#durge: i’d do it if you did it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

adaptacy · 1 year ago

Note

If you are taking requests, I have a pairing that I do not ever see enough of: Gale x Durge. Specifically resisting the urge type Durge. Starved for content as I am, I’d be happy with whatever is written about the two. But I’d love something involving Durge nearly killing their lover or the reveal of Durge being one of the orchestrators of the Absolute plot. In game, those scenes feel far too underdeveloped.

Durge playthrough spoilers blow the cut (Shadow-cursed lands, Last Light Inn stuff. No act 3 spoilers)

so, I haven't gotten to that far into my durge playthru but I did get to the part where you try and kill your lover and to nobody's surprise that happened to be Gale!! i was actually kinda terrified that he was going to die bcs, in my defense, I did try to kill Isobel but Marcus or whatever-his-name-was got the last blow on her first and I was devastated that Gale was gonna have to pay the price for my low damage roll. in the end ofc it was worth it cause he tied my durge up and, I mean, who's gonna complain abt that??

ANYWAYS point is, yes, I agree, I wish that scene was more fleshed out too and I am more than happy to oblige and build on the scene that we were given! Also fun fact, I hadn't actually confirmed the relationship with Gale when this scene happened but the night directly after I tried to kill him he showed me his... 'tower'. And given how horny he gets watching tav/durge beat ppl up in the shadow cursed lands, i do not think that was a coincidence LMAO

No Sceleritas here cause I'm just gonna get to the good part :D — also durge here is gonna be sorta resisting the urge, but has more or less been allowing it to fester, just not embracing it.

Gorgeous was an understatement.

Busy days — waking hours occupied by wars, sight filled only with the flashes of spells and showers of blood — were all you knew. Nights were barely any break. Smiles were more common at camp, but given the near complete lack of smiles outside of camp, it wasn't saying much. There wasn't much time to be at camp, as the original mission to rid yourselves of the tadpoles grew messier and messier with every passing battle, and each matter was more pressing than the last.

You didn't mind, really. While you were just as eager to get the incubating creature out of your head as the rest of your group, each new quest and mission brought along with it the promise of bloodshed. Adrenaline. Victory. A momentary but exorbitantly satisfying quenching of your thirst for violence. A thirst you first found unsettling and terrifyingly unfamiliar.

When you first found yourself gazing down at the bloodied body of a stranger, dreaming of the torturous pain they must have felt when they met their fate, you were disgusted. Couldn't believe where your thoughts had wandered.

You'd fought it. Refrained from telling the others for fear of being ridiculed, or losing their trust, or scaring them. For a while, you'd fought it. But scarlet liquids, screams of terror, and slaughter had become your routine.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Peace. Security. Naivete.

One knee bent, the other lazily stretched out, the bedroll barely containing the length of his body. One hand under his head, the other by his side. His eyes were closed, the soft hazel only ever plagued by a buried longing was hidden from you now. His hair spread over one arm and on the thin straw pillow beneath his head, more messy than he'd ever let it be seen while he was awake.

His right cheekbone had a bruise on it from where he'd hit himself with the butt of his staff while swinging it, and you recalled finding time to chuckle at his mistake in the middle of the battle. Being a few feet away, he'd heard it, and couldn't help but look over at you, his cheeks red from more than the blunt force, his mouth pulled back in an embarrassed smile. The moment of shame had earned him a punch to the side from his opponent moments before Astarion managed to stick them with his own blade, saving Gale from a worse fate.

Even down here, far from the surface, it was warm enough — perhaps from the fire that burned a mere two, maybe three, feet away — for Gale to concede and discard his shirt, resting more comfortably in a pair of indigo pants.

He had been honest about his appetites. His cravings. He was hardly hesitant about revealing that part of himself to you — fortunately, he was plenty aware of the consequences that would be wrought upon you, and the rest of the group, should he risk being unable to consume artifacts if he kept his secret.

Even Astarion, who's affliction was much closer to your own, was honest about his needs. It took a lot longer, and you're not sure how things would have gone over had you not woken up the night he planned to feast on you, but his admission did occur.

You were aware of the risks of your secret. You always yearned for more, even when you were positively drenched in crimson, when you'd been messy enough in your strikes that bathing in the river the following evening caused the water around you to be tainted a diluted red. Everything was temporary. Even the satisfaction derived from fights that left your weapon with such thick clumps of gore that Gale had to hold the shaft while you scrubbed away, as if the fight itself hadn't been taxing enough on your exhausted body.

Yet they all remained unaware. Some picked up on it better than others; Lae'zel's compliments, however shallow they often were, had picked up in frequency as you allowed your hunger to get the best of you, undoubtedly giving you some heartless upper hand against the foes forced to face off against your party. Karlach found you delightful, affectionately doting over you as you imitated her own battle-induced rages, though she didn't quite pick up on your lingering stares or mild smirks when your appetite had been satisfied.

Gale was the closest to discovering the truth. Unsurprising, given your mutual favoritism for one another. When you'd butchered Alfira, you'd been quick to blame wolves. Shadowheart, immediately discomforted at the mention, believed you without a second thought. Lae'zel had jumped to blame the Tiefling's lack of defense. Astarion seemed unbothered at best. The others were too busy mourning the bard's early demise to ask questions.

But he'd found you later, kneeling by the river, just before bed. 'A devastating misfortune she suffered. A sweet, innocent soul. Misfortune is perhaps the only apt term for the loss. Terribly curious, it is — To be so savagely slaughtered by beasts that aren't even native to these woods.'

You remembered freezing, fear flashing in a quick rush across your vision, knowing his eyes were on you, studying your reaction. He was so close. You'd agreed — 'an unfortunate fate indeed' — and he'd said goodnight.

Never again was it brought up. Never again was it questioned.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

That was, perhaps, the worst misfortune of all. He had such undying curiosity about the world, and yet that curiosity never reached you, or your intentions, or your past. Too trusting.

The camp was quiet. Crackling flames, distant whispers from the shadows hanging just beyond the light's reach, and his soft, patterned, blissful breathing. His chest rose and fell, so helplessly gentle.

His staff leaned up against a rock several feet away, alongside with everyone's weapons, save for Astarion, who preferred to keep his daggers close. Today had been no different from the rest; the battles had been taxing, only seeming to increase in difficulty the further you wandered into the shadows. He'd given it his all today, and it had been worth it, as you'd managed yet another day without losing any member of your party. As he'd explained it, the more of the weave he manipulated, the weaker his spells got — at least until he was able to rest.

He lay before you, undoubtedly sapped by the day's events. Defenseless.

And gorgeous was an understatement.

Three bruises. One on his cheekbone, one persistent discoloration that sat in the middle of the dark mark of the orb, and one on his side where he'd been assaulted by the undead in his moment of distraction. In a blink, your fingers grace the bruise on his side, and they tingle. Being fresh, the blemishes swirl a deep purple into his light skin, nearly matching the tint of his pants.

Purple was his best color, wasn't it?

The twitch of your fingertips sends a pulse through your body, and you taste an itch in the back of your throat. The tadpole squirms, you can feel its short wriggle behind your eye, but its control falters. Some other sensation warms your body, easing you into a malleable, thinning consciousness, and your gaze trails slowly, drunkenly, over his torso.

Three bruises. Clear, stuck to his skin like the stars he so fondly recalls. So far from the view of the sky, and yet you find a constellation still. Another blink, and your right leg has crossed over his waist. However forgotten your past is, it grants you a waking dream, as vivid as reality; Gale Dekarios, laying under you much like he was now, his pretty face littered with prettier bruises that dot all the way down to his shoulders, his neck red and swollen, branded by the picturesque imprint of hands.

Your hands.

And gorgeous is an understatement.

It's distinct. The pulse of his arteries, teasing the gift of blood beneath his skin, purring under your fingers as they push, your thumbs hitched underneath his jaw, pressuring the veins. Your own heart is thumping, encouraging your desires, urging you to indulge.

You've tasted vindication like this before. When you awoke to the spectacle of Alfira's maimed corpse, there was serenity like nothing you knew possible. It came underlined by pride, your work preciously appalling, and you relished the piece, the art macabre and perfect.

The sweeter the canvas, the finer the design.

Gale was nothing if not sweet.

"My — Hardly the sight I was expecting to wake to."

Another blink, and his bruises are gone, save for the contusion on his cheek. Absent are the inscriptions of your hands on his neck, and his hazel eyes are revealed to you once more. Though you don't remember moving it, your hand presses against the black circle on his chest, palm pining for his throat.

You're unable to move. Unable to control yourself. Unable to win back your own consciousness. Gale props himself up on his elbows. His heart rate has picked up, and yet you don't sense fear. The curiosity in his eyes is familiar. The quirk in his left eyebrow and the smirk playing on the corner of his mouth is not.

"I do assume you meant to wake me, eventually. No harm," he says, gaze narrowing, and your lack of a response makes him huff out a chuckle, or at least part of one, as it only lasts a beat. Your eyes are pinned to his throat, reaching to find the comfort of your imagination's lens again, but your dream has been interrupted. At last, your eyes meet his, and it's the hazel that causes the tadpole to squirm again, awakening your senses once more. Gale moves one of his hands to rest on your waist, and his head recoils ever so slightly. "You look uncomfortable. What's wrong?" He asks, and you're able to sense a less pleasant curiosity, but it's still free of fearful influence.

"I'm going to kill you. You have to stop me."

His eyes widen, and still, there is no fear. He doesn't believe you. "A rather twisted joke... Not one I find particularly humorous. Albeit, humor is subjective, although–"

"I killed Alfira. You're next. No time – you have to stop me," you huff, and your confession brings on a raging headache, unlike any pain you've ever felt before. You lean forward, teeth grit as you groan, and Gale squeezes your hip for a moment. Though the reverberations in your head are overwhelming at the least, you finally catch a hint of fear from the wizard, and you're thankful for it. At least a part of you is, though the beast that brings on your headache is only bubbling to a rage, furious that you would dare turn against your thoughts. You've not committed a betrayal against your own conscience, but instead, betrayed your destiny, refusing some urge that is larger than yourself.

With what little remaining control you have, you push yourself off of him, and he's quick to rise to his feet. Your eyes squeeze closed, fighting the unwelcome entity with the rest of your energy, though given your excursions earlier in the day, that energy is quickly dwindling. Your knees press to the dirt, the heels of your palms pressing to your temples as you keel over, an aggressive, roaring nausea plaguing your senses, soon joined by an even more violent malignity that rips into your control as though it means to test you.

You want him dead.

A wonderful bath his blood would provide — A marvelous crack his bones would sing — A remarkable terror he could feel. He will suffer.

There's a firm squeeze on your arms as they're yanked behind your back, and you writhe, fighting your cravings as they fight your containment. The hold is followed by a burning scrape on your wrists as they are hastily, and uncomfortably tightly, bound by rope. Your head swings, but Gale manages to pull back in time, his reflex causing his grip to falter, and you fall to your side, rolling towards his bedroll.

He frowns, eyebrows pinched inward and he kneels in place, a few paces away, reading the situation and assessing just how much of a threat you pose. Gale glances at where Shadowheart and Karlach lie, still miraculously sleeping soundly despite the struggle occurring no more than two yards from where they reside. His attention returns to you. "Easy. Should you retain any control, I merely request that you refrain from indulging in... whatever your intentions may have been. Greedy as it may be, an explanation certainly wouldn't hurt."

There's a command, conjuring as a sensation rather than a verbal declaration, and it rings through your entire body. You're unable to decipher the apparition's ambition, but your muscles act nonetheless. It fights — you fight — against the rope, and there's a flare of savage discontent when you're unable to free yourself. "You're better off as my prey! You will suffer a purgatory worse than any of the hells could manage," you bark, and your words are not your own. The control he speaks of is entirely silenced, leaving you an unwilling vessel, forced to submit to the will of your past.

"Not the answer I would have preferred, but an answer nonetheless. Yelling will only stir the others from their slumber, and I predict they won't be as understanding as yours truly. You should consider taking up a quieter tone," he advises, and you growl, forcing rashes into your wrists as you wage a war on your binds.

"I will spill your blood before this night is through!" You yell again, and Karlach shifts where she sleeps, stirring a flash of worry in his expression. "Wake them! I'll slaughter them all the same!"

Gale cringes, conflicted for only a moment before he overcomes his internal argument, and he quickly rushes to your side. You bite at him with a rabid ferocity, and he sits behind you, pulling your body closer to his own, even as you squirm and fight him. Shadowheart mumbles, bordering on the edge of lucidity, and Gale curses out a whispered "Godsdamn it." He huffs, irritated just as much as he is scared, and his palm presses to your mouth, his thumb keeping your jaw shut — or at least trying to keep it shut — as your head is pulled against his shoulder.

You mumble, fervently antagonizing him, your muffled words being split up only by the subtle flinching of your jaw as you attempt to bite at his hand, all to no avail. His grasp is tight, nearly rough, keeping you as restrained as possible, and he watches Karlach and Shadowheart with apprehensive dread, his focus painfully split between concern for you and fear of you.

Gale looks down at you, his expression firm and yet, against all odds and expectations, somehow understanding, even if it is incredibly mild. "I've seen you tear apart the most ferocious of beasts. Foes that would make Bhaal himself tremble. You always prevail. You must defeat this — whatever it is." He nods, but his encouragement is not what you want to hear; you thirst for his terror, you thirst for his pleading, you want to see him tremble. His tone softens, and he squeezes your jaw, almost tenderly. "I'm right here. No blood will be shed tonight. Fight to your heart's content; I will not give in. You cannot give in, either."

Your heart is all that remains of your better judgement, and it aches at his promise, though the guilt and appreciation is quickly whisked away by your burning rage, your need for violence. You persist, as does he, correcting your every shift, no matter how exhausted he grows. Certainly the most stern you've ever seen him — more disciplined than you knew he could be, but you have little room in your mind to process that. You despise the way that he cares, the fact that he is just gentle enough not to injure you as he restricts you, the understanding in his expression, the near nurturing tone he takes on.

Yet it's the affection that eventually subsides your bloodlust, willing it to retire, however angry it remains. Angry at the loss, angry at the incompetence, angry at the devotion. Devotion to the wrong subject. Gale wins, ultimately — and by some affiliation, so too do you. A temporary victory, you're well-aware, but even if it isn't permanent, your body becomes your own, your thoughts and feelings along with it.

Exhaustion is the first burden you bear upon your return, and Gale is hesitant to ease his grasp on you, but he takes the risk, and you can't muster the energy to move away from him. Your head pangs with a narrow pain, manifesting as a faint ringing in your ears, and your wrists sear with sharp bites from the fraying rope. His hand releases your mouth, shifting quickly to your shoulder as your torso threatens to fall over, your buried rancor having completely wasted away the last of your energy.

Gale sighs, his own muscles easing up as he inches backwards, allowing you to lean more comfortably, and with a bit more stability, against his chest. One of his arms stays displayed over your abdomen, quite possibly still a little worried you might lash out again, and you didn't blame him for exercising caution. You lean into him, mostly because you lack the energy to do much else, but also because you want him to understand that you are beyond appreciative. "I'm sorry," you mumble, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper — barely audible at all, really.

"I know. You're okay. Rest now, you'll certainly require some form of rejuvenation if we intend on defeating Ketheric and... Well, repressing whatever it is that you find yourself cursed with. And I assure you, I do so unquestionably intend on assisting you with your affliction. After all, I'm quite fond of my vitals, and I've no interest in seeing them spilled." Gale's tone is almost lighthearted, but genuine still.

His arm releases you, and he guides you to rest your head in his lap, allowing you to experience a little more comfort. Your eyes close, and you fear sleep — you know the possible horrors you could cause when you're left defenseless against your bloodlust — but you feel it taking you nonetheless. Gale doesn't untie you, not yet anyways, and it provides the slightest of reassurances. Worst case scenario, you know that, should the urge take advantage of your rest, Gale will expect it this time.

"Perhaps a poor time for confessions," he begins, his hand brushing stray hairs from your face, "But I must admit, the notion of you becoming lost to that rage is not a concept I'm anywhere near comfortable with. Keeping my heart beating is one motivation, and a strong one at that — but I hope you understand that keeping you safe is also immensely important to me. In all honesty, I'm... not sure what I'd do without you. I worry enough witnessing your engagement in the violent affairs we do so often find ourselves tangling with." Gale pauses, and clears his throat, shifting nervously. "Apologies, pay me no mind — A little shaken up, I fear my feelings may be getting the best of me. Rest. We'll reconvene come morning."

#baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #gale baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale dekarios bg3 #gale dekarios x reader #gale dekarios x durge #durge bg3 #bg3 durge #durge #gale bg3 x durge #durge x gale #bg3 #gale of waterdeep

111 notes · View notes

clownsnake · 6 months ago

Text

guys. Astarion wasn’t literally considered a child when he was 30. Among elves he was clearly seen as Of Age to do adult things like drink and live independently and fuck and pay taxes. its just that elves have a stupid extra concept of adulthood that doesn’t MEAN adulthood in a literal sense. has nothing to do with physical or brain development. not even necessarily emotional development, but it kind of is depending on how u interpret it, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

basically elves in the forgotten realms trance instead of sleep (we know this) and until around age 110, during their trances they “dream” of their past lives (I’ve only seen a few ppl who know this, but idk if they also knew it stops at a certain age). They then stop dreaming of their past lives naturally, and it’s generally considered kinda traumatic to go through bc well. you’re losing what has been a fundamental part of yourself for so long.

I interpret that as being like a “shared trauma maturation stage” where instead of elves brains literally becoming more adult, losing the guidance of their past lives feels like more of a final step towards independence to them. and adulthood is just the closest social experience to this stage of being “truly on your own”

around 30-40 they get a “first reflection”, which is when their dreams start having experiences from their current life. (Makes sense for Astarion having a dream about Cazador in origin runs that prompts the biting scene) And then the loss of past life memories at 100-110 is called the drawing of the veil.

Tl;dr Astarion was a young adult by elf standards stop infantilizing him PLEASE

Getting into headcanon land now, feel free to draw your own conclusions from here.

i imagine older elves kind of have a sense of being more “mature” than under-110 elves in the way tht people comparing their trauma tend to do. Like “u think ur so smart and worldly but you haven’t even been through half the shit I’ve been through.” PATRONIZING that’s the word I’m looking for, it’s patronizing. And since every elf goes through this, they just kind of assume that yeah, going through this trauma/emotional loss IS a big step towards being a full adult. so it’s like if the concept of adult had a Pokémon evolution that didn’t involve getting wrinkly and hair loss and going through menopause or erectyle dysfunction. Adult 1.5 steam update.

I have no clue if Astarion would have the drawing of the veil as an undead elf. The fact that he even has dreams shows that being revived as a vampire keeps certain bodily functions running, mainly anything relating to the brain and consciousness, but idk if it would keep him physically at 30 or let his brain change.

Although hold on, in the epilogue where you’re a mind flayer and considering eating Astarions brain, you get narration that’s like “ooohh his brain part that handles senses must be sooo wrinkly” which would only be caused by the shit he went through post-vampirification. Meaning his brain Would be able to change and “mature”. But that’s also just an assumption that mindflayer!tav/durge is making.

k I looked it up. The exact quote is “Astarion’s sweet brain may be a bit less wrinkled than the rest, but you hunger for its teasing cells. His parietal lobe - which controls his sense of touch - will be an aphrodisiac in your maw.” Hilarious, he canonically gets called smooth brain. Anyway if u kill him I don’t think you get to eat his brain, withers just banishes you asap lmao. So we don’t actually know if his parietal lobe changed over his un-life! I’d wager it did though, based on his “don’t touch me” selection line (and probably some other lines hinting towards over-sensitivity tht im forgetting). And change caused by external trauma vs change caused by aging is different anyway.

no conclusion wrt to if he’d reach the drawing of the veil or not. Does it even matter? He’s still the same adult man, who’s gone through far worse hardships than losing memories of his past lives. If he lost his past life dreams too, well then I don’t think that’d make much of a difference for him.

#bg3 #going post #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #forgotten realms #the doylist explanation would be none of the writers thought this hard abt elven aging and probably didn’t even consider the drawing of the #veil #but this is headcanon land so we r going watsonian all the way

31 notes · View notes

waterdeepwife · 12 days ago

Note

As someone who also loves Gale so much, I wanted to ask your opinion on Morena Dekarios' potential class (thinking about drawing a family portrait of Gale, his wife/my Durge Calliope, Morena & Tara) I headcanon his mom as either having been a Ranger or Warlock - The Great Old One, when she was younger. Would love to hear your thoughts on these 2 possibilities, what do you personally find more likely?

I HAVE BEEN WAITING TO TALK ABOUT MAMA DEKARIOS!!! YAAAYY! Okay. I appreciate that you’ve come to me to ask my opinion, it means a lot to me. I also can’t wait to see the portrait of the Dekarios family! I went ahead and talked about some other things about his momma.

Keep in mind these are all my personal opinions and headcanons, and I’d love to hear what everybody else thinks!

Morena’s Personality

The biggest thing that stuck out to me that Gale had mentioned about his mom, is how she “packs quite a wallop.” When talking about Hundur sauce. So I definitely feel like she’s smacked him upside the head a few times. Like when he mentioned he caused trouble with the Blackstaff at the academy, and when his momma found out she was like “wtf were you thinking!?” And smacks the back of his head. Not in an abusive way, but like… “boy you better straighten up way” if that makes sense?

Morena absolutely loves her son, and can’t imagine a world without him. He’s definitely a mama’s boy (the healthy kind) and the remain super close even has he grows older. She wants Gale to have the wonderful life he deserves. A loving partner who shows him just how wonderful he is, and maybe even gives her some grandbabies.

I feel like she’s the right balance between a stern parent, but also a long leash parent. Morena knows how to handle her wild son without being so strict, but she also knows when he needs a more stern talking to. I feel like she’s coddled Gale a little bit when he was younger, but got tougher as he for older.

When Morena denied him and a kitten, then he summoned Tara. She was looked at him like ��you little shit” but had the biggest smile on her face, because she was so proud of his spell casting skills.

I feel like she is the strong silent type when you first meet her, but opens up to Tav/Durge without any problem. She doesn’t start fights, but she sure as shit can finish them.

Morena gives me badass, wine drinker vibes, who can put people in their place with just the tone do her voice.

Morena’s Classes

You asked for two classes I think Mrs. Dekarios could be, and honestly it was so hard to decide! But I did eventually narrow it down!

1. Cleric of Mystra/Oghma, knowledge domain.

Maybe Gale got his bookworm tendencies from his mother, who served Mystra as a cleric and that’s what sparkled his interest in magic and becoming a wizard? I can imagine while Gale is away Morena prays to their shared god, begging for her son to return to Waterdeep safe and sound. Every night she prays for Gale’s safety.

Gods forbid Tav/Durge mentions what Mystra asks of Gale and she may just turn her back to the goddess of Magic. It’s hard to worship a god who wanted your son to die. I can see her becoming a loyal follower of Oghma after that, much to Gale’s disappointment. He liked sharing a deity with his mother, but he understands.

Morena is a badass so she probably sent Mystra a nasty prayer before changing deities, which made Gale panic. But Tara reassures him and is confident if her and Mrs. Dekarios team up, they could 100% take Mystra on. Of course she is teasing to try and make Gale relax.

2. Ranger, Beast Master.

Crazy cat lady who? Possibly her, if Tara permanently moves in with Gale and Tav/Durge. I can see her being an animal fan, and probably had pet cats from her own childhood. The reason she ended Gale a kitten is because she didn’t want to experience the loss of a pet again.

Since Rangers also have spell casting skills, she definitely is keeper of the veil. I feel like it’s very similar to if she was a cleric. Little Gale sees her using magic and he wants to do that, but goes the wizard route.

Unfortunately I don’t have any more headcanons for ranger, only because I lean towards Cleric for her! But I can absolutely see her being a ranger as well. No matter Mrs. Dekarios’ class is, she is a badass and we love her!

I’d love to hear anyone’s thoughts on what our Mother-in-Law’s class could be!

#THANK YOU FOR THINKING OF ME #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale dekarios #bg3 Morena #Morena Dekarios #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale x tav #bg3 gale x reader

10 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 8 months ago

Text

meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part Two

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts. This is Part Two.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

---

“Do you regret not claiming that power for yourself?” Tav asked Astarion, swinging her leg off the side of Astarion’s bed. The elf lounged with his back against the headboard, a pensive look boring into her curious one.

Halsin lounged by the fire with Shadowheart by his side, whittling a figurine of Scratch she had asked him to make. She was also making use of his chisel set, but instead of a complicated first endeavor, she had opted for carving a simple heart.

He slowed his knife around the paws, half his attention on the conversation nearby. It didn’t feel like eavesdropping when Shadowheart so happily joined, pushing her hair behind her ears for better tuning.

“Oddly, no,” Astarion responded.

The fight with Cazador had gone as expected. Bloody, emotional, traumatizing. They nearly lost Astarion to the ritual and Minthara in battle. Tav had misty-stepped to Astarion’s aid and earned a couple of bat bites along the way, while Halsin and Gale worked to keep Cazador obstructed. Minthara had fallen first, failing to dodge a slash from one of the ghouls. He had believed Tav would scream for her, but she was occupied with guarding Astarion. What startled him—and Gale, funnily enough—was that the scream came from Halsin himself. He yelled as she went down, even abandoned his crowd of ghouls to heal her. To say she was surprised would be an understatement, and neither spoke of it since.

“How do you feel?” Tav asked.

There was a twinge of sadness in the soft hum Astarion let loose. “Numb, mostly.”

Tav nodded. “I’d do anything to feel numb.”

“You will reclaim yourself soon. You will break your chains. I did, and I can scarcely believe it.”

“I’m so proud of you, Astarion.”

The elf clicked his tongue. “Thank you, I guess.”

They shared a laugh, and he and Shadowheart shared a look.

“Don’t you dare take Gortash’s deal.”

Tav pursed her lips, though they threatened to pull upward. Astarion tilted his head in response to her upcoming sarcasm.

“My cunt was never on the table.”

“I sure hope not. Bloody table was never a comfortable position. Not for me, at least.”

Shadowheart nudged his bicep, lifting her crooked heart at eye-level. She wore a proud grin, and Halsin rewarded her with one of his own.

“How long do you think we can put off killing Orin?”

Tav’s question was itching at his insides as well. It had been a week since they spoke to Gortash and since Wyll broke his pact with Mizora. It had been almost a month since Orin deceived them in Rivington. They had all taken Gortash’s warning seriously, but Orin had yet to strike. Karlach would keep an extra close watch as Yenna traveled a few blocks down to buy ingredients for her signature soups, and Lae’zel had begun volunteering for more night shifts. And as much as it tired him, Gale had cast arcane locks every night once everyone retired to bed, holding the spells well into the morning hours.

Soon Gortash would come asking for an update, and soon Orin would strike.

“Darling, I’m leaning more towards killing Gortash first.”

“Decisions, decisions,” Tav sang, as if their words weren’t inked with treason.

“What does our Emperor say about it? Gods know it will only speak to you.”

“Nothing. I think they’re keeping their opinion to themselves.”

---

He had been returning from buying some sweets with Wyll when he heard snippets of a very vibrant conversation between three enthusiastic sounding people. Well, two of them were happy-sounding and the third seemed to contradict everything they were saying. Peeking around the corner into the Elfsong’s kitchen, he found Tav, Yenna, and Minsc huddled close together near the boiling soups. Cher Rover eyed them suspiciously from the other end of the kitchen, but made no attempt at kicking them out. Halsin thought he quite enjoyed the company, even catching him sharing a pint with Jaheira the other day.

“Boo believes love should be spontaneous!” Minsc exclaimed, earning a hush from the small girl. He ducked his head comically and lowered his voice. “And Minsc believes the same.”

Tav rolled her eyes. She quickly dipped a finger into the soup nearest her and licked it clean before Chef Rover turned around.

“I say kiss him!” Yenna beamed, hopping in place. “He clearly likes you! You miss all the chances you don’t take!”

“But he hasn’t even tried kissing me again,” Tav lamented.

Minsc let out a dramatic pfft sound. “Halsin is an honorable elf—Not as honorable as Minsc, of course. Minsc beats him in everything.”

“That’s why she should just walk up to him and kiss him! Be romantic! Just because you’re the girl doesn’t mean you have to act all scared.”

Tav pouted. “I’m not scared!”

“Looks that way to me, missy.”

“Fine!” Tav declared, a smile playing at her lips. “Next time I see him, I’ll kiss him.”

“Ah, but what about the next time Minsc sees him?”

“What?”

Halsin neglected to hide once all three pairs of eyes met his own. He smiled sheepishly, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Apologies.”

No one moved. Yenna snickered and poked Minsc’s side, the two simply waiting to see what happened next.

He and Tav shared a moment of simple acknowledgment. And when Yenna snickered even louder, Tav straightened herself and marched across the kitchen, closing that pesky distance between them to plant a proper kiss to his eager lips. He responded immediately, kissing her back as innocently as possible with a child present.

Immense and euphoric happiness swelled in his chest, and he found himself smiling through the kiss. Tav matched it easily.

“We’re matchmakers!” Yenna cheered, high-fiving the joyous giant ranger. "Mum would have loved to see this!"

They separated rather quickly, but he spotted no shame in Tav’s face. She wanted to kiss him, found him willing, and took her chance.

And if she was brave enough for spontaneity, then he would do everything in his power to prove he was a worthy partner.

"Yellow."

"What?"

"Yenna reminds me of the color yellow. Energy, audacity," Tav said, chuckling, "Childhood."

---

“You desire her.”

Halsin hadn’t been alone with Minthara the entire time they had traveled together. It was an unspoken agreement between them to simply acknowledge one another in conversation but to avoid private interaction. Though they came to a truce in the shadow lands, Halsin had never warmed up to her. He didn’t want to. The fight with Cazador had been a slip, a moment of panic in the grand scheme of things. She was their strongest fighter after all.

He watched as she placed a coin on the counter and took the mug of beer Alan offered her. She awaited his response, leaning on the wood with a single brow arched. Confident, regal, a cut-throat beauty.

He sipped his soup, humming gleefully at the taste. “I do not know whom you speak of.”

She scoffed, “Do not treat me like a fool, druid. I speak of Tav, and you do best to speak openly to me.”

“I will not be forced to share my emotions with you, Minthara.”

A genuine laugh. The shock in his face made her laugh again. She sat opposite of him, surprisingly relaxed for how crowded the pub was. “It is not force. I am here, I am asking, and you have not spoken to our other allies about this at all.”

No, but he assumed that Astarion knew. Tav told him everything. And if Astarion knew, then so did Gale. Gale found he enjoyed gossip with Wyll, and Wyll could keep nothing secret for long when it came to Karlach. Plus, Wyll was the one who discovered him devouring Tav on the roof, so.

And Minsc definitely shared what happened in the kitchen yesterday with Jaheira.

Honestly, Halsin felt like an idiot for even thinking he could keep his feelings secret at all.

“I too desired her for a while.”

A ball of jealousy weighed his full stomach down, and he bit into his bread to distract it. “I’m happy for you.”

Minthara squinted, a quirk in her lip. “But she turned me away. Do you know why?”

“Your personality?”

The quip came faster than he expected, before he could reel it back in and save himself a fist fight.

“So—” Minthara took a long gulp and when the mug lowered, her smile was brutal. Teeth and all. “The druid can bite.”

“That was humor, Minthara. When I bite, you’ll know,”

“Oh, I’ve seen you bite. When you are in wild shape, you are otherworldly.” Taking the time to scan his broad chest and shoulders, Minthara hummed her satisfaction. A blush rose to his cheeks. “You bite hardest when protecting my fellow kin. Understandable. She is of a different variety. Warm and sour, dangerous and cruel, kind and terrifying. You, druid, have the capability to handle it all.”

That might have been the sweetest thing he had ever heard her say. Perhaps the realest.

And if Minthara, of all people, was to be the only one who approached him on this topic, then she deserved to be treated seriously. This must have taken a lot of… heart. Courage she was full of, but empathy?

He took a moment to watch her watch others. How her brow furrowed when friends embraced, how she snickered when a drunk fell from their stool, and how her eyes brightened when lovers snuck away to dark corners. She was new to this world, new to this city. And it hit him that he had been picking at the strands of this city all along. On their daily walks, Halsin complained and spoke of change, but Minthara was experiencing everything anew. He had been destroying her experience and hadn’t given one damn. Tav indulged him, her thrill for judgment obvious at those moments. It was Astarion who would shut him up sometimes, claiming that though he hated these streets at night, they were colorful during the day. Unknown.

Minthara was approaching him with the intent of being friendly, and he was squandering it. So, pushing his fear of being understood down, he admitted, “But does she truly desire me?”

“I did not take you for a blind fool.”

“Honesty is required at this very moment, Minthara,” he said, pushing his empty bowl away. “I have experienced much in my life, but never the combination of love and lust. To be seen is unnerving, but to see someone in return is glorious.”

She nodded, though he didn’t think she was agreeing. She popped a grape in her mouth and took her time chewing. He waited, vulnerable, until finally her mask fell and she asked, “How does it feel?”

He pondered for a second, his tongue twisting as his heart hurried. “Deep. Like something is burrowing into my insides, to the very depths of my marrow, and filling me with this passion that I can almost taste. And once I get close to tasting its power, it’s… pulled away. Not maliciously, of course. It travels further, but I am more than happy to catch up with it. Because I know that once I grab it, if it’s reciprocated, I’ll feel sated.”

“I should kill you for stooping to such a level of desperation.”

Her loose threat pushed a surprised laugh from him. “You have a tender heart. Same as mine, I would say. You, however, are better at masking it.”

She grumbled, rolling her eyes. “You bleed desperation.”

“I think my biggest weakness is my transparency.”

“Good… You’re finally admitting it.”

They spoke about their past conquests, their errors when it came to people they thought they trusted, and the accomplishments they hadn’t quite considered positive until now. He discovered that her actions back in the goblin camp weren’t entirely her own, and that he had indeed endangered civilians by chasing after the past. And he hoped that she discovered her allies were not simply protecting her back because of honor, but because she had proven herself loyal.

Hours passed until Alan announced last call, and he found that he had revealed much more than he ever intended to the drow. Much more than he ever did with Tav, really. But because of it, he felt he could share more than just his heart with her. He could find it within himself to share his soul. “Powerful tricks you have, Minthara.”

She smirked, then drank the last sip of her third drink of the night. “I am a drow. We are a manipulative bunch.”

She stood from the booth, everything about her more loose. Comfortable in his presence. Safe, he dare speculate.

He leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, content. And when she strode past him, she laid a gentle palm on his shoulder.

She squeezed once.

And was gone before he could turn his head.

---

“We could just fight this thing.”

Tav’s suggestion went ignored as the group argued amongst themselves near the doorway. Raphael’s personal incubus waved at them from afar, spreading their legs wider in anticipation. Halsin shuddered, but he wasn't blind to the humor of this situation.

“I brought enough healing potions to defeat Raphael, not his incubus, too!” Shadowheart hissed, clutching her satchel with an incredulous glare.

Tav rolled her eyes. “The pool here will heal us afterwards. Or would you like to fuck them, Shadowheart?”

Before Shadowheart could bite back, Gale whispered, “Are we sure they’re here out of their own free will?”

“They look excited enough.” Tav locked eyes with Harleep, curling her fingers enticingly. Harleep scoffed playfully, then pretended to swoon. Halsin merely blinked at her when she turned back, enough of a gesture that said he was insulted by that. Tav held in her laugh, and his nearly burst.

“Hells. We slaughtered the damn House of Healing, what’s to say we can’t slaughter the House of Hope?” Minthara suggested, leaning on her hip.

“Perhaps because we haven’t even found Hope yet,” Halsin answered.

Astarion huffed, “If you all want to fuck this thing, then do it. Count me out.” Then, shooting a quick hand in the sky, “I pull the trauma card!”

“Arsehole, beat me to it!” Shadowheart exclaimed.

“What cards do we have left?” Lae’zel asked, her confidence high considering no one would suggest she sleep with the incubus. Though, if Halsin truly had a say, the responsibility technically should have fallen to her. They were here to acquire the hammer necessary in freeing her��prince, so. Technically.

“Gender, race, and experience cards,” Tav answered.

“Do we consider experience the same as age? If so, I am an old widower who has not yet gotten over the death of her beloved husband.”

“Fuck you, Jaheira,” Astarion snapped.

“If anyone should fuck the incubus,” Shadowheart added, “it should be Gale! Man has fucked a Goddess!”

“In the Weave, not the Hells!”

“What difference does that make?”

Gale shuffled on his feet, gripping his staff harder. With one look at Astarion, he had his answer. “I pull the race card! I’m human, I have a shorter lifespan! This memory will not simply dwindle!”

“You’re a wizard! Elminster is one-thousand years old!” Tav argued.

“Then ask him to fuck the devil!”

“Guys…” Wyll interrupted, the crease between his brows deepening. “Karlach has been awfully quiet during this—”

“Really?” Karlach yelled, pointing a fiery finger at her new friend-turned-enemy, “You’re the devil now! Get on your knees—”

They went back and forth for a while longer, no one suggesting that Tav crawl under the incubus herself. Surprisingly, his name was left out of it, too. He could have volunteered, but the thought made him sick. Turning his stomach at the thought of himself beneath a stranger, a stranger wearing a devil’s face. If only he had packed more healing potions, and Gale more scrolls—

“Minsc proclaims—‘Give me my heart’s desire!’”

They all turned at the same time, shocked to find Minsc bloodied and bruised, but wearing the widest smile. He had lifted the painting beside the bed, a bed now carrying the limp body of the naked incubus, and grabbed what looked to be Raphael’s diary.

“Boo has proven himself the greatest warrior amongst us! Now, let us steal this Hammer of Orphic!”

Astarion’s face twisted in disgust. “Did the hamster fuck the incubus?”

Minsc gasped, holding up both thumbs to cover Boo’s ears. “No! Does Minsc need to retell Boo’s heroic epics tonight? Weren’t you all listening?”

After they find Mol’s contract, free Hope, and defeat Raphael once and for all, Halsin finally lets himself breathe.

They could do this. They could really save everyone and survive this fight. To kill a devil of Raphael’s stature only cemented his belief that Gortash and Orin would be easy targets. And seeing Tav celebrate with ale and jokes that night cemented his growing love for her.

They shared a kiss before bed, and it’s Halsin that pulled away before things heated. He would court her right, court her like she deserved. He would be all her firsts if she’d let him.

Oak Father preserve him, he wanted her to be his last.

---

The wizard accompanied him to the river to bathe. Karlach and Shadowheart had claimed the two tubs first, but Gale could not wait to wash the hag’s blood off. The river was about a fifteen minute walk from the Elfsong, and Halsin had brought Astarion's shortsword just in case they took longer than expected and needed to search for dinner on their own.

There, Gale spoke of his home in Waterdeep and his early schooling, a topic that absolutely fascinated Halsin. How the wizard kept a garden at the peak of his tower and treated his books as if they were his own children, it made Halsin yearn for a visit. Baldur’s Gate was grimy and savage, while Waterdeep seemed to provide a healthy alternative. Or perhaps it was because the wizard was Halsin’s idea of home. They were all starting to become his idea of a peaceful home, and to say it didn’t frighten him would be a lie.

But what else did he need to prove? He had vanquished the shadow curse, relinquished his title as Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, and was currently hunting greater evils than those of his past. The bear within wanted to roam and see the world, meet new lovers and claim all of nature’s bounties.

But the man he was becoming, the man he had ignored for the past century, was screaming for his slightest shuffle through dirt to be heard. Maybe it was time to listen to it. To delve into a whole new world with people who had quickly become friends. He was a friend to all, to all of nature, but something was different now.

Tav had burrowed into his lively heart with her putrefied one, and that was the rare balance he had been searching for over the last few weeks, the very one she had urged him to seek and nourish.

“Ow! What in the Nine Hells was that?”

Up on shore, Halsin pulled his trousers up his waist but left his shirt untouched. The bear had ruined his last comfortable attire when he had fumbled mid-transition due to the flaming tiefling sneaking up on him. He watched as Gale lifted a hand out of the water, resistance evident the higher he pulled.

“Is this tar?” Gale observed, groaning as he tried taking a step out of the river.

His defenses immediately raised as he witnessed his wizard struggle harder, as the water rippled angrily around him. But before he could ready a spell, before the bear could unleash itself, Halsin felt the sharp tip of an arrow pierce the hard muscle of his shoulder. His magic fought against the necrotic poison, failed, and he tumbled to the sand. He could vaguely hear Gale gagging, drowning maybe.

Halsin curled his body, forcing his neck to turn to see if Gale was safe. But his vision was interrupted by red armor, armor that contorted and bent to his level. Then pale eyes bore in his closing ones.

“Don’t worry, pet. I won’t touch the wizard. Not yet, at least,” Orin laughed, her grin pulling so wide Halsin had to blink to free himself of the horrid image. “Father only wants you.”

---

Slipping out from the covers, Tav stretched her sore arms and found her slippers. Everyone was fast asleep, snoring away like they didn’t just kill Ethel and avenge Marina today. Tomorrow, they would check-in with another of the names on the Bhaal list and stock up on supplies. She hadn’t seen Rolan in a while either, and she wanted to catch up with Cal and Lia over tea.

As much as Tav wanted to lay down and never wake up again, she pushed herself to fight. To lead. To see the greater picture, the endgame. She could ignore the ache in her neck and the weight on her chest for a while longer. She had no doubts that everyone else was feeling the same way.

But she had got them all into this mess. It was her responsibility, her atonement.

Knocking softly on the nighttime window, she awaited the aggravated voice of the woman who provided them with meals at night. Withers hummed in the corner and traced a gray finger along a sentence he was reading, paying her no mind. She wrapped the thin robe over herself, and avoided breathing near him.

No one in the Elfsong responded.

The only water they had in their rooms was two days old and saved for morning baths, and Gale hadn’t returned yet to conjure up a glass. Nor was he here to cast arcane locks on their doors. She pushed the worry to the back of her mind. Gale was with Halsin, and it took an army to get through that wall of muscle. Honestly, she believed it would take an army to get through Gale as well. From the Grove to the Shadowlands to the Lower City, Gale had surprised her immensely.

Stepping over Grub and Scratch, she quietly descended to the main floor and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. There were three citizens tucked away in the corner, but Alan had closed out all tabs for the night. Patting the dagger attached to her hip, Tav scurried into the kitchen and lit a lamp. She was hoping to at least run into Lakrissa, but the tiefling was most likely lounging on the roof.

Alone.

Because Tav had stolen Alfira from her.

She gripped the water pump until her knuckles turned white, cursing underneath a shallow breath. She would be haunted by that forever, too much of a coward to admit to Lakrissa what she had done. When Zevlor had asked if his people had made it to Last Light, Tav hadn’t told him that she had stolen one’s fighting chance. She looked Rolan in the eyes and flirted with him, and he never knew just how violent she had proven herself to be. She never told Halsin the nasty thoughts she had when that snake reached for Arabella, and the false, bloody images she enjoyed those first few nights.

Steadying her breathing, she pushed herself away from the wall and cupped her hands beneath the faucet. Too distracted to feel someone creep up behind her.

She was slammed face-down onto the counter, just out of reach of the knives. Her own dagger pressed into the stone. The stranger pressed their palm to her cheek, smashing their weight down to the point an involuntary whimper broke through her trembling lips.

This was it. Gortash had found her and came to trade. She would be forced to remember and forced to play a part. And maybe her body would betray her and actually fall back into routine. She’d lose this new self.

“Just lie still, my heart.”

No.

“Halsin—” Tav tried to flip herself around, but Halsin forced his hand underneath her chin and pulled her to his chest. “What—”

“My heart,” he repeated, his lips caressing her jawline. The gravel of his voice when he said it… He had never said that name in lust. It was reserved for soft moments, for safe moments. Halsin understood that. And this Halsin… It didn’t sound right. “I apologize. But hearing Gortash merely speak of your cunt…”

Her stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat as one of his thick fingers came up to gently tug at her hair. Halsin smelled like pine and burning wood, and this person… They smelled like the city and rosemary. What every male in Baldur’s Gate smelled like to her.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, dragging her sharp nails across his forearms. She drew first blood, and that seemed to excite them even more. “Who are you?”

The person wearing Halsin’s face turned her neck to give her a bewildered expression, then dragged their finger over the fresh red lines on their arm. They licked the crimson, never breaking their gaze.

“It’s me, my heart. I thought you liked feeling overpowered,” they said, grinning. Even the damn smile was a perfect replica. Tav sobbed, ashamed by the flip of her stomach. “I thought you liked relinquishing your control. Learning from me. You wanted to mold yourself into someone better, someone even the Oak Father would accept, no?”

She halted her thrashing, eyes wide in realization.

Had the Halsin on the roof been… This person? No, not possible. She had smelled him, had felt safe, and he never rushed her. He made sure she was comfortable and that anything they did was with both their consent. This monster must have watched, or Orin had enlisted the services of some damned pigeons.

Where was the real Halsin? Gods, where was Gale?

Their lips connected to her neck as a large palm lowered to cup a breast. “You taste… remarkable.”

“Stop,” she tried, her voice coming out as a mere whisper. It was all her frightened body could conjure. Then, with a little more push in her lungs, “Astarion!”

The customers outside would hear her. They had to. She screamed again, but the door remained shut.

They slapped their hand over her mouth, then forced her down again. Her head pounded, the tadpole squirming. The tadpole.

“My hand is yours to bite into,” they breathed, their hips meeting her backside. Clenching her eyes shut, Tav sent every feeling of fright and disgust down the tadpole’s connection, even begging the Emperor to do something. “We must keep quiet so the others do not hear.”

"They are rousing. Keep screaming," the Emperor ordered, its concern a small reprieve from this torment.

“Astarion!” she tried again, earning another smack and the sound of a belt unbuckling. And through a broken sob, she tried even louder. “Astarion!”

“Call for him all you want, Chosen of Bhaal. This is what Father asks. This is your punishment.”

Her punishment. Perhaps she deserved it. All those years of committing worse atrocities on innocents. She deserved it.

And yet, this was her punishment for defying her Father, not for the violence she had enacted. His vengeance was misplaced. This was something being done to her out of pure spite.

“Fuck you,” she spit, groaning when they laid their heavy body over hers. This wasn’t Halsin, and that fact settled something sad inside of her. At least this punishment would be done by a stranger, as much of a stranger Orin was to her. It was the first time she thanked the Gods that the pale woman had destroyed her memory.

At least she was face-down and wouldn’t be forced to watch Halsin do this to her.

“I will, blood-kin. I will.”

“I will kill you, Orin. I will split your skull and devour your hopes, your desires, your damned insanity!”

Hearing Orin laugh in Halsin’s body nearly had her crumbling. Tav spread her arms out and gripped the sides of the counter, trying desperately to slow her breathing. Calm, Halsin would have instructed. Calm yourself, build your strength, and then fight.

“Father wanted me to shift into all of your friends. Take turns using you, stripping you of that gods-awful pride and sentiment you’ve built. To remind you that such connections are worthless! But I told him it would destroy you more if the one you loved was the one to ruin you.”

One second Halsin’s false hand crept up her thigh. Then all that heinous weight was blasted across the room.

“Gods, Tav! We’re here. I’m here.”

Gale.

His soft hands helped her up. As she rose, she saw Astarion and Minthara directly behind him—a single dagger and a longsword pointed at her attacker. She had never seen Minthara so livid, so disheveled. Her night clothes were barely hanging to her shoulders. But as she held the sword up, there was no tremble. Astarion held the same rage in his red eyes, a hint of madness creeping through. Remembrance. Twin empathy.

“I knew I should have started with that dreadful foreplay.” Finally, finally, Orin contorted and revealed her true self. Shedding Halsin's skin and giving Tav back her sanity.

“The shamed wizard, the slave spawn, and the drow traitor to the rescue!” Her infamous dagger swept through the air as she named her friends off. It lodged into the wall beside Tav’s head. “Your druid is so terribly boring. With his reputation, I thought it would be simple giving him the same punishment.”

Tav’s heart plummeted, and Gale audibly winced.

“But he couldn’t find the… excitement. So I left him with a promise that I would give that punishment to you.”

“Rabid bitch!” Astarion roared.

“My assumptions were wrong then? You do not share his bed?” Orin smiled, called her blade back, and twirled it. “Is it because his heart still pumps with juice? His mind is his own? Or is he the unwilling one? I say, dear blood-kin, you always were the ugliest of us.”

“Where did you take him?”

“Where do you think?”

Tav recalled the pungent smell, the sticky floors, the never-ending screaming. That wasn’t a place for Halsin. That wasn’t a place for anyone with a good-natured heart.

“Pick through your ravaged mind-matter and find home again. Slaughter your way there! Let the bear’s screams provide the most delightful music for your grand entrance!”

Before Minthara could strike true, Orin disappeared in a red blur. Instead she sliced across the wood, and watched as her weapon tumbled from her grip.

No one spoke. Tav faintly felt Astarion wrap his coat around her shoulders, the drops of water falling from Gale’s hair and to her slippers, and Minthara’s timid fingers as they came to cradle her cheek.

“She took Halsin,” Tav mumbled, swaying in Astarion’s grip. “She took him.”

“Let’s wake the others. Minsc and Jaheira probably know where this place is located—” Gale started to reason.

“Astarion, she took him,” Tav pleaded, grabbing the elf's collar. “There’s no sun in the temple, Astarion! There are no plants and no light! He’s all alone!”

“Tav, darling,” he tried, his back meeting the wall from all her involuntary shoving. “Gale, help me.”

Gale took a step, but it was Minthara who turned her so she was facing her, wrapped her arms around Tav’s waist, and held her firm. Tav’s nose nestled into Minthara’s neck, her arms pinned between their bodies.

“His—his staff is still here. His bow.”

Minthara kept silent, words eluding her.

On the way back up to their room, Tav noticed the three citizens still at their booth, bleeding out from their necks. Her companions said nothing else about Orin’s assault on Tav, and Gale told everyone how he was unable to stop the abduction. Tav simply sat with her knees tucked tightly, Jaheira at the foot of her bed.

“We’re going to find him, yeah? Look at me, soldier,” Karlach promised from across the room. Clive sat in her lap, his tiny arms wiggling between Karlach’s fingers. “We’re going to bring that hunk of an elf back, safe and sound. Do you hear me?”

Tav tried to move any muscle, but none were cooperating. All she could feel was Orin behind her, and all she could think about was Halsin begging Orin not to touch him.

“He can’t die alone,” she whispered, looking Jaheira in the eye. The older elf did well to remain steady, but Tav saw the slightest jump in her jaw. “He’s all alone.”

Jaheira nodded, then kept watch as Tav attempted and failed to get some rest.

---

Both the trust of Jaheira and Minsc were tested, but when Tav chose to bathe in Sarevok’s blood instead, something tipped itself in the grand scheme of things. Something that proved Tav had changed, had rejected Bhaal’s influence.

She was capable of good. Capable of chaos. Capable of sweetness and evil. Just like the rest of them.

Smearing Sarevok’s blood down her neck, between her breasts, and over her corset, Tav took a moment to regain her footing. No one spoke, though Wyll did place a gentle hand upon her red shoulder. Tav bristled slightly, but soon placed her own hand over his.

“You don’t have to watch this,” she warned, her voice monotone.

Minsc chuckled lightly, “A fact for you, Tav—you cannot do more carnage than Boo, here.”

She didn’t smile, didn’t react to his words. Instead, she went around and piled the bodies in the middle of the room and watched them sink into the pool. Slowly, the pool overflowed with darkening blood. Slowly, she submerged herself into its depths. Slowly, the others lowered themselves to one knee. Even Valeria quieted.

She emerged seeking vengeance.

An oath to herself, to the bloody grand scheme of all things.

---

The only stop Tav made before descending into the sewers was Sorcerous Sundries. There she spent most of her coin on scrolls for Gale, healing potions, and a new dagger for Astarion. Rolan gave her that and more, descending into the library for scrolls mainly used in battle, and a longsword that was promised to an ancient soldier seeking redemption.

Rolan said she could keep it if she liked the weight of it. So she passed Sarevok's blade to Minthara and adopted the ancient silver steel for herself.

Rolan trusted her with it.

It was the first time in Tav’s life that she kneeled before anyone and thanked them with tears in her eyes.

---

The fourth time Halsin heard the crack of Tav’s lungs was while he was strapped to Bhaal’s altar, praying to Silvanus for anyone to come and save him. How he missed Tav’s awkward smile and her genuine innocence to all things common. How he missed Gale’s blabbing and knowledge about topics Halsin had always wanted to explore. How he missed Lae’zel’s naiveness to all things Faerun and the way her high nose crinkled when annoyed. How he missed Karlach’s spontaneous attitude in the face of death and the way she practiced her dancing when the others made deals across the city. How he begged Silvanus to give him a fighting chance because he forgot to hug his vampire and tell him he was proud of his decision back at Cazador’s palace. How he needed to live because Wyll needed someone to tell him that his trying was starting to pay off and he did not need his father’s approval to show his face in the city again. How he wanted to learn from Jaheira, no matter their similarities, because she had explored much more of the Sword Coast than he ever did. And he needed to live because he forgot to tell Minthara that he respected her and that her words the other night had elated him to new heights.

He wanted to live because before he met his companions, Halsin didn’t think he had truly lived at all.

Tav lunged for Orin, slicing up her back and cracking her armor. Orin wailed, her pale eyes darting toward the altar. She lunged forward, close enough to knick Halsin’s forearm, before smacking against the temple floor with the full weight of her sister. Tav wrapped her hands around Orin’s throat, nails digging into the meat.

The temple gave a great shake, and everything happened too fast.

Orin’s bones broke and her muscles melted. Her face contorted and stretched. Her limbs grew and her nails punctured stone. Tav scrambled back, hitting Astarion’s knees. He too was frozen in shock, readying his daggers. One great strike and Astarion was sent into a crowd of Bhaalists, the spray of his stale blood igniting their most sadistic desires. Forgotten were Orin’s orders, and Shadowheart took the opportunity. Casting spirit guardians, she dashed for the small crowd and tore them down one by one, even drawing out the invisibles. Gale kept his distance, missiles flying directly into Orin’s back as she inched closer and closer to Tav.

One massive step, and Tav had to jump back. Again and again. But each step brought Orin closer to Minthara, whose sharpened blade met the tendons of one of her monstrous arms. Orin bellowed, swinging blindly, which allowed Tav to nail a strike to her neck. And when Bhaal instilled more energy into Orin’s slayer form, they repeated the tiresome process.

Though groggy, Halsin forced himself to sit up on the altar. To watch Tav land the long-awaited, final blow. The agony in her swing, the tortured crack of her throat, the absolute devastation on her face when Orin transformed back and crawled to her—melting and moaning, a single arm extended in a last attempt at landing another hit.

When Orin was nothing but a rancid puddle and her Bhaalists quieted, Halsin stepped onto the ground. Wobbly on his feet, he was held up by Gale’s strong arms and handed his staff for extra support. Minthara made to loot Orin’s remains when the temple shook below their feet and darkness enveloped them.

It only took a minute. One horrifying minute where Halsin and his companions stood paralyzed as they watched Tav reject Bhaal, and curse his name and line. One disturbing minute as they watched Bhaal steal back his blood in literal ribbons.

The ground quaked, as did the crimson walls. Bhaalists slowly retreated into the shadows, shame and fury keeping them from another fight. Bhaal’s likeness flared after each individual quake, as if trying to shake them from his domain.

Bhaal didn’t need Tav anymore—He would choose another. He didn’t need her companions to keep her alive anymore. He didn’t need anything anymore.

Falling to his knees, Halsin cradled her head in his large palm. It didn’t seem like Bhaal had broken her bones. Just... drained her of all fluids. His blood. Holding her delicately, he hovered a palm over her chest.

Nothing. No beat, no pump. Stale.

“Please,” Halsin whimpered, the force of his tears blinding him. “Defy your fate. Just one more time.”

Shadowheart tugged on Halsin’s bicep, begging him to carry Tav out instead. That they could work together underneath the sunlight, in the embrace of the Oak Father. But he could not pull himself away from her, could not stop pumping his hands into her fragile chest, could not stop sharing his air. Rational thought begged him to listen to Shadowheart, that the air of Bhaal’s temple would not nourish her orphaned lungs. Halsin could not stop trying, because the moment he stopped he understood it was the end.

The lilac of her face paled to an ashen white and when he lifted an eyelid to catch any form of light, he was cursed with the sight of bloodless and pale eyes. They retreated so far back into her skull that he caught a glimpse of the surrounding nerves. The silver fire had truly been extinguished. He yelled in frustration—in untamed misery.

The temple shook violently, sending Astarion to his knees. He cursed, dodging falling rock and the crumbling altar. Halsin continued to pump her chest, his healing power slowly seeping through her skin.

Not fast enough. All failing.

Gale fumbled inside his robes and pulled out a scroll, determination evident through his panic. Halsin knew a scroll of revivify would be of no use. Gale persisted, cursing as he ripped a corner, and read it quickly. The temple shook again.

And through his worry, Gale lifted his chin and faced Bhaal’s likeness. Brow lowered and dark eyes fully unmasked, he said in a whisper like pure death, “You forget yourself, Bhaal. Tav is not the only Chosen standing before you.”

Casting globe of invulnerability, Halsin and Shadowheart were now free to work. Surprising not only Halsin but the pale elf beside him, Bhaal grew silent. Frozen. Strangely cooperative for Mystra’s shamed Chosen.

And through Halsin’s rapid breathing, he heard the unmistakable sigh of Withers.

---

It was Astarion who talked him off the ledge. A figurative one, thankfully. After Tav was revived, she was so damn happy and grateful that he… Distanced himself for a few hours. Orin had only psychologically tortured him, but not even to the extent he believed she would indulge in. It was like he was an afterthought, and he found himself wishing he wasn’t. If Halsin wasn’t the one receiving punishments, it meant Tav was. It meant another poor soul was under Orin’s knife.

And in those rare moments of solace, when the smell of blood and shit clogged his nostrils so badly all other senses failed to work, he realized just how stupidly righteous he was. All this time he had mentored others on why self-care and self-love were the most important factors in one’s daily routine, and he had never participated in either practice. Halsin was huge on taking care of the body, getting the right amount of meditation, and nurturing one’s magic like a newly sprouted seedling. But where was the self-care that involved speaking well of himself, of sometimes selfishly taking a day off to do absolutely nothing? Where was the self-love that translated to being kind to himself, of acknowledging that he can’t win every battle?

“A second chance means it’s all out in the open now, darling. Do not leave anything unspoken.”

Tav was given a new lease on life, and he needed to realize he was, too. His inner turmoils needed to be dealt with, but never at the expense of his peace. His positivity needed to be channeled through multiple platforms, not just through pep-talks and health-related issues. His love, though bountiful, had taken root in one person, and after three hundred and fifty years he would finally follow the invisible string that had been glowing gold since fighting his way out of that goblin camp.

Being righteous had its perks, but he learned that abusing all of them at once would only bring about a harsh end. If one wanted to be a tragic hero so badly, then the Gods would take pleasure weaving that fate.

He decided that tragedy would have no place in his world, nor would it for Tav.

“Tell me she did not hurt you,” he said, his heart jumping as he received a surprised gasp.

He felt her lingering not far, her scent one that would take millennia to forget and would be discovered carved into his spine-bones.

Their companions had cleared out an hour ago and were no doubt adding to the ruckus downstairs. Shadowheart’s parents had taken Yenna and the animals on a walk around the park. It was only Halsin in their rooms, lounging on his bed pretending to read the book Gale had let him borrow. Tav leaned against the wooden pillar as if waiting to be called into the gigantic space. Her lean frame was concealed under a heavy knitted sweater.

Her mouth slightly parted. “Me? Tell me if she hurt you. Please.”

“She did not touch me, my heart.”

She walked to him slowly, pausing mid-way when he put the book down.

“If I had never come up with that stupid tadpoling plan, if I had never stolen that godsdamned crown, if I would have just told you to stay at the Grove all those months ago—”

“You would be dead.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“If Orin hadn’t experimented on you and instead chose to kill you, we would all be dead. If you had never stolen that crown, Gale would have never gained the independence he so desperately needed from Mystra, and chosen to better himself for himself. If you had never had the idea for the tadpoles, Astarion would still be a slave with no way out. You wouldn’t have defeated Orin or gained your own freedom—been born again. And if I had listened to you and stayed at the Grove, I would still be wallowing in self-pity and estranged from the outside world.”

“I have caused so much travesty—” she began, tears pricking her waterline. Halsin would not stand for that.

“You were Hells sent, but by the Gods have you proven to be the most beautiful fallen devil.”

A single tear. That was all she let fall before wiping her cheek and lifting her chin. He stood and closed the distance, cupping her face and tracing his thumb over her scar.

“Listen to me, you annoying brat of a drow. You were liberated for a reason,” he said, his throat clenching on itself. “You were given a second chance for a reason. It is not up to you to decide whether you deserve it or not. You do, and only soulless creatures will argue it.”

She copied his movements and smoothed over his own scars, her soft-hearted gaze just as powerful as her perfected vicious one.

“For everything I’ve done… How is it possible for my prize to be you?”

“How is it possible that for all my years of unchanged routine, I want to discard everything I know to learn my first steps with you?”

“Please don’t discard everything,” Tav pleaded through a chuckle, “because if I must learn how to be good again, then I’ll need you by my side.”

“My heart, my love,” he declared, his thumb now hovering over her plump bottom lip. “Give yourself more credit.”

Tav catapulted into his arms, claiming his lips with her own in a kiss so anguished and starved he had nothing to compare it to. Every kiss before was now rendered a dull touch, and Tav was all he would ever know. Grateful as he was for the new reality, Halsin immediately responded to her eagerness, matching it with such force they threw each other into the walls. He had spent so long ignoring the undeniable urge to devour her wholly, to make a feast of her sweat and moans.

Tav pushed forward, knocking him into Wyll’s bedpost. It dug into his spine, but he countered quickly. He dove even deeper, their teeth clanging momentarily as he pushed her into Jaheira’s alchemy set. It toppled to the ground, nothing spilled, but blocking their clumsy path all the same. He was trying to guide them back to her bed since his was currently covered with books, but it seemed like their legs weren’t cooperating with their decision. Tav didn’t seem to mind. She kissed him with a hunger that rivaled Gale’s orb, or Astarion’s bloodthirst. This was a kiss equivalent to a last one—like she was trying to make it count.

He wanted to voice it: They were going to survive. Their allies were going to survive. They would live happily after this. Free of the dark urge, free of titles, free of responsibilities that weren’t their own. He would be by her side for however long she would have him. And Gods, did he hope that was forever.

They toppled to the center of the room, the ever-blazing fire warming their already searing bodies. They detached for the sole reason of removing their upper layers, baring their skin and basking in the nearby orange glow.

Pulling her close, Halsin savored the feeling of her breasts pressed against his burly chest. Her soft skin like velvet, it was everything Halsin imagined. Snaking his hands down her back, he made sure to leave a delicate path along her spine. She shivered as the pads of his fingers kissed each vertebrae, her nipples hardening against his skin. Tav attempted to do the same, but eager in her pursuit, she skipped his entire spine and went straight for his ass, cupping it so she could pull their hips together. There, she proved his readiness.

He groaned softly, caressing her curves in return. “I will spend hours kissing every inch of your skin—”

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, pulling away with an expression that looked almost pained, “It’s getting late and the others will be returning soon. You can cash those hours another day, I promise. I want you to absolutely ravish me right now.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, gripping her hair and pulling her back in. She chuckled through the kiss, his spiced tea still lingering in her breath. He removed his trousers and hers, flicking her sandals over the railing and across the room. Laying her down, he could finally witness her beauty uncovered. Three parallel scars faded directly below her left breast, another just above her hip bone. A handful of stretch marks encircled her waist, the lilac skin pulled to its extent, probably during her younger years. And there were freckles dusted along her inner thighs, each a tantalizing path to her dripping center. He carefully pulled her thighs up and apart, spreading her open to take her in.

She wiggled under his gaze, the rush of untainted and newly reclaimed blood staining her cheeks. A spectacular delight to know she belonged to herself now and was willingly allowing him to share in her discovery.

“Do you not like me looking at you here?” he asked, running his fingertips close to where she pulsed. She swallowed hard and tried to shut her legs.

“Even I haven’t seen myself down there, you annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Then it is settled.” His voice lowered to a dangerous level, inciting a spark of heat through his own stomach. “The next time I fuck you, it shall be with your back against my chest, my cock between your legs, and a mirror in front of us. Then you’ll gaze upon yourself and your argument will be shot to the Hells.”

Her eyes widened, an almost innocent look that had his cock jumping.

“Go get it now.”

An uncontrollable moan sprouted from his lungs, but he did as he was told. A total of ten seconds he was away as he hauled the mirror to the center of the room, but it was long enough for Tav to take matters into her own hands. He returned to find her fingers deep inside her cunt, another twisting the hardened peak of her nipple.

“Give it to me,” he ordered, lowering to her level again. She gasped, moving to kneel before him. Taking her hand, he made sure to lock their eyes before taking two wet fingers into his mouth. She tasted earthly, original, delectable. The same taste that formed on his own tongue when he pleasured himself, when that spark of energy grew at the base of his spine and his chest rose with a battered scream. He sucked softly, savoring every drop, and took himself in his hand.

Tav followed his movement, her yearning evident as it practically shot from her essence into his own. Warming his insides, sating his darkest wants.

“You are no stranger to self-pleasure, yes?”

Tav shook her head. “I indulged.”

Guiding her hand back to herself, he continued stroking. He was fortunate enough to have an impressive length as well as girth, and something he would do for any and all lovers was prepare them. There was no Hell in this realm where he would hurt them to satisfy his needs quicker.

“Show me,” he pleaded, jutting his chin. “Show me, and I’ll show you.”

Tav circled her clit slowly, switching from watching his face to watching his hand. “Tell me, druid. Did you ever fuck yourself while thinking of me?”

The smile he offered was feral. “Have you no manners? What an invasive question.”

She leaned back and opened her thighs again, and plunged two fingers into herself. A gold glimmer scurried up his skin, then disappeared.

“I did it once,” she admitted, moaning softly as she went a little too deep. “It was the first time I ever thought about someone else while doing it, too. Do you want to know where and when I did it?”

Sliding his thumb over his slit, Halsin bit his tongue. He settled between her open legs, her knees knocking against the sides of his torso. So close that he could feel the heat of her arousal.

“Tell me.”

She took her fingers out and paid close attention to her clit. “That night you returned from the Shadowfell and officially joined our group. I asked you about lovers and you mentioned that you bed alone. I—ah—didn’t know what that feeling was so I explored it. I came four times that night, all because you were so kind and Karlach never shut up about climbing you like a tree and I was curious—”

She came with her back arched and a cry on her moist lips, but her fingers never paused. Neither did her confession.

“You made me so confused and angry all the time. Would you have fucked me all those months ago if I asked?”

Halsin expertly lifted her and flipped her around, cushioning his knees at the same time. They could see each other in the mirror now, exposed and glistening. His braids were loose and a sheen of sweat covered his biceps. He lowered Tav until her bottom rested on his thighs. She moved them slightly, her backside brushing against him tenderly. He hugged her firm, but loose enough that she could still move forward if needed.

“No,” he admitted, reaching up to cup one of her breasts. Before he let her expression sour however, he added, “You weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. You said you did not want to be another notch on my belt, and I promise you that if you’ll have me, I will be your one and only. You will be my one and only. We see each other for who we are now, unburdened by inner turmoils. And I will continue seeing you long after we defeat the enemies that await us. So no, Tav. I would not have slept with you all those months ago.”

He lifted her carefully, and lined himself up. She watched the mirror intently.

“We see each other now,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. “The silver of this mirror meets the silver of your beauty, and I shall use the golden hues you see in me to light you in its presence.”

He slid into her, holding her steady with each new inch, muttering words of encouragement as she struggled.

“Halsin,” she whimpered, raising her arms to use his hair as a grip. She could pull with all her strength and Halsin would bask in the pain. “By the gods, this can’t be real.”

Halsin chuckled, and finally all of him was seated inside her. He felt himself pulse with the need to move. She circled her hips, testing the waters, watching the way she stretched around him in the mirror. The pornographic sight had his hips stuttering. Each bounce she attempted had him breathing harder, a savage burn encasing his heart and lungs. Yet he held back, holding her around the stomach now as she explored the new feeling.

“Hot,” she said, her smile genuine. “You feel hot against me. Inside me.”

“Tell me to burn hotter and I will.”

Adjusting her hips, she nodded at him in the mirror.

A single thrust and his skin pricked deliciously, the guttural groan Tav gave because of it prompting him to thrust again. Together they moved and watched themselves in the mirror, gaining as much speed as their knees allowed. Plunging deeper and deeper, Halsin reined in the bear and forced himself to stay present. Never had the need to wildshape been this serious before.

“You’re glowing,” Tav said, a sudden whine escaping her throat as he hit her from a particular angle. “I’m not about to have a bear’s cock inside me, am I? I can barely handle this one.”

His laugh melted into a moan. “No, my love. But we can explore that terrain another time.”

She scoffed playfully, “Damn druids.”

She yelped as he pushed her forward on her hands and knees, watching her face in case he overstepped. But all he saw was pure delight, excitement in being adored like this. It occurred to him that she had probably never been taken, and he doubted Gortash fucked her properly.

Wrapping her hair in his fist, he lifted her head so she could watch him pound into her. He fucked her hard and fast, the slap of their skin reverberating through their quiet rooms. Her mouth dropped open as he kept his brutal pace, her eyelids drooping in perfect rapture.

“Ah! Fuck, I—Oh, fuck Halsin. This is—this is so fucking good,” she whined, then sucked in a deep breath. “It’s like you're in my stomach.”

“You’re doing perfectly, my heart. The feeling—the feeling around me…”

He couldn't finish his sentence. Tav dropped to her elbows and screamed, pushing her hips backward to take him deeper. He watched as he fucked into her, her arousal coating the sides of his cock and dripping down the backs of her thighs. Watched how the enticing curve of her spine met the base of her bowed neck and the damp baby hairs curling there. And in the mirror he was also able to catch a glimpse of the drool she failed to catch, of her hand coming to wipe at her chin and then quickly catch her weight again.

“It feels so good I might cry,” she laughed, though the sound was overridden by more devious ones.

“Your beautiful sounds are surely the talk of the pub right now,” he teased, slowing his thrusts purposely. “Do you think they can hear you cry for me? Do you think they hear as I fuck into you? Gods, you’re soaked and begging, aren’t you?”

Tav pushed her hips again, her frustration growing.

“I pray they come and investigate. I can scarcely believe I’m not dreaming. And if they see me fucking you out in the open, how deep I am, my seed dripping out of you—”

The fifth time Halsin heard Tav scream was when she came so violently around his aching cock, tears of bliss on her blushed cheeks and a whole-body tremble seizing her, pulse after pulse threatening to milk him of everything he had. And she partially succeeded as he came inside her, a shout of his own syncing with hers.

Floating for twenty or so seconds, they enjoyed the feeling of their entanglement before Halsin started moving again. Tender, silky slides that were louder now as his seed spilled out of her, coating them equally. Tav’s breath quickened, the rug burn on her elbows striking him with a powerful burst of elation. Soon he’ll match them on her knees, he’ll gladly accept them in return, and he’ll ask Tav to make him scream until his throat was raw.

Though he fucked her deep, he kept his hands soft. Much to her surprise, he turned her onto her back and draped himself over her.

Tav giggled and pulled her trapped hair from under her shoulders. “Your chest hair is ticklish.”

His heart swelled. If such a visceral reaction was possible from such a simple sound, how would he feel when that laugh rattled her chest and burst eardrums? He wasn’t above dropping dead—may his flesh nourish the soil she walked on, may his bones carry the weight of her decisions, and may his soul grant her peace.

He stroked her right cheek with his index, loose strands of his hair kissing the left. “Apologies.”

“Don’t apologize. I know it’s wrong to say, but I am so glad you’re alive alongside me.”

“It’s not wrong to say,” he assured, sliding back into her with a short grunt. He bit her bottom lip as she gasped. “I’m just glad you’ve given me the chance to experience this alongside you.”

They shared their breaths as Halsin quickened his pace. Grabbing her left thigh and lifting it, he reached her most sensitive spot and kept at it. They were still in the middle of their highs, but his head was clearer. Sure, the idea of their companions walking in on them was intriguing, but Halsin found himself selfish now. Maybe another time they would discuss their fantasies—this was all for themselves. Practically shielding her, he felt the bear shimmer with…

Acceptance. Possessiveness. Satisfaction. Happiness.

The urge to roam that lay dormant for the past few months vanished entirely. He was Tav’s and Tav’s was his, and no longer would they be slaves to expectations or the commands of others. This moment they shared would bleed into eternity.

“I love you,” she said, her waterline silver. She repeated it, over and over, and he too admitted the same.

“I love you, too.”

They came together again, their hearts aligned, their breathing timed for risk of stopping altogether.

Later, when their companions returned and noticed the positive shift in their relationship, Halsin realized that though his love for Tav was unparalleled and rare, it also extended to the rowdy group of adventurers who had proven their loyalty ten times over. And if fate would allow it, he wanted to follow them long after their final battle proved victorious.

---

#baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #halsin x tav #halsin x durge #fanfiction #captainsimagines #drow tav #by moni #part two

30 notes · View notes

baldursgrave69 · 1 year ago

Text

Stubborn

Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) is feeling a bit under the weather, though she didn’t tell anyone until Astarion stumbled upon her too sick to move. She’s entirely too stubborn to ask for help so Astarion must take matters into his own, icy cold hands.

Pairing: astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 1.4K

Tags: fluff

While writing this I was listening to: Distance by Christina Perry

FInd me on Ao3 here

Camp was quiet as everyone slowly emerged from their tents and prepared for the day. Gale stood by the fire as he fried some eggs for breakfast. Karlach and Lae’zel stood by the water doing their morning stretches while Wyll practiced sparring near by. Astarion emerged from his tent, stretching his arms and yawning as he looked about camp. Astarion’s eyes trailed through camp, making sure everyone was accounted for. But someone was missing. The vampire walked up to Gale, nonchalantly fiddling with his night shirt. “Have you seen Agnes?” He asked, watching Gale flip the eggs. “Come to think of it, I haven’t. She’s usually the first one up,” Gale admitted, scanning the camp for her. The wizard went back to cooking and Astarion walked over to Shadowheart’s tent, who was knelt in prayer. Astarion approached Shadowheart, standing to her side as she prayed. “I haven’t seen her,” she said without opening her eyes. “Right,” Astarion murmured, swiftly leaving Shadowheart’s tent. Astarion looked over to the Agnes’ tent, noticing the flap was still pinned shut.

The rogue made his way over, leaning his ear up to the entrance. He didn’t hear anything at first, but after a moment picked up on the faintest noise; a pained groan. “Agnes?” He said, his hands reaching for the clasps on her tent entrance. “Fuck off,” Agnes growled, her voice sounded gravelly and hoarse. Astarion rolled his eyes at her cursing and opened the flap to her tent anyway. Inside he saw Agnes lying on her bedroll in her smallclothes, her body was glistening with sweat. She had a hand resting on her forehead and her cheeks looked flushed. “And what’s going on in here, darling?” Astarion tuts walking over to the bedroll and leaning down next to her. “Just leave me be, Astarion. I’ll be fine,” she grumbled, turning to face away from him. As she adjusted herself, a wince escaped her lips at the soreness in her body. Astarion placed an icy hand on her neck, her body was radiating heat. “My dear, you’re positively burning up,” Astarion said, his voice more serious now. He went to pull away his hand but Agnes grabbed it, keeping it on her neck. “Don’t move,” she said, turning towards him a bit more. “What is it?” Astarion asked as Agnes awkwardly held his hand. “Your hand is cold and I’m burning up,” she said closing her eyes. Astarion let out a sigh, bring his other hand up to her cheek to cool her off. The cool touch to her skin pulled a relieved sigh from Agnes. “I need to go get Halsin, you need some healing,” Astarion said after a moment, standing up. “Gods, please don’t,” Agnes whispered, her eyes pleading.

“It’s cute that you think you have a choice. Why are you so weird about getting help?” Astarion huffed, crossing his arms. “I’d prefer not to get into that,” she grumbled, closing her eyes. “I’m going to go get the druid,” Astarion said after a moment, swiftly exiting the tent. Agnes opened her eyes to see that the vampire was gone. She took a deep, painful breath in before sitting up. Her whole body ached as she attempted to stand. She could feel her legs buckling under her as she attempted to get herself up. “You little shit,” Agnes looked up to see Astarion and Halsin entering her tent, the vampire had his arms crossed as he looked at Agnes in disappointment. “Where did you think you were going to go?” He huffed, signaling for Halsin to check on the rogue. “Agnes, how long have you been feeling sick?” Halsin asked, leaning down next to her and placing a hand on her cheek. Agnes’ eyes fluttered open as she looked up at Halsin, her vision was blurred, the large elf looked divine in the morning light peaking through her tent. “Wow,” she croaked, her eyes nearly crossing as she gazed up at the druid.

“Agnes, answer me, how long?” He said again, his brows knit in concern. “Hmm, a day or two? Maybe three,” she mumbled trying to remember when the aches in her bones started. Astarion let out a loud huff as Halsin went to work trying to identify what was ailing the half elf. “What symptoms are you having?” He asked, rustling through his medicine pack. “I’m so hot,” she groaned, holding a hand out to Astarion. Halsin looked at Agnes’ outstretched hand in confusion. “What do you need, little thief?” Halsin asked as he pulled some potions and antidotes from his bag. Agnes wiggled her fingers at Astarion, her other hand covering her eyes. “Use your words,” he said with a smirk, stance unmoving. Agnes huffed, her outstretched arm starting to ache. “Please cool me off,” she whined as Halsin mixed together an antidote for her. Astarion rolled his eyes, though he moved to her other side without hesitation. Astarion placed a hand on Agnes cheek, eliciting a groan from the other rogue. He sat awkwardly with his hand on Agnes cheek, watching Halsin work on the medicine.

“You still haven’t told me your symptoms besides ‘I’m hot’,” Halsin said, looking over Agnes. “Aches, chills, nausea, generally feel like I’d rather be dead,” Agnes said, moving Astarion’s hand from her cheek to her forehead. “You very well could’ve been if Astarion hadn’t gotten me,” Halsin said in a stern tone. “Let’s sit you up, you need to drink this,” he added, holding out an arm for Agnes to pull herself up on. Astarion removed his hand from her forehead and assisted in propping her up. Agnes groaned as the two men helped her sit up, her body ached as she tried to adjust to her position. “Down the hatch,” Halsin said, bringing the concoction up to Agnes’ lips. The half elf shivered as she drank down the antidote, it was bitter and thick. She coughed slightly, her body shaking from having to hold herself up. “Get some rest now. Astarion, keep an eye on her. If anything worsens, come get me,” Halsin said as he packed up his bag. “That’s not necessary, I’m fine,” Agnes said, swaying slightly. “I beg to differ,” Astarion growled, helping her steady herself. Agnes groaned, leaning back on a crate behind her. She was entirely too exhausted to argue at this point.

Agnes let out a shaky breath as she slumped against the crate behind her, her body overheating again. “What can I do?” Astarion asked, his tone laced with worry. “I’m burning up. I feel like I’m going to catch on fire,” Agnes breathed, the pain shining through in her voice. Astarion sat for a moment, trying to come up with a way to keep her cool. “Lean forward,” Astarion demanded, standing up next to Agnes. “What?” Agnes grumbled, looking up at Astarion. “Just do it,” he said with a roll of his eyes. Agnes complied, leaning forward. Astarion got behind Agnes, sitting down with his legs in either side of her. “Lean back,” he demanded, holding his arms out. Agnes rolled her eyes, but leaned into him, his icy touch cooling her body. Astarion wrapped his arms around the half elf, pressing his cold fingers against her skin. Agnes leaned her head against his shoulder, her breath steadying. “Gods,” she groaned, finally having some relief from the burning fever. Astarion leaned his head back against the crate behind him, subconsciously rubbing his thumbs along Agnes’ arms. Agnes eyes fluttered shut as she fell asleep in the vampires arms. Astarion listened to Agnes as she slept, little sounds and groans escaping her lips. Astarion rested his head against Agnes’, holding her tightly. “Damn it,” he breathed, closing his eyes. His little plan to manipulate Agnes into an alliance was failing. He didn’t anticipate actually growing to care for her.

Karlach peaked her head into Agnes’ tent to see if Astarion would be joining them for the day. She looked inside to find Astarion holding Agnes in his arms, both were asleep as they held one another. “Awwww,” Karlach squeaked, trying to be as quiet as possible as she pulled her head out of the tent. “Shadowheart!” She whispered loudly, waving the cleric over. “Is everything alright?”Shadowheart asked, hurrying over to Agnes’ tent. “Just look at them,” Karlach said excitedly, parting the tent so Shadowheart could look inside. “I knew it!” Shadowheart whispered, as the two women watched Agnes and Astarion from afar. “They’re cute,” Shadowheart said with a laugh, heading back towards her tent.

56 notes · View notes

lutethebodies · 13 days ago

Note

Hiya! Rolled a 1 (!!) on the D8 and 13, 33, and 35 please! Thank you much!

Tav Banter Game: Cannor Coth

When is rolling a Nat 1 not a critical failure? When you roll it on the LTB-Tav-d8! That's right, today’s grand prize is an answer about the main muse of Lute the Bodies—the Lost Singer himself—because unlike him, I do take requests. Cannor is of course all over this blog (links: Tav Tuesday • Minthara's judgement • Minthara romance �� mood board • character tag), so I'll dispense with the basics in those links above and get right to it, below the cut:

13. Picking a lock

“I’d cast Knock, but why rub it in?” “Ah, the tools of ignorance.” “Aye, that’ll play.”

33. Party banter with Minthara

"Cannor, do you think of yourself primarily as a singer or a poet?" "I consider myself more of a song and dance man." "Oh? And do you promote yourself as such?" "I didn't say I was a good dancer." "Neither did I."

Longtime mutuals may recall this one:

"Minthara, I just want to be clear: I’m not in this to fix you." "Nor I you. Why would either of us want to fix what is not broken?" "You once called me 'beautiful, but broken.'" "You know very well I was not truly myself when I said that." "So, I’m not broken—but not beautiful either?" "You are not stupid."

35. How would your Tav/Durge greet a player character if they were a companion at low, neutral, high, or romanced approval?

He has a way with words, but he respects his own time (if approval is low) and Tav's/Durge's time (if approval is medium/high) too much to waste it with excessive superficialities. And a romanced partner is far too important for empty clichés. Creativity requires time, and our heroes have precious little of it on this adventure. That’s the long way of saying “He's way better at this than I am, and I actually found this pretty difficult."

Low:

“Huh?” “Must we?” “Oh, here we go.”

Neutral:

“When do we go on?” "How's tricks?" "Let's jam."

Medium and above:

“Feeling inspired?” “Let's get creative, eh?” "Today's story starts now. Shall we begin?"

When spoken to by someone other than Tav/Durge:

"No autographs, please. I'm here to work."

Romance (flirting):

“Ah, the main attraction.” "Behold, the melody to my harmony." "Let's show the world what we can do together. What do you say?”

Romance (partnered):

“My word, you're a vision. Welcome back.” "Ah, I've missed you. Would you like my help, darling?" “You’ve transformed my nightmares to dreams, dear. Let’s make your dreams reality.”

Broken up (high approval):

“The shining star of a classic duo. Need some backup?” "It was a good gig while it lasted. Care for an encore?"

Broken up (low approval):

"Slumming with sideshows, are we?" “If it isn’t the personification of ‘back catalogue.’” "Look, that song isn't about you. Forget you ever heard it."

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #ltb tav deep dives #cannor the lost

10 notes · View notes

angelatmidnight1 · 8 hours ago

Note

I would love to request a bg3 tickle fic if that’s okay and I have two diffrent prompt ideas

The durge is feeling super upset about the whole born to kill thing and had been feeling in the slumps about it, trying to hide it but not very well and someone in camp notices and try’s to cheer the durge up but can’t seem to find a way to make their cold friend smile till they accidentally find out their ticklish

Lae’zel has been seeing Karlach tickle wyll and doesn’t know what it is as someone who’s never been tickled or seen it before. But sees it as a way of weakness so during a training match with tav lae’zel uses her new knowledge on tickling to see if she can finally win a sparing match with tav

I’m sorry if this is to much i understand if you don’t want to do either of these I just appreciate you taking the time to read them 🫶

A Little Starlight

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry this is so late. I know you already posted a fic for a durge reader (which I really liked), but I hope it's okay that I still wanted to do this request? I went with option one with lee!durge and ler!Astarion. I don't think I'm confident in writing for Lae'zel yet. I hope you like it 🧡

Pairing- Astarion x The Dark Urge (romantic).

Warnings- Major spoilers for the Dark Urge storyline (Acts 1-2) between them and Astarion. This is also a tickle fic.

WC: 3k.

Dark days have only grown darker the longer Durge resists the urge to kill. Their damned butler returned and demanded that they act accordingly and end the one they love most: Astarion. That was another dark night; no one was hurt, and all they remember was his hand stroking their hair, telling them that he wouldn’t let whatever this was have them. Durge hasn’t been able to face him or any of their other companions since then, fearing that they’d lose control again. They’ve shut everyone else out, but Astarion won’t be turned away. He tries to lift their spirits, and that’s a much easier task when he discovers that they’re ticklish.

“Are you certain you aren’t hungry?”

Gale called Durge from outside their tent, his voice tinged with concern. Durge felt bad for turning him away; as the unofficial official camp chef, they knew that whatever stew he made was nothing short of delicious. The smell wafted throughout the camp and made their mouth water. But, after the previous night, they couldn’t bring themselves to eat anything.

Oh, I’m hungry, wizard. But not for food. I’d sooner rip your head off and put it on a spike-

Durge flinched and shook the violent thoughts away. Not now. Now again. They couldn’t have a repeat of last night. The thought alone made their stomach churn. They exhaled a shaky breath and licked their dry lips before saying, “I’m sure, Gale. I don’t have an appetite right now.”

“...Okay. That is not a problem. Though, if my memory serves me well, you said the same this morning. I’ve skipped the occasional meal myself in the pursuit of study, but not two.” Gale hesitated, holding the still warm bowl in his hands. “Are you feeling ill? If not food, I could prepare a medicinal brew for you. The taste is far from ideal, but the effects—”

By the hells, did he ever stop talking? Maybe ripping his tongue out would be more fitting.

No.

Yes.

Durge’s head started hurting. A war raged on in their mind and both sides were the losing one. They brought their hands up to rub the sides of their temple, and even that hurt.

“Dammit, I said I don’t want it!” Durge hissed. They weren’t just talking about the food or medicine. “Get away from my tent and leave me alone.”

“A-Alright,” Gale sounded startled and they heard him shuffle backwards. “I apologize for disturbing you. I’ll just leave the bowl here, should you change your mind.”

That impending frustration turned into something heavier once he finally left: guilt. Guilt for snapping at Gale when he only wanted to check on them. Guilt for killing Alfira and leaving Lakrissa heartbroken. Guilt for being entrusted to lead a party to Baldur’s Gate, yet only succeeding in putting them in more danger.

Durge wasn’t a leader; they were a monster. A monster no better than the mind flayers and twice as dangerous. It’s not who they wanted to be but, like their butler said, their fate was sealed in blood. It was just a matter of time before their urge returned and took over again.

They laid on their side on their bedroll, knees up to their chest, and cried. Crying was safer than killing and, as long as they stayed in their tent, they couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Astarion wouldn’t be having any of that though. He wasn’t going to watch his love waste away.

Durge didn’t remember when they’d fallen asleep. They awoke to a shadow looming over the entrance to their tent, and they sat up with a start. “Gale?”

“No, darling. It’s me.” Astarion put his hand over the tent. He could’ve easily unhooked the latch and came in, especially since they usually shared the tent together, but he remembered the state they were in just a night ago. He wasn’t afraid of them, but he also wasn’t looking to be at the wrong end of a blade. “And you can’t go an entire day without eating something. We﹘I, need you strong. May I come in?”

Durge hesitated. The last time they were near Astarion, they tried to kill him. What if it happened again? Their silence prompted him to continue.

“I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you're thinking. I told you that this condition of yours will not have you. But I also can’t let you starve. That would make me a terrible friend, and lover.” Astarion gave a small smirk. “Now, come on, open up. I don’t want to destroy this lock, but I will.”

Durge sighed. Their limbs felt heavy as they got up and approached the tent. They put a hand over the lock and toyed with it, fingers trembling. “Are you sure, Astarion? I don’t want to hurt you..”

“I don’t want you to hurt me either,” Astarion chuckled dryly. “I trust that you won’t, though. And on the off chance you lose control and lunge at me, I’ll just tie you up again.”

The heat rose to their cheeks, contrasting the icy touch of the lock. Finally, they undid the lock and opened the tent.

Astarion stood in his usual camp attire, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and the now cold soup in the other. He clicked his teeth when he saw them. “By the hells, you look terrible. You need to eat. Right now.”

He pushed the bowl into their hand before they could say anything. Durge held it up with both hands. They were primed to protest, just like they did earlier, but their stomach betrayed them and growled. They sighed and plopped down on a cushion to eat.

“There we are, much better.” Astarion hummed, satisfied. “Gale looked like a kicked puppy when you sent him off. I told him it probably had nothing to do with the food and that he can be annoying.”

Durge looked up in between bites, frowning. “I shouldn’t have snapped at him. He was only trying to help.”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” he waved a dismissive hand. “His intentions may have been pure, but after last night, I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t in the mood. I’m just relieved that I didn’t have to pry your hands from around his throat.”

“I’d never hurt him. Never.” Durge felt the burn of fresh tears threatening to fall. “I’d never hurt you, him, or anyone else. I didn’t even mean to kill Alfira! I﹘I﹘”

Their hands shook as a low sob escaped them. Anyone else without sharp hearing probably wouldn’t have heard it. Astarion sat down in front of them and put his hands over theirs, squeezing gently.

“Darling, that last part was a joke. I admit, it was poorly timed, but please don’t cry.” Comforting others wasn’t Astarion’s forte. No one had comforted him in two centuries, save for his siblings on occasion, but it wasn’t even close to being enough. He sighed heavily, still holding their hands as they cried. After they’d calmed down a little, he tapped the top of their hands with his thumbs. “Look at me, Durge.”

Durge sniffled and obliged, eyes still shining with tears. Astarion cleared his throat.

“I know that we haven’t been traveling together long. I know that us being…us, is even newer. But I know you, Durge. I’ve looked into the eyes of monsters and killers. Cazador is a killer. He’d kill one’s mind but keep their body intact just enough to be used to lure pretty things back to him. You are not a monster, nor a killer. You’re our leader, and my lover.”

They wanted to believe him. As they looked into those red eyes, they wanted to believe that he saw them, and not what the urge wanted them to be. His grip on their hands tightened.

“When I said your affliction won’t claim you, I meant that. We’re going to find a way to save you.”

Durge exhaled a breath that they didn’t know they were holding. They dropped their head so that it was resting against his chest. “Thank you, Astarion. I’m glad I can count on you.”

He awkwardly wound one arm around them, resting his chin on the top of their head. Hugs were still very novel. Warm, sweet, but novel. “Think nothing of it, my dear. You’ve got this. And I’ve got you.”

Durge would’ve smiled if the fear and uncertainty weren’t so heavy on their heart. With his free hand, he reached under their chin and tilted it up. “Now, enough of these tears. What will it take for my darling to smile?”

Tearing you apart.

Durge cringed a bit and shook their head. “I’m not sure.”

“No? I am open to suggestions.” Astarion, keeping one arm around them, leaned back on the cushions. He pulled them down so that they could lay on top of him. “I could swap the sugar used for coffee with salt. Put it in Wyll’s pack. Our noble hero can’t have his comrades hopped up on something sweet in the morning. That just wouldn’t be right.”

The faintest grin tugged at the corner of their lips. “Don’t do that,” they chastised lightly. “Shadowheart would be furious.”

“All the more reason to do it, love. Who needs caffeine to wake up when rage is a powerful motivator on its own? It’d be a sight to behold.”

Durge pressed their lips together, smirking. “Don’t do it. I mean it.”

“Ugh. You’re tying my hands, but fine. Though, I do think I see the beginnings of a smile..” Astarion smirked up at them. He reached under their chin again and gave it a little tickle. “Come on now, give me a little more.”

Durge brought their chin down with a squeak. Their shoulders seized, and they choked on a giggle. “Aha! Astarion!”

“What? What’s so funny?” He doubled down on his efforts, fingers now gently prodding and skittering down their sides. “Surely the thought of Shadowheart hurling a mug at the poor soul who soured her coffee isn’t amusing to you?”

If Durge was being honest, the thought was a little funny. But that wasn’t why they were giggling. They curled in on themselves, giggling louder. “Nahaha! That tihihickles!”

“Really now?” Astarion feigned surprise, lightly drilling his thumbs just above their hips. “All this time, and I hadn’t the faintest clue that you were ticklish. How dare you keep such a secret from me.”

“H-Hohohow was I s-suppohohosed to-” Durge chased after his hands with their own, squirming and squealing with giggles. “I dihihihdn’t knohohow!”

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m not interested in your excuses,” Astarion chuckled. He easily batted their hands away and rolled them over so that he was on top. Now, their hands were pinned underneath his legs, and he had full reign to tickle. “What I am interested in are these precious little giggles..”

Durge’s eyes widened and they squirmed under his weight. A silly, nervously giddy smile stretched across their face. Astarion returned their grin, cooing.

“Aw, that smile tells me everything I need to know..”

Their breath hitched when he traced a single finger across their ribs. They recoiled to the side, hands flexing uselessly under his weight. “Love, wahahit!”

“I’m afraid not, dear,” Astarion, still using one finger, prodded at the spaces between the bones, scratching gently. “I’ve got to raise your spirits, and you’ve made it much easier for me.”

“Nohoho!” Durge’s legs kicked out uselessly as they squealed and giggled. For once, the violent voice in their head was silent, drowned out by their laughter. It was liberating to be freed from that voice, even if only for a moment. Instead of worrying about losing control again, they were half-heartedly squirming and trying to dodge Astarion’s nimble fingers. “I feheheheel betteheher!”

“Now now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves..” Astarion chuckled and used both hands to scribble along their ribcage’s bones. “I think I can get an even bigger smile out of you if I tickle, hmm…”

Durge was thrashing about as he tickled over their ribs, their loud giggling jumping to laughter. But suddenly, he halted his attack, hands ghosting over their torso. They panted, eyes darting from his hands up to his face. His expression was an even mix between playful mischief and undeniable fondness. They arched upwards, giggling in anticipation as he just barely skimmed over their stomach. “Astarion!”

“Hush, love. I’m thinking,” Astarion stroked down their stomach, over their hips, and moved back up their torso. He watched their reactions closely, purposely lingering on spots that especially made them giggle. The closer he got to their underarms, they thrashed more. He grinned knowingly and went to tickle there, but they brought their arms down before he could strike. “Ah, here’s a spot.”

“Nohoho no no!” Durge protested and held their arms as close to their side as possible. “Geheht away from thehehere!”

“Before I discover just how ticklish it is? That won’t be happening, darling.” Astarion shifted so that he was more or less laying on top of them. He tried to wriggle his fingers underneath their arms, but they refused to move them. “Let me in, Durge..~”

They grinned widely, shaking their head. “Nehehever!”

He pressed his head against theirs so he could whisper in their ear. “Durge,” he repeated, purring. “I am going to get under your arms one way or another. Hiding from me won’t help you.”

Durge leaned their head to the side, blushing and laughing. This exposed their neck and gave Astarion another playfully sinister idea. “I wohohn’t let you ihihihn!”

Astarion smirked. He sat up and looked down at him with a soft chuckle. “Gods, you are delicious like this. I could just devour you..”

Before they could respond or turn their head, he nuzzled into the crook of their neck, pressing featherlight kisses into their skin. Durge’s eyes widened and they screamed. They writhed under his weight and cackled, raising their shoulders. “NAHAHA! DOHOHN’T!”

Astarion chuckled against their skin, making them laugh harder. “Adorable,” he mumbled, kissing further down their neck. “My beautiful, bloodthirsty lover. You’ve never sounded so sweet.”

Durge’s cheeks flushed as they kept trying and failing to scrunch up their neck. Every now and then, he’d nibble over where he kissed very gently, so that he didn’t break the skin with his fangs. They were laughing too loudly to hear what he said next.

“And you’re all mine~.”

With Durge distracted by the ticklish kisses and nibbles, he had no trouble pushing his hands under their arms, scribbling away into the hollows. Durge lurched upwards and threw their head back with laughter.

“OHOHOHO NOHOHO!”

“Oh yes,” he countered, hands scampering where the ribs met the armpits before gently drilling back into the hollows. “You’re all mine, my sweet. I could listen to you laugh all night.”

And laugh they did. Durge was in stitches as Astarion tickled their neck and armpits. They laughed hard enough to snort, and he ended up joining them in their laughter.

“That has to be the cutest sound I’ve heard you make,” he snickered. He lifted his head away from their neck and slowed the tickling down to slow, gentle strokes.

Durge hiccuped, still squeezing their arms against their sides and inadvertently trapping his hands. Their cheeks were beyond flushed and they tried to hide from his mischievous gaze. “It’s nohohohot fuhuhuhnny!”

“Oh come off, it was adorable,” Astarion flexed his fingers against their armpits, and they shrieked. “And I’d love to hear it again.”

“No, no-” Durge shook their head frantically, but Astarion had already made up his mind. He used his index fingers to prod and scritch more purposefully into their armpits. Durge fell back into hysterics and kicked their legs against the bedroll. They didn’t make the sound he wanted until he regained access to their neck, peppering kisses there and just above their collarbone. They wheezed and snorted not once, but twice. Just when they thought they’d lose their mind, he stopped, laughing into their shoulder. Durge breathed heavily, still trapped under his weight.

“It’s nohot funny,” they repeated, their would-be pout giving way to another silly grin. Astarion looked down at them and smiled a genuine smile.

“There’s my love,” he chuckled and cupped their cheek in his hand. “There’s that smile I wanted.”

Durge leaned into his hand and pecked it. “Hmph. I suppose I needed that..”

“That you did. No need to thank me,” Astarion finally climbed off of them and stretched out beside them. “My hands are good at more than just stabbing our enemies.”

They rolled their eyes fondly. In truth, they were feeling a lot better. And they didn’t even have to hurt anyone. They took their position in Astarion’s outstretched arms, allowing him to gather them up and hold them close. They leaned up to kiss his cheek and draped their legs over his.

Astarion wound his arms around their waist. “Comfortable, darling?”

“Mm,” Durge nodded slowly and laid their head on their shoulder. He chuckled.

“Good. Get some rest, you’ve more than earned it.”

For a while, it was quiet, save for the sounds of crickets chirping and the occasional owl call. As they laid in his arms, another urge crept into their mind. Not the violent, dark whispers that they’re used to, but one that was lighter. Mischievous. Playful.

Astarion did deserve a taste of his own medicine, didn’t he?

Their fingers twitched at the thought, and before they could even second-guess themselves, they struck—quick, darting fingers aiming for his ribs.

They barely made contact before Astarion’s hand snatched their wrist midair.

Durge blinked. “What—”

Astarion turned to them with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator who had just been handed an excuse to pounce. “I wanted to kiss you again, but it seems you’ve other plans.”

Durge gasped and tried to pull their hand back, but it was too late. In a blur of movement, Astarion had them pinned again—this time lying on their stomach, their arms uselessly trapped beneath them. Again.

“Wahahait! Wait!” Durge tried to make a case only to yelp as he pinched the back of their thigh. They bounced around more as his other hand slid up their shirt and kneaded over their sides. “I wasn’t actually going to-- wahahait!”

“Oh no, no, no, Durge. You clearly still want to play. And I’d be happy to indulge,” Astarion lightly tutted and swiped his nails over their lower back, earning a louder scream. A shiver ran up Durge’s spine as they laughed and tried to roll back over. “Oh dear, another interesting spot?”

It’d be a while before Durge got any rest. The same could’ve been said for most nights they tried to sleep. But tonight, with all of the darkness lurking in their mind, they were grateful they had a little star of their own to see them through the night.

#bg3 tickle #bg3 tickling #lee!durge #durge x astarion #ler!astarion

8 notes · View notes