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keter-kannot · 4 months ago

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RAH 😤😫 HALSIN HAS A KNOT

Okay, first smut fic ever posted 😭😭 in lime with the general theme of @thebluester2020 's 2024 kinktober list. I have,,, quite a few days to catch up on lmao, but ENJOY :D this one is full of the soft, beautiful praise I just KNOW Halsin would be a pro at.

MINORS: DNI

“Good, good, my love,” there was a gentle drone behind Halsin’s voice, the rarely seen desperate side of him making itself known. It was primal in nature; deep, guttural, needy… something Tav wished she could trap between her hands and cherish to enjoy over and over again until the end of time. The way his little groans escaped his lips, his hand twitching as it played gently with her hair.

She found herself like this more and more these days, but didn’t mind. At first there was a bit of hesitation on her end; it wasn’t often she’d had to wonder about how she looked on her knees, and for someone with enough self-assuredness as her, she didn’t think there’d be any issue.

It was his words, though, that got her through it. Gods, his words. She could see why he’d been given such status, such responsibility. He was able to talk his way through just about anything, his velvet words wrapping themselves around anyone who’d listen and hold them tight.

Now, as she gently took the tip of his cock in her mouth, it was his words yet again that drained her of any other thought but of that to please him.

“Oh, my heart,” his soft hiss of approval driving her to take more of him as she looked up, meeting his wanting eyes. Her stomach flipped, her eyes fluttered, and she pushed herself further down his heavy length, making sure not to break eye contact as her cheeks filled and flushed a deep red.

As his jaw started falling further and further, his eyes widening more and more, his warm hand gripped the back of her head gently, pushing her to take him even further.

“Y–you’re made to be seen like this,” he managed between a huff and a groan as he continued to slowly guide her movements, “perfectly taking all of me, sat just so on your knees…”

She could feel his focus get fiercer as his grip tightened on her hair, pushing and pulling her eager mouth up and down his length with a practiced rhythm. Her little chokes did nothing but encourage him, his tip throbbing every time it hit the back of her throat.

“My treasure,” he moaned, fighting with himself as he pulled her lips away from him, tilting her chin to make sure he could see the bit of precum dripping from the side of her lips. “As much as I’d like to keep you on your knees, I’m afraid I can’t help but need more of you.”

His hands caressed her waist as he pulled her to stand, lingering on her back and thighs as he slowly lifted her from the forest floor, wrapping her legs around him like so. He kissed her with both a tenderness and fierce desire that mixed so sweetly with the beating of their hearts, the pumping of their blood, the song of the quiet forest around them, and even the silent shine of Lathander’s embrace.

He took his time exploring her mouth with his own, lazily taking his time in letting her know how deeply he felt connected to her, how greatly he felt for her. After all, they now had all the time in the world.

She could feel him throbbing and somehow growing larger still beneath her, the rhythmic rolling of his hips matching the time of their heavy breaths.

His fingers made their way to her slick folds as he led them back down to the forest floor, her legs straddling him as he made slow circles around her already aching clit. The smile that splayed on his lips as she let out a moan made her flush.

He leaned in to pepper soft kisses on the nape of her neck, on her collarbone, on her chest. “How I love to hear you sing for me.”

Continuing his slow assault on her twitching sex, his other hand found his length and positioned himself right at her entrance.

Then, he flushed, a sudden bit of embarrassment showing on his face; something she hadn’t seen since he’d gifted her the first whittled duck.

She looked at him, concerned. “Halsin?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes flitting to the side as she squirmed on his lap which, of course, did nothing but make the burly man blush more.

“Why… why’d you stop?”

He shook his head for a moment before sighing and lifting his head to meet her eyes again. “Give me your hand,” he said.

She did.

He lead her soft grip back between both sets of their legs, sucking in a soft breath as her fingers made their way around his shaft and down, until–

Her eyes went wide.

His look of concern grew deeper. “It’s, well, you know… There are, well, certain animals sometimes–”

“Halsin, is that a fucking knot ?”

If only she could capture the way his face turned the deepest shade of red she’d ever seen, all the way up to the very tips of his pointy ears. A smirk started to splay across her lips, and now it was her turn to lift his chin, prompting him to look her in the eyes.

“If… you don’t have to… I don’t expect you to–”

It was her own desire that fueled her next actions as she lifted herself back above his head, perfectly sat at her entrance. “What, is my big bear in rut?” a sly giggle left her lips as she leaned herself closer to him, her breath hot on his ear, “Afraid he won’t be able to control himself? Afraid I can’t take it?”

The slowly lowered herself on his length, his dick having somehow gotten even larger than just moments ago when it was stuffing her mouth full. Her breath hitched in her chest as she took her time taking him, her walls spasming and clenching with the sudden feeling of being so full, no matter how slow she went.

He had all but lost himself beneath her, her words undoing any hesitation he had and melting them back into the primal desire he knew all too well; the overwhelming feeling of needing to mark her as his own and make sure she knew just how gorgeous she looked while he did it.

It was with a swift motion that he had positioned himself atop her, laying her gently beneath him on the grass. As the sun kissed her skin and he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, he pushed himself deeper inside of her.

She wrapped her legs tighter around him, feeling him not just hit the perfect sweet spot inside, but keep pushing past it as he went further and further. Her walls clenched tight with anticipation, not knowing how much more of him there was before she’d start feeling the pressure.

“So, so perfect…” he muttered, his breathing in time with his slow thrusts as he watched her intently. “You take me so well, my heart,” he grunted, finally feeling his swelling knot just barely stretch at her entrance.

With a deep groan, he told her to look at him. “I want to see you, love,” he breathed, “want to truly see you as I fill you, watch your beauty melt beneath me.”

Her own moans had already become erratic, the slow rocking of his hips back and forth pulling his cock against her core in the perfect way again and again. As she twitched and writhed beneath him, she could feel herself trying her hardest not to fight against it.

“Don’t fight it, my heart,” he kissed her temple, then her ear, then her neck, “Relax. Let me claim you.”

Her back arched as he pushed himself into her with more force, her cunt stretching perfectly to fit every bit of him inside. She grabbed at his back, legs shaking as she pulled them tighter around him.

“Good, love. That’s so, so good,” he breathed, finally bottoming out. He twitched inside of her and felt her tighten around him with each throb and little rut he pushed against her. “Yes, yes, just like that, beautiful.”

His hands clenched to fists on either side of her head in the grass beneath them, the soft sounds of their sex ruminating and mixing well with the forest soft.

Her moans became hitched please, became desperate gasps as he continued his slow and methodical fucking. With each passing moment he filled more and more of her, saw himself claiming her over and over.

“My perfect little mate,” he muttered, “your exquisite, ” his own grunts became more labored, doing nothing but encouraging the rapid heat building in her core.

She all but vibrated with pure passion, losing control of herself as she came undone around him, cumming relentlessly on his knot as he picked up the pace with his thrusts to chase his own finish.

He held her close as she convulsed against him, fucking her through her own high as he held her hips tight against his own, his spend dripping quickly down their thighs as he came undone with her.

Their hot breaths mingled as they slowly came back to themselves, Halsin still deep inside of her and not wanting to move anytime soon.

“My heart,” he breathed, a heady chuckled finding her ears as she slowly opened her eyes to see the clear skies above them.

And him, framed perfectly in Lathander’s blessing, ready for round two.

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erme-maererme · 5 months ago

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i was thinking about how the sun affects vampires in bg3 and the difference between direct sun rays and standing in the shadows in an open space during the day

the first observation is that it’s only the former that makes them burn and can kill them. my evidence is that scene in the flophouse where astarion drags petras to the open window and when he runs away from the sun after killing the netherbrain in the origin run. in the first case astarion’s siblings were already in that room with the open window (astarion doesn’t have to open it in the cutscene), and in the second example he just hides behind a stack of large boxes to stop burning. the conclusion from this is that it’s really only the direct rays that burn, but standing in the shadows next to where the rays are cast doesn’t seem to cause any visible harm.

but astarion still says that he hasn’t seen the streets of baldur’s gate in the sunlight for 200 years, so it’s safe to assume that observing the said streets from the shadows wasn’t an option. and this tracks within the scenes i’ve already mentioned, astarion’s siblings are still standing in the darkest corner of the room, and origin astarion still makes his way to some cave/the sewers to drink a guy in the dark. and also petras and dalyria will gain the “blinded” condition and teleport away before triggering the cutscene if you approach them while someone in your party is carrying the blood of lathander (learned this the hard way lol).

so, i suspect there’s an extra safe distance a vampire has to put between themselves and the direct sunlight even in the shadows to avoid becoming blinded and maybe receiving other debuffs. the mace’s effect is within the radius of 6 meters, a real sun must be capable of even further reach, so it’s still a life (or, well, unlife?) in the darkness, but this difference is interesting

#the vampire lore yay #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #bg3 meta #my bg3 era

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oimliette · 6 months ago

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my best is yours

Pairing: Gale/Durge reader

Tags: angst, guilt, hurt/comfort, love confessions

Warnings: it’s durge so you know… violence and gore, but not too explicit. suicidal thoughts as well.

Words: 3.3k

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set.

read on ao3

It’s colder than you expected. Halsin didn’t mention that. You knew that the land was cursed, that the shadows were alive and sap both your sanity and strength. You were ready for it. You didn’t think about the temperature.

There’s a chill here like something was breathing down your neck. You still haven’t gotten used to it.

You glance at your companions after fighting against a horde of necrotic plant creatures. Whatever they were, they were clearly not alive, with the glow of the rot-magic emanating from their vines.

It’s only your second day in this cursed place and your party doesn’t look any better than they did yesterday. Astarion looks wary and miserable. He probably hates this place for the same reason he didn’t enjoy the Underdark: there is no trace of sunlight here. The only light comes from your torches and the Blood of Lathander Shadowheart is wielding, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, looks—distracted, fascinated with the darkness enveloping your party on all sides. You’re concerned, but before you can think more of it, Gale meets your eyes, like he was seeking you out.

You’ve come to rely on Gale over the course of this adventure you were all forced into. Most nights, he is the reason you have warm food in your bellies. He’s a human with a lot of knowledge to dispense, and he takes every opportunity to do that, even to the point of sounding arrogant. Everyone does their part to keep the camp, but it would be particularly difficult to imagine the journey without Gale by your side.

Gale gives you a worried look, one he’d been giving to you more and more often. You pretend not to notice and hurriedly face the other way. You feel tired all of a sudden.

You think to yourself that the fact Gale hasn’t brutally mutilated an innocent girl in their sleep is a pretty good point too.

Sometimes you wonder if it’d be better that he’d have been the one to lead your motley crew instead. He certainly has the makings for it. He’s a reliable man, usually level-headed and preferring to err on the side of caution where you might be stubbornly facing in one direction. He insists on compromise, insistent on working together even though he confessed to you, one night, that he hardly has anyone he can call a friend outside of his tressym.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said. You took the first watch, though not everyone was asleep yet. From beside Gale’s tent, you idly watched Wyll fiddling with a broken lute he found on the road. Gale can talk like he’s used to speaking to himself, expressing himself in full-bodied words more common in academia than in casual talk, but he is unendingly curious, something that, to you at least, was something that endeared you to the wizard.

“I’m glad to hear that. I thought my time spent wallowing at my tower alone had rusted my social skills.” He laughed in relief.

It had, you nearly said out loud. There are instances where it’s obvious, but you decide to keep the comfortable, shared silence.

The flaps of his tent closed after he bid you goodnight. The air was cold, but you ran hot so you didn’t mind. You thought about Gale, as you often do, these days.

He was good at that. Making you feel comfortable in his presence. Like you could trust him. He has some secrets, but who in your camp doesn’t? Every one of them has their own story half-uncovered. You didn’t even know yours, your memory extending as far as waking up on the nautiloid, and the fight to get out of it in one piece.

But the battered state of your mind makes you uneasy. The random pulses of pain and the violent thoughts were symptoms you would have attributed to the parasite, but none of your companions have experienced anything like that. It’s just you. And even in this camp, the gathering of the infected and the hunted, you were the odd one out.

You listened to the wind rustling the leaves overhead. You wondered what your mind knew that you didn't.

Ever since you awoke on the nautiloid, your memory has been spotty. Trying to separate what happened in the first tenday of your adventure from your last is a useless activity.

There is an emptiness inside you that has been there as far as your memory will allow you to remember. Nothing feels real. Almost as if you’d wake from this any moment now, to whatever life you used to live. And this would all be a dream hastily forgotten.

But it’s not a dream. You know that.

The sticky feeling of blood in your hands felt real. The smell of it, sticking to you for days. The red crust under your fingernails that never seemed to disappear.

You are a person that rings hollow, and you are terrified one of these days your companions will see you for what you are: a monster.

You don’t understand why they believe you can lead the way to salvation. You don’t know where you’re going. You can’t even see past today.

But you try anyway. To atone, if not for anything else.

Tonight is no different. Tonight, the camp is tucked into an area you guessed was a less harsh patch of the hostile environment. It felt like picking which area of the mouth of an owlbear would be better to lean your head in. You don’t know why they trust you to know.

You don’t know why they still trust you at all. They’ve never seen you the same after what happened with Alfira.

Your offering of gore, the blood drying in your hands, damning you with each second as you waited for them to wake up, one by one. You didn’t even try to hide it or wash it away. What difference would it have made?

There was still a corpse there, right in your camp. The bard, trusting and sweet, was still dead.

Was she awake when you did the horrible deed? Was she breathing when you painted the ground with her innards? When you burst her eyeballs in her skull? You could almost feel it burst under your thumbs, the sensation familiar, deep in the recesses of your mind.

The gnawing headache at your brain grows. Pulsing, pounding.

Their tolerance of you is a reflection of everyone’s desperation, willing to let you stay because they cannot afford to be picky with company now. No one in the camp’s hands were clean but you doubt they’ve ever been this stained.

She didn’t die immediately. You know this, somewhere in your broken mind. It makes you sick that you’ve never felt more alive than the morning after.

You’ve been doing good. No murders in the night since then. But you’d be lying if you said there aren’t nights when you wake up with a start, afraid to see where or who your knife-hand has fallen on.

You wonder if they’re suspicious of you, still.

You set up camp, because you are tired and Astarion is whining about the trek and Shadowheart seems absolutely taken with the curse wrapping around all of your necks, threatening to invade and twist and unmake and Gale—well. His gaze is filled with determination, though his posture betrays his exhaustion. There’s something he wants to say, you’re sure, but unfortunately for him, it’ll have to wait until camp is set.

The headache persists. Your head throbs.

After a while, you sit by yourself in front of the campfire. On any other occasion you’d prefer to have been standing to the side, away from the comings and goings of the people in camp trying to get food or putting and taking from the chest. But that was before.

In these lands, the very ground itself seems malicious, trying to lick at the skin of your boots. The light provides some comfort against the oppressive dark.

Gale sits himself beside you. You don’t acknowledge his presence but you let him sit so close your knees touch. The point of contact is nice. Comfortable.

The fire is warm, but more importantly it is bright. Already you begin to feel better. Less like your soul is being syphoned away.

Gale calls your name, staring at you with sincere eyes you cannot meet.

This is a fragile alliance. A party brought by circumstance and tied together by desperate need to live, despite it all. They are all so wildly different, each with their own goals to accomplish—but this is what you have in common. This is what brings you together: you want to live.

“It’s alright, Gale. I’m not hungry,” you say first. That is not what he wants to speak about. You know that.

You surprised yourself with how furious you became at Gale’s pathetic acceptance of the fate thrust upon him by his goddess. How could he not thrash around, rebel at the circumstance! His plan to take this with hands behind his back and his head bowed down as the blade dropped on his neck made your blood boil, made your teeth ache with the urge to tear.

Good fucking gods, every single day you’ve though about killing yourself, each method more gruesome than the next. Driving a knife through your own heart. Bathing in acid. One by one removing your senses until you die of blood loss. Eyes are the last to go, so you can see what you’ve made of yourself.

It’s a common fantasy, a permanent solution to your problem: you. But no one is supposed to die. You don’t succumb to the urge because you have people to lead. Sins to atone for. You of all people don’t get to have a break from your torturous mind. That’s your fucking burden to bear and you will bear it as long as you are able.

It’s your job to save them from this. They trust you, when they really shouldn’t, and godsdamned if you’ll let one of them get killed because some fucking prissy goddess can’t fix a problem herself.

Lot of good all these deities have done in Faerun, you curse as you look at the darkness surrounding you from all sides. You can barely see anything past it, even with darkvision. Just more twisting trees and the glowing rot leaking from the land like pus from a wound.

“You’ve been reckless lately. More so than usual—alarmingly so. Make no mistake, I am not here to complain about the efficiency of dealing with our enemies. I am most appreciative of that fact. But I do get concerned with how you tend to act after.”

“What do you mean, Gale?” You ask. He has this habit of beating around the bush and though you’d usually find his wordiness endearing, today has been long.

It weighs on your shoulders, every time you leave camp, every night you set it up again. Another day. Food. Loot. Trade. Kill. Day in and day out. Live live live. Another step in front of the other. Every day, asking you to live longer.

The light at the end of the tunnel is getting ever farther as you walk closer, but you keep these thoughts to yourself.

Your companions deserve to be alive. They deserve to hope. Just because you lost yours doesn’t mean you’re about to break their morale. You know they’ll make it.

But you? No. You don’t even deserve to see it.

“Yes, you’re right. Well, truth be told, I worry about you…” Then he says your name again, so gently, like his tongue was cradling the syllables in his mouth. “Not as our leader. As you.”

“You don’t have to.” You interrupt, uncomfortable with the sincerity. You can take care of yourself. Whoever he thinks he’s fussing over—it’s not you. You don’t need the concern, cloying and all too sweet. All too easy to use. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t understand the wickedness in your head and your heart.

“Ah, you’ll find that I want to.” He flashes a charming smile. “Clearly, you aren’t looking after yourself, so someone has to.” He points to himself.

Your headache pulses. You imagine in a world without these urges, the charm might have worked. Maybe you’d be brave enough to look him in the eye, tell him honeyed words that you have so desperately wanted to. If you were just normal, someone unburdened by the blood singing under your skin, this would go differently.

Oh, yeah? You imagine yourself saying. Do it then.

But this isn’t that world, so instead you scoff, because Gale is orchestrating his own death in two different ways and if you think about it too much you might drive yourself insane. Isn’t that fucking hilarious, that the first person you let inch into your heart is going to die, either by your foul hand or a deity that thinks him so invaluable she would ask him to kill himself for the sake of the world?

This sweet, trusting man. Arrogant and unbearable. You want to kill him yourself. You want to save him. From Mystra. From you.

He looks embarrassed with his attempt at flirting and hurt at your reaction. You want to tear your heart open. You want to atone. For this. Fuck, for everything. Maybe you’ve already doomed him by letting his affection get to you. Does he know how close he is to your heart?

You just swallow the lump in your throat. You can see some people in the camp pass a glance at the both of you, and you sigh. “Can we go to your tent?”

For once, Gale shuts his mouth and nods. He sits down after you enter the tent, quiet still. You bite your tongue. Think, if only for a few moments.

“I don’t need your help.”

“I think you’ve made that clear.” He replies curtly.

“I—“ you grit your teeth. “You can barely take care of yourself. And now you want to save me—“

“I never mentioned saving! And my apologies for daring to care about you—”

“You’re a hypocrite, Gale. You know how tough this journey’s been. You say you’ve been watching me. You know my mind is broken, possibly beyond repair. But I’m not dead! That’s my choice, every godsdamned day to put one foot in front of the other and hope that I at least get to do the one good deed of saving you before I go. My choice to stay in this godforsaken place because you’re my people.

You continue, “Did you think no one would care? That we would all proceed like normal, go about our daily lives saying thank fucking Mystra, good on her to tell Gale to kill himself and like a stupid little dog he followed through with it. You’re not on her leash anymore, so act like you have a choice, damn it!”

Your chest is heaving. There is prickling behind your eyes.

You realise you would do anything to keep him alive. You would raze down hordes of innocent hundreds by yourself if it meant the poison in his veins were cured. It would be adding to your tally of sins. It would weigh on your heart. But aren’t you already damned?

Aren’t you both?

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set. This is how it will be: you will live and he will die.

The irony of it is not lost on you. You, who have been begging for death. You, who have been trudging through this journey to lead them to a future you could not imagine being a part of.

Gale has so many reasons to live. His mother. His tressym, Tara. His brilliant mind, which would do much more good in the world if it was lent to research than here, fighting for their lives every day. This is not the life Gale should have lived. This is not how he’s supposed to go out.

He’s supposed to be back home in Waterdeep. He’s supposed to live a full life, passing on after making great contributions to the world, remembered for who he was: an intelligent, kind man, brilliant in both the head and heart. You ache to imagine yourself with him.

You don’t deserve it.

“I love you,” your shaky voice whispers. You had all the intention to keep it unspoken until you were in your grave, but Gale needs to know how much of a hold he has on you. That the thought of him makes every day a little easier.

That, selfishly, he needs to stay for you.

He wipes the wetness from your cheeks. You lean into his hand, despite yourself, and you can’t stop crying now that you’ve started. You idly watch the slow drops on the ground, even as your eyesight blurs. You can’t face him.

You want to have this. To have him. You place your hand above his, intertwining them as they rest on your cheek. You bring it to your lips and kiss the back of his hand.

Your blood gnashes in your veins, protesting the vulnerability without violence.

You’re so tired of atoning.

His arms wrap around you, wordlessly, and your head rests on his shoulder. Away from his gaze, you speak up, voice still soft. “You deserve to live.”

“So do you.” He replies. You shake your head.

“You’ve seen what I can do. There is something wicked in my heart that I cannot cure. Every day I—“ You breathe out, shaky. You’ve never admitted this to anyone, didn’t even want to acknowledge the event to others in the fear they realise you’re a foul creature and cast you out. Remove your reason for being alive: your clan. “Every day I wake up and check my hands for blood. I don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve to live.” You remember how blood feels. Sticky. Sweet. Familiar.

“You do.” He insists. Places his hand on the back of your head, cradling you. He treats you so gently, like you haven’t mauled and killed and lied. “Because I say so. I want you to live. I want you to have a good life, even beyond the tadpoles and the Absolute. Beyond me.”

“Then we’ve hit an impasse.” You remove yourself from him, looking him in the eye now. “You won’t die and I won’t.”

He grins in a way you can feel work into your heart.

You’re going to have to face the inevitability of each other’s deaths someday. Your adventure is a perilous one. You’ve already had many close calls, least of which the danger that you yourself pose to the others.

“I want to show you something, soon,” Gale says. You can feel his voice vibrate in his chest. You hum in response, your eyes already closed. The day has been long, taxing both emotionally and physically, and it’s only now catching up to you. “I don’t have nearly enough energy right now,” Gale chuckles. “But know that the depths of my feelings… You’ll see it. I promise.”

You trust him. Gods, you really do believe him.

You cling to his words: you deserve to live because I say so.

What makes mortal conviction any less powerful than a god? If Gale thinks you should live, then you will.

Maybe it can be that simple.

Perhaps you do deserve a slow, painful death. You know, somewhere in your broken mind, that Alfira wasn't the only victim of your cruelty. Maybe that would be the just thing to do, to wipe you off Fae’rûn. To rip this rare-found peace away from you.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another fight. One foot in front of the other. Live live live.

Your past will catch up to you someday. Your hands have committed countless unforgivable atrocities.

But tonight, your hands cover Gale in an embrace.

#bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 durge #gale x reader #gale x durge #gale/tav #gale/reader #gale dekarios #angst #bg3 x reader #finally posted here

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chaoticbardlady99 · 3 months ago

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Darling, Never Stop Haunting Me, MDNI 18+

Chapter 11: Lullabies for the Restless

Astarion x Ghost! Reader

Synopsis: You and Astarion run into trouble in Daggerford. With both of you separated and Astarion being God's only knows where- you are forced to comply with a Priest of Lathander to save him.

CW: Violence, blood, kidnapping, dead dove, smut, PIV sex, fingering, bathtub sex

Chapter 10: Chapter 12 : AO3

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You turn in the direction of the voice and don’t see anything. You have to be losing it- that’s the only explanation.

“Goodness- DOWN HERE MISS!”

You look down and see the smallest Gnome you have ever seen. His eyes are bright green with a hint of worry and his hair stands out on all ends- he has either just woken up from a bender, in the middle of one, or he is preparing for one. He reeks of booze and it takes everything within you not to gag.

Daggerford has easily become one of your least favorite towns. Everyone is self-important and they seem to think they are a big City and not the sneeze of a former dynasty. It’s quite literally a farming town- yes, the market is nice and there are quite a few vendors, but other than that, there isn’t much else.

You were waiting for Astarion outside the only tavern and inn in town when this Gnome approached you. Where is the man when you need him?

“I apologize,” you say awkwardly, “uh what can I do to help you?”

The Gnome hiccups and points at your violin laying in it’s case.

“It’s too damn quiet in there- I am piss drunk and can still hear myself think!”

“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

The Gnome looks irritated.

“You aren’t even going to offer to help?”

Oh. OH!

You don’t even squeeze the words out of you as you go racing into the Tavern- people cheer upon your arrival and the sight of the violin. It smells like the Gnome died in here- the smell of Booze is horrific.

You probably should have thought to wait for Astarion, but you are sure he will find you.

Right?

You take center stage and breathe deepily through your nose- the butterflies have surged to life in your stomach and if you were capable of throwing up, truly throwing up, you probably would have the moment you stepped up on the stage.

You feel dizzy, alive and yet you are barely present when you strike the first note on the violin. The music flits through the air and grabs at people’s hands, pulling their stumbling figures towards the dance floor.

Lovers swing around with each other, friends goofily dance while trying to attract the attention of a lovely patron goer, but the best sight in the Tavern is when Astarion steps in and smiles at you from the door. He looks so proud of you and you would be lying to yourself if you said it doesn’t make you happy. You like that Astarion is proud of you- proud to be with you.

The adoring eye contact certainly makes it even better.

Song three, four, and five go by without any issues- the energy is still lively and everyone seems happy. A few individuals came up to ask you if you would sit with them for a drink afterwards and you awkwardly stumble through the conversation- most of them going.

“I uh have an Astarion- sorry.”

No one has any idea what that means so it hasn’t really deterred them, but Astarion coming up and kissing you in front of the whole crowd after one of your songs seemed to pass the message along. You can hear some people whispering about how jealous of you they are- apparently quite a few people had had their eyes on Astarion this evening.

It feels like a fairytale- you finally get to perform in a Tavern again and this time, you won’t be drained by a Vampire!

The note of your last song rings through the air and you bow, but the majority of the tavern goers are begging you for an encore.

Minus one.

“Thank GODS- my ears can finally STOP BLEEDING!”

A drunk bloke at the bar leers at you and the entire tavern goes silent. Everyone looks quite furious, but they don’t want to say anything. They all look nervously at the very nicely dressed Human man as he continues to sling insult after insult at you.

“You are a homely little thing, aren’t you? You look like you need a good fuck- you are looking a little blue, Moss Licker.”

The one problem with being tinted blue- everyone thinks you are a half-drow and it has definitely caused quite a few people to walk away from you with a broken nose- courtesy of Astarion, of course.

You clear your throat, “I am sorry you are insecure in your masculinity that you feel the need to insult me in front of an entire crowd that was just enjoying my music.

“I bet your penis is as small as your vocabulary,” you leer back at him, “I bet it’s miniscule.”

The human male stands up and storms over- his face bright red with anger and alcohol.

“I should have you hung-”

And that was apparently Astarion’s cue. He grabs the man by the back of his shirt as he tries to climb the stage and he promptly throws him to the ground. The tavern erupts with chaos. Guards rush forward to help the Human Male and when they go to grab Astarion- you send them flying back across the Tavern- the patrons barely ducking in time to avoid the rush of wind.

You jump down and try to run towards Astarion who is trying to get to you and drag you out of the Tavern so you can both make a quick escape, but a woman is suddenly in front of you and blows a powder into your eyes.

The world becomes dark, but blurry and time moves slowly. The last thing you hear before going completely under is the sound of a door being closed.

**********************************************************************

You sit up with a jolt- your eyes hurt from whatever powder that had been blown into them and your body feels like a lead weight. The room is dark- darker than any room you have been in lately and Astarion is nowhere to be found.

You weakly get yourself up off the floor and you notice the door is barred, but there are some stairs that are poorly lit as well. The woman who blew the powder in your face stands on the other side of the bars- a wicked grin on her lips.

“Whe-where is-” you try to sound ferocious, but you are too disoriented.

“Your violence happy leech Lover?” she smirks, “don’t worry, he’s safe and still has his fancy sunwalking ring. I suppose we will find out if he’s meant to be in this world still or not, together.”

You feel absolutely frozen. Who is this woman and what does she wish to do with Astarion?

“My name is Maeve- I am a Priestess of Lathander- and you, you wretched, disgusting creature, insulted Daggerford’s Duke and your undead leech broke his nose.”

“Ple-”

“I’m not finished talking,” she snaps.

You gulp and the panic in your chest is overwhelming. Where is Astarion? Is he okay? What is going to happen to him?

“There is a yearly tradition here in Daggerford,” Maeve begins, “after the warm weather ends, a Bard of Lathander usually enters the tunnels, plays a little song, and soothes the spirits of the restless Undead as they wander about these halls.

“Luckily enough for you creatures, our Bard was stripped and experimented on by a Necromancer that has decided to make a home here. We can’t risk sending more people down there.”

Alive people, right. You think with a grimace, I suppose that means Astarion and I are fair game.

“Sooth the restless undead and I will tell you where I buried your lover- for safekeeping. I can assure you that he is still alive,” she says with another wicked grin, “but comfortable? Well- he was certainly screaming for your help as more dirt was piled on.”

No.

That is Astarion’s single worst fear- being buried alive was the most horrific thing that has ever happened to him and you weren’t there to save him last time and now you aren’t there this time.

You failed him.

Tears are falling down your face without your permission and you swear you see a flicker of empathy in the woman’s eyes as you fall to your knees.

“Pl-please,” you beg, “I will take his place- he knows how to sing at least, surely-”

“No- get rid of the necromancer and soothe the dead. That is the only way you will ever be able to see him or the light of day again.”

The woman walks up the stairs, leaving you in shock and fear.

The catacombs are beginning to become more and more present in your reality now that the initial shock is gone. The air is tepid and silent, the only thing you can hear is the creaking of things far away and you know that sound well enough as is.

Skeletons. Your least favorite, but maybe you should consider yourself lucky that you don’t hear a trumpet tooting in the background.

You look to your left and see a beaten up flute- it smells clean and obviously hasn’t been used in a while. You are grateful you are multi-talented when it comes to music- you just have a preference like every other Bard.

Your hands shake as you slowly make your way into the depths of the catacombs and you clutch onto the Flute like a lifeline.

The sooner you get this over with, the sooner you can save Astarion, and the sooner you can both get out of here.

And maybe you should stop playing at Tavern’s entirely- they seem to be bad luck for whatever reason.

Your footsteps don’t even make a sound as they hit the cobblestone floor- this place is immaculate, too immaculate. It is very well taken care of, you can’t imagine any undead are restless here.

“Miss?”

You whirl around to see a young child holding onto a stuffed bear- her throat is slashed and her eyes are bleeding. You have to resist the urge to gag.

“I- I am looking for my mommy,” she says with a serious face, “do you know where I can find her?”

Ow.

You walk over and kneel down in front of her- you look just past her and see her gravestone with the name of the woman you can only assume is her mother’s. They have the same date of death.

“All I remember is that daddy became really really angry,” she whispers, “and I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs.”

Her memory flows through your soul like a poison and weight- you watch her dad kill her, both her and her mother, but she doesn’t realize it’s her father’s doing.

“I-I am so sorry that you went through that,” you barely get the words out, “I think your mommy is asleep, but would it be okay if I played a lullaby for you so you can see her when you wake up?”

The little girl nods excitedly and disappears into her coffin. You bring the flute to your lips and let your tears fall as you play the tune of a wood elf lullaby- you can hear your own mother singing the words in your head.

Ter i lóme, nai lye ómanya rahtuva, (through the night, may my voice reach you)

Or i súre, nai lyenna órenya wilyuva… (over the wind, may my heart fly to you)

Nai loruvalye, (may you sleep)

Hendu holine… (eyes closed)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Éli calime… (Stars luminous)

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar (Rest your head over my lap, all your dreams will be reality)

Á pata ter fend' ex’ Ardanna, (Step through a door to another Realm)

Á papátu mina tyelepta cala (Slowly walk into the silver light)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Hendu holine… (Eyes closed)

Nai loruvalye, (May you sleep)

Éli calime… (Stars luminous)

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilya (Rest your head over my lap, all your dreams will be reality)

A blinding white light peeks out of the coffin and you can feel the little girl’s peace within your own restless spirit- it makes you happy, it makes you warm.

“I will see you later, little one,” you whisper, “when your next life comes, I hope it is kinder than this one.”

You continue your trek into the Catacombs- finding terrified Soldiers and helping them realize they are no longer in danger, you reassure Priests and Clerics that their God still loves them, and you come across more children, losing themselves and their loved ones to the Werewolf infestation that had taken over the outskirts of Waterdeep.

You have no idea how you are going to find a Necromancer down here- nothing looks out of the ordinary and you believe you are now at the end of the Catacombs. There is nothing at the end- just a wall- which doesn’t make any sense to you.

Remember, the obvious answer is usually not the answer.

You look around your environment- looking for a secret entrance or maybe a portal- but you don’t see anything. Anger bubbles up inside of your chest and you resist the urge to throw the flute and scream.

You don’t even know how long you have been down here and you need to get to Astarion- what if you can’t find the necromancer? Will Astarion remain underground or will they kill him?

No, you shake your head, don’t let your mind go there. There has to be an explanation- hells, she could have even been lying to me.

But she seemed genuine about her deal when she was describing it to you.

You will your mind to relax and sit on the floor- your ears flick with every little sound that enters your brain, but you remain there and don’t move. Something will show you the way- you can feel it in your soul. The hard part is swallowing your panic and impatience. You are worried about Astarion, but the longer you panic, the longer he will stay in the ground.

What do people normally do in this situation? You suppose they typically pray, but it’s not like any of the Gods have ever done you any favors. However, there is the possibility that Oghma might be ‘tuned in’.

Please, you think, Oghma, show me what I am missing- if not for me, then for Astarion? He did only save the world two separate times and lifted a Shadow Curse. He suffered for 200 years- please get us both out of this alive!

Something in the air changes and the ghost of another Bard is standing in front of you, he taps the instrument. The flute glows warmly and begins to play a tune all on its own. The wall in front of you is revealed as an illusion- there is far more to this Catacomb than you initially thought.

“Than-”

The ghost is gone, the air is filled with peace and you feel like you are meant to take this flute with you even after the Catacombs. It will help you stay safe and it’s pretty much the only weapon you have right now.

And maybe it’s experienced enough darkness for a lifetime.

You step past the wall and are immediately offended by the environment. The smell is awful- it smells like the place you had been held prisoner and there is gore all over the floors, the walls, and now your shoes. It’s absolutely filthy and any sight of white hair makes you halt like a statue.

He is safe- you know he is safe. He is buried but he is safe.

You continue your trek into the disgusting bowels of the Necromancer’s work space. You can hear him talking to himself and cackling wildly.

Your chest gets tighter and tighter as you walk down the stairs. Your body feels like it’s on fire while you are simultaneously drowning in your own air. You feel like you are right back in that room again, sitting next to the spawn monster, and unsure if Astarion would save you in time.

You feel numb as you walk into the room and the Necromancer is none the wiser. He is cutting away at something or someone trying to struggle against him and you consider turning back and calming down.

I can’t do this- I can’t.

“The sooner you stop your squirming, Spawn,” the man says while running a finger down the person’s chest, “the sooner you will be unaware of what is happening.”

He walks away and your worst fear has come to life- Astarion is on the table, fighting for his life and his skin is extremely cut into. A dirty coffin sits broken with Maeve staring widely into the darkness- unblinking and no longer alive.

Astarion’s eyes are covered by some kind of ick and he has his mouth rendered useless with a gag. The only thing he can do is wildly lash around, but you can even see where his tendons have been cut.

You are blinded by rage and the need for revenge when you put the flute in your mouth, the Necromancer turns to you and smiles.

“It’s not often a Ghost wanders down here!”

The thrashing from Astarion increases and his skin is burning against the silver chains around his feet and wrists. He screams through the cloth- surely telling you to run.

“You will be a fine experiment- tell me, how long ago did you-”

You play a single, sharp line of music and the man looks at you with confusion before his eyes grow large. His skin begins to fall off his body in chunks and blood pours to the floor as his eyeballs melt. He screams until he can’t anymore- his vocal chords falling out onto the floor.

Numbly, you walk over to the necromancer- still barely alive. You get close to his bleeding ear.

“I hope you suffer.”

And like that, he is a puddle on the ground and no longer exists.

You are dissociating still as you get the gag untied and wipe away the sealant over his eyes. Astarion is in tears, there is still dirt in his hair, and his body is trying to heal, but you can’t imagine that helps with the emotional trauma that just occurred.

You remove the silver shackles, burning your own skin in the process, but Astarion’s pleas for you to stop aren’t registering. Your hands are raw by the time they are all off and you are barely able to play heal wounds.

Astarion sits up with a significant amount of effort, his body is still healing, but he can move now and the rest will be healed with his vampiric regeneration.

You hug him- trying to be as gentle as possible- but you need to know he is here and he is real. Astarion holds you with equal amounts of strength and you can feel his tears falling onto your shoulder. There isn’t a single word you feel like you can say that will make this feel better, that will help him at all.

When he finally lets go, you walk over to Maeve and cast Speak with the Dead.

“Why did the Necromancer kill you?”

“I… was… going.. To… kill… spawn.”

As if this day couldn’t get anything worse.

“So you lied to me.”

“Unnatural… should be… destroyed.”

“How?” your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, you hear Donella’s clipping of words in your tone.

“Sun… burning… sell… ring…”

For whatever reason, you decide to take your anger out on the corpse and use just about every heavy object you can find to hit her with. You are screaming words that are unintelligible and pissed off more than words can say.

He was going to be dead by the time you had killed the necromancer- if anything, he is the one Astarion should be thanking for saving him.

She lied, you feel your bitterness crawl up your throat, she lied and I would have lost him forever all because of fucking Lathander.

“We should light Lathander’s church on fire,” you say rather aggressively, “then raise them all up and turn them into the thing they-”

“My love,” Astarion says the pet name firmly and takes your shaking hands, “I know you don’t mean that- that is more of a suggestion I would offer up.

“I want to get out of here,” he pleads, “the sooner we can get out of this dreary filth pit, the better.”

You don’t remember leaving the Catacombs or the awkward pardon from the Duke, but you finally seem to come back to yourself as you stare into the fire of the free room you were given for your troubles. You wanted to leave, but Astarion isn’t in the best shape and you wouldn’t get very far without running into danger.

You definitely arcane locked the door and windows. Astarion had looked at you like you were a mad man as you made him drink at least three healing potions to jump start the process. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you work.

When it seemed you were done, Astarion had asked you if you wanted to bathe with him and you said you needed to keep watch. He frowned, but respected your choice. Astarion has been in there for 10 minutes and you still haven’t heard any water being sloshed around.

Maybe you need to check on him- was there a window in the bathroom? You can’t remember. Maybe you should check just in case- at least for your own sanity.

“My Love?”

You jump when Astarion places his hand on your shoulder and you struggle to steady yourself.

“Don’t scare me like that!” you get up with angry tears on your face, “I am trying to keep watch- what if I hurt you!? Or worse!? Do you have absolutely no respect for your life!?”

You expected him to give it back to you- he is the one suffering, not you, but instead he just pulls you into a tight hug and kisses the top of your head.

“I knew you were on your way,” he whispers, “I was scared, but I never doubted you, not even once.

“Please, come and take a bath with me. We are safe, my Sweet, I promise.”

Ugly sobs leave your mouth and you bury your face in his chest. How can he say any of that? You failed him. He was buried again and you failed him like you did when Cazador had buried him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasp, “I should have fought harder- I should have saved you faster.”

Astarion hushes you like one would do for a hysterical child and you only begin crying more.

“You saved me as fast as you possibly could,” Astarion states confidently, “it’s not like I had to wait here for three days- it was merely hours- and I heard the flute playing from up the stairs.

“My love- you, as always, are perfect. You smell a bit musty right now, but perfect.”

You laugh away the remainder of your tears at his last statement, they pour down your face in a waterfall motion, but you feel some of the tension release itself from your body.

“Something tells me you really want me to take a bath.”

“I have only been hinting at it for the last several moments,” he teases, “and your braid definitely needs to be redone.

“So? Can we please go take a bath?”

You nod tiredly and let Astarion guide you to the bathroom- you make sure to check for windows and thankfully there aren’t any.

The water is made up and steaming- there are candles lit and scattered around the bathroom instead of the sconces being lit. There is something in there that makes the water smell like roses and spring- you aren’t exactly sure what is happening, this may be the fanciest bath you have ever seen.

“I-I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says with an awkward chuckle, “I bought the soap and rose petals from that shop I went into. Granted, I wasn’t expecting there to be such a dramatic detour, but I thought it might help us both… relax?”

You blink a few times before looking at him with a wide smile- his nervous expression washes away and smiles back.

“I love it.”

“I knew you would.”

Touching him and having him touch you makes your nerves calm down immensely. You are sitting in his lap, facing him as you rinse out the soap from his hair.

Astarion, on the other hand, is just staring up at you as your eyes are searching for any bubbles that may have gone rogue.

Waking up in a coffin again was terrifying, but he was significantly more worried about you. He tried to break through the wood, but there had already been a substantial amount of dirt placed on top of the lid and all he could do was call your name while the Clerics of Lathander laughed above him.

Astarion was determined though- he crawled out of his own grave once. Sure it wasn’t fun and it was awful, but this time is different. You were waiting for him above ground and you must be scared out of your mind or worse. He would really prefer to not make another trip to Manifest without you.

He had begun to make a serious dent in the wood, but it didn’t matter because when he broke it open, they had already dug him up. The sun was high in the sky and the Clerics looked genuinely confused that he wasn’t burning alive and that wicked priestess looked infuriated- she knew exactly what was happening.

Karma, however, was on Astarion’s side this time- or so he thought. Someone had killed the clerics and knocked the priestess out, but that person also happened to be a Gods damn necromancer.

He had no doubt that you would save him and he would continue to fight back as much as possible. He had only been afraid when the Necromancer made it clear that you had arrived on scene.

As always, you are incredible and far more powerful than you give yourself credit for.

“I think I got rid of all the soap,” you inspect his curls by tangling your hands into them, “I think-“

Astarion’s fingers easily glide into your freshly cleaned tresses and he pulls you down to him. Your lips against his feels like Heaven every single time and he feels like maybe the Gods did hear his prayers after all.

Maybe they just flew backwards in time or something- he isn’t sure, but he is so grateful for you and your bravery.

You may be the musician between the two of them, but Astarion can still coax the prettiest music out of you like a professional. Perhaps he is in this regard, but this could be the only instance that he appreciates this expertise.

You break the kiss when one of his fingers slowly slides into you and your gasp is euphoric. Your lower lip trembles as you tease it with your teeth and he places sweet, loving kisses across your jaw as you continue to sing for him.

Your moans aren’t loud- you think they are, but they really aren’t. He adores it. It makes it feel real and not like an act- you aren’t trying to put on a show for the handsome ‘Magistrate’ who approached you at the bar.

You are moaning for him and him only- your gasps and keens are genuine. It’s his name that is tumbling from your lips- not some name he came up with once upon a time.

And after? Astarion will curl up with you in bed for a cuddle and rest until the sun comes back up.

The sun and he gets to enjoy seeing you in the sun.

Dim lighting does you a significant amount of favors too, of course. If anything, you are the only reason the lighting is attractive at all.

Your eyes are blown wide with lust and your forehead leans against his when he adds another finger. His thumb circles your clit and Astarion feels his cock twitch when you groan with pleasure into his mouth.

“Gods,” he whispers, “you are beautiful.”

You whine and buck your hips, he can feel how desperate you are for more. Your walls clench around his fingers and it takes everything within him to not give in.

He isn’t done teasing you yet, he finally has you all to himself again. No more weddings, no more campaigns, and hopefully no more necromancers.

Astarion can have you whenever he wants and he is going to take every opportunity he can to watch your pretty little face keen for him as he chases your pleasure.

“A-Astarion,” your hands are holding onto the tub behind him and your face is in the crook of his neck, “ins- side me- ple-“

He cuts you off by finally spearing you onto his cock. A guttural moan tumbles out of your mouth. You kiss and nip at the skin on his neck while softly whimpering with each movement.

You ride him slowly and Astarion continues to explore your figure with his hands- one of them teasing your clit.

Your own hands explore him, avoiding his back like you usually do.

Astarion trusts you- he trusts you more than anyone. You won’t hurt him and if it’s too much, you will stop. You have shown him that time and time again.

“You can touch my scars, my Darling,” his eyes meet yours while you sink back down, his , “I trust you.”

You smile brightly at him and place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?”

“I will.”

Astarion pulls you back to him for another kiss and your hips pick their rhythm back up in response. He could be lost with you forever like this.

He never thought sex would be a pleasurable experience for him, but love seems to change a lot of things.

You have changed his entire life.

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