#has not really lived outside baldurs gate.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

SEMI-FINALS MATCH 2

Karlach propaganda:

“Sweetest girl ever. She could throw you across a room. She can burn down a house. But she just wants a hug and to be cared about and to live her life.” 

“Definitively overused phrase but she's a golden retriever she's so cute!”

“She's the perfect woman!!! She's so nice and cute and silly and strong and wow I love girls”

"Karlach is the champion slave of one of the Devils in a layer of hell, and was sold to her by someone she trusted, and on TOP of that she is an experiment with an engine for a heart and she knows she’s going to die and is in fairly constant pain but DESPITE that she is relentlessly positive and outgoing and silly because her spirit cannot be fucking crushed no matter WHAT"

Claude Propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

[rwibbit]

Me and the bad bitch i pulled by being the worst druid ever

[doberbutts]

One of the really insidious ways black people in media get treated is that despite our stereotypes expanding outside of "thug" "slave" and "prostitute", we are still very limited on *what* we can be portrayed as.

It is no shock to me that the two black women in Veilguard, for instance, are either medium toned like myself or a nonhuman skin color (introduced as a woman). It doesn't escape my attention that the only black woman in Baldur's Gate list of companions is also a nonhuman skin color. Dark skinned black women are still considered too unattractive to include as potential romanceable candidates, as it *also* does not escape my attention that the darkest we've had was Vivienne who was simultaneously regarded as an incredibly unlikeable character by huge swaths of the fandom and also unavailable for romance.

But moreover- why can't the bubbley nerdy cute mage be a black woman? Why can't the shy but resourceful archer be a black woman? Why does the black woman have to be someone with their guard up, walls as high as a skyscraper, cynical and callous? Why can't the black woman be the warm and loving Wynne, or the somewhat naive yet devout Leliana? The stalwart and just Aveline? I know plenty of Isabelas, and Viviennes, and Neves, and Taashs, but I also know plenty who are Merrill, or Bellara*, or Harding, or Cassandra, and I even lived with a Sera for a while. Why can't she be Bethany or Morrigan?

The closest we had was Josephine, who again is still fairly light skinned, but at least she has a bit more flexibility. And she isn't a companion, so her screen time is fairly minimal if you're not taking the time to romance her.

*And I don't begrudge Bellara too much, as A: I adore her and B: I'm pretty sure she's our first visibly Asian companion which is a milestone in itself. My point is more that Bellara could be black with virtually no story change because I know plenty of bubbly chirpy friendly black women who have a deep love of their hobbies and interests, who are bisexual and even prefer women, with deep trauma in their pasts, and yet the choice to *not* do that speaks to a problem the media has in their depiction of black women that is far bigger than Bioware.

And it doesn't escape my attention that the men have this problem as well- Wyll and Davrin* are both regarded as boring by their respective fandoms due to the choice to play it safe and stick with the extremely good and upright and just knight character instead of giving them something more messy- Astarion and Lucanis could be black with, as said, little-to-no change in their storyline because I know-even have dated- pansexual former sex worker black men with intensely complicated feelings about sex and intimacy, and I've had plenty of ex-con soft yet dangerous men holding themselves at a distance to prevent themselves from hurting anyone as my friends and even extended family.

I know plenty of intensely nerdy and probably autistic black guys who will infodump gladly about their special interest to the point of it consuming them. I know plenty of black guys with martyr complexes who think they have to tear the world- and themselves- apart just to fix what is broken in this world. I know plenty of black guys who, despite their own inability to get their shit together, are like a port in a storm every time you talk to them. I know plenty of black guys who are extremely educated and well respected within their field, with gentle yet commanding demeanor. Any of these characters *could* be black, and yet they aren't, and the choice to do so is again far bigger than Bioware and Larian.

*Davrin, like Vivienne, being the darkest and first blatantly black male companion instead of potentially able to be ambiguously "of color" like Zevran, Fenris, and Dorian. Even more damning that they'd considered, like Sera, making Solas blatantly black in his concept art and instead chose to make him a pale egg.

As someone desperate for representation, it becomes quickly obvious as I take inventory of what roles black people are given that we still aren't considered as complex and nuanced and interesting. We're allowed to be more than we were before, but we still have a long way to go.

[rainbow-femme]

Of all the companion pairings, I hadn’t expected Wyll/Karlach being my favorite but I just love the dynamic

Because obviously you’ve got the whole thing of him wanting to kill her because he thought she was evil and then realized she was also a victim and was willing to be turned into a demon because he wasn’t willing to sacrifice an innocent person for himself, and her then being willing to stand up to the devils who want her dead on his behalf

But I also feel like as far as a relationship dynamic they would be a Prince Charming/damsel thing except they both think they’re the Prince Charming and the other is the damsel

Wyll lamenting how his endlessly kind wife who only wants to live a simple life where she is treated equally kindly was tricked, sold, had her heart replaced with an infernal engine that keeps her trapped in basically hell, and was forced to be the first line of attack for the devil who did this to her. Meanwhile behind him Karlach is looking at a locked metal gate and just decides to open it by bending the bars with her bare hands, melting the iron as she does because she has flames inside of her body

Karlach talking about her poor husband Wyll who gave up a comfortable life as the son of a duke to be entered into a devil’s pact and made into a homeless hero who would always protect people but never really get to exist as his own person outside of his pact and his folk hero perception. Meanwhile Wyll is eldritch blasting a demon in the face behind her with an entirely casual and unbothered look on his face

They fix Karlach to the point where she can leave Avernus and Wyll goes to his family and friends to prepare them for meeting her, telling them that she can be very sensitive and has gone through some rough times and grew up on the streets so she’s going to be more rough around the edges than they’re used to and it would probably upset her to come back home only to be made fun of, so please be kind. And in walks his 7 foot tall wife who is as wide as the door with her big giant muscles, battle ax strapped to her back, slapping Duke Ravengard on the shoulder and asking “How the hell are ya?”

Karlach goes to her old Baldur’s Gate friends and says she wants them to meet her husband but he’s the son of nobility and spent a long time living in that more polished world so he talks very formal and polite and isn’t really used to how they talk and interact so please don’t make fun of him if you think he speaks funny. And in walks the Blade of the Frontiers with a suspicious amount of not quite dried blood on his pants

They both think they’re the “They said no pickles” part of the relationship but actually if they asked for no pickles and were given pickles they would make eye contact with the person who did it while using their biggest two handed weapon to scrape the pickles off onto the floor

[vonderful-time]

looking at the series of events that the dark urge went through in their semi-odd forty ish years of life in baldur’s gate, it really is no wonder why they felt so utterly terrified at showing even a modicum of affection towards another person.

they were made to kill their foster family at such a young age, likely barely even a teenager, if even that. the only family they had ever known, having no memory of their birth, and the urge that plagued them — the urge which is likely a manifestation of bhaal himself — makes them eviscerate their closest support system.

they were rushed towards a temple, an underground sanctum filled with only envious slaughter-siblings and devout worshippers, both of which treated them as an outsider to varying degrees. slaughter-siblings who were rife with jealousy, eager to see them fail and to use them as a stepping stone to prove their worth to either the oldest living bhaalspawn or bhaal himself. worshippers who would kill and maim for even a feeling of the gods divine worship on their skin, likely tearing and violating the dark urge from the minute the god-child was put in front of them. an environment filled to the brim with hostility and oppression, and through this entire experience the dark urge’s only support and love they have access too comes from a loveless god.

a god that is so deeply revered and feared in equal measure in the halls they stalk. a god whose dominion demands reverent sacrifice, a constant debasing of the self, and sickening display of self-violation to fuel his dark rituals. a god whose domain of murder allows for no softness, no weakness, no compassion, no room for anything but the god himself.

and then the dark urge begins to admire enver gortash. a man who, like him, is subjected to the domineering hand of a god. a man who shares his intense worship and faith. a man who understands the burden and pressures of living up to a gods expectation. a man who lives with the same fear that the dark urge has constantly been trying to squash and squander. a man who understands.

it really is no wonder that the dark urge becomes terrified when the depth of feeling they are experiencing becomes known to them. to have your entire life’s purpose uprooted and destroyed. to have your entire life revolve around the fact that everything in this world that was not for bhaal does not have a place in it, and yet the feelings you are having are not for your object of worship. those feelings are for yourself, and isn’t that selfish?

the dark urge was not made to have personhood. they were not made for individualism. the luxury of choice was never theirs to have or make, a fact they have been intimately aware of since their knife-hand first took the lives of their mother and father — their real mother and father. the first people who loved them, unconditionally, with a wholehearted abandon. and the dark urge was made to kill them for it.

no wonder the dark urge is terrified.

i’d be terrified too, if i knew i’d be destined to have anything i claimed as my own taken from me. even if the thing i claimed wasn’t mine to claim in the first place.

[littlejuicebox]

An Early Highharvestide Feast

(Soft Dom Astarion x Female Reader)

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Setting: 4 years after BG3, "good" ending, Unascended Astarion x F Reader Notes: Took a break from my WrenxAstarion fic to write this Thanksgiving-themed (kind of but not really... lol it just worked for the plot), one shot. This idea was playing in my head, and I had to get it out. Hope you all enjoy and have a happy Thanksgiving! This might end up being a Part 1 of a mini story. I'd like to do the fluff scene with all their friends around and imagine the lives they've lived. I love to see comments about what you liked in the story, it inspires me for other fics. Rating: Mature 18+ / smut Word Count: 2.5K

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You’re in the kitchen, flowers strewn about the marble countertop as you arrange the bouquets for tomorrow’s banquet. It’s been four years since you’ve seen everyone at the same time, and finally, finally, the old gang will be back together in one room in less than 24 hours. Your heart practically soared in anticipation... a Highharvestide banquet in your very own home, with your favorite people in the world. You wanted everything to be just perfect.

The planning had taken weeks. Astarion had left the menu to you, of course, apart from the wine and alcohol selection. He had taken that from you quite early on and it had been more than a tenday before he solidified his choices between his frequent business meetings and your political events. He’d focused heavily on guiding you both in politics and expanding your wealth the past few years, while you focused on gardening and improving Baldur's Gate... plus navigating the lack of anonymity in your life.

Admittedly, you’d stumbled clumsily through your change in status, from unknown woman to Lady Ancunin, while Astarion glided into the position like he’d simply left his post for a long vacation. You’d been happy to take the lead in the wilds while a tadpole was lodged in everyone's brains, but you were even happier to hand the reins to him once the city was safe. And you were always proud to tell your friends that he’d navigated the two of you through the changes quite well.

In fact, he'd just purchased a second property outside of Baldur’s Gate with aims to start your very own winery; his pet project that he loved quite dearly. It was beautiful to watch Astarion approach something with such passion and vigor. After becoming the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, it had pained you that he could no longer stand in the sun. Not as much as it so obviously pained him. His mask was carefully crafted, and yet you often saw right through it. You hoped that perhaps one of your friends would bring news of a cure for his condition to the feast.

He had always been adamant that he’d make the same choice over and over again, but guilt still stabbed you like a dagger to the gut when you saw him watch the sun rise from the deepest depths of your manor or caught him studying your tan lines from your many hours spent out in the garden, your own personal pet project, specializing primarily in night blooming plants.

Astarion’s voice pulls you from your reverie as he enters the kitchen with Scratch trailing behind him. His vermillion eyes are focused on a scroll in his hands as he grasps a bone from a jar and tosses it into the dog’s bed. Scratch obediently settles himself into the plush mattress, content to gnaw away at the treat.

“Darling, your dog went after the chickens again. One of the staff had to run him down and then give him a bath. We may want to seriously consider a trainer. Command beast works all well and good when you’re around, but not everyone has that skill set in their repertoire, dear.” His tone carries just the slightest tinge of annoyance; you two have had this conversation before. But you know in his heart of hearts that Astarion loves the blasted dog perhaps more than you do.

You glance at Scratch, currently focused on giving you his best look of feigned innocence. The look reminds you quite a bit of another white-haired miscreant standing in that very same kitchen and you chuckle. Distracted, you feel the miscalculated slip of your hand as you reach for a particularly thorned flower stem. The punishing sting causes you to wince and pull in a sharp intake of breath. Blood blooms in buds of red on your fingers and the scent catches Astarion’s attention immediately.

His eyes are alight as he chides you. “You really must stop bleeding everywhere, my heart. It’s distracting.” He places the scroll down and comes to your side, grasping your hand in his to examine the damage.

“Perhaps if you helped me with these arrangements like I’d asked, I wouldn’t be in this situation, my love.” You respond with a soft huff, but you extend your hand towards the vampire, already quite aware what his next move will be. He bends to lick the red droplets from your skin before he kisses the knuckle of your hand. Astarion will never waste such a precious thing, that much is certain.

“Perhaps if you more frequently used the staff -- that we pay quite well, might I add -- to do things like tend your garden, put all these flowers in vases, and perform any number of menial tasks, then you wouldn’t be in this situation.” The vampire retorts with a raised eyebrow. “All of this is below your station now. It truly pains me to see your beautiful hands doing such things, my dear.”

You smile as you close your eyes and whisper a healing incantation, sealing the superficial wounds with minimal effort. You swivel in your seat and turn to face your husband, eyebrow arched to mirror his own, voice slipping into a coy register. “And what, Lord Ancunin, would you rather see my hands doing?”

You won. You could see it in the darkening of his eyes as he placed his hands on either side of the counter and pressed forward to look at you, red eyes flitting between yours.

Astarion had ebbed and flowed in his sexual appetites, especially in the first few years of your union. He had been plagued by panic attacks and night terrors something awful; they still occurred but not with the same horrid frequency. Your many nights of herbal teas and "flower child" magic, as he so lovingly called it, eased the suffering. You’d been content to ride the waves of desire with him, and it seemed more recently, as the two of you adjusted to domestic life, his appetites had returned with force.

His face hovered just inches in front of yours, eyes alight with a combination of adoration and lust as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before pulling back and running his eyes greedily down your body, cocking his head as he fantasized about any number of dirty things. “I have several delicious ideas for those hands, darling.”

The flowers were scattered on the ground, along with a broken vase in an instant. The vampire hoisted you up with relative ease before placing you onto the cool, marbled counter. His hands grazed up the side of your silken gown and then delved under the hem to explore your bare skin. He quickly found his way to the junction between your thighs and a pleased, rakish smile crossed his face.

“No underclothes, Lady Ancunin? You truly do desire to test my patience today.” His eyes locked with yours as he knelt in front of you, draping your legs over his shoulders and pushing your dress up to reveal you to him fully.

You would have to enlist the help of the staff tomorrow afternoon. The tradeoff was well worth it, you thought, as your silver-haired husband bowed his head before you to run his tongue against your slit, a little hum escaping him as he tasted your warmth. He ran his tongue up to your clit, his lazy, languid strokes pressing into you. Always such a tease.

“Astarion…” You murmur, bucking your hips toward the vampire as your hands found silver curls of hair and took hold.

A smile snaked its way across his lips as he continued his torment. You were wriggling, desperate for more, which the elf adamantly denied you, his hands gripping into your thighs as he brushed his feather light tongue against you once more. Just enough stimulation to keep your attention, but not enough to provide any relief.

“My love..” Your tone is practically begging for him to give you more.

“Mm, darling. I do believe I need to show you what else your hands could do, don’t I?” He grabs your hand and yanks it towards your sex, where he guides you to play with yourself. Hungry red eyes watch the show as arousal begins to drip from you onto the countertop. He slips two long fingers deep inside your cunt and curls them slightly, pumping the digits in and out, which earns him a delightful moan. Still on his knees, the vampire removes his fingers from inside your walls and licks your juices off his hand before sliding your legs off his shoulders and standing. He makes quick work of ripping your gown over your head, pressing gentle kisses against the newly freed flesh of your chest. You are now completely barren and exposed to your lover, his lustful eyes stoking the fire between your legs.

His own arousal is now clearly straining against his clothes. Astarion quickly undoes the buttons of his collar and lacings of his trousers, freeing his cock before your hungry gaze. You’re still playing with yourself as you watch the man completely undress before you.

“Now darling…” He murmurs in that sensual tone reserved only for you. He guides your unoccupied hand to the twitching length of his cock and wraps it around the shaft, giving a few experimental pumps into your hand. “What else can your beautiful hands do?”

You take the queue and begin moving your hand around his length. Astarion hisses in pleasure, rolling his hips as he fucks your hand. The vision is quite lewd; you're playing with your own pussy as you pump your lover’s cock in time, your respective arousals just inches from one another but not touching. It's enough to cause the heat in your cheeks and your sex to rise and illicit several excited keens from you. He teasingly moves his length closer to your entrance, pulling away just as the head of his member brushes against you. You want to scream every time he pulls away, the bastard lives to tease you to the edge of desire.

Astarion was watching the scene with rapt interest, absolutely transfixed. His breath was quickening as he pressed himself into your hand, watching the head of his penis sheath and unsheathe itself under your ministrations as your pussy prayed to be plunged into, leaking arousal all over the cold countertop. He was always more in control in these situations, able to keep a firm hold on his desire in a way you never could.

“Look at my little treat, making such a mess on these expensive counters.” He murmured in mock disappointment and mock condescension, eyes burning with excitement. “Play with yourself and show me the mess you make when you cum for me, my sweet.”

You moan, desperate to have him fill you. “Astarion, please. Fuck me already. Please.” You’re keening, fingers rubbing against your clit with vigor. Desperate for something to fill the ache inside you, you remove your hand from your lover’s cock and shove two fingers into your wetness. The stimulation is fantastic and rips a moan from your vocal cords as your head tilts back.

Astarion chuckles darkly at the scene before him. It was no secret that he loved the way you inflated his ego when you begged for him, a writhing mess of wanton desire for his eyes only. The do-good, stoic hero of Baldur’s Gate turned into a desperate, needy little minx under his touch. He never tired of it. “Cum for me, darling. And then you will get your reward.”

You aim to do as he says, using one hand to plunge in and out of yourself while the other rubs frantically at your clit. Your legs are spread wide, displaying everything to the vampire as you push yourself towards release. Finally, the bubble bursts and an orgasm crashes around you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body and into your thobbing sex. The pulsing seems nearly endless, and you feel the ooze of your juices sliding between your legs as you ride the wave of pleasure. When you come to your senses and flutter your lids open, Astarion's eyes are boring into you with such desire that it causes a tremor of excitement to run down your spine.

In one swift move he has you in a new position. Your feet are on the floor, albeit legs a bit shaky, and your ass is turned toward your lover, body bent at the waist. Your face is pressed into the counter, into the stickiness of your own juices. Everything smells of sex.

A delicious groan escapes from the vampire as he presses the head of his cock into your entrance, ready to take you from behind. “Beautiful... now, let’s see if I am able to make you come undone once more.”

Astarion slams into you with vigor, the force of the movement knocking the wind out of you as he groans in appreciation. Your soaking wet sex offers no resistance and you gasp at the pleasure of the rapid intrusion. He repeatedly drags himself back at a tortuous, languid pace just to thrust himself balls-deep once more, snapping his hips into the flesh of your ass, moaning every time he takes you to the hilt.

“Oh gods!” You exclaim as he picks up the pace, pumping into you with increasing speed, his cock curving gratifyingly along your insides. You feel yourself clenching around him as his efforts push you toward another peak.

Astarion growls and grabs your hand, guiding it once again to your clit. You’re climbing up to a second release as he rolls his hips behind you in an unceasing onslaught.

“There you go, little love. Won’t you cum for me again?” He coaxes in a graveled whisper as his lips and tongue trail down your spine, never once ceasing his thrusts. The vampire’s teeth find a beautiful little spot at the meeting point of your shoulder and neck, and he bites down, just enough to draw blood. The sensation pushes you over the edge and you spasm around your lover, your cunt eagerly gripping at his length.

“Oh! Oh... oh, my love.” The vampire groans as your throbbing sex pushes him over the edge, his final pumps turning sloppy as he spills into you. The two of you are a mess of panting chests and tired limbs for a few moments before Astarion straightens himself up and gently pulls you from the counter, dotting kisses along your shoulder where he left the bite.

"That was wonderful." You whisper, turning to face the vampire as you plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Mmh.” Astarion agrees in a little hum as he looks down at you with soft and loving eyes, pushing strands of hair away from your face before holding your chin in his hand and planting another kiss on your lips. The slightest of smiles flits across his lips as he runs his hands down to the curve of your waist. You move to begin cleaning up the mess you two made when your lover grabs your hand and begins to tug you away from the kitchen.

"Now, now, darling. Leave that be. I haven't finished showing you what else your hands can do… and we only have a bit longer before our friends show and ruin all the fun. Seems my Highharvestide feast came a day early." He muses, before eagerly leading you to the bedroom you both share. The flowers would have to wait.

——-

Part 2: Happy Highharvestide Day (all fluff)

[underdark-dreams]

[Poll results]

A smut piece for Rolan that became a 7k word fic. I don't know what it is about him--I just need him to be happy. 🖤 For anyone else who feels the same!

In Amber

Rolan can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He only knows he wants things with her to be different. A series of encounters between Rolan and the person who is teaching his black heart how to hope.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 7,033 [Read on AO3]

The beloved hero of the Grove has saved them all from the Shadow Curse, apparently.

Word spreads fast, and it's all Rolan hears the Harpers talking about in their rush to take final leave of Last Light Inn. Nearly all had gone to Moonrise Towers with the Druid, but a small group stayed behind with Isobel in case the fight turned to the worst.

Rolan was the first one packed. With the shadows lifting, all he wants to do is travel the road to Baldur's Gate and finally reach his destiny. Leave this hollow place behind him.

At last they are finally moving in the right direction again--the three of them along with Lakrissa and Alfira, led by the Harper rangers.

He glances at Cal and Lia walking beside him. They're in the middle of chatting about the first things they want to do when they reach the lower city. Rolan can't seem to stop checking that they’re still there–as if he might look to find them gone once more.

He hasn't seen their savior since the night she brought his siblings back to him. That made twice now that she'd saved all three of their lives. Few things bristled against his nature more than owing a debt that couldn't be repaid. Rolan didn't like the feeling of being under anyone's thumb.

She wouldn't even accept a reward for saving his brother and sister's lives, just waved him away with a smile on her lips. The memory frustrated him endlessly. He couldn't understand why she took such an interest in helping him and his family. He was even beginning to consider that goodness of heart might really exist…at least when it came to hers.

Half of his mind felt tormented by her inscrutable kindness. The other half thought he'd very much like to kiss her.

Before he could brush away the alarming idea, the Harpers in front threw up a cheer. Rolan looked around to see the commotion.

She and her companions were covered in more blood than he'd seen on them yet, but they were still standing as they led their small army down the path from Moonrise Towers. 

His eyes light automatically to her face–it shines with a radiant smile, but Rolan recognizes the way her shoulders slump under her armor. He is flooded with relief. At least she's alive. 

Their groups converge on the road outside the tower. Everything is a jumble of cheers and shouts as the Harpers jostle forward to reunite with their comrades; a man he's never met claps Rolan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

"Go on, then," says Lia beside him. She's following his gaze knowingly. "While you've got a chance."

He only manages to throw his sister a scowl before she trots away. Is it that obvious?

He decides to take her advice after all. She was right that this could very well be the final time their paths converged. Baldur's Gate was a large city, and whatever grand adventures their savior would face next, he doubted they would involve spending much time browsing magical emporiums.

She gave him a little wave as he approached, the kind one might give an old friend. It pricked his conscience. He'd thanked her for saving Cal and Lia, true, but his mind tossed up all the countless other times he'd been needlessly unpleasant toward her. 

"Seems we owe you thanks yet again," he said, hoping it came off sincere. 

She shook her head wryly. "I've never done any of it alone, you know that. Every one of these people fought like hells in there." 

Standing close, his nose was hit by the thick tang of blood that coated on her armor. How much of it was hers?

"You should go to see Isobel," Rolan insisted. He'd drag her straight to the cleric himself, if she'd let him.

"Do I look that bad?" She was teasing, but there was a strain to it. "As long as I make it to my bedroll in the next hour, I'll be fine. You're sweet to worry, though."

"Stop saying things like that," Rolan snapped, unable to contain himself. "You're so nice, and I'm just a bastard."

Her eyes widened at him, taken aback. "I don't think you're a bastard."

Rolan looked down at his hands. "That's what makes you so nice," he said. He had to get to the point. "Look…I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've been rude and awful, ever since the Grove, and you didn't deserve it. So." He straightened up properly. "I'm sorry for that."

It's far less eloquent than he'd rehearsed, but she seems to understand the sentiment.

"Don’t worry about it," she tells him. "You feel responsibility for the people you love. That can make anyone forget themselves for a while." 

"I suppose," is all he can manage to say. How well she seems to speak what's in his mind.

Her Githyanki companion approaches with a clear intention to speak with her, and Rolan turns away, not wanting to intrude on the company of her true friends.

"Rolan, wait–" 

The flutter in his stomach humiliates him. Will he ever get used to her saying his name?

She rummages in the pack at her waist. "Almost forgot. I found something–well, stole, but it doesn't matter now." 

A fist is held out to him, closed around something. 

Uncertain what to expect, Rolan offers his hand. Her fingers graze softly against his as they deposit something small and hard. He looks down at his palm.

"A rock," he says, deadpan.

"Not just any rock, it's a topaz."

Rolan blinks at her. "And…what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Keep it, or don't. It just made me think of you. Matches your eyes." The admission brought a flush of pink to her cheeks. 

He felt his heart skip at the sight, followed by a jolt of fear–as if she might be able to see the hope blooming inside his chest.

He turns away with a tut. "Absurd."

She gave only a satisfied laugh before taking her leave. Once she'd retreated out of sight, he tucked the gem securely into the folds of his robe.

-

Rolan has long abandoned the fantasy that he is his master's apprentice. 

Whipping boy would be a more accurate job description. Perhaps test subject. He is trapped in an impossible game that he can never win, and his highest purpose is to be the canvas where Lorroakan paints his next magical experiment. 

His mind shudders at the way the red wizard's eyes rest on him during "lessons": casually devoid of all concern or care. No matter how hard Rolan concentrates, no matter what he answers, it won't be good enough. And then the pain will follow. 

The mindless Constructs are worth far more to his master than he is. 

There was a time when someone made Rolan feel like he could deserve more, but that time is gone now. All he can hope is to learn enough, train hard enough, and one day claw his way through to something better.

Today, however, will offer the chance of a reprieve. He's been sent to deliver a message on foot across the lower city. Weeks ago he would've seen the task as an insult. Now he wonders whether it might take all morning, if he's lucky. 

If he often feels like a drowning man, these moments of escape are like a sweet gasp of air. He walks with his face tilted up to soak in the sun's warmth. 

The marks of abuse that paint his features have long stopped troubling him. An occasional passerby might stare at the bruises, but since the Absolute army's march, most Baldurians give Tieflings a wide enough berth not to notice. One wearing fine robes is no different to them.

As he passes the bridge to the Counting House, his eyes land on her figure. He stops short in surprise, earning himself a rude remark about clumsy devils from the woman behind him.

Rolan would recognize her face in any crowd. She stood on the bridge in the middle of some kind of confrontation between two women; one of them a beggar, by the state of her, the other finely dressed.

As he watches he very clearly sees her invite the rich one to "piss off", to the woman's indignation.

An affectionate chuckle escapes him. Then he winces, hand rising to the cracked skin on his lip. He tastes a drop of blood.

Swift panic grips his chest. She can't fucking see him like this, not once–more broken and pathetic than ever. Not after how many times she's already played rescuer to him. He cringes in shame at the thought.

At least she hasn't found him trapped behind his desk, there's a chance he can slip away unnoticed yet–

"Rolan?" 

He missed his moment by a hair. It's unfortunate that hearing her voice after all this time freezes him straight to the cobblestones, or he might consider dashing away like a coward.

"I thought that was you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere." 

Resigned, he turns back toward her. But he keeps his face cast down toward the pavement.

"What do you want?" He asks stiffly.

"Hello to you too," she laughs, and he stifles the impulse to watch her do so. "It's been a while. Cal and Lia, they're good?"

"Thanks to you," he concedes. No thanks to me.

"I'm glad to hear it." He watches her boots step closer, tentative. "Everything okay with you?"

She can never just leave him alone, can she. Why does she insist on caring when so many others don't bother?

"Fine, busy with my studies," Rolan deflects. "I've got to get back to the Sundries."

There's a tight pause, and then her voice grows firm. "Look at me."

He curses himself for being unable to disregard her, and for his eyes wanting to take her in despite everything. Slowly, he raises his head to meet her gaze.

Her face is somehow lovelier than he remembered. As he watches, it shatters in shock. He can see her eyes flit from mark to mark as if taking inventory.

"Who did this to you?" She whispers, aghast.

He turns away, unable to hold her gaze. "Believe me, it's nothing that can be helped."

"Rolan–" Her hand extends toward his jaw.

If the thought of her touch thrills him, the thought of being touched by her with pity is unbearable.

"I don't need your help," he spits, slapping the hand away with his own. "And I certainly don't need your damned sympathy!"

The shock and hurt on her face are the last things Rolan sees before he turns on his heel.

-

The archwizard was not pleased with his late return. That night, Rolan comes home with a large fresh bloom of purple over his left eye.

Lia's already limited patience snaps. She flies into his face with angry tears and threats that she'll march straight into Lorroakan's tower herself with shortsword in hand. Cal stands between them, pleading for peace, eyes wide and sad.

"Enough," Rolan orders them both. "Don't you see we're nothing but hellspawn refugees to these people? My position is the only thing keeping us under this roof, the only thing." 

He doesn't stop Lia as she storms out–she didn’t take her sword with her. The door rattles on its hinges as it slams behind her. He pushes wordlessly past Cal to his room, and collapses in a heap against his bed pillows.

His face aches enough that he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight. One hand reaches into the robe at his chest, and he slowly pulls out the small amber stone. His fingers turn it over and over as he closes his eyes once more to escape into imagining.

In some other world, he could've been the one powerful enough to save and protect her. Even be the person who makes her smile. 

He would not be the pathetic, broken man that he is. He could feel worthy to return her tender touches with his own, drawing her close to him instead of pushing her away. Feel her lips on his own…her hands circling his shoulders… 

Rolan rouses himself to stare down at the topaz shining in his palm. He feels his rotten heart crumple. 

He can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He doesn't like the man he is. He wants to be different–he wants things with her to be different. 

The stone grows warm in his fist as he clenches it. She crept deep into his heart a long, long time ago. He'll probably never get the chance to tell her, so he might as well admit it to himself.

And even if he did see her again–what chance did he have that she might feel the same? None. She single-handedly managed to improve every part of his life that she touched. What could he possibly offer her?

In this world, precious little.

-

Lorroakan of Ramazith lay dead on the ground. 

Rolan felt a numb hatred as he stood over his former master, eyes frozen wide in the final shock of death. Months from now the expression might have given him cause to laugh. Today, Rolan can only stare mutely.

One more sick megalomaniac who possessed more power than Rolan could have dreamed of wielding…brought down by his insane, insatiable lust for more. Always always more. For what? In the end, he was just another corpse.

It was she who dispatched him, of course. Why wouldn't it be? 

After all this time, it was perfectly inevitable that she and her friends would be the ones to fly in and deliver him from yet another tragic end. He felt like he was stuck on a wheel going around and around. He couldn't escape her, either in reality or in his own mind.

Rolan comes to himself and looks down at his robes. Blood splatters his front and soaks up to his elbows; a crust of frost coats his boots, from whose spell he can't remember. All at once an overwhelming tiredness soaks into his bones.

The dream of destiny that had carried him here…had it ever existed, really?

He decides to slip away while she's distracted, speaking urgently to one of her companions. Her plans probably extend far outside this room and beyond, but this is where his path reaches a bloody dead end.

He allows himself one last look at her profile before stepping quietly to the portal. He wants only a bath and the release of sleep.

His feet drag along the streets of the lower city as they carry his body home, ignoring any frightened stares at the state of his clothes. Silent as he can, he slips through the front door and down the hall to his room. Cal and Lia's voices carry from the kitchen. He'll face their questions when he wakes. 

In the end, exhaustion and relief overtake him. There will be no more lessons. He falls to bed in a heap and drifts off, still wearing his master's blood on his hands.

-

In retrospect: letting Lia discover him face-down in his bed covered in dried blood was not the smartest decision Rolan had ever made. 

After he'd groggily yelled himself hoarse enough to stop her screams, a sharp pang of conscience drove through him like ice. During the time he thought the two of them were lost to the Shadowlands, he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to an early death.

He never wanted either of them to feel that emptiness. For once, he let Lia hold him tight without protest.

With a few days' rest, and some of Cal's better efforts in the kitchen to date, Rolan's spirits had rallied sufficiently that he felt well enough to leave the house. Even to attempt a cautious return to his place of employment. 

To his surprise and distinct confusion, no one at Sorcerous Sundries had a thing to say about Lorroakan's disappearance, or about any possible employee involvement. 

If anything, the mood around the shop was noticeably lighter. He even caught Tolna humming a soft little tune to her bookshelves. “The tomes never respected him, you know,” she whispered to Rolan.

And once he got over the bizarre sight of Lorroakan's projection, hovering with a vacant smile behind his former desk, he found a perverse humor in it. Who was the fucking errand boy now?

Most of all, Rolan found himself free to finally do what he came to this place for: study magic. He had no archmage master, but he was intelligent, and he now had free access to all of the tomes in the tower library that Lorroakan had enjoyed dangling under his nose.

These days he preferred to spend his days alone in the upstairs, absorbed in theory and practice. His skills grew, and so did his confidence in himself.

If he also felt drawn to the spot because it was the last place he'd seen her…well, he was far too late on that score. He could've finally confessed the feelings that had long been bursting through his chest. 

Instead he had slunk away in silence, too scared to stand in front of her and admit how misguided he'd been all this time. She must think very little of him. She probably didn't think of him at all.

Who knew if she was even still in Baldur's Gate? He searched every face he encountered on the streets, hoping for an answer. It had become a reflex.

At the end of another day, he trudged alone across the twilight square. His hands ached from practicing the gestures for elemental conjurement over and over. One of the Steel Watchers clomped mindlessly past, looking about like Rolan felt. 

The thought of going home filled him with weariness. Cal and Lia's cheerful bickering always annoyed him, in an affectionate way. But tonight, he truly felt he might not be up to it. 

He felt sad. Lonely.

Glancing up, he found that his legs had carried him to the steps of the Elfsong. A drink…that would soothe his sorrows for an hour or two, at least.

The doors swung open to usher a wave of stimulation over his senses. Warm firelight, the smell of roasting venison, tables packed with conversation and clinking glasses. 

He was grateful that many others seemed to have had the same idea this particular night. It made it easier to slip through the crowded taproom unnoticed, catching meaningless slices of gossip and flirtatious banter on his way to the bar.

The surly bartender didn't look overjoyed to be serving a Tiefling. He took Rolan's gold without comment, however, and left him alone with his wine.

As the alcohol spread a welcome relaxation through his limbs, Rolan passed the time by idly watching the groups around him. 

A halfling sat alone with shoulders slumped, staring down his tankard as if he wished to drown in it. Across the way, a large bearded man was leaning across the table in open pursuit of his female companion. Clearly getting nowhere, from her expression. But he looked far too drunk to notice.

In front of the great hall fireplace, a pale elf sat in conversation with a pretty dark-haired young woman. 

Rolan's brow furrowed; he knew those two. His eyes quickly scanned over the room's faces until he found her.

She was removed a ways from her usual traveling companions, seated at a small table in the far corner. He watched her swirl the cup in her hand idly. Her eyes followed the liquid’s pattern, but the look behind them was leagues away.

For the first time in days, Rolan felt his heavy heart lift. She was exactly the person he wanted to be with tonight. Even if it was just sharing a drink.

This was it, he told himself. He had to speak with her or he'd regret it the rest of his life.

But first–he knocked back a very large mouthful.

His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to her. With each step he expected she might look up, piercing him with those eyes that visited most of his dreams. But she remained transfixed by the wine even when he drew up beside her table.

Improvising, he cleared his throat. "Hello."

She glanced up at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh!"

They stared at each other for an awkward silence. Then, somehow, he found himself laughing with her.

"Sorry, it's so strange. I was just thinking about you," she said, her face brightening.

The fact that he occupied any space in her brain would consume him later, but he shoved it aside for the moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

She patted the chair next to her. As he sat, he wondered if the spot had been a tactical choice on her part. Their table had a view of the whole room and both exits, yet the wall behind offered a sense of privacy. 

"You're not drinking with your friends tonight," Rolan observed.

"Just taking a little break. We're celebrating another family reunion," she explained, gesturing her glass toward the group around the blazing hearth. 

Rolan looked back over his shoulder. He recognized the one-eyed young man with curling horns, but not the older one whose hand was clasped on his shoulder. Quite clearly father and son to anyone with eyes.

"I'm glad for them," Rolan said. To his surprise, he found he truly meant it. The Absolute had ripped apart so many families in so many ways, including his, leaving the lower streets flooded with the hopeless and broken and displaced. He counted himself and his siblings incredibly lucky, and it heartened him to see another happy scene among so much misery.

“You know–” She eyed him curiously. "I was hoping I’d see you. You ran off before we could talk that day."

He looked down at his drink. "I know. I've regretted it since then. At the time, it was just…a lot to take in."

Her eyes narrowed, but not at him. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but that man can burn in Avernus for all I care. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to Aylin."

Rolan recalled the runic circle in Lorroakan's library, the one whose mysterious power had at first awed and enthralled him. And then he'd seen the aasimar with the shining wings, and watched the demented hunger in Lorroakan's eyes, and the horrible realization had run through him like a sickness.

"Lorroakan was a monster," he agreed. "I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Or even found the strength to open my own eyes."

He felt a hand rest on his forearm.

"I saw what you went through to get here,” she said. “It’s natural that you thought you had to see it all through, no matter what.” 

Rolan said nothing for a while, just let her kindness soothe into his chest like a balm.

“On the bright side,” he added suddenly, “He did keep an excellent library. I’ve learned more from one of his books than I ever did from him.”

“That’s because you’re a proper talented wizard,” she laughed. “And he was an idiot.”

“A dead idiot.”

“To that,” she said with a lift of her cup, and they both drank. He noticed she used her free hand, not moving the one that laid on his arm.

When he caught her eye after, she was watching him with a smile. "You look so well, Rolan."

He knew what she meant. The last time she saw him, his face had been dappled in marks and bruises from Lorroakan's brutal instruction, with more that she couldn't see under his robes.

Now, the last mark across his cheekbone had faded almost to nothing. He hoped it would take the memories of the meaningless pain he'd endured along with it.

"Thank you," he said simply. "So do you."

He meant it; he realized now that he'd only ever seen her dressed for combat. Tonight she wore soft hide pants tucked into her hunting boots, a linen shirt half unlaced at her collarbones. It softened her. Close beside him and bathed in firelight, she set his heart racing again.

Perhaps it was her closeness or her touch that gave him the courage, or perhaps it was just the wine. He shifted his arm slightly to capture her hand in his.

"No one else has ever shown me the kindness you have. Not even Cal and Lia, though I do love them." 

She watched him speak in silence, and he gazed back at her, as if the answers to everything might be found in her face. 

"I don't understand you,” he said earnestly. “Why you've kept giving me chances. You've been so much more generous with me than I deserve. I've insulted you, yelled at you, I've been an absolute unbearable prick–"

Before he could think, she leaned in to silence him with her lips.

The kiss lasted forever and only a second all at once. Rolan closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of lavender on her skin.

Before he was anywhere near ready, she gently pulled away.

"Because," she murmured, "you're a good man, Rolan. And I like you." Her words, the lingering taste of her on his lips, they made his head spin. He felt like he was watching the door to a new world swing open before his eyes.

Before anything else, Rolan had to kiss her again. He released her hand to smooth the hair back from her face, watching the way she tilted into his touch, and gently guided her toward him.

It was deeper this time; he tasted the heady wine on her mouth, her breath a soft tickle against his cheek. As his fingers tangled her hair, he felt her hand wind sweetly over his shoulder, holding on to him.

A wet stripe flashed across his lips. His mouth gasped open in surprise, allowing her tongue to softly meet his, then draw slowly over his pointed teeth. 

The unexpected sensations brought his mind back to reality, and to the fact that they were in a public place. With effort, he wrenched himself out of the kiss. They breathed against each other for a moment. 

"I've got a room upstairs," she murmured. "If you want to?" Her cheeks were flushed from firelight and wine, and possibly even from him.

Whether or not he wanted to was no question: her words sent a fervent rush of blood to his groin. But first, he mustered enough control to hold her back from him for a moment. Her lips were parted in question.

"I adore you," he said. "I think I have for a long time. It's–very important to me that you know that. Before anything else." Even if the anything else was a dream that had kept him awake more nights than he could count.

Her soft hand cupped his cheek; he thought he might combust if she didn't say something. "Thank Gods," she laughed breathily. "I swore you hated me for a while there."

"I had no idea what to do with my feelings for you, I was a fucking idiot." It was all tumbling out of him now. He opened his mouth to continue, but her fingertips went to his lips.

 "Rolan–" Her voice was full of relief, and he was charmed to see the blush across her face deepen. "I feel the same way. I really, really like you."

His rotten heart could have flipped with joy. 

“Now.” She cocked her head askance, and he felt her fingers twine with his. "Make it up to me?"

Yes. Please, please, yes. He nodded in a daze, reeling like he'd sustained a blow to the head. All he could feel was the elation and anxiety swirling around and around in his stomach as he followed her toward the staircase, let her lead him by the hand like a lovesick idiot.

As they passed her companions he pointedly averted his eyes; he couldn't afford to lose any of the nerve building inside him. He'd need every bit of it in a moment.

The dark staircase seemed to ascend forever. Part of him wanted it to–he was no virgin, but the hand she held tight was shaking with anxiety. He wanted to make this perfect.

Overthinking proved pointless. The moment the heavy door closed behind them, he found himself pinned against it with a thud by the length of her body.

His involuntary groan was lost in their kiss. She was everywhere around him at once: hands pinning his shoulders back against the wood, hips grinding into his thigh with no pretense, her tongue pressing against his lips and slipping past his teeth to taste him. She moaned against his mouth, and the sound reverberated from his head to his feet.

His erection was practically instantaneous. He hooked his thumbs over her hip bones, sharp nails finding purchase in her pants, and rolled himself against the yielding softness between her legs. 

Whatever release the pressure provided multiplied it tenfold. Desire coursed through him, burning in his veins hotter than he thought possible. 

The maneuver brought an approving hum from her throat, however. Encouraged, he ground her into him again, and again, as slowly as his body could be convinced to go.

Her hands released his shoulders to rake upward through his hair, pulling his face toward her.

Pulling him deeper into the room, he realized. He stumbled slightly against something; tasting her lips was infinitely more important than breaking the kiss to look where he was going. He trusted her lead, impatient to reach whatever destination she had in mind so he could freely explore her.

Their connected bodies bumped up against the edge of something soft. She pulled away, and his immediate disappointment rapidly turned around as he felt her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe. He guided her hands, struggling at the same time to kick off one boot and then the other. 

As his robes pooled on the floor, her palms pressed him away for a moment.

Rolan stood frozen and panting in his trousers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips as she looked over his bare shoulders, his chest. When her eyes reached the obvious hardness straining in his pants, she let out a delicious sound.

Rolan's hands grabbed for her of their own volition. They slipped under the hem of her shirt, against the bare skin of her waist, and wrenched the garment up over her head in one motion.

To look at her directly was almost too much–he felt love and desire churning together inside of him. "Beautiful," was all he could say.

He buried his face in her shoulder instead, fang-like teeth brushing over her skin as he left a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She let out a gasp when his hand gently stroked her breast.

"You're so warm," she murmured into his hair. To him, she was pleasantly cool; he shivered when her fingers traced the small set of ridges that ran from his collarbone to his sternum.

But he needed more of her. He hooked both thumbs over her waistband and tugged ineffectually. She quickly took over, shucking them off with a shimmying motion.

The sight of her bare, for him, was almost enough to make Rolan come then and there. He reached out to her hips to steady himself. She was so much more divine than anything his paltry imagination could have conjured.

Through his blazing arousal, he was barely aware of the hands unlacing his pants until she tugged them down to finally let his cock spring free.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He watched her take him in, her eyes half-lidded with arousal. 

"You're incredible," she whispered. Then her arms slid around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

He tried to concentrate on her mouth, but the way his cock brushed and nudged against her skin every time she moved was taking over his brain.

With a motion of her hips, she captured his length between her thighs and rocked forward and back, sliding her dripping wet center over his cock. The revelation of her own state of desire sent his mind spiraling with want.

Rolan let out what could only be called a whimper. He clutched her to him, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth as firmly as he dared, as if she might suddenly disappear and leave him in an aching pile.

She made a pleased sound, then gave his shoulders a push. With his pants still around his thighs, he lost his balance–knees buckled as he fell backwards onto the mattress behind them.

He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her kneel on the floor in front of him. Her two hands pushed his knees apart, as far as the straining fabric would allow–

Rolan tried and failed to breathe normally, heart pounding in his ears. It felt like time was slowing to a crawl. Her eyes glanced from his face to the stiff erection between them. A droplet of moisture shone at its tip.

"Can I–?" She was asking him for permission, hands poised on his thighs, her expression heady with arousal.

"Anything," Rolan swore, and he meant it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to him right now. Before he could prepare himself, her mouth closed wetly around his tip. 

Truly, nothing could have readied him. He let out a gasp–his head dropped back as his hips rose involuntarily to seek more of her soft, cool mouth. 

He had scarcely adjusted before she took him in further, sliding her tongue down along his length to his very base–then slowly, achingly slowly, back up again.

He heard the rip of fabric as his nails gripped the bedding. He gathered the will to raise his head up to look.

Rolan was mesmerized by the sight of her lips wrapped around taught red skin, his length disappearing into her mouth and returning wet with saliva. She was working him over almost reverently slow, eyes closed as if tasting him.

Tasting herself on him. His cock twitched inside her mouth at the realization. She glanced up at him, releasing him from her lips with a soft, wet pop.

He could have groaned at the loss of her. Instead, he used the moment to work off his constraining pants and toss them away. Before she could reach for him again, Rolan pulled her up and onto his lap.

Her knees sank into the bed on either side as she straddled him, but she kept herself hovering well above him without contact. He pushed aside the ache between his legs to focus on more important things.

He leaned forward to press a soft kiss between her breasts, allowed his mouth to explore. She sighed with pleasure as he alternately licked and kissed across each curve, then drew sharp breath as his teeth sucked at the soft flesh under one breast. 

Her hands, at first resting on his shoulders, flew to grab two fistfuls of his hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

Rolan pulled away for a moment for admire the purple mark blooming on her breast. He glanced up as though looking for approval. She gave it, tugging his hair to tilt his face into a waiting kiss.

Ever so carefully…mindful of his fingertips, he placed the flat of his palm on the heat between her legs.

“Rolan–” she gasped, breaking away. 

The sound of his own name had never been dearer to him. He was run through with a thrill, and a fervent desire to do whatever it took to make her say it again.

  He massaged gentle circles into her, the base of his palm pressing against her clit in slow rhythm. Her wetness coated him with each stroke. She quaked under his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and his other arm circled her back to support her. He felt her lean against him without a second thought. Trusting completely.

“I can’t believe I have you,” he heard his voice say, perhaps to himself. 

As he spoke he felt the core of her tightening under his hand. Abruptly, her fingers closed around his wrist to still his ministrations. He froze, immediately afraid he had scratched her somehow. But her face shone with nothing but desire for him.

"On your back," she directed.

Rolan nearly pinched his tail under himself in his haste to obey. He swept his legs out from between hers and stretched out as she climbed over to straddle him. 

Now they were finally here, she wasted no time leaving space between them. Her hips rolled down onto him and drew the wet folds of her center across his tip. His entire length throbbed at the blessed return of her touch, the head of his cock burning against her. 

Smoothly, simply, she lowered herself onto him.

The shuddering exhale from his lips met against her moan of relief. Rolan willed himself to keep his eyes on hers, even as her inviting walls gripped him, even as he practically felt his pupils dilate with want. Her features relaxed into a state of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

Then she started to move her hips.

She pushed her palms against his chest for leverage, riding his cock at a steady pace that felt entirely too slow. Whatever will he had to follow her lead was immediately tested; he was overcome with the need to touch her everywhere at once. 

Care forgotten, he gripped the soft flesh of her back with his fingertips. She cried out softly as his nails dragged from her shoulders to the base of her hips, but he felt her walls clench around him in response. His tail curled up and around her waist of its own volition, holding her as she took him in further with each bounce of her hips.

She gasped and fell over him, hands braced on either side. She was already losing control. He felt his own release closing in, used the new angle of her hips to thrust up into her. 

“Oh, Gods, yes–” Her mouth dropped open. She moved her hips back with each of his thrusts to take him more deeply. 

Rolan thought he might shatter apart. Waves of searing desire swept harder and harder through him. She took him so perfectly, his cock almost painfully gripped by her tightening walls, so wet and lush and sweet and for him–

A hand flew up to the back of her neck to grasp and to pull her down so he could taste her as he came. Lips crashed together frantically as the pace of their bodies started coming apart at the seams. 

In one bright concentrated moment, she shook and trembled violently into him as she grasped for whatever part of him she could reach. He managed one last stuttering thrust before his climax was ripped from him by her own, spilling inside of her clenching center, hurling him outside himself and into the wide Astral plane.

They shuddered against each others' bodies as white-hot waves receded outward farther and farther. Her head dropped to his shoulder as though she'd lost all muscle control. 

He felt her slowing breaths fan out across his chest, and he rested a hand on the back of her head to keep her there.

-

As Rolan stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling above them, something cold dripped down at the base of him. He realized he was still inside of her. He swung his free arm over the side of the bed–still woozy enough from his climax that he nearly slid head-first to the floor–and snatched up his rumpled robes to clean them both.

She rolled off him then and cuddled up on her side to watch him. He mirrored her pose, adjusting against the pillows to make a spot for his horns. One of her fingers found the point of his ear and began tracing.

“How do you feel?” She asked. 

Rolan sighed deeply. “Happy.” He could cast around for another dozen words, but he’d rather take her in. He smoothed a hand up and down along the curve of her side.

“So do I.” She leaned over to spread light kisses along his lips, then his jaw and cheek. His tail brushed against her leg in an idle caress. 

She glanced down. “I didn’t actually know about…that.”

“Am I your first Tiefling?” He teased, though the thought genuinely pleased him.

“First and last,” she replied. The words were instantly locked away in his chest. 

She gave a little shiver then, tucking her body against his warmth. He dug the covers up over themselves and wrapped her up tight with his arms and legs. The simple feeling of holding her brought him a deep sense of calm.

“I love this, Rolan.” Her lips moved against the hollow at the base of his neck. “I wish I could take tonight and carry it with me everywhere.”

Something sparked in him at her words. He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her to feel around the floor at the floor for his stained robe.

"What are you doing over there?" She lifted her head curiously to peer over the bedside. 

"Just need to find something." He rummaged through his layers of discarded clothing before finally, his knuckle grazed something hard.

He slid back up under the covers beside her. She propped herself up against him, resting a palm on his chest with an expectant look.

He held out his thumb and index finger. Between them, an amber stone glinted in the dim light.

Her mouth fell open in recognition. For one second, he was afraid she might cry.

Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck, wrapping both arms tight around him. "I knew you were a darling all along." 

[thedevilssinner]

Elven soulmates - Astarion x Elf!Tav - Headcanon

I listened to one song and for some reason it screamed Astarion x Tav at me. This man is really ruining my life 😅

Anyway… the song was ‘IDK you yet’ and I just thought about the two of them being soulmates or something like that and then I found a thread on https://www.enworld.org about elven relationships and someone mentioned soulmates which got me searching and I found this page https://www.realmshelps.net/charbuild/races/elf/leaf.shtml where is mentioned that elves can find someone they call their thiramin which should mean soulmate in elvish language. 

Here’s the part from the https://www.realmshelps.net :

Upon reaching adulthood, elves continue their sexual explorations. Eventually, though, each discovers that his heart has developed a capacity for lasting and exclusive love. Like most other important things in their lives, elves describe this in mystical terms. They believe that a person's spiritual progress is unknowingly intertwined with that of another. This soulmate is called a thiramin. Upon meeting his thiramin, an elf's heart fills with passion and certainty. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the other party is felled by the same feeling of immediate and eternal devotion. (Though rare, an unrequited feeling of thiramin is always disastrous, bringing centuries of wrenching heartbreak. Sufferers often commit suicide or succumb to the temptations of evil.) Elves almost always feel thiramin for people they meet for the first time: In other words, visitors from other communities. Intermarriage between communities strengthens the bonds of communication between settlements, allowing them to quickly band together against the armies of evil that march across the land.

Now… You can imagine what that did to me, when I thought about the idea of Elf Tav knowing Astarion before he was turned into a vampire so… here’s some headcanons. Suffer with me.

Tav and Astarion met in Baldur's gate. Tav being new to the city. Young elf exploring the world outside their home.

Maybe they met in an art gallery or a tavern or some other place… that’s up to you, but when their eyes met, they immediately knew the other one was their thiramin. Heart beating wildly as they smile at each other.

They start dating, of course. Trying to get to know each other and spend as much time together as possible. 

I think that Tav would call Astarion their star… or maybe even ‘my starry night’

Astarion would call them ‘my moon’ (idk, I just love the idea of them using moon and stars as pet names)

Or… inspired by Game of Thrones - Astarion would call Tav ‘my sun and stars' while Tav would call him ‘the moon of my life’

Maybe they dated for a year or two, thinking about buying a house together.

But then Astarion was beaten ‘to death’ by the Gurs.

Tav could immediately tell that something was terribly wrong. The connection they felt with Astarion severing and sharp pain piercing through their heart. Panicked, they tried to find Astarion, going to his home but they already came too late.

Their blood turned into ice when they saw the mercenaries from the Flaming Fist already around his home. Seeing them carrying an awfully pale and beaten body of Astarion. (I don't remember if it was mentioned if Astarion lived in a Lower or Upper city before he was turned, so I chose a Lower city 🤷🏻‍♀️) (Also, not sure how and where exactly were he turned so I hope this is fine)

After a few days, Tav still couldn’t comprehend what truly happened. They felt just… empty. As if every color, every piece of happiness was ripped away from their soul. Not even able to visit Astarion’s grave because of that.

When Tav's family found out, they came to them, taking them to their homeland, because they knew how bad losing your soulmate could end for an elf. Tav fell into a deep grief and depression that lasted almost 100 years, doing some questionable things here and there until they started to function again.

On the other side - Astarion was beaten by Gurs but his final death came from Cazador, the change itself working just like if he truly died. His connection to Tav is severed and the shock of his change into a vampire erases all memory of them from his mind.

And then the 200 years of torture begin. Astarion doing anything he could and needed to do for survival. Flirting and luring victims to Cazador. He was good at it, great even, but something always felt wrong. 

Well, everything he did for Cazador was wrong, but touching another person, sleeping with them, and whispering words of love to them seemed wrong for another reason he couldn't understand. It was as if his subconscious was always trying to tell him something, but he couldn't say what.

There was just always something wrong with the victims. Wrong eye color, wrong tone of voice or even their pet names they sometimes used for him. 

Is he missing something? Someone? Longing for the embrace of a specific person that is unknown to him.

He always blamed his vampirism for this feeling. Thinking that’s just how it is. The feeling of wrongness and emptiness residing in him for the 200 years of his unlife.

Until the Mind Flayers and Nautiloid.

But back to Tav:

After a hundred years of grief, Tav finally started to get better. Diving into learning the profession/class they have chosen. Trying to enjoy life as much as they could, but the emptiness never fully disappeared. As if part of their soul was still gone.

They even tried to date, pressured by their family to at least try, but when their new partner tried to kiss them… they just couldn’t do it, dull pain spreading through their body and guilt flooding their mind. They immediately break up with the person and decide never to find a partner again.

But apart from that, they were relatively happy. Another 100 years slowly drifting away, the memories of Astarion remaining, if a little faded.

Until the Mind Flayers and Nautiloid.

Game plot:

Tav was walking with Shadowheart and Gale when they heard someone call for help.

Of course, they immediately headed for the voice, trying to help all the survivors of the crashed ship.

But when they finally came to the person they heard, the blood ran cold in their veins, the weapon they held falling from their grasp. It was like seeing him for the first time in their life but at the same time not… Astarion.

They notice that he looks different. His eyes are the wrong color and he’s so pale… but it’s him. They know it is because their soul sang when their eyes locked… but how? 

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those bran things…” Astarion's voice trailed off as he fixed his eyes on Tav and gasped as an unfamiliar sensation filled his body. It was as if everything finally clicked and his mind was flooded with memories he didn't know he had.

That's how far I've come with this idea. I'm not sure how it would have gone on, but I imagine it would have taken a while for Tav and Astarion to become partners again. Both mourning the years they could have spent together if it weren't for Cazador. Tav learning to love the new Astarion he has become, because he was different from the elf they knew before and Astarion learning to love again overall.

[iamjucie]

Pet (18+) pt. 1 of 4

photo credit: @yabishrihere

Ascended Astarion x f!reader

Chapter One: Thinking

Summary: You have been the Vampire Lord Astarion Ancunín's Dark Consort for as long as you can remember. You don't remember much of your life before this undead life you live, but you do know you have a purpose. Obey.

WARNINGS: Smut, Extremely dubious consent, Mind control/manipulation, Orgasm control, Abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Physical Abuse

I do not say this lightly- Astarion is evil in this. This is an extremely toxic relationship. You have been warned!

(AO3 Link)

You are sitting in the lavish master chamber of the ornate palace you call home. Gazing into your reflection in the vanity mirror combing your unnaturally long black hair, getting lost in thought. It’s really all there is to do when Master Astarion is away on extended business trips like this.

It does help, too, that before he left he told you to think of him while he was gone. It was a command. So you obey. And you think.

You’ve been the Dark Consort of the Crimson Palace for you don't know how long. Time started to blend together around the first century of your undead life. Around that time, you had suspicions that Astarion may be dulling your mind with his power over you.

Yes- that’s right. You began questioning him about when he would grant you a drop of his blood like he said. That’s when-

Suddenly, your mind falls blank.

Wait…What were you thinking about again?

Right. Astarion. Your beloved Master who has taken care of you in all ways. You have everything you can ever imagine. You are so happy here.

You know somewhere in your mind that you were once a very powerful, talented Cleric reigning from Nimbral. Before you were the hero of Baldur’s Gate, you spent your time traveling The Forgotten Realms tending to the sick and needy. A mere blimp in your immortal lifetime. And feigns in comparison to what you do now as the consort to the Vampire Ascendant.

“Hero of Baldur’s Gate” rings in your mind for a moment. A title that hasn’t been used in reference to you in lifetimes. You almost forgot you had a life before the Crimson Palace. Before Cazador saw that Astarion was a far more suitable candidate for the rite of Profane Ascension than he. A life before you and Astarion took down the all powerful Netherbrain, saving Baldur’s Gate from impending doom.

You believe there were others there with you, but the memory of their faces is dull. You used to write letters to them behind Astarion’s back, you recall. Once he caught you doing it, they dissipated from your thoughts. He began limiting you from contacting those outside the palace walls after that. He said he was protecting you from yourself. That they no one cared for you like he does.

And he is right. He is the only one who knows what is best for you. Damn, you lost your train of thought again.

You were reminiscing…

Yes that’s right- when you and Astarion single handedly took down the Netherbrain, you were a very independent person. Did everything alone and didn’t answer to anyone. What a fool you were, to think you can exist without someone to serve. Without him. To think you can survive alone. You’re happy you’ve learned your lesson. Master is a wonderful teacher, after all.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the multitude of locks on the chamber door being undone and jump to your feet. You brush your hands down your sheer red nightgown, smoothing out any imperfections before you're finally where you belong. In the gaze of your beloved master. You tremble at the thought of being in his vicinity again.

The door swings open revealing the magnificent form of a man that you have the honor of belonging to. He’s well kept with the most extravagant of garb, ornately decorated with the finest of gold beading and elaborate designs positioned in a way that compliments his flawless physique perfectly.

Your master begins to saunter into the bedroom where you are awaiting his arrival.

“There’s my perfect pet.” Astarion says as he approaches you with a predatory intent visible on his face.

He is expectant. And right to be. Your connection as master and spawn grants him full, unadulterated access to you. Your mind and body, his to command and compel at all times. And compel he did. During the entirety of his business trip he planted the seeds of lust into your mind. What he wants to do to you, what positions he will have you in, what he will have you do to him. All engraved in your mind like a mantra. A prayer to your dark God.

All along with the command to not pleasure yourself and not to orgasm until he commands it. You had no choice but to obey. But it was fine, this is all the routine at this point.

The first few times he had done this dance to you, you had been angry. You had been furious at him for putting you through such agonizing pain. You saw it as torture then. How adorably ignorant you once were.

No, this is no torture. He is doing it for you. He is but preparing you for him-the way in which you belong.

His slender hands graze your hips and his touch sends an electric bolt through your undead frame so strong that it draws a moan from your mouth.

“Tsk..” Astarion looks down onto you with an exaggerated face of pity “Seems I may have left you basking in my absence for a touch too long. If a brush through fabric is enough to have you scream for me, that is.”

You feel a wave of shame rush over you. Gods, how stupid could you be. You're pathetic for such a shameless display of your desperation. The feeling that you may have disappointed your master has made you feel like you deserve to be in the lesson room for at least a tenday.

Astarion places his hand under your chin, gently directing your gaze into his eyes. “That's exactly the way I want you. You are perfect. So very eager. And…” he moves his grip from your hips to graze the outside of your folds, “...oh so ready for me.”

He was right. You were drenched beyond comprehension, your fluids one more touch away from dripping down your legs. Having your master’s approval sends a wave of euphoria through you. One that no potion, no charm spell, no mushroom spore from the darkest of the underdark, could grant. How lucky are you. Your master is so kind to allow you such a feeling. You almost feel satiated. Almost.

“Oh Master, how I’ve missed you so.” you cry out, almost sobbing.

He moves his hand from your heat to the small of your back and the other to the back of your head, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Shh…” he coos, gently scratching your scalp. You start to sob into his shoulder. So overwhelmed with emotion that the only way to express it is to cry.

“Pet if you keep this up I might start to feel bad for you.” he scoffs while still holding you. “I love to hear you cry for me, but this seems a bit pathetic. Don’t you think so, dearest?”

“I-I know I’m-” you pull back and put your hands on your face. Partially to wipe your tears and partially to hide your embarrassment from him. “I’m sorry, Master.”

Astarion lets out a hearty laugh that makes you feel meek for a moment. “Darling, it’s okay! It’s not like you can help it.” he says as he makes his way to the bed.

You are confused but ultimately so overjoyed by the presence of your beloved that you don’t pay mind to it. Instead you focus on following him to the bed you share.

You watch in awe as he unbuttons and removes his coat to lay lazily on the mattress. He pats the unoccupied side of the sheets granting you permission to join him and your feet make their way to the bed. You lay on your side next to him, admiring his beautiful features. Thinking how lucky you are to belong to such a glorious creature as him.

He settles himself in, propped up into a seated position by the lushest, plushest pillows gold could grant.

“Okay darling, are you ready to show me how good you were in my absence?”

Your eyes light up and the underlying heat in your core grows exponentially. You nod with the enthusiasm of someone starved being offered a feast. You jump off the bed and begin to take off your nightgown.

“Not so fast,” your body freezes in place, limbs unable to move. “I don’t recall saying you could strip for me, little one. I thought you would have learned to behave by now…”

He’s right. You would have learned to behave, if that was what he wanted of you. You tried that once, toward the beginning of your undead life. Obeyed and did not do anything without permission. You did what he says he expects from you. You learned quickly that he doesn’t always mean the things he says. He began to grow bored of you. His business trips were far longer during the time of your complete obedience. You’ve fine tuned your behavior to be just the way he wants. Even if that entails enduring punishments. It’s worth it for his attention.

“Get back on the bed, pet. I decide what pace we move at, not you”

You hesitate, testing the waters of how he wants you to be. What kind of mood is he in tonight? Does he want you to be playful and a tease? Does he want you obedient?

His gaze remains on you, as you stay halted in your tracks.

“Now.” his eyes glow slightly with the increase of power over you. He entered your mind and you feel a sense of warmth over your thoughts, compelling you back to your previous position.

Obedient it is.

Next chapter: Boots

[faerunnn]

Memories

(GIF found Here! :D )

Hello, so i am back. With something a lil angsty, a lil fluffy. You guys should know the drill by now. Please let me know your thoughts :D

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2464

It has been quite some time since the battle of Baldur's Gate. You all went your separate ways, occasionally catching up with one another but as time and lives went on, slowly drifting more apart. Everyone was slowly finding the lives they wanted to live. Some moved away from the city, wanting to forget it all. Some stayed around. Including you. Baldur's gate was the only place you ever truly was able to call home. And while your wanderlust had taken you to many places, you always found your way back to the city. 

You sometimes wondered how the others were doing. Wandering what could have been, wondering what was never meant to be. You miss your old companions sometimes. But their happiness was what kept you smiling when thinking back on your adventures. There was barely any room for heartache when everyone got what they wanted. Everyone but you. 

After the battle against the Elder brain you and Astarion never fully established what it was that the two of you had. The connection that was shared. There was something there, for sure. But the both of you being too stubborn to talk about it, acknowledge it. That same stubbornness led to the both of you drifting apart. Slowly but surely, until you stopped hoping that he might show up at your doorstep. Stopped visiting his place, stopped meeting at the usual spots. Your pride got in the way of your happiness, once again. The one time you felt like you truly had met your equal. A ‘’soulmate’’, if those were even real. You beat yourself up about for a while, until time got in the way. 

It has been over a year since you last saw each other. And it wasn't until tonight that you went back to one of the taverns you and your companions would occasionally meet to catch up. You rather not go there but some of your co-workers insisted you’d tag along for a drink after a very long work day. And it had been a long day indeed. You wanted to just go home, take a bath and curl up in your sheets and sleep for days. But one drink couldn't hurt, right? 

The party all gathered outside of the office and you all walked toward the familiar pub. A whiff of alcohol and sweat already hit your nose as you got closer. It must be a busy night. Maybe a famous bard was playing tonight. The music did sound quite lovely opposed to other nights of horrible out of tune lutes being played inside the tavern walls. You all gathered a small table in the corner of the main hall, scooting closer together and just catching up on life while enjoying a somewhat decent drink. The drinks have never been great here, but that somehow made you feel even more nostalgic of the many tears, laughs and memories shared in this space. You wondered if there was a way to get everyone back here sometime soon. 

‘’So,’’ one of your male co-workers turned to you. ‘’What is it truly like being the hero of Baldur's gate?” A small smirk present on his lips and a playful look swirling in his eyes. All of your co-workers knew this was a topic you’d rather not talk about. Not because you're ashamed, but there was no need to brag about all the lives it had cost to save the city, guilty or innocent. You swallowed and gave him a tight smile before taking a rather large gulp of your drink. The alcohol is now slowly starting to kick in. 

‘’Well, I suppose it is.. Flattering. I wouldn't consider myself a hero. But i am glad the city is somewhat safe again.’’ you said. Not really wanting to dig deep into the topic at all, even if you were slowly starting to feel more tipsy.

‘’Oh, come on! There must be something to tell. What about the tadpole? You were supposed to be dead, respectfully.’’ he carefully said. 

‘’Yes, I was. But I am glad I am not. Though I wouldn't recommend anyone carrying a worm inside their head, it did save my life in a way. The experience itself was rather unusual, I suppose. I don't think there's anything I can compare it to.’’ as you start talking you hear a bit more commotion on the other side of the room. But from your angle you can't tell what's going on. Probably another tavern fight between two drunk sailors. Wouldn't be the first time. After a quick glance that way you quickly return to your conversation. 

‘’What about your companions? Do you still see them?’’ A female co-worker asked you nervously. 

‘’Uhm, we uhm. We occasionally see each other yes.’’ Not a complete lie. But these people didn't need to know the whole truth. ‘’Does anyone want another drink?’’ you quickly ask before any more questions on the topic could arise. You get up from the table and walk up to the bar to order another round for the whole table. Your last, you decided. It has been a long day and sleep was going to creep up on you soon. You look back at your colleagues while you wait and reminisce about the times that table was filled with your companions instead. 

After a short while you take the drinks back to the table and join in on the conversation that had been started while you were gone when all of a sudden the commotion rose again. But this time it was loud, and people started getting out of the way.  It was then that you noticed it was indeed a fight. While you were about to roll your eyes and take a big gulp of your drink you recognized a certain mop of white hair and pointy ears. Oh god. Your eyes widened. Your body froze. It was him. Fighting an orc almost twice his size.. In the middle of a tavern. He was wearing an all black outfit, which looked almost too good on his body. A dagger held to the neck of the orc as he held him in place. Reminding you of the time the two of you had met. He really hasn't changed much. 

You got up from where you were sitting and got a little closer to the situation, trying to blend in with the crowd whilst figuring out what the hell had happened. You saw coins scattered on the table, drinks that once had been in tankards spilled over the floor and chairs. 

‘’You better watch your damn mouth around here, elf.’’ The orc said. Trying to push himself back to his feet. ‘’Others might not show you the same mercy.’’ as he pushed Astarion from his frame, he got up. Gathered some of his coins and turned around to leave. Whilst Astarion did the same. You looked back at your colleagues and they were too caught up in their own conversations to notice you left the table again. You made a split decision, not even really thinking while your legs just carried you out of the tavern the same way he left. 

He was already well out in the street again while the darkness of the night was about to lure him back into the shadows. You almost panicked, you didn't even know what you were going to say to him once you confronted him with your presence. You just let your feet carry you.

The weather had changed from a somewhat chilly afternoon to a rainy evening. Making your vision even worse. You kept on walking until you reached a crossroads. He has slipped from your vision, unknown which turn he had made, you looked around once more. Hoping to catch a glimpse of his frame. Alas, he was gone. You sighed in defeat as you wanted to turn back around, making your way back to the tavern. Coming up with an excuse as to why your clothes and hair are drenched. A small tear slipped from your eye, blending in perfectly with the raindrops that had been collecting on your cheeks. You looked down at your clothes, now completely soaked. But you didn't care anymore. Something in you stirred. A feeling you had buried deep within the depths of your heart. A flame reigniting slowly. Love. a feeling you had not felt in a while. Even only seeing him, so briefly, it brought everything back up. You looked up into the sky, closed your eyes and took a deep breath before finally turning around, walking back. Maybe you needed this. A very cruel way of the universe telling you to let him go. Fully letting him go. No more small hopes, no more wishing he would magically be on your doorstep. He slipped from your grasp tonight. Maybe rekindling was never an option to begin with.

You took a few steps back toward the tavern, hands wrapped around your own body to somewhat comfort yourself in a way. No more tears were going to be shed on the topic. It had been too long. You deserved happiness, peace. You had fought your battles. And now it was time to find your place in this life. 

‘’What's a lady like yourself doing alone on the streets at this hour?’’ a creepy voice behind you said all of a sudden. You quickly froze, and looked around. Trying to find the body that matched the voice. You found none. You quickly tried to make your way back to the tavern but realized it would still be quite the distance. And with the rain clouding your vision, you didn't really know if you were walking in the right direction. Panic rushed through your body as you tried to make out which way to go, not wanting to get lost. Suddenly a hand made its way around your waist. Roughly pulling your body into a  much larger frame. You tried to get yourself out of the grasp of the stranger but you were unable to, he was too strong. You looked over your shoulder and recognised him. It was the orc from the tavern fight. 

‘’This is a dangerous place for someone like you, you know. I should bring you somewhere safe.’’ he said, getting awfully close to your neck. He held you in a tight embrace, there was no way to get out of his grasp. ‘’I know just the place to treat a nice lady like yourself exactly the way she deserves to be treated. All the things i am going to do to yo–’’ He couldn't finish his sentence, as he started sputtering and coughing up blood. Covering your clothes and hair in drops of his bodily liquids as his body went limp behind you, you quickly got out of his grasp and stumbled forward when your foot got caught on a piece of cobblestone. You stumbled forward and cried out when your body hit the ground, hard. You took a quick peek over your shoulder whilst crawling away and saw the orcs body lay there, lifeless and cold.  A tall frame looming over his body. The figure then bent down and retrieved a dagger from the orcs neck. He wiped it clean on his clothes and slit it back into the sheath on his belt. You were terrified. You see the frame walking closer toward you as you try to get up and run away again. There were times where murder didn't bother you. But that life was in your past now. This was not the reality you wanted to live out anymore. Too much blood had been shed by your hands. 

As you were trying to regain your balance you noticed that your wrist had taken too much of your weight when you fell. You didn't know if it was broken or just badly sprained, but it hurt like hell either way. The frame got closer to you and that's when you noticed. 

The white hair, pale skin. Red eyes that had never been more aflame than they were in this moment. It was Astarion. He saved your life. You gasped when he was close enough to fully be in your vision. The very dim street lights are not doing him justice. He had never looked more beautiful than he did in this moment. His curly hair now sticking to his face from the rain, concern in his eyes. You both stared at each other in silence for a moment before you took a step toward him and pulled him into your frame. A soft sob leaving your lips as you felt him slowly wrap his arms around you, pulling you so close, like he was never going to let you go again. 

‘’I’m sorry.’’ he said softly after staying in the moment for a while. You look up at him in confusion. ‘’I am sorry that I didn't try hard enough. I am sorry that I never really told you how I felt. I am sorry that–’’ before he could even continue his unnecessary apologies you kissed him. Softly, so tenderly. Hands cupping his cheeks. He was taken aback by your action but quickly melted into the kiss. A hand going up to the back of your neck, one lingering on your lower back. You pull back from him for a second and look into his eyes, trying to see if there's any form of hesitation in his stare. But there isn't. 

‘’You don't have to say sorry. If anyone has to apologize it is me. I should've told you how I felt. I should've made the effort too. I guess this is on both of us. But I want you to know there has not been a day where I haven't thought about you.’’ you say. ‘’There are many things that have stopped me in the past. Many things I feared. But I am done being scared.’’ 

You look into his eyes. A small smile crept on his lips while you were talking. One you have missed so much, one you had been hoping to see every day for the past year. But fear has gotten the best of you. Your ego being too fragile, too weak. A small young girl, frightened of abandonment, had been making decisions in your life to make the risk as small as possible. But you were done with being afraid. You would rather risk the fear than live the rest of your days alone. 

Astarion pulled you close again and placed a small kiss on your forehead. 

‘’This is where our future begins.’’ 

And it was then that you fully realized, he is more of yourself than you are. Whatever our souls are made of, his and yours were the same.

[he1chouarts]

I’m actually amazed at Astarion on my second run in ways I totally missed the first time. This is why I wanted to revisit Act 1 so badly, it was clear to me that there were echoes of things I’d failed to trigger or experience initially.

I think I dove so quickly into racking up approval that I launched past a lot of the early interactions that aren’t necessarily forced in-game or even ‘exclamation mark’ triggered. The first 12 hours alone were a fucked up mystery since I was being coached on how to play by my husband and he would refuse to explain certain mechanics that ended up being quality of life issues (like the fact that you really should start long resting and checking in with companions relatively quickly). I thank him for pushing me into this experience since I was a complete newbie, but it sort of cast a veil over the first big chunk of Act 1.

I feel now like I’m actually getting to see Astarion’s personality unfurl in a much more natural way, and it makes his Act 2 behavior make so much more sense and feel so much less disjointed. The romance is in line with the natural character development now, and it’s even more beautiful to see.

Like…Astarion drank from a bear and he’s so proud of it he has to drunkenly brag about it to his only friend in the camp. That was probably the first bear he’s ever drained, let’s think on this. He’s spent his whole life in Baldur’s Gate. No bears. Being suddenly free of Cazador must’ve been so disorienting, the sun so terrifying, until it slowly becomes his norm. You let him drink from you, and that was marvelous for him! He’s literally like a kid…in a way, he actually gets to be a vampire for the first time. Ever. No rats. No starving. No handing perfectly good, warm blooded mortals over to Cazador before creeping away to his dorm to hopefully just be left alone by the other spawn.

My dude is on vampire Rumspringa. Whether you’re romancing him or not, you’re his best frat bro. Life is kinda fuckin’ awesome when it’s not horribly terrifying. The moments are fleeting, but he does share them with you from time to time! He must really be happy…

First time around, I missed so many dialogues that clearly went from “life is great, I don’t want to go back to Cazador” to “I must amass fathomless power to bring Cazador to heel,” and those conversations contextualize the absolute sea of change that is going on inside his skull right before your eyes. It’s so obvious how he’s flailing, scared, elated, charmed by every little thing, and how these new experiences are threatening to alter him to his marrow. It’s like his murdery outbursts are a physical representation of him railing against the conscience blossoming inside his chest. It’s petulant. It’s bothersome. It hurts. He doesn’t know how to live outside of survival mode. He doesn’t know how to live. His power hungry tirades that don’t seem to make sense with the other calmer, more thoughtful exchanges are the death throes of a brain chemistry that has been driven by nothing but extreme trauma for two centuries.

The small fucking things keep me up at night, and I missed them. Over 200 hours of gameplay, and I still missed some of the sweetest bits. Wow.

[feyascorner]

suggestion for a funny but fluff fic or miniseries: Modern day Baldurs gate /faerun, were Ascended Astarion and GN Consort reader have lived a couple of centuries together and are still acting like newlyweds / deeply in love and just obsessed with each other. (but also dress gothic/victorian or like they don't belong in the current timeline.)

Would be funny if its written from the perspective of a new servant or a party guest- Maybe they mess up using medieval words when trying to describe modern things and the POV person is not aware they are vampires.

idk Dracula investigator reporter style- Thoughts?

anon you're such a genius for this1!!! THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE UGH I TWEAKED IT A BIT THOUGH W THE PERSPECTIVE PART I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND <33 (also this is not proofread)

A ball in this day and age is uncommon.

At first, Alfira was skeptical. Especially considering the party's hosts were famous for being---a rather eccentric couple. Inviting but strange at times. Dressing in garbs similar to the pictures Alfira has of her great great great grandmother, it was natural that they'd stick out like sore thumbs in high society. But with the pay proposed to her, Alfira could dare not decline playing her instrument at the party. Even more so when she realized how exclusive the party really was.

She'd been invited to stay at their obnoxiously large mansion alongside the other servants for the week preceding the event, and while the sensible decision would be to practice her piece, her naturally curious nature got the better of her. And now, she hides an entire notebook under her pillow regarding all the peculiar things about the couple.

'No. 1: They rarely show their face during the daytime. Perhaps they simply don't want to expose their skin without a concerning amount of sunscreen? Everyone online raves about how bad the sun is for your skin nowadays.

No. 2: The kitchen is completely off-limits to everyone but the head chef. It reeks anytime I go near it, so I don't mind.

No. 3: He calls them their consort. Weird. Is that considered affectionate with rich people?

No. 4: We're not allowed to take our mirrors outside of our rooms. This one I really don't understand.'

The list goes on for ages.

Alfira's observations are ones done from across rows of other recruits or servants, given how rare of an occasion it is to see either of them. Though, she's noted that where one is, the other isn't far away. They're practically attached at the hip, and even if she's a complete outsider, it's easy to tell how smitten they are for one another.

And with how well she was being treated (the food and rooms alike) under their care, Alfira began to feel a sort of guilt for suspecting so much. They surely didn't deserve such obsessive note-taking when all she could see was the way Astarion pecked your forehead before lending you his arm, only gentle laughter ringing in the air.

Perhaps the two of you were truly just a happy couple. A strange one, sure, but happy.

The day of the event comes in no time. Despite the lack of preparation, Alfira manages to play her main musical piece with minimal slip-ups, and continues to leisurely play as she watches all the wealthy guests. The ballroom bustles with people, and because she knows that she isn't acquainted with anyone here, her eyes are naturally drawn to a crowd in the center of the room where you and Astarion are greeting the guests. As usual, your arm is locked tightly with his.

In a room full of dresses and suits, the two of you still somehow manage to stick out. The intricate designs on your attire aren't all to blame, because Alfira swears she sees a sort of aura around the two of you.

It must be a trick of the light, though, surely.

When Alfira and the other musical hires begin to play a slow dance song, you eagerly pull your partner to the dance floor. The dance comes to easily to the two of you, eyes so loving as they're set on one another that Alfira nearly feels jealous. The other single guests seem to feel the same way as Astarion leans into your ear and grins with a whisper.

Alfira squints.

'No. 32,' she notes in her head. 'He has sharp teeth.'

Once the dance is over, she thinks her hand may very nearly fall off. But when she sees you and your partner approaching in her direction, the pain is immediately forgotten as she straightens her back, eyes wide when you offer her a smile.

"Alfira, right?"

"Y-yes! That's me."

"I apologize I couldn't greet you sooner," you place your free hand on Astarion's arm. "We were so swept up in the preparations we didn't get to welcome the truly important guests."

Alfira blinks. A guest? She's not a guest.

You huff. "You really do look just as I remembered you to be! Right, Astarion?"

"I don't particularly remember the bard from then to be frank, my love," he responds, as if Alfira isn't standing right in front of them.

'No. 33,' she notes again. 'He's kind of a jerk to anyone else.'

But more importantly, a bard? She's a musician! Not merely a wandering bar entertainer with a bloody lute and a corset to go along with it. It's even stranger that you seem so familiar with her, even though she's only first talking to you right now. Is she finally losing it?

"Sorry, have we met before?" Alfira blurts.

"Ah," you laugh. "Apologies for my informality. We have, but I doubt you'd remember."

What does that mean?

"Although it pains me to tear you away from such a fascinating conversation, my love, we should greet the others," Astarion chips in, and Alfira inwardly sighs in relief. "Good day, bard."

That damn word again--

As Astarion leads you away back toward the crowd with you pressed close to his side, he smiles down at you while you whisper something he finds humorous up to him. Alfira realizes she's never been that close to either of you, and fears she may have missed her chance---as strange as the encounter was.

However, she does notice one thing about the couple as you walk away.

Both loving sets of eyes are the same piercing shade of bloody red.

[anderstrevelyan]

I’m interested in your theory of what Gortash was a counsellor of? Or what department of high ranking official of the city he was working for?

Oooh thank you for the opportunity to talk about Baldurian politics 🙏 (somehow this developed footnotes) (and got really long, whoops)

I don't think I'm settled on who initially hired him—it could be one of the five officers of the city* who typically hire bureaucrats, or a duke (since it seems Florrick works primarily with Ravengard and the Fist).

I think most likely would be Earl Namorran (the Harbormaster circa 1482) or Thalamra Vanthampur** (either while she was Master of Drains and Underways or after becoming a duke), though I do picture some leeway in who the counsellors advise once they're in place, more about where their advice is needed than necessarily being tied to a particular area.

(I was trying to source back where I got that impression, and I think it's Wyll describing Gortash as trying to be an advisor to "the peers" in general:)

(He's thinking back to 1485 and before, when he still lived in the Gate—the "bit player" part became less true the closer you get to 1492, I imagine, especially with the narrator line that attributes the title counsellor to Gortash describing him as having considerable influence on industry and politics)

Some areas I could see Gortash being a fit to advise on would be a) weaponry (but we know the Watch marshal is skeptical of his ideas in 1492, and Ulder Ravengard certainly doesn't like his advice, so I can't picture him spending much time advising the Watch or the Fist despite any overtures), b) the flow of goods in and out of the city, and c) technology.

(Technology is why I'm imagining Vanthampur as a possible entrypoint: the drains and underways porfolio is prestigious because it's so technically demanding in a way that's beyond most patriars.)

And speaking of technology, personally I see him working a lot with the Gondians and the ways they interface with the city!

After Duke Torlin Silvershield's death, the high artificer of Gond becomes Andar Beech, who oversaw the temple's day-to-day under Silvershield and was critical of his involvement in politics—so I think that leaves an opening for someone outside of Gond's church to step in and do some of that liaising. Because the city really, really cares about the Gondians—they maintain those giant cranes that move all the goods at the docks and keep trade flowing, relevant to Namorran's work, and they repair plumbing in patriars' homes, relevant to Vanthampur's—and I could see him advising parliament and the dukes on how they might best get more use out of the Gondians and their inventions. (While at the same time using them as jumping-off points for his own.)

We know the Gondians likely had a lot of secret projects going on (I don't have a link, but the rumour's from Descent into Avernus!), and Gortash eventually takes their Foundry through fraud and blackmail, so I can picture him using his role as counsellor to twist his way in to learn more for leverage and to start to legitimize a partnership between him and the Gondians in the public's eye: setting himself up to take direct, forceful control like we see him having in 1492.

-----

*those five officer positions being: Harbormaster, High Constable and Master of Walls, Master of Drains and Underways, Master of Cobbles, and the Purse Master, per Murder in Baldur's Gate

**Follower-of-Zariel and owner-of-a-bathhouse-that-by-1492-has-a-bane-bhaal-and-mrykul-temple-under-it Thalamra Vanthampur!

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Thinking About Evie (Ace!Tav) Growing Old with Astarion

A/N: It's the spooky season and with it some melancholy. As always thanks to @leighsartworks216 for letting me ramble.

Consider this a pseudo prequel to some of these headcanons: How Astarion and Evie (Ace!Tav) Would React to Each Other Dying

For all Astarion has tried in so many ways to keep his Evie alive and safe, there is nothing he can do against time

At first, it feels like something to be celebrated

For a long time Evie didn't expect to grow old

Her life was so focused on surviving to the next day it never occurred to her that some day she'd look in the mirror and find her hair streaked with grey and crows feet around her eyes

Astarion can't help but be caught in her joy

He never expected his life to end up like this; he's married! He owns a shop and never has to worry about where his next meal is coming from. Gods he's even happy.

Of course there are the downsides to growing old

Evie can't help but feel it as Astarion stays ever as he was

She knows she's slowing down. They settle into a village outside Baldur's Gate and she's afraid she's holding him back. She can't really adventure anymore, but that doesn't mean he has to stop. He can go on without her, but Astarion stays, setting up a shop with odd hours and settling into domesticity the likes of which neither of them dreamed they would have.

Her eyes start to fade, and he helps her find a pair of glasses teasing how her eyes are so beautiful it's about time they got them framed.

More grey comes into her hair and he takes the strands between his fingers claiming they're made of silver.

The wrinkles of her face get deeper and he kisses the corner of her mouth taking full credit for all the good ones and maybe even some of the bad ones

The crease between her brows he knows for a fact was his fault.

Even when it gets the point when the stairs up to their room start to get a bit much, he picks her up; "I never was the prince charming type, but for you, my love, I'll make an exception".

She knows he's trying to make her feel better, to make her feel like less of a burden, but she knows it hurts. She knows it's hard for him to watch her start to fade.

She tells him as much, saying that when it starts to be that time, when it becomes too much, he doesn't have to stay.

Astarion actually gets angry when she says this, she can see it flash in his face and it's a testament to just how much he's grown that he doesn't immediately lash out only asking her why in the hells would she even think that.

Yes, it hurts. Yes every day he is more and more aware that their time together is limited. And yes, when she does go, he's not sure what he'll do. But he's not leaving. That vow he made on their wedding day wasn't idle talk. He promised til death do us part and he meant it. No matter how much it might hurt, he will not rob himself of a single second of life with her in it. 

He tells her, perhaps her out living him is a good thing. He personally condemned 1,000 souls to hell and ruined countless others besides. Maybe he needs that extra time to make up for it so that when he does finally die, he'll actually be able to find her in the next life

But, on a lighter note Astarion teasing Evie for having a sexy trophy husband when he's four times her age

[chaoticbardlady99]

Astarion x Tav, but get this… A Druid with a wyvern drake hybrid (think the dragons from GOT and HOTD). Saddle and EVERYTHING and it’s not small, no it’s like 80 feet long with a 98 foot wingspan, black scales, and very very jealous when Astarion and Tav have alone time

If You Give a Dragon a Steak- It Will Bully You Into Flying (Astarion x GN! Reader)

I AM SOOOO SORRY! I must have seen this and just forgot about actually posting it!

CW: Brief mentions of smut, brief mentions of trauma

Not my pic, but this is what I was thinking of, but all black. Her name is Cala- Cala means light in Elvish. Cala refers to Astarion as isk which is Star in draconic.

What’s actually really cool about this is that there is something called a Dragon Knight in DND and you can link your soul with an actual Dragon (so cool, right!?)

This is lightly edited 🫡💜 please leave a comment or a like if you enjoyed my story! I would love to hear what you all think!

Astarion is used to sharing your affection with the likes of Scratch or that little Owlbear cub. Yes it was annoying from time to time and the two still live in your house, but the creature he wasn’t expecting? The giant fucking Dragon that would live in his backyard post Tadpole.

He was outside one night, just minding his own business, and a couple wing beats later- you were crying tears of joy while scratching a dragon like it was a dog.

Of all the people he had to fall in love with, it had to be a Druid Dragon Knight. Astarion knows there are worst things, but my Gods how many more animals do you need!?

Your dragon, Cala, is jet black, at least 80 feet tall with a wing span the size of Baldur’s Gate itself. She is a very friendly dragon, but also incredibly possessive. Astarion hasn’t been able to have a moment alone with you since the Netherbrain was defeated three months ago. However, he is grateful for the Dragon’s existence- she’s saved him and you multiple times when a search for a way to either cure his vampirism or his ‘allergy’ to the sun goes awry. Cala is also very nice to him and if you are gone- the dragon will shrink itself down to a comically cute lap size and sleep next to Astarion on the couch until you return.

Astarion is certain he can convince her to leave you alone at least for an afternoon.

So here he is- five or six incredibly expensive steaks in a box and walking towards a Dragon like it’s the most normal thing in all of Toril. Cala eyes him, not suspiciously, but curiously.

“Hello Night Child,” her melodious voice floats through his brain, “how can I help my person’s beloved this evening?”

Astarion grins at the last part before putting the box of Steaks on the ground.

“My beautiful scaly friend, I have brought you some steaks,” he kicks the box, “and you can have them, but they come with one condition.”

Cala’s eye becomes eye level to him and she looks amused.

“A condition? You do realize I could eat these steaks and you in one swift motion?”

“Yes,” Astarion says, “but I think we both know how upset Tav would be if you ate me.”

There is a huff of agreement and a soft look in her eye. Astarion knows he has nothing to worry about.

“What are your conditions, isk?”

“I am so very glad you asked,” Astarion says, trying to keep his nerve from dying out, “I want one evening alone with Tav.”

“No.”

Dammit.

“No!?” He says incredulously, “what do you mean no!?”

“I mean that you spent time alone with Tav for the last six months while I had to be without my home- my person. You can wait at least another six months.”

Astarion just gapes at the giant beast. If he wasn’t sure she’d kill him in three seconds flat- he might just try to slay the damn thing.

“This is! Are you!? I was enslaved for 200 years!” Astarion says sputtering, “I’ve waited 200 years for Tav to come into my life! You’ve been with her since the moment you were born!”

Cala seems to consider this- her eyes thoughtful and her posture relaxed still.

“Tav wants to take you flying.”

Astarion feels like he’s going to be sick. Tav had brought it up to him when Cala first arrived. When he tried to say, “sure,” he began to dry heave. You haven’t asked him since.

It’s not that riding a dragon doesn’t appeal to him- he would love to be able to watch you in your element. Astarion just doesn’t love the idea of accidentally plummeting out of the air because you do one of your fancy tricks and he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Astarion squints at the dragon, “and?”

“Go on one flight with us and then I will leave you alone for multiple evenings as asked.”

That seems entirely too good to be true.

“Okay,” Astarion says slowly, “I agree to your terms.”

Cala’s eyes light up with Glee before looking at the box of steaks between her and Astarion.

“Do I get to keep the steaks?” Cala asks, her tail swooshing back in forth in the grass out of excitement.

Astarion scoffs, “what do you think?”

Her massive tail stills and there is a sad look on her contradictory (cute and scary) dragon face.

“Oh don’t give me that the sweet disappointed, ‘I’m not getting cuddly Astarion’ pout.”

And yet, Cala persists. Throwing his hands up in defeat- Astarion marches away and listens as Cala devours the box of steaks.

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

You are practically skipping as you hold Astarion’s hand. You had been over the moon when Astarion asked if he could go on a ride with you and Cala. You immediately dragged him away when you got home- something about wanting to do it before the moon gets too low. He didn’t consider having to be worried about the sun melting him to ash if you don’t get back in time.

“If you become comfortable, we could even fly over the Ice Spires and the Spine of the World!” You say.

He offers you a tight lipped smile and you squeeze his hand in reassurance. You asked him multiple times if he was sure and he told you he is nervous, but wants to see what all this “flying nonsense” is all about. Astarion won’t tell you that he has essentially been cornered into this by a massive fucking dragon- only because he doesn’t want to become a snack (again, now that he thinks about it. Cazador did drink all his blood once).

Astarion’s stomach is churning, but your excitement has loosened the knot of nerves that are threatening to suffocate his being. He hasn’t felt this kind of fear and anxiety since Cazador.

Tav and Cala won’t allow anything bad to happen.

That’s what he keeps telling himself when he gets on the saddle behind you and all of a sudden- Astarion is in the air on a fucking dragon.

“DOESN’T BALDUR’S GATE LOOK SO SMALL!?”

Astarion wouldn’t know- his eyes are clenched shut and he has his face buried in the crook of your neck. The sound of your enthusiastic, beating heart helps him focus on calming down. Astarion thinks of laying with you in bed, reading a funny novel together, and any other shenanigans you get into together before he finally opens his eyes.

If Astarion needed air- he would have died immediately from losing all of it.

If someone had told him even 50 years ago that he would be riding a dragon, free of his master, and with the love of his entire life giggling with glee in his arms- he would have told them to piss off.

Astarion has never seen anything like it in his 239 years of life. He doesn’t think he ever wants to land. Why had he been so afraid before!? This is amazing!

“It is very small, Darling!” Astarion muses, “is that?”

“The Fields of the Dead?” You shout excitedly, “it sure is!”

Astarion initially thought it would be a quick five minute ordeal, but soon you were both flying over all of Elturgard. You soared over the Reaching Woods and the Sunset Mountains. Your last tourist attraction for him was the Lake of Dragons- Astarion swears he has never seen a more bluer blue- before heading back home. Much to Astarion’s disappointment.

You help him navigate his way off of Cala and the Dragon nudges him with her nose as a sign of trust. Astarion scratches her nose before following you back into your shared home.

“What did you think!?”

You whirl around and look at him with wide, nervous eyes. You are playing with your thumbs incessantly like you usually do when you worry you may have disappointed him. It’s such a silly notion- you could never disappoint him.

Astarion pauses your twiddling by taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I would like to fly over the Northlander Isles at some point,” he says, “if you would be willing to have me join you on a flight again.”

You beam at him before getting up on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips.

“Astarion- you are always welcome where I am. I couldn’t think of a better person to see the world and this life with even if I tried.”

He couldn’t help but cry at your statement. Astarion is so grateful to be able to call you his home.

At least Astarion was finally able to worship you properly since Cala kept her promise.

You are riding him as Astarion pushes his hips up to meet your downward thrusts with eager enthusiasm. When both of your climaxes hit- you put your face in the crook of his neck and giggle.

“What’s so funny, Darling?”

You look up at him- hair beautifully messy and eyes looking blissful. Another giggle escapes your lips as you begin to say what you are thinking.

“Save a dragon, ride a Vampire.”

[thechaoticdruid]

[This Bites] (1)

Pairing: Astarion x F! Chubby! MC

Plot: Through some mysterious and very miraculous events, a young woman finds herself literally stuck with a character from her current video game obsession. You can guess it already. It's an isekai type fanfic. Except in this case Astarion is stuck in our modern world.  I was gonna call the MC Tav, but since the actual game character Tav is mentioned I just named her Winnie. 

Content Warnings: Death….sorta, An asshole of a stepdad, MC uses She/Her pronouns, eventual smut and sexual content in future parts. Characters may be Ooc, grammar/spelling mistakes are possible. MC has very low self esteem. Depressed MC.

Chapter One: You are here!

Chapter Two: Here!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Argh I knew something would go wrong with this game!” The female huffed, staring down at her computer. Her eyes scanned over the error message titled ‘Character not found.’ She gritted her teeth in frustration. “God forbid I try mods….” 

The young woman groaned, shutting her laptop and falling back onto the bed. Apparently after finally installing a cheat mod onto Baldur's Gate 3 the game decided to retaliate and locked her out of her save files. She couldn't even create a new character either! The same ‘Character not found’ message seemed to pop up no matter what she did. The girl’s name was Winnie, a college student in her early twenties who was still living at home. Not too long ago Winnie had gotten the game upon release. She'd played it several times since then and even yet was still able to find some hidden secrets she didn't notice the first time. Honestly this game had really helped with her current state. Life had just been dull and miserable. All her friends had moved on and had their own lives now and she really wasn't the best at making new ones. 

She had a dull boring job, did online writing classes and also had to put up with the asshole her mother married. This game had been a godsend for her these past few months. It gave her an escape. A way to be someone else, at least for a little while anyway. 

Not to mention live out her somewhat cringey teenage girl fantasy of dating a walking red flag of a vampire. In this game she felt important. Like she was some badass heroine who was ready to take on any foe.  Not the shy, scared, awkward woman who she saw in the mirror.

Her cat Maddie broke Winnie from her thoughts as she hopped up onto the bed and crawled onto the young woman's chest. Winnie ran her hand over the cat's thick fluffy black fur.  Maddie gave a small mew before purring noisily and gently kneading her claws into Winnie’s chest.

Winnie sighed, scratching the sides of Maddie's face as she was soothed by the feline’s pur. 

“WINNIE! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!!” A gruff male voice shouted from the other room, causing Maddie to jump and scramble off of Winnie and hide under the bed. 

The brunette haired girl sighed and got up, walking out of the room and cautiously stepping down the hall. 

“Yes, Brian?” Winnie spoke up as she entered the kitchen.  She looked over to see her stepfather stumbling about. Brian was a rather large man with short dark hair and beard. He was well….very unpleasant.

“Where are the goddamn car keys?” He growled out. 

“Dunno, I don't drive.” Winnie said calmly as she leaned up against the wall, “mom probably put them somewhere. Check the coffee table by the recliner.” 

Brian stomped off, a tiny tan fluff of a dog following after him.  He grabbed the keys before walking back into the kitchen. 

“I'm going to the store. Keep that stupid cat of yours in your room! It keeps shitting all over the carpet!” 

“I've told you over and over. Maddie only goes in the litter box. It's your dog that keeps making a mess in the house because you don't take him outside when he needs to go.” Winnie rolled her eyes.

“Don't fucking talk back to me! You're lucky your mother lets you stay here, if it was up to me you'd have been kicked out of here a long time ago.”  Brain snapped, making Winnie flinch a little at his tone.  “Now make sure the trash is taken out before I get back.” He said before stomping out the front door and slamming it behind him.  Winnie flinched once again at the loud sound before letting out a sigh and pulling the trash out of the can despite the fact that she distinctly remembered her mother telling Brian to take it out this morning. 

Winnie took out the trash before coming back inside heading back to her room. Her eyes scanned over her laptop as Maddie crawled out from under the bed.  She walked back over and opened the device, logging herself on before attempting to open her game back up.

[Character not found.]

Winnie groaned before filling out a bug report and then putting her computer up. She needed to get ready and go to work anyway. 

~•~•~•~•~•~•~

A few days had passed and nothing seemed to work. Winnie had disabled and deleted all the mods, sent in about a dozen but reports and still nothing. The only thing left she could try now was uninstalling the game and then reinstalling it. 

Winnie sat on the bed waiting patiently for the game to download though she knew it would at least take an hour. She pulled out her cellphone, noticing a text from her mother. The message was informing Winnie that Brian and her mom wouldn't be home until late tonight. At least this meant she'd have plenty of peace and quiet in the meantime. The young woman spread out on her bed, stretching her limbs before slowly closing her eyes, resting lazily.

Time passed as she slowly dozed off…Eventually she was awoken by the sound of beeping? It was some strange noise that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She quickly looked over to her laptop and her eyes widened as she noticed it seemed to be going crazy. Blinking and beeping.

“What the fuck!?” She exclaimed, grasping her computer and frantically clicking the mousepad. 

Then the screen went black before seemingly returning to the home screen. However, everything on the computer was gone save for one shortcut. Baldur's Gate 3.

The game’s shortcut sat in the very center of the computer, practically screaming at Winnie to click on it. She clicked it and the game opened up. 

Everything seemed to go as normal up until the title screen.  Winnie’s eyes widened in shock as she noticed all of the menu options were gone aside from (New Game).  She raised an eyebrow before clicking on the only option available and waiting as the opening cinematic played. Everything continued as it usually did. Winnie created her Tav, a human druid with an urchin background, then proceeded to hop into the game. 

Winnie did a bit of a speed run, moving through the Nautiloid as quickly as she could. She recruited Us, Lae'zel and freed Shadowheart before reaching the helm and crashing the ship.

Upon reaching the ravaged beach was when things began to get strange. 

The game buffered and blinked a bit, skipping the scene where Tav would check themselves out followed by some voiced narration. Tav was kinda just there on the beach. 

“Oh God. The game is glitching….” Winnie whined. She sighed in annoyance before clicking on the ground where she wanted Tav to walk. Winnie REALLY did not feel like uninstalling the game and waiting another hour to try again so she decided she'd play for as long as the game would allow.  Winnie had Tav wander over towards where Shadowheart would normally be laying after crash, only to find an empty space where the half elf should be.  Winnie groaned assuming it was another glitch before continuing on along the beach. While most things were there like the dead bodies and the intellect devourer enemies, Winnie did not see any sign of Shadowheart at all. Not even near the ruins where she'd be if she wasn't rescued by the player.  Winnie decided to quickly go and look for the other characters, sneaking her way past the little brain creatures and moving down the path where Astarion, the elven rogue companion, would be waiting to ambush the player.  He was Winnie’s favorite. She had a soft spot for sassy morally grey characters with tragic backstories. And he was also secretly a vampire to boot which just added to the appeal.  Winnie had her Tav approach the area before she let out a sigh of relief seeing as the vampiric elf was in his starting area shouting for help like normal. At least the game wasn't completely broken.

“Hurry I've got one of those brain things cornered.” Astarion’s dialogue began as soon as Tav got close enough to interact with him.  “There in the grass, you can kill it can't you? Like you killed the others?” 

“Uh….I kinda actually didn't kill any of them…Heheh.” Winnie chuckled before dragging her mouse over the dialogue choices.

1. [Easily, stand back.]

2. Kill it yourself. You seem capable.

3. Leave

Winnie clicked on choice 1 before her Tav walked over to check the tall grass for the intellect devourer that was actually non-existent. 

Instead a wild boar leapt from the grass and made Tav jump in surprise, giving Astarion the perfect opportunity to strike. He pinned the druid to the ground, pressing a dagger to her neck.

“Shhh…Shhh….Not a sound…Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” The vampire practically purred out.  Winnie blushed, a shiver going down her spine. There was a reason she always found herself choosing the elven vampire as her character’s love interest. Initially when she first got the game she felt he came off as a pompous prick (which he is) but damn he was so fucking seductive. It drove Winnie absolutely mad. Not to mention it helped given he had sweet delicious character development later on in his story and actually could be kind of a sweetheart… To the player at least.  

The romance in this game had to be Winnie’s favorite aspect of it. She was very romantically inexperienced to say the least and this just added to what made the game her perfect escape from reality. It made her feel like someone actually liked her. Winnie prepared to select the next dialogue choice when suddenly she noticed they had changed. 

1. [……….]

2. ………..

3. ……….

4. ……….

She looked up and saw a smirk form on Astarion's lips, his eyes appeared as if he was staring back at Winnie from through the screen. Before she could speak Astarion slit Tav's throat and let them drop onto the ground.

“What. The. Fuck.” The brunette haired female went pale as she stared at her computer screen. Astarion sighed in what sounded like relief?

“Finally, we've done that old song and dance so many times! The novelty has completely worn off.” He stretched out his arms, before wiping his dagger on the ground. “It feels so invigorating to try something new, wouldn't you agree?” 

“Uhh…..What's going on?” Winnie asked aloud. She was shaking a bit in both confusion and a little fear.  Her character was kinda just laying on the ground dead…and Astarion was talking….to her!?

“Oh dear, it seems I've gone and frightened you. Ahaha!” Astarion chuckled before appearing to move closer to the screen, even going so far to place his hand on it…

“Hello darling…”