’s Den. Unless you would like me to take you in this hovel?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s been a fantasy of your party's; to eat while hearing the bliss-filled, melodic sound of their leader coming undone by a devil.”

Realization lit up somewhere behind her eyes.

“No…”

“Come along, Little Mouse,” he said. His eyes lingered between her thighs before they traveled up her body to meet her needful gaze. “And I shall give you what you’ve long desired.”

What he’s long desired…

Not needing to be told twice, she stood on shaky legs whilst grabbing the breeches that had been cast aside and hastily put them on. She then found a piece of parchment from her pack, scribbled a note, and placed it upon her bedroll.

“I’ve let them know that you haven’t kidnapped me - that we’re…” In a single step, his mouse was before him. “‘Discussing business’ elsewhere...”

She snaked a hand around his neck and pulled his head down to meet hers.

They disappeared from the tent with a burst of fire and embers.

[multific]

Love in Oil Colours

Chapter 13: Nothing Could Break Us Apart (The End)

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Summary: You just wanted to see the paintings. To see what new exhibits there were. You never expected for a simple oil painting to reveal so much about you and your past.

Your life took a complete turn after your reunion with Astarion. 

And yet somehow, it was still the same.

You lived in a secluded home, away from people where it was only the two of you and the forest.

It was different yet the same.

People didn’t come to bother you.

And you barely left your land.

The only time you did decide to visit Paris was right after Astarion gave you the prettiest ring and promised you, again, his eternal love.

You called him, Husband, after that.

It seemed like that finally during this era, you would be able to live the life you always wished for.

No more people yelling at you, no more people burning your home.

Just you and your husband.

Once again you found your love for drawing and painting.

You even painted a little something of your honeymoon. A nude as one would call it, of your beloved husband.

It was definitely one for your eyes only.

However unfortunately soon, your little art room will have to be reassigned.

You found out three days ago about the new life you were carrying.

A child.

A true proof of your love and the fruit of the hours of your love-making.

Now, you just needed to tell him somehow.

Even if you have lived centuries with Astarion, you had no idea how he felt about children or if he even wanted one.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“Your blood tastes different.” he commented that evening.

“In a bad way?”

“No. It’s just… It was always the same. Always sweet, but now… it’s somehow sweeter.”

“Sweeter?”

“Yes. I’m not sure how. Did you talk with the healer?”

“Yes, I went to the doctor.”

“Are you not sick?”

“No. I’m perfectly healthy for a pregnant woman.”

“Ah, good. Good- wait.” you slowly turned and looked at him, searching his eyes. “Are you lying? Tell me it is only a cruel joke.”

“It is no joke. The doctor confirmed. I’m with child.” his hand gripped yours as he couldn’t look away from your eyes, as if he was waiting for you to say it was all just a joke.

And when you never said anything, he hugged you. 

“I’m happy.” he said and honestly, you didn’t need him to say anything else.

The happiness coming from him and his touches were enough. 

More than enough.

You couldn’t wait to paint your child with him. You could only imagine him holding your child. You wanted to paint it already.

The End.

A/N: A HUGE thank you to everyone who supported this series!

The above photo is not mine! Credit goes to the owner!

Series Masterlist

Oil Taglist: @b33l1ghtfu11h0n3y @usuallyunlikelyfox @andromeda-gaylaxy @girl-with-an-orange-cat @joyfulfxckery @perseny @a-tong

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster@capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak  @manduse  @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[speckledfiction]

But Thou Shalt Be Alone No More

What would the Baldur's Gate characters' daemons be, if they had them?

*

You watch as they insert the tadpole into your daemon’s eyesocket, feeling sick. Not just at the ordinary transgression of having your daemon touched by someone else, but at the teeth that tear through your soul. Over the next few days, your daemon will begin to slough off its skin, its muscles twisting into new forms. Eventually, it will become illithid. Then, it will eat you, all of you, right down to the last scraps. This is how mindflayers are made. This is how you are going to die. Except, of course, that that’s not what happens.

Shadowheart’s daemon is a wolf. She is afraid of her daemon. You don’t understand how anyone can be afraid of their own daemon, but she is. When she finally talks to you about Shar, she explains that Shar sees daemons as sinful. In a religion focused on darkness and loss, how could there be space for a constant companion, a part of your soul that you can see and talk to? Followers of Shar collar their daemons, and when they truly ascend through the ranks of the cult, that becomes a permanent shackle. Their daemons are essentially killed, made placid and tranquil and unthinking. You feel a shiver run through you at the very thought of it, and you feel deeply sorry for Skiateros, who follows Shadowheart so patiently, who licks her hand when it hurts, but who never speaks. You only hear his voice for the first time after the Nightsong is freed. It is low and rumbling, as he backs up Dame Aylin’s words, confirming the truth of what was done to them. Shadowheart kneels down and buries her face in his thick, black fur, and you want to cry.

Gith daemons are as strange to look at as their other halves are, an observation Lae’zel is quick to make in reverse. You don’t know the name for what Lae’zel’s Kssaru is. He is reptilian, perhaps unsurprisingly, but more cat shaped than lizard shaped. He has a fine ridge of spines down his back and beautiful blue scales, and he tempers Lae’zel’s fierceness with patient observation and thoughtful consideration. Lae’zel tells you that gith who please Vlaakith and achieve Ascension have their daemons turned into dragons. But even before you find out the real story, Kssaru seems hesitant about the idea. He does not need to be a dragon to be deadly, as you discover when he spits poison at your enemies. When Lae’zel turns her back on Vlaakith he sits at her side and tells her stories of brave warriors, bolstering her courage.

You might expect Gale to have a cat daemon, since his best friend is a tressym, but he doesn’t. As you walk away from his portal, you realise that tucked in against his neck, blending in with his hair is a small orb of a bird. A wren. She is sweet voiced and cheerful, and a compelling reason for Gale to stay out of the range of enemies as much as possible, though he would never let her come to harm. At first Galatea seems like an odd choice of daemon for someone like Gale. So small and inconspicuous and unassuming. It’s only as you get to know him better that you see the irony of it - both the legends of the wren, king of the birds, that made her the perfect choice for someone of his ambition, and the way that her plainness exacerbates that ambition, makes both her and him even more desperate to prove themselves special. When the orb in his chest gets bad Galatea starts to look very strange, her being fraying to darkness around the edges, until Gale eats an artifact and stabilises them again. If Gale chooses to ascend, Galatea vanishes. Gods do not have daemons. She never gets to be part of what he becomes. If he doesn’t, then she settles happily back into their tower home, where the windows let her fly as far and high as she can without straining the bond, and she and Tara can play little games of chase when Gale is cooking.

Astarion’s daemon is a dog. A plain, mid-sized brown dog. She wags her tail amicably and doesn’t seem particularly bright. Astarion’s daemon is a dog right up until you wake up with him hovering over you, fangs bared, and realise that the snake curled around his neck is Citheris, and now there is nothing stupid-looking about her at all. Vampires’ daemons regain the power of shapeshifting, and Citheris has been every form imaginable. Adept at seduction, she can be a beautiful slinky white cat, or a charming raven, or a sharp-eyed fox. You will learn, eventually, that she does not remember what form she originally settled in. The two hundred years of torture washed it away. It becomes dreadfully easy to guess how Cazador used her to torture Astarion, hurting her to hurt him. Touching her himself, the vilest transgression you can possibly imagine. In universes where Astarion ascends, Citheris takes on grand, powerful forms: dragon, lion, unicorn. Majestic and fantastic beasts. If he stays a spawn, she begins to spend more and more time as a porcupine. Astarion complains that he has to be careful not to roll over onto her when he sleeps, but you watch him pet her gently when he thinks no one is looking, scratching under her chin where she likes it best.

When Wyll bounds over the wall outside the grove, it is on the back of Patricia, his huge and splendid horse daemon. The long white hair that covers her hooves is in beautiful contrast with the glossy chestnut of her hide, and her deep brown eyes are as serious and kind as Wyll’s. Later, you will find out that the warlock pact protects her from mortal injury unless Wyll himself is killed, making it safe for him to take her into battle. It binds her too, a golden bridle and bit in echo of Mizora’s jewellery, an insult to her wild splendour. Horse daemons are rare in a city as dense and chaotic as Baldur’s Gate, but Wyll never acts as though the restrictions Patricia places on his life are any burden. If anything, he seems happy that the form she settled in gave him another excuse to justify leaving the city and embarking on his career as the Blade of Frontiers. And Patricia never complains when Wyll asks her to carry his backpack. She is the equal of any burden. It is terrible to see Mizora touch her, though she only ever touches the bridle, not Patricia’s fur. Even that is too much. One more reason to long for Wyll’s pact to be broken.

Karlach’s daemon is a thing of beauty and terror. Once, Brant tells you, he was a goose, with a brown back and a dark head. Then Zariel did her experiments, and he became a pheonix. It only compounds the tragedy that Karlach’s suffering made him resplendent. He is gold and red and orange, always ablaze. He need never fear that anyone will break the taboo, because Karlach is the only one who can touch him. Even after Dammon repairs her heart, Brant remains shimmering and aloof. When Dammon warns Karlach of her impending death, Brant asks whether his change means something. “We die and return, don’t we?” he says plaintively. “That’s what a pheonix does. So maybe we’ll get to come back.” But daemons do not work like that. If Karlach does not return to Avernus, he burns with her, and leaves no egg behind. And you miss him forever, kind, brave Brant with his fine tenor voice and his playful humour. Better that they go back to Avernus, where his white hot flames scour hordes of devils and demons, until Karlach finds her cure.

Halsin’s daemon is a bear, of course. She vanishes when Halsin wildshapes into a bear, though you wonder if really it is the man who disappears, and the daemon who becomes complete. Halsin fears the taboo less than others, and when Thaniel is rescued, you see him curled up against Mara’s warm side, her long-clawed paws folded lightly over him. She licks him a few times for good measure, like any fond mother with a cub.

Equally as predictable is Halsin is Minthara, whose daemon could never be anything but a spider. And she is female. Minthara is too firm a believer in drow heirarchies to accept anything else. Ven’vera is deadly poisonous, and beautiful once you look past the initial terror. She is such a stereotype that you almost roll your eyes at it, but she is also one of the few open displays of tenderness that Minthara allows herself. To love a daemon is to love oneself, after all, and that is a virtue for the matriarchs of Menzoberranzan.

Timaeon, Jaheira’s daemon, is a huge and splendid vulture. Plain brown in colouring, but so large that he could never be missed. Though age has dimmed the lustre of his feathers, his eyes are as sharp and bright as ever. He is a survivor, like Jaheira herself, practical and adaptable. He soars over the battlefield, able to go much further from her side than most daemons can, and calls out targets to her when she is engaged. And you learn quickly that you can get on his good side, and thereby Jaheira’s, by offering him slivers of meat from dinner.

As for Minsc, if he has a daemon other than Boo, you never see it. It’s possible that he does, if his daemon is also a rodent, or an insect, or some other small creature. It’s possible that Boo is his daemon, and that the brain damage made him see the hamster as a separate creature. Or it’s possible that the damage done to him destroyed his daemon, and that Boo has chosen, in some way, to serve as a replacement. It’s not a question you can ever ask, and so you never truly know.

*

You can also read this on a03 if you like.