#i hate cazador for the things he's done to her

[rhapsodyandwoe]

Speaking of Penelope Loremaker, I don't know if y'all remember her, but I'll definitely be adding her as an NPC/secondary/request sort of Muse over here.

She's a Mephistopheles Tiefling, Guild Artisan, Lore Bard, and Eternal Designer to the Exalted Vampire Lord and Master Cazador Szarr. She was a gift to him from Raphael (the wonderful uncle that he is) to celebrate the Vampire Lord's pending Ascension (maybe if he gets in good with Daddy's friend, Daddy will let him have the crown).

She's Cazador's youngest spawn, spared from the cells and the scars so that she may forever decorate his gawdy ass Palace. She was close with Astarion.

If one of our threads/plots/etc ever involves needing to replace Astarion for the ritual, it's probably going to be Nelly. (sorry nelly, Cazador cares more about power than he does his drapes)

[sserpente]

Forgiveness of Blood

What if Tav and Astarion met a little differently? What if Tav was someone else? A half-vampire? What if Tav…was Cazador’s daughter?

A/N: *slides a plate of Astarion-shaped biscuits*

Words: 1920 Warnings: mentions of rape, murder, and abuse, violence, half vampire!Tav

The gith looked tasty enough. Perhaps the half-elf with the long black braid. Hells, even the Tiefling who was seemingly burning up from the inside out promised to be delicious—sizzling, you’d dare say.

At this point, you were desperate. Any humanoid blood would do and this group camped out in the middle of nowhere, was just perfect for satiating your needs for a few nights.

You crouched down further, remaining hidden behind the bushes and the dark shadows as you licked over your humble fangs. You hated it had come to this. One of the few advantages of being a half-vampire was that you were no slave to hunger for all things sanguine. You could walk in the sun though you burned up easily and you could eat regular food without it turning to ash in your mouth to sustain you. Still, there was no denying that blood, as much as you loathed the idea, would keep you at strength.

You’d been tumbling through the wilderness for days now. Escaping the clutches of a powerful vampire lord was one thing (especially when said vampire lord was your biological father) but escaping a horde of mind flayers? That took its toll. You shook yourself upon being reminded that Cazador’s blood ran through your very veins; you were disgusted by your own body because of it.

You only knew about half the horrors he’d inflicted on hundreds, thousands of innocents, the ones on your human mother included. Pregnancy among vampires was so rare it was nearly impossible. Your mother, may the gods be kind to her wherever she was now, had never been in love with that monster, of course. He’d taken a liking to her long ago, abducted her, kept her a prisoner in his palace until the impossible happened and she ended up with child—you.

Gods, the few childhood memories still flashing before your inner eye when you rested at night were all but devastating, lonely, and…cruel. He’d meant for you to do his bidding, to become his right hand—always by his side but never on top, of course. Only you wanted nothing to do with that. You’d seen the way he treated your mother when you were right there in your crib. You never found her body. Whatever he’d done with it…you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

You were around twelve years old when you took flight and, with the help of a servant who risked and sacrificed their life to save you, left Cazador behind for good.

Your stomach growled and you took a deep breath. He had passed part of the curse of vampirism onto you. There was nothing you could change about that, whether you wished to or not. You were wary of the berries and mushrooms growing around here though and you had no energy left in you to hunt for meat. The only thing left was…blood.

There. They’re getting ready for bed. You’d wait until they all gathered around the warm campfire and fell asleep and then…you’d strike.

“Astarion! Astarion, help!”

Shit. You pulled away from the black-haired girl whose neck you were about to sink your fangs into, ready to bolt away into the darkness. A beautiful elf who’d kept away from the fire stepped into view, blocking your escape route. He glared at you with his fists clenched, ready for a fight. Something was…different about him. You hadn’t noticed him at camp before because…your lips parted. He had no heartbeat.

“You’re a spawn.” It wasn’t a question, not really. He was unusually pale, his stunning eyes were red, and as he spoke…you saw the flash of a pair of fangs.

“What are you doing here? Who are you? You better get out before I gut you,” he spat.

“Another blood-sucker? Chk,” the gith tossed in.

You lifted your hands in defence. “I mean no harm, please.”

A dire mistake, so you realised quickly. Astarion’s gaze travelled to the silver ring on your finger—a keepsake from your mother, one that granted her access to various places and chambers in Cazador’s palace: it was a silver Szarr family ring, a small round ruby in its middle.

Astarion’s expression darkened until it was downright…murderous. You had neither the energy nor enough time to react when he lunged himself at you. Your back hit the dirty ground with a thump, pain shooting up and down your spine.

You felt the sharp blade of a dagger pressed against your throat before you saw it. It was accompanied by gasps, yet no one dared to intervene—yet.

“You came for me, didn’t you? He sent you! Answer me!” he yelled, making you flinch. Cazador.

“No! I’m not, I’m…I’m hungry, I…”

“You are not touching my companions. I still need them. Are there more? Who else did he send?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, please! Let me go!” You wriggled a little in his tight grasp.

“You’re wearing his ring. You serve him.”

“I don’t serve Cazador!” you choked out.

“So you do know what I’m talking about,” he growled.

“Please, let me up and I’ll explain.”

A man with longer hair and a beard cleared his throat. “Astarion…maybe you should hear her out. The lady seems to be very much in distress.”

“That’s how they lure you in,” Astarion retorted.

“Gale’s right, Astarion. Let’s hear what she has to say. Just like when you found me, remember?” the red-skinned tiefling added.

The spawn above you took a deep breath and released you, though his dagger remained drawn and ready to slice you open. You didn’t bother to get back up and instead, knelt on the ground in a weak attempt to prove you truly meant no harm.

“Speak before I change my mind. I do so love a midnight bloodbath.”

Chills ran up and down your spine. “I…I told you, I don’t work for Cazador. You’re…you’re one of his spawn, aren’t you? I don’t understand, why would he send people after you? Did you escape? How does he not control you?”

“We are not talking about me, we are talking about you.”

“Right.” You told him your name and offered a weak smile to the group. “I’m from Baldur’s Gate too. I have no idea where we are now though, to be honest. This is going to sound hard to believe but I was kidnapped by mind flayers.”

“Trust me,” Gale said, “it’s not as hard to believe as you might think.”

“Yeah…same thing happened to us, soldier,” the tiefling added.

“It…it did? I…I’ve been roaming the woods for weeks in search of civilisation.”

“You’re a spawn,” Astarion said, dismay swinging in his smooth voice.

“No. I’m not a spawn. I’m…I’m only half a vampire.”

Gale gasped. “A dhampir? How’s that even possible?”

“You know...” the black-haired girl you intended to bite intervened, “…when two people like each other very much, they do this thing…”

Gale snorted in response.

You nodded. “She’s right. Although…my biological parents did, in fact, not like each other when it happened. All I ever wanted was to be free from his disgusting legacy. I escaped from the palace when I was twelve years old. I don’t need blood to survive and I can walk in the sun, I just…I was so hungry I didn’t know what else to do.” You turned to the black-haired girl. “I wasn’t going to kill you. I just needed a few drops to regain my strength.”

“Huh, I think I’m having a déjà-vu.”

Meanwhile, Astarion’s face remained blank. One by one, the puzzle pieces you’d fed him fell into place—and he understood. “You…Cazador has a daughter?”

You nodded yet again. “My mother was human. She was a captive, much like you, I presume.”

“Well that certainly explains a lot,” Gale murmured.

It would all be fine now. Astarion knew the truth—he knew you weren’t here to bring him back to Cazador, and that never meant to kill any of his friends…

“You are…Cazador’s daughter,” Astarion repeated. Slowly. Dangerously so.

“I…I don’t know what he did to you. But I-I’m sorry. I’ve seen him in action, the man is a monster. I’m not like my father. I promise.”

He was still ready to kill you, you could feel it with every fibre of your being. You were not welcome here, not according to him anyway. Gods, you hated you were such an empathetic person! You couldn’t even tell whether the tears pricking your eyes were because of the crude hostility you were met with…or the fact that whatever Astarion had been through must have been even more terrible than what you had experienced living with the vampire lord.

“I’ll…I’ll leave.”

“No. You’re staying. Darling. You are going to be the perfect leverage to guarantee my freedom. And if not,”—he shrugged with a malicious smirk—“it will be a delight to kill you.”

Your blood ran cold. “Astarion…please, I…”

“Hold on! Let’s all just take a deep breath, yeah? No one is going to be leveraged here. You’re welcome to stay at our camp regardless, though. I am Karlach.” She points at herself, pleased. “It seems like you could use the company. We got food too. Real food, I mean. That’s Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale—but you already knew that—that over there, sleeping, is Wyll and…that’s it. Halsin’s probably still out in the woods, you’ll meet him in the morning.”

Astarion growled. “Cazazdor’s blood runs through her veins. The madness runs in the family. I ought to stake you right now. I’m keeping an eye on you.”

They let you stay. Against all reason, some space was made for you at camp and you were spared a bedroll. You couldn’t say you were a fan of sleeping under the stars but beggars couldn’t be choosers. None of them wanted to share their makeshift tent with Cazador’s daughter—and you couldn’t say you blamed them.

Regardless, no matter how much you turned and tossed, of course, sleep didn’t find you even after a quick but generous meal prepared by Gale. Astarion had been ready to kill you today. He probably had if Karlach and the others hadn’t stepped in.

And against all reason…you felt guilty. The pain in Astarion’s eyes…you’d seen your own reflected in it. Only the gods knew what he’d been through… You sighed and climbed to your feet, making your way over to his tent. Was this suicide? Quite possibly.

At first, you thought he was trancing. But then, from the corner of your eye, you saw a slight movement of his hand, one that would have been impossible to see with mere human sight. You cleared your throat.

“Astarion?”

Nothing.

“Astarion, I…I just want to say I’m sorry. I know you must hate me, I understand that. But for what it’s worth…I truly am sorry. Cazador is a monster. He killed my mother when he tired of her and only the gods know what he did with her corpse. Not a single memory I have with him is a good one. All I remember is pain, loneliness, and humiliation. We…we might share the same blood but I swear to you, I am nothing like him. If you won’t believe anything else…please believe that.”

There was no response for a while as you stood there, dumbfounded, waiting for his remarkably charming voice to sound. Then, finally…he shifted.

“I believe you.”

You breathed out audibly, relief flooding your veins. It was all he said. But for now…it was enough.

A/N: I feel like I'm going to continue this somehow. Maybe. Potentially when they're back in Baldur's Gate? Choices, choices...

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Skin I Hate

Astarion wakes up from yet another nightmare but this one brings even more disgusting memories that he is used to.

TW: Mentions of SA, mild self-harm Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

The weird perk of being an elf is being conscious when dreaming.

Non-elves are blissed with sleep, letting the dark void consume them for a night. Meanwhile, adult elves have to see their own past and re-live the memories in these few hours of meditation.

When it's good memories, it is a dream. When it's bad, it's a nightmare. And unfortunately for Astarion, his memories only fuel the despair.

"Here you are, boy," he hears his master's disgusting voice. "Such a handsome young elf you are."

Cazador is dead. It's not real. It's yet another nightmare that has come to haunt him. The old vampire was so pathetic he didn't even bother to hunt himself, fearing the only thing he could truly enjoy as an undead. There is nothing to be afraid of. Astarion stabbed him twenty-eight times, slaughtered him like a pig he was.

But nightmares keep coming, and there is nothing Astarion can do to stop them.

"You don't want to do this, but you are still doing it."

Astarion remembers everything. He doesn't remember his past when he could see his reflection or the sun, but his mind has preserved all the memories he wishes to forget.

The desire to peel his skin off. The dirty touches. The never-ending tortures and hunger. Sometimes, Astarion thinks this is the reality and the last two years are just a hallucination, an evil trick. Freedom, safety, a woman to hold. It’s all unreal.

Astarion is still locked in the tomb, isn't he? He is still in the kennel, flayed and beaten. He is still in his master's full power, doing every disgusting thing he orders.

… Astarion opens his eyes. He sees the wooden ceiling above him. He hears birds chirring in the distance - it's late afternoon, warm and sunny. Astarion can't understand where he is; the nightmare still holds a grip on his mind. The undead heart feels like a tombstone in the chest.

There is an urge to hide, run, and return to his master because the longer Astarion is absent, the more painful the tortures will be.

Then, he sees a set of armor, too small for him to wear. A travel sack with food he doesn't need, and a sword he doesn't know how to fight with.

Tav.

The realization resembles a lover's embrace, gentle and strong. It was indeed a nightmare. And this is the reality for Astarion. Freedom. A journey under the starry night sky. Days spent in shelters like this abandoned hut in the middle of nowhere.

And Tav's love.

Her trust, her caress. Her loud laughter at his jokes, her concentrated face when she takes care of her weapon and armor.

Their innocent mockery of each other. "Astarion, what does it say?" she asks, pointing at the board at the tavern. "Tav, I still can't apprehend how you lived up to being an adult without getting reading skills." "Oh, I am sorry I was too busy surviving! Not everyone is born in cities!"

His little brave Tav, whose heart is big enough for them both. His fierce companion who believes in him a hundred times more than he believes in himself. Her imminent faith in good, in people. In the chance, there is a cure for vampirism, in the idea that evil forces will always be defeated.

There was time when he thought Tav was just stupid. It took him a while to realize her faith comes from dark places. She knows the sorrows of this world no less than him, but she chooses to always see the light.

And Astarion chooses to be with her.

“Look what you have done to her”, something dark whispers in his ear. "She has to hide in shadows with you. If it wasn't for you, she could stay in the nearest village and sleep comfortably, but because of you, she has to stay here, in this wretched hole of a place. You are tainted with blood and pain, and you taint her as well."

Astarion tries to shut this voice up. But he can't. His own skin feels disgusting as if covered in acid sweat. His body is dirty. His touches are cursed. After everything he did, after everything done to him, after all these people he slept with, after everything happened to him in Cazador's mansion - he has no right to ruin Tav.

Astarion stands up, trying to shut the voice up. The hut is so small it suffocates him, but he can't go outside; the sun still shines.

"Damn! Gods damn you!" he screams, but the voice sounds hoarse as if he broke it in his sleep.

Maybe he did.

Nails dig into the skin, causing dull pain. Astarion makes a sharp movement, leaving deep pink strains on his left arm. Pain is pleasant and familiar. He keeps scratching the skin as if trying to peel it off.

Blood starts dripping to the floor.

The pain brings temporal bliss, and the sight of his bloodstained hand somehow comforts Astarion. Tears stream down the face - tears of desperation. Of darkness.

"Astarion," he hears a quiet voice. "Please, stop."

He turns his head and sees Tav. She wears her camp clothes, a pair of trousers and a shirt. Her hair is wet. She probably has bathed in the nearest river. Feet are bare and covered in soil. Astarion notices a blade of grass stuck between her toes.

Tav approaches him and makes him sit on the floor. He tries to drop the sleeve to cover the injuries as if it could trick her.

Tav gently touches his neck, avoiding the bite mark. Her touch is thoughtful, kind, and warm. She smells like sunlight. Astarion freezes, staring at the wall, not knowing how to look at her, not knowing what to do.

"What happened?" she finally asks. "I got used to your nightmares, but this is the first time you harm yourself."

"Nothing"

Tav sighs and stands up. For a moment, Astarion thinks she will leave him, but she just kneels at her travel bag and gets a healing ointment. He usually applies it to her after fights with monsters while she jokes, "You should see the other guy!".

The ointment prickles the skin and accelerates vampiric regeneration.

"Tell me," Tav asks.

He shrugs. "There is nothing to tell. Nothing you already don't know, just another nightmare. Tell me how the world looks under the sun."

"Astarion, you are my love and my life. But if you keep pretending everything is good when it's not, I will hit you with something heavy."

"You are so adorable when you try to threaten. Like a hissing kitten."

She laughs, and he can't take his eyes off her smile.

Then, Tav takes his injured hand in hers and caresses the knuckles. She waits for him to answer.

"If you woke to me trying to peel my skin off, would you want to know why?" she seriously asks.

He gulps. Of course, he doesn't need to tell now. Tav won't force him. He can tell her later when he feels more like it. Or never tell. It's his right for privacy. But it means Tav will be more preoccupied than usual, that the next sunrise she won't leave his side, that she will offer him her blood more than usual, more than she can give without complications.

Astarion can't do this to her even though he has a right to do so.

"I feel disgusting," he finally admits.

"What?" she is shocked. "Why?"

"I feel my skin is dirty, and no matter how strong I scrub it, I can't escape this feeling. I have done terrible, loathsome things, and the same things were done to me. Any time I touch you, I feel like I taint you, burden you with my own nightmares."

Tav is silent. Her eyes study his face. Is this remorse in her eyes? Sadness? Anger?

"Astarion. I am going to ask you a question", she finally says, "And you will answer it. You will not try to lie. You will not try to banter. You will tell me the truth. Did he force himself onto you?"

Astarion stares at Tav in disbelief. How can she know? How did she guess?

She touches his cheek, and it causes tears to flow again.

"Yes," he answers shortly and bites his lower lip. "Many times. Before he grew tired of me and sent me to the streets."

Tav doesn't say anything. Instead, she opens her arms and hugs Astarion, pressing his head against her collarbone. He can't see her face, but he knows there are tears on her face as well.

"How did you know?" he finally asks. "Tav … did anything… like that…"

"No, I was never assaulted. But every girl, whether she is an elf or dwarf or a human, a peasant, or a noble - knows such things. We are warned about it from a very young age. Even when it doesn't happen to us, we know someone it happened to. I think I guessed the moment you told me about your past."

"You disgust me," he remembers a cruel voice as if its owner wasn't the one who made Astarion disgusting.

She pulls away and kisses his forehead. "You are more than this. More than your trauma, more than your past. You are brave, smart, kind, even if you don’t want to admit it. I know what you are, what happened to you. It's a part of the deal. But please don't hurt yourself. If you do this, you continue Cazador's work. Because he would have mutilated you. The only thing he could not take away from you was your appearance, your face, your beauty. It was the only thing left from the past self. You can't see the reflection, but at least you know you look the same as 200 years ago. And your master needed it to lure victims. He couldn't take it from you without consequences for himself."

Tav puts her hands on his shoulders and looks at his eyes.

"Sooner or later, he would have found someone new, someone innocent to do your job, and he would have mutilated you. He would have taken the only thing you were left with. Every time you try to harm yourself, every time you hate yourself, you continue his job. I don't fucking want this. You don't fucking need this. The bastard is dead. You killed him. We can't change what happened to you. But it means he can't return either."

Astarion puts his hand on his knees and smiles. "I don't deserve you."

"You do deserve me, and I deserve you. There is no part of your body I find disgusting."

Astarion instinctively covers his bite mark. Tav notices it and gently removes his hand. She looks at the bite mark closely as if studying.

Long ago, they agreed he didn't want his bite mark to be touched, and Tav carefully avoided it. He couldn't know what this scar looked like but was sure it was repulsive.

And then Tav kisses the bite mark.

A shiver goes down Astarion’s spine, there is a forgotten memory of being bitten by a hungry monster who didn't know any better than to attack a weak, dying person.

There was a time when Astarion prayed to the gods to save him. Every divine creature he remembered – Lathander, Loviatar, Selune, Tyr, Savras – and a hundred more. No one answered. But what if someone did? He just needs to figure out which one is responsible for making sure Tav is born and survives through childhood, and who put her right in front of the Nauthiloid. When he does, he will become a man of this god.

Then Tav pulls away and looks at the entrance to the hut. "It's still hours till sunset. Is there something I can do to make you feel better?"

You don't need to do anything – the sole presence is enough.

"Сould you give me the book from my bag?"

Tav smiles and opens his travel bag. "There are two books"

"The green one"

"They are both green!" she pointed at the volumes, the cover of the first one was the color of wet leaves, and the other resembled a malachite.

"The one you like more."

Tav hesitates, looking at the covers, and then chooses the second one. When she sits beside him, Astarion wraps his hand around her waist.

"What does it say?" she asks.

"The History of the Western Heartlands," he opens the first page. "But you are going to read it yourself. I don't want you to be dependent on my reading skills."

"Oh", she pouts. "I knew you don't like reading to me!"

"I like reading to you," he says, "And I want to teach you to do the same. Come on, it's not difficult. I need to concentrate on something anyway, and teaching an adult person to read will definitely be a complicated task. I will read, and you will follow the text with your eyes, then I will ask you to repeat what I said. Deal?"

Astarion presses his finger at the first line. "The history of the Western Heartlands is a history of endless battles and destroyed empires.-"

Tav repeats after him. It takes them a few hours just to make it through the first page. He sees her anger when she can't remember a specific letter and almost childish delight when she manages to read the word without his help.

When the sun finally sets, they pack their bags. Astairon helps Tav to put her armor on, tightening the belts, and they leave together into the night.

"You do feel better, don't you?" she asks, walking a few steps ahead of him.

Astarion concentrates on his feelings. The disgust and fear feel like a distant nightmare, something he can easily brush off. Even the bite mark Tav touched so gently stopped causing so much mental pain.

"Yes. I feel great, my love."

[snuurp]

introduction to the WORMS IN MY BRAIN jk this is a modern fantasy au for baldurs gate 3 plain text and more info under the cut

intro to the au, forewarning i haven't done much research, and my first playthrough of the game isn't done yet (I AM in act three tho I swear 2/3rds of the three guys r dealt with and so is cazador.) keep in mind i have no idea what i'm doing.

the mindflayer stuff is like. an experimental implant they all dubiously agreed to without all the info. extra enhancements (like the other tadpoles in game) are like drugs, and they appear once weekly at everyone's doors whether they want it or not. initial implant stabilizes Karlach's engine, helps with Astarion's vampire stuff, etc. etc. and the extras just feel good to use, it's addictive.

all of them are in a support group together meant to encourage them to stay clean from the extra tadpoles. time they've spent with the group varies.

there WILL be more detailed posts for them later, i have a lot of thoughts on Karlach and Wyll especially. implied/possible shadowzel and wyllstarion. my tav will be present, this is very self indulgent and i am in lesbians with Karlach.

plain text for images:

KARLACH

6'11" - 7'

construction worker.

her first job was disastrous.

foreman Goretash pushed her into dangerous situations that she felt pressured to be in because she was the newbie.

things went wrong with the electrical on the job site, landing her in the hospital with a near-fatal heart problem.

but good* news! avernus co. offered her a mechanical heart for the low, low price of a ten year work contract! (strings attached.)

she's out of the contract now, and avernus co. is refusing to maintain her heart (and the other "upgrades" they gave her without consent.)

still in construction, unionized and a loud advocate for workers rights.

can't do caffeine. her coffee order is a creamy chocolate chill from TImothy Horthingtons.

favourite board game is ticket to ride or uno, surprisingly mean and competitive in games.

SHADOWHEART

5'6"

works at hot topic (emo)

just got out of the commune, full swing edgy phase and does NOT know how un-niche her music is yet (please don't tell her)(she might cry)

"adopted" by Shar's cult when she was little, doesn't remember much before or after that beyond what other members told her.

dissecting her faith.

roommates with Lae'zel. (they hate each other)

"roommates" with Lae'zel also. (they still hate each other) (kinda)

rps her fursona COOL CAT CHARACTER DO NOT STEAL online.

very afraid of wolves which does include sparkledogs and makes rp super difficult.

her favourite board game is catan or any ttrpg.

if asked, her coffee order is "black, like my tortured soul" but she actually gets a vanilla latte with extra syrup and sweet foam. (oat milk because regular makes her tummy hurt)

LAE'ZEL

5'7" and gods does she ever hold that extra inch over Shadowheart.

works as a personal trainer, her clients are scared of her which makes her VERY effective for the right people.

insults clients, perfectionist.

mommy issues x100

the creche has a very community/it takes a village style of raising but they do a really bad job.

she wants to be the BEST of her siblings, doesn't take failure well.

loves competitive solo sports, hiking, marathons, bouldering, boxing, etc. etc.

delights in pushing Shadowheart's buttons.

she doesn't drink coffee, her order is a smoothie.

willingly drinks the ones with kale like a CRAZY PERSON.

favourite board game is chess and while she is good at it she is a SORE loser.

WYLL

6'1"

used to work for avernus co. and now works a much quieter, mostly Mizora-free job at an elementary school.

the students favourite gym teacher.

estranged from his dad after a huge, explosive misunderstanding re: the very un-HR Mizora incident(s)

likes Go Fish and cribbage, but he's happy playing any board game the others suggest.

generally just happy to be here.

coffee of choice is an americano with a shot of apple cinnamon syrup.

loves knitting.

definitely not crushing on Astarion whaaat crazyyyy.....

his watch is from his dad. he looks at it when he misses him.

misses him a lot.

ASTARION

5'9"

former troubled teen kicked out by his rich parents.

Cazador was a "pastor" that took him under his wing and adopted him into his group home (for a price)

in debt to him now and can't outrun it.

has two jobs.

works at Olive Garden, HATES IT.

works at (insert coffee shop chain here) ALSO HATES IT.

somehow has a very popular aesthetic tumblr blog in the year of our lord 20XX

coffee order is an iced caramel latte (sometimes gets strawberry/cherry/raspberry syrup to make his pictures cooler)

his favourite board game is monopoly (he steals from the bank) but he DESPISES cheaters edition because that "takes all the fun out of it"

Wyll's feelings are mutual and he knows about them but he's too insecure to talk to Wyll about it (nerd)

GALE

5'11"

unemployed, formerly university librarian/professor.

is not over his ex, will not be over his ex for the foreseeable future.

eventually goes to a new university to teach tho.

zero rizz, this man uses mage hand to play wizard wonderwall while concentrating very hard and that makes him look constipated sorry Gale likers.

has a part time job at a Barnabus and Noblemans before going to the new university.

commissioned Wyll to make his sweater vest in affront-to-the-gods purple.

wrote some very prolific papers in the wizard community.

coffee order is matcha or a mocha

favourite board game is clue. he gets really into it.

[al9ayf]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 | astarion x f!reader

｡˚ word count: 6.2k

｡˚ summary: reader and astarion are tied to a prophecy that links their souls as one. she inherits the powers of the gods all at the expense of seven thousand souls. will it tear them apart?

｡˚ a/n: i feel this is more on the thematic or poetic side of my writing and i just wanted to explore it more. i love this and i love midsommar. plz dont hate cause i don’t know much of the festival outside of the movie and i just love that dress and yeah i just wanted to do something with it. i hope u enjoy <3

｡˚ explicit content :: NOT SUPPOSED TO BE A HAPPY STORY !!! large age gap, psychological abuse, grooming, angst, mentions of underage sex, teen pregnancy, overall major tw’s but NOTHING IS EXPLICIT !!

what have you done in life to deserve this?

your chest heaves and your breath shakes. with each spin around the pole the air around you thickens with heat, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. your sweaty palms let go of cold ones and you raise your arms above your head, spinning three times and then stopping to grab onto cold palms again. laughter and music enter your ears but it doesn’t sound happy. they sound dreadful. as they fall and topple over each other, you have no other cold hand to grab onto.

it’s just you, and one other girl across the pole. she doesn’t drop. she doesn’t stop. she doesn’t know why the others have dropped. she doesn’t know who you are. and for that, she must stop. her black hair woven into braids flies around her like a kite, and you know that if your father could be present, he would fly her above the palace doors to try to challenge you. for this is not a challenge, but the first step towards a prophecy.

but her determination to keep up scares you. your palms get sweatier and your feet struggle to land properly after each step. your body feels lightweight—so lightweight that a single breeze of wind could push you off your feet and send you sinking into the hells. her piercing black eyes are the only thing you can focus on.

“stop!”

the music stops and so do you. your feet trip over each other but you catch yourself just before you fall. your hands grip your white dress and your thumbs feel the intricate stitching of flowers on it. the girl’s chest heaves harder and faster than yours. only now when your vision starts to get clearer can you see how exhausted she is. her forehead is drenched and her eyes are droopy. her gaze isn’t as piercing. the beam of the sun tires her.

“continue!”

and you keep on going. you keep on going until you can’t feel your feet and the tips of your fingers become numb. her braided hair unfurls and waves of black cloud the girl’s vision. she tries to move it, frantically grabbing at the strands to get it away from her face. her panic disrupts the careful step of her feet, and when you spin three more times around yourself the music comes to an end and you find yourself staring at the pole instead.

“we have got our may queen!”

but you don’t listen to the applause or announcements. you don’t listen to the noble families yell in excitement over the news of you becoming the new may queen. you watch as the girl stands up in utter defeat and walks away. you don’t know her name or what family she comes from. all you know is that she tried to challenge the daughter of a goddess and master vampire.

the air gets thicker as people surround you, congratulating you on winning. you recognize the people as nobles of baldur’s gate, some young and some old. they’re here to see the child of cazador szarr fulfill a prophecy. some of them know who he truly is, some of them are oblivious to all the power he holds. but in the end, all are here to celebrate a win that was given to you.

they hold your sweaty palms and giggle in your ear. everything is loud and the liquor in your system isn’t going anywhere soon. it’s a struggle to stand up now after dancing around a pole, spinning around it, spinning around oneself, and stopping abruptly multiple times. it’s a struggle. a girl, the same age as you, comes up with a flower crown in her hands as an older woman walks alongside her. you still heave as she places it on your head and cups your cheeks. she’s smiling a smile so wide you can feel the pain in your mouth.

“you are our may queen,” she says in a thick-accented voice.

you don’t have time to say anything to her for the girls around you grip your hands and drag you away to a larger crowd of people who are applauding you. a larger crowd of corrupt people who applaud you for fulfilling the first part of the prophecy that will wreak havoc onto this world. as you get pushed into the crowd, people whose names and faces you don’t know congratulate you. they cup your cheeks as if they are your aunts and uncles, kiss your forehead and temples as if they are your mother and father, and hug you in a way a sibling would. but you are not their family, and they will never treat you like one.

as you get pushed to the front of the corrupt applauding crowd, you find yourself standing face-to-face with the archduke of baldur’s gate—lord enver gortash. a slaver, a tyrant, a friend of your father’s. he smiles down upon you; a smile so sinister it makes the sweat on your body turn ice cold and freeze.

“i offer my congrats to you, y/n,” he says, stepping towards you. “you will prove to be an excellent may queen. one that will surely turn the heads of the people of baldur’s gate. you will be magnificent.”

his empty compliments do not sway you. they do not make butterflies appear in your stomach or soothe your mind. he does not matter to you in the slightest. because found within an abyss of darkness of your mind is the silhouette of a lonely man. he shifts and merges with the shadows, and moves with a beauty indescribable to a mortal. his form is dreamlike, blurry, and beautiful. he could be described as a figment of your imagination, but he isn’t one. he is very much real.

his body sways to a haunting melody that, at first listen, sounds like a song but becomes nothing of the familiar sort. it is a sound beyond the mortal realm—a sound that belongs to another plane; another world. it echoes throughout the loneliness forever, just like him.

in your mind, astarion is a mesmerizing vision trapped there forever.

to him, you were a presence; a constant companion that has been there throughout his entire life. you were there before he became a vampire spawn before his life had been taken away from him before he had even come out of his mother’s womb. you were always there, always in white or in the nude, swaying sorrowfully. after over two hundred years, he learned and now knows your every curve and movement as intimately as he knows himself. your haunting presence is both a comfort and a torment to him—a reminder that he will never have you.

in the depths of your consciousness, you have glimpses of astarion. he is both familiar and foreign—a presence that tugs at the strings of your heart with an intensity you cannot comprehend. though you long to reach out to him, to close the gap between your worlds and touch the soul that mirrors yours, you are bounded to your father (just like him). astarion, a mere mortal in the eyes of the gods and spawn to your father is deemed unworthy to ever lay his red eyes upon you, let alone share his affection with you. your connection is one of forbidden desire.

you know astarion only through the whispers of the wind and the echoes of his presence in your mind. a ghostly reminder of a love that can never be. yet despite the barrier that stands between the two of you, you continue to hold him in your heart. his presence is a beacon of hope in the darkness surrounding you. in the darkness of your mind, you sway with him to the haunting melody. your souls entwined in a dance of forbidden passion.

you are forever separated yet eternally bound through your father’s blood and the prophecy.

for long now, his phantom touches and whispers have been distant. you do not feel his pain so greatly anymore in the halls of your palace. he has left, and has been gone for far too long. it tugs at your heartstrings to have him gone, but it brings you joy that he has escaped the torment of your father. for every whip and stab and prick he inflicts on astarion, you feel its phantom partner do the same to you.

that night when you return to your palace to attend the ball your father has thrown for you, you find yourself dressed in white again. virginal colors for the new may queen, your father says. colors to represent the queen of may, your goddess mother whispers to you. and after the ascension, after you have completed the prophecy, no longer will you wear white but dawn the colors of dark reds and blacks to represent power and carnality. this was why you were created by corellon and cazador szarr. a divine offspring gifted by the goddess of spring to the vampire to fulfill a prophecy of becoming an ultimate being. and you were your father’s proudest achievement.

he holds your warm hand with his cold one and grabs your hip with a grip too tight. your father, a monster and a vampire, only keeps a soft spot for you. but you know him better than he thinks, and you know it is only an act. once he achieves his power of ascension and takes yours with it, he will discard you. his smile makes you stand on edge, and you long for a genuine warm one. but with a red gaze as piercing as a knife, and skin so white even snow cannot compare, you could never generate warmth from a being colder than ice. not even if he is your father that you can’t help but love dearly so.

“tomorrow, my sweet child, we will ascend,” he whispers to you.

your pointy ears pick up, and you feel the color from your face drain.

“that boy will be here any time tomorrow. and we will greet him with open arms. you see; he will fight, he will beg, he will cry, but i am his father and he will obey. i feel it.”

you feel astarion too. you feel him more than cazador does. you feel his anxiety and revenge bubbling in his blood. you can hear the sharp breaths he takes when he even thinks of your father. you know of his plans to kill the man in front of you in so many gruesome ways. you’ve seen it. you’ve seen so many ways he would have him hung above the doorway to this palace. you’ve seen the ways he would burn him in the sun and flay him a hundred times over before plunging a dagger deep into his chest and letting his blood spray onto him. you have seen it all more than a hundred times.

you know astarion will be here tomorrow. he has seen you for two hundred and thirty-nine years, and not once has he ever laid eyes on you. he has heard your laughter, felt your every pain and pleasure, felt your heartbeat in his own non-beating heart. he will lay his red eyes on you tomorrow and you will lay yours on him.

“and after our ascensions, i will turn you into a vampire,” he says. “you will be beautiful.”

you don’t need to hear his words to understand the true meaning behind them. you can see it in his eyes and in his actions why he sweetens you up just to become your puppet master. but how can you refuse your father when he has given you life? when he has given you the privilege to become the may queen of baldur’s gate? when all it takes is a vampire ascension to complete this prophecy between a goddess and a devil, and you will become powerful. and you know it will all be snatched away once your father claims you as his spawn. and you will be his only child forever.

he twirls you, and without noticing, you bump into a woman holding a glass of red wind in her gloved hands. it spills all over your white gown and you can only stare at her in shock momentarily. it drips down your chest and stains your skirt. her panic is like music to your father's ears, but the screams of a million tortured souls to yours.

“i’m so sorry, my lady!” she exclaims frantically. her voice pierces your head and you feel a ringing in your ears. “please forgive me, i did not see you there! i will fetch the maid—“

“go and fetch the maid and leave my palace, immediately!” cazador yells at her. you could not gather enough words to yell at her for the shock of the spilled wine on your dress paralyzes you. you look as if you have been stabbed multiple times, and it makes you shiver. the woman runs away in tears after having your father reprimand her, but you do not care for her. you do not know her name or her family, and you could not care one bit to know.

“we should get you changed, y/n.”

but you refuse. your night has been ruined by both your father and this woman, and as your two servants grab your hands to lead you upstairs, you bid your father a goodnight. you would not return to the ballroom tonight. you and your two servants ascend the stairs and enter the hallway where your bedchamber lies. you clutch your diamond necklace and rip it off of you, throwing it somewhere onto the ground and leaving it there for one of them to pick it up. your chest is heaving and your palms get sweaty. it’s like the dance all over again, yet you are not drunk nor spinning. it’s anger and panic settling in you—frustration even.

as you stand in front of the mirror and allow the servants to remove your stained gown, you look at yourself and imagine astarion being the one to remove that article of clothing. you shut your eyes to relax and fall into his ghostly embrace. he’s so close to you. you can feel him pressed onto your chest, kissing and hugging you. your heartbeat becomes his and his cold touches become warm. you are his everything, and he is your everything.

they slip your nightgown on you and go sit you at your vanity to comb your hair and remove your makeup. you are pampered like the lady you are, but when you look at yourself in the vanity mirrors, you think of smeared lipstick and ruined mascara from the result of astarion. you long to touch him, to be with him. you want to feel how real he is. you want to hear his sweet words and sassy remarks. you want him.

and as you lay down in your plush bed with only the candlelight on your nightstand, you sink into that dark abyss of your mind and lay with astarion in a pool of black like you do every night. for years you have lived, and for years you have done this. the both of you know everything about each other without ever seeing each other. without saying a single word to each other. but he knows you better than you know yourself, and you know him as if you had created him from dirt and molded him into the perfect being that he is.

astarion, who sits at the crackling campfire with friends and companions all around him, feels your frustration and panic. you are the first person he has ever truly and deeply cared for, and yet he can do nothing now to be there with you. he does not know how to act upon his feelings or express them. all he has ever known is pain and torture, and tomorrow it will all change. the pale elf excuses himself from the party and heads off into the darkness of the woods where his eyes illuminate the surroundings like a bright day.

he stands in a clearing and shuts his eyes to feel you better. to be with you as one. to know that you are waiting for him—aching for him. and he swears he could feel his heart beat again and oxygen enters his lungs. <em>he swears it.</em> and for you, he will do anything. he will complete your prophecy himself if required, and it will be a win-win in his book. you will be free of your father and become an ultimate being, while astarion truly becomes free and gets to become a vampiric master. it makes him laugh. it makes him laugh at how beautiful life could be if he could kill the man who took everything away from him, yet, gave him the one thing he always wanted and needed.

you.

you who awakes the next day gasping for air. for the first night ever since you were conceived, you did not dream. it frightens you, but when you inhale and exhale sharply to regular your breathing, only then do you realize why you did not dream. astarion is here. he is back home. and he is confronting your father. he is acting out the second and last step of your prophecy right at this moment, and it severed your connection for only that time and made you forget all that you had dreamed.

his feelings become yours. no longer is it a distant presence in your mind and body, but a presence that has merged with your soul and claimed it. you jump out of bed and run out of your bedroom. the hallways are eerily silent and there are no servants to be found. the smell of iron lingers in the air, and when you reach the main hall and find the ballroom doors that are always closed open with a mess inside, you follow its blood trail eagerly. you are not afraid of what is happening. you are excited. astarion is also excited, you feel it. you feel the goosebumps on his skin that rival yours. it’s a pleasurable feeling.

you find the old platform by your father’s office. many times have you seen it, and many times has cazador not allowed you to even step near it. but now his demands have ceased. now it is yours to command to take you down into the abyss of darkness. and it descends and it feels like time is slowing down. but with each meter, it goes down, the stronger your connection with astarion is. now you feel his blood and his thoughts jumble together. you feel the rage in him. you feel the need for his revenge grow thick. it hovers over your back. and as you run down that large hall with nothing but your light nightgown on and a beating heart faster than that of the speed of light, you encounter the countless spawns trapped behind cages calling for you. begging for you to free them. but you cannot. you will not.

you rush out into the large ceremonial site decorated with grey and black pillars descending into that dark abyss that resembles your mind. you stand on top of the stairs, and there you see astarion for the first time. his white hairs with speckles of blood and dirt make you lose breath. your ankles give out and you nearly tumble down the stairs if not for your hands catching you first. you scratch your knees on the hard marble and the sound of your fall alerts not only astarion and cazador but of the elf’s three other companions as well.

you stand up and carefully but quickly descend the mountain of stairs ahead of you. your eyes, now full of wonder and excitement, lock with astarions for the first time. and it takes his soul away. you are even more beautiful than what his mind has shown him. you, who is so sorrowful and submissive, stand before him with a power unlike any before. you are and will be the only person astarion deems beautiful enough to shake mountains and rival gods.

cazador watches from his trembling spot on the ground as you push past the companions and stand in front of astarion. cazador, who has forbidden him to ever lay eyes upon you, can do nothing but see the love and adoration spark in your eyes like flames coming out of a dragon’s mouth.

“what are you doing, y/n?!” he screams at you.

but you do not look at him.

fear envelopes his body and his voice and mind become desperate for your attention.“stop this boy! he is not worthy of the ascension!”

but you do not have the intention of stopping astarion.

you look down at your father with a pitiful gaze. you do not say a word to him. you do not say a word to astarion. at that moment, cazador realizes the truth. the prophecy was never meant for him. he who made a pact with the devil mephistopheles to sacrifice seven thousand souls to ascend, and conceive a child with the goddess of spring, was never promised to him exactly to become an ascended vampire. it was promised to a vampire that would ascend, and that would be astarion. your power, which should have been his to take, will help the pale elf rule baldur’s gate and many more cities.

cazador almost cries when he sees his daughter, his own flesh and blood, staring down at him with nothing but pity.

“after all i have done for you, you turn your back on me?! when i have nourished you in love on a silver platter and you dare defy your father?!”

but you continue to stare at him as if he was nothing. cazador cracks and screams in frustration, which allows astarion to take the chance to now carve into his back the runes of ascension. the runes you have seen for years on his back now become woven into your father’s. with each slash, astarion digs into his back, and your father’s blood splatters on your dress, staining it a dark red that almost resembles black. it lands on your sweet cheeks and plump lips. it tastes bitter.

woe, the staff that was once your father’s, now is held by astarion. with a flick of his wrist, you watch as cazador is flung into his spot on the platform and held there. everything turns red as astarion slams the staff down and now chants the the words of ascension. and at the same moment, you feel it in you. you feel the scorching of the spring heat envelope you and your body contorts and twists into positions you never thought was capable.

you grow from your bloody gown a dress large enough to make a queen cry and bow down to you. a flower crown, big enough for a bird bath, sits on top of your head. the dress sprouts out different flowers and captures your whole essence. astarion’s companions have to back away, and before long, both of your ascensions have been completed.

he, who now radiates power, and you, who now radiates the energy of the gods, look at each other as if the world around you has gone away. there is a glow to you that is otherworldly, godlike, and beyond what can be described as beautiful. astarion cannot believe that you are real and no longer in his mind anymore. you are here, present, in front of him.

you smile at him and take the first steps towards him, like a bride on her wedding day.

“how long have you dreamt of me? thought of me? felt my heartbeat in your very chest? you breathed my every breath, i felt your every pain, and we watched each other through one’s eyes. two hundred and thirty-nine years you have seen me and now you have me. to hold, to love, to use… and to destroy.”

your voice, soft as silk but powerful as a dragon, moves him. he falls into your warm embrace without needing skin contact.

“you’re… real!” he exclaims, out of breath. he is smiling from ear to ear, his voice thick with nervousness and disbelief. “i cannot believe that you are real.”

he wants to touch you, but the gown that holds your body does not allow him to step closer to you.

“long i have seen you and heard you, but was never allowed to be with you, let alone touch you. cazador deemed me unworthy to ever lay eyes upon you, and now i know why,” astarion says, his voice dripping with honey.

and now he knows why.

“sorry to interrupt, but, who is she, astarion?” asked tav with a confused look on their face.

you turn to look at them, keeping your small smile on your lips as astarion takes his stance next to you. he is beaming.

“this, my dear, is the may queen of baldur’s gate,” he says. “she is cazador’s only child with the goddess of spring, and…” he stops to look at you.

his gaze feels like the sun on a summer’s day. it burns but it burns good. it gives you the energy you need, and when you look back at him, it forces a toothy grin on his lips.

“and she is my consort.”

—

flowers and vines bloom from the roots of where you once stood at the platform of ascension. the whole area, which was once used to sacrifice seven thousand souls, now flutters with life. its thick air is now heavy with the smell of flowers and walls covered in different plants. butterflies appear around your crown and gown that now sits in the middle as a reminder of who started all of this. you will help end this illithid empire with your newfound power, and rule peacefully as may queen.

the servants that served your father now serve you. you are the lady of this palace until astarion destroys the illithids. but for now, for this night, for the first time, you are both here together. he had left earlier to resume unfinished business, but returned to spend the evening with you.

you wait for him at the front doors with a servant behind you. she’s standing so close to you that you can hear her sharp breaths in your ear. but you don’t say anything about it. you do not care. this is the closest she will get to a god by standing in your divine presence. she longs to touch you, but her shaky hands will not move from their spots by her hips. you know how much she wants you. you know how much she loves you. but as astarion ascends the stairs leading up to the palace doors, you step forward to greet him, and she steps away from the doors and into the dark palace.

the smell of rose, white musk, and jasmine fills the air as soon as he steps into your vicinity. he smiles at you; not a warm smile, but a sinister one. almost as sinister as your father’s, if not better. he finally touches you. it’s ice cold but burns like a great fire against your skin. you yearn for more. you grab his hand and lead him inside the great hall of the palace without a single word exchanged between the both of you. he holds your hand gently but with great strength. you feel that fear of his that if he lets you go, you will leave and never return. but it’s a fear he tries greatly to hide from you, but you know everything about him. you feel everything from him, as he does you.

he stops you in front of the closed ballroom doors and grabs both your hands. you look at him with great admiration, but the words that spill from his lips aren’t comforting or filled with love.

“i can’t believe we did that that. killing all those people,” he lets go of one of your hands to touch your cheek. the grip on the one hand tightens as he cups your cheek. “a pleasant surprise.”

you smile a little. “i wanted what was best for both of us,” your voice is light and soft. astarion melts at the sound of it. “you would get your freedom and power, and i would fulfill my prophecy.” you grab his hand that holds your cheek and caress it with your hand.

“you sweet, sweet thing. i want what’s best for us too, of course,” his smile turns more sinister. “and one wicked turn deserves another.”

“so, tell me what you desire. what can i do for you my dearest pet?”

pet? your smile falls from your face at the nickname. how long has he haunted your mind? how long have you haunted his? when you have felt his every pain and soothed his burning scars. he knows you inside and out, and you know him as if you are him. but now you can’t understand him. his thoughts are all complicated and you can barely understand his motives. you helped him sacrifice your father, sacrifice seven thousand souls so the both of you can ascend and rule with the power of the gods, and now he speaks to you with a tone similar to cazador’s. he feels everything you are feeling, and it makes him frown.

“i’m not him,” his tone softens. “unlike him, i love you.”

“is that the only difference?” you whisper. “know that you cannot lie to me, astarion.”

“i’m willing to share all of this power with you? what’s that if not love? what’s that if not the farthest thing cazador would have done?” he leans in towards you. “he would have taken your power and gotten rid of you before you could breathe.”

and he’s right.

“of course, if that’s not enough—if you need something more—perhaps this isn’t for you?”

and as soon as he’s sweet he turns mean. you know his manipulation tactics. he had done it so many times with his victims, but never before with you. you are his everything, but he makes you feel like you are nothing.

“so. what’s it to be, darling? is this it?”

“no!” you cry to him, now rushing into his chest and hugging him. you cannot fathom being away from him anymore. not after he has been forcibly taken away from you. not when this prophecy has connected you for so long that it would tear you apart if he left. “you are the one that i want—the one that i love.”

his fingers find their way under your chin, and when he looks into your eyes, he sees the tears welling up in them. his finger brushes against your tinted lips and a bit of your lipgloss ends up on them.

“you could be so much more if you want it. one little bite and you could be mine forever,” he whispers. “my dark consort. my right hand. my most beloved spawn.”

“i want to be a true vampire like my father promised me,” you whisper back.

“and you will! all in good time. but we mustn’t rush these things. you may need time to adjust.”

for once, you don’t know if he’s lying or not. you don’t and it scares you. but you want him. you want to be with him. there is nothing more that you want in life than to be with the man who gave you all this love and power. who was the only constant presence in your life that gave you comfort. the only one who loved you and not your power.

“then make me like you…”

“oh, my sweet girl. there is nobody like me. and there never will be again.”

the grip on your chin gets tighter and your breathing gets heavier. his lips are so close to yours. his face is mere inches away and you are having to stop yourself from grabbing his face and never letting go. you need him. you need him forever, and that is exactly what he needs too. and that instant you think those things is when you see astarion smile again.

“that’s what you want, isn’t it?” his voice reaches your ears only and it’s so soft yet heavy. it’s sexy and it’s beautiful. you could hear him speak forever. “to be mine? forever?” he tilts his head ever so slightly so his lips almost touch yours.

yes. that’s all you want.

you don’t say it aloud because he knows. he hears it in his head and yours. your breathing gets heavier and heavier with each second that passes. it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

astarion finally kisses you. his lips are softer than you imagined them to be. he kisses you with such ferocity and passion it knocks the breath out of you. you have never kissed anybody before, and it to be with the man you love and share a special connection with felt alien. you cup his cheeks with your hands and stand on your toes to reach him. you’ve never wanted something more before.

but then he pulls away as fast as he kisses you. you go to kiss him again but he places his fingers on your lips to stop you.

“you’re eager,” he teases. you can hear the laughter in his voice. “shall we have this night together before you join me in immortality? one for the road, so to speak.”

“yes,” you want to say clearly but only come out as another whisper.

“then come with me, my love, and live your final night.”

astarion takes your hand again and leads you up the stairs. the whole time you’re engaged in a bliss of his love. his hand, now held with yours, becomes warm. yet his eyes are still as cold as ice. two servants stand outside your bedroom door, but with the appearance of you and astarion approaching, they open the door for you. you enter first and stand in the middle of the large and dimly lit bedroom. the red, heavy dark curtains shield any moonlight from entering. and when the door closes and you hear astarion come up from behind you, only then do you realize how cold it is in here. how you miss the sunlight when you became the may queen.

he places his hands on your shoulders and slips his fingers underneath the spaghetti strap of your slip dress. you are calm. you do not feel anxious or nervous. you don’t feel a thing besides love and lust as astarion removes the straps and allows the white fabric to fall from your body and pool around your feet. you shiver as you feel his hands trail down to your hips and, again, hook his fingers around the lace of your white underwear and rip it off of you with one swift yank. the fabric rips across your skin and you wince in pain. he shushes you as he turns you around to face him. you don’t try to cover yourself.

you know what astarion wants you to do, and so you reach out and remove his bits of clothing as carefully as possible. and once the both of you stand naked in front of each other, astarion takes you to your bed. he kisses you all while pushing you onto the plush mattress. you struggle to keep up with his fervent kisses, and he thinks of it as cute. how virginal and pure you are. how he will take it all away tonight and make you his. he leans over you and fully lays you on the bed, now getting on top of you. you hold him and drag your fingers across the scars on his back.

he finally pulls away to look at your face, to see what you are feeling. and although you are submerged in his pool of lust, you are no longer submerged in his pool of warmth. no longer do you feel that warmth from him, but the coldness of your father’s eyes and touch. his skin, whiter than snow, reflects your shivering body. and as he leans down to kiss your neck and kiss the space in between your breasts, you think of one thing.

were you only created to be used?

—

six months after the fall of the illithid empire, and six months of being astarion’s dark consort, you find yourself in the large bathtub in your shared bedroom. a servant girl you have seen before sits naked in front of you washing your arm with a loofa and vanilla-scented soap. her black hair is curly from the water, and her once-piercing eyes are now filled with pain. she had not been flayed and hung but turned into a spawn.

tonight, astarion is holding a masquerade ball. he’s inviting the lords of noble houses to make connections with them. he’s the new lord of the szarr palace, and the dear husband of you, cazador’s child. but you do not feel like a noble lady. you do not feel like a beautiful wife. you feel like a weapon that has been used and drained. your goddess mother, who speaks to you riddles of the future to come, gives no protection over you. you are astarion’s forevermore.

the girl looks down at your body, and you do not cover yourself. you allow her to touch your stomach and brush her fingers over the soft swell of your belly.

“my lady, you are with child.”

“i know,” you say to her.

it was your sixteenth name day.

[noisycroissant]

I Will Find You

Astarion x Reader (Soulmate AU)

Based on that aquarium scene from Romeo + Juliet (1996)

*******

She hated the costume. It was a sick twisted joke on her Mistress' part to make her wear this to the damned ball at the Szarr Palace.

A vampire ball on Hallow's Eve. How tasteless.

An ankle length white gown, plain and unadorned except for trimmings of lace at the hem and scooped out neckline. Of course her mistress would never let any of the spawn wear high-necked outfits or wear necklaces when they were taken out to mingle in high vampire society. The bite marks must be visible to everyone. The ownership must be acknowledged.

It was the wings that sealed the pantomime of it all. Stiff lacquered wings, covered in soft goose feathers, tied on to her shoulders with string. With the pale skin, she could pass easily for an angel should anyone see her flitting about in the darkness.

But one flash of her smile or a second look at her eyes and they would know that she was just another monster in sheep's clothing.

*******

Over the decades, Cazador had done several tasteless things to seal his status as the patriarch of the Szarr clan. From using his spawn as "entertainment" to holding lavish balls were his spawn waited hand and foot on drunken patriars of Baldur's Gate, there was no level Cazador would not stoop to to ascertain power.

But this? This took the cake.

A high vampire society ball on Hallow's Eve. Complete with costumes and candles and music.

Pathetic.

The armour and chainmail looked heavy but was actually just made of paste and cleverly dyed. As one of the prized spawn in the palace, it was imperative that he "mingled with anyone who looks important, if he knew what was good for him".

The threats didn't register anymore. After all, how different could this night's ending be from all the other times there was a ball in this wretched place? Some drunk and out-of-it duke or duchess would fancy him, he'd have to sweet talk and charm them into a chamber, do what was expected, make the necessary sounds and words, and it would be over.

And another piece would be added to the mosaic of power Cazador was building.

The hatred made bile rise in Astarion's throat and he retched into a nearby vase. It was better his stomach remain empty for what was inevitably to come.

******

It was not as bad as she'd imagined. There was a certain flair and theatre to seeing vampires of all classes costumed and swanning about.

Like they were normal people at a Hallow's Eve party.

Her mistress had let her "loose" for the night. Which meant she could walk around with the rare gift of turning down propositions. A small mercy, but after a century of servitude, she would take what she could get.

She walked along the edges of the great hall, trying to stay out of sight and in the shadows, trying to avoid anyone's eye. Just one night to herself. That's all she wanted after a century of turning.

******

Astarion saw the person with wings in a plain white gown seeking the edges of the room from the moment the Eastern Vampire Court's Mistress and her brood had arrived.

He'd been following her, unnoticed, since. He didn't know why but he had to see her face. It wasn't mere curiosity. It was an unexplainable pull he couldn't fight.

He followed and followed and finally had her alone in his sight. She was watching the ornamental fish in the aquarium near the archway to the garden. Her pale fingers following the path of a bejeweled looking fish. He moved to the other side of the glass and slowly walked into the faint light emitting from the aquarium.

Her smile was the first thing he saw on her face. The warmth, the soft creases at the ends of a generous mouth. The way her cheeks rose to her eyes.

His eyes were what she saw first. A warm burgundy, like aged wine, surrounded by soft lashes and sharp cheekbones. The curiosity pooling in those eyes as they took her in.

Astarion didn't believe in gods anymore. He didn't believe in love anymore. He didn't believe in fate anymore either.

But for one moment, he believed the goddess Sune had touched his heart.

The angel smiled at him and he knew. He'd heard of fated mates but he'd never dreamed he'd find his while living a life shackled to Cazador. But now he knew.

That fate spins along as it should. No point in fighting or denying it.

******

The spell was broken as another spawn of her brood appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "You must come immediately. The mistress requires you," says the spawn as he grabs her elbow and pulls her towards the dance floor.

Astarion did not think twice before dashing after her. He deftly moved between people, watching as she was pulled away further and further into the crowd.

Their eyes never left each other.

The curiosity and subtle longing in her eyes was enough for Astarion to know that she had felt what he'd felt too.

That damned, inescapable pull.

He'd found the one thing that was going to be his, and come hell or rapture, he was going to claim it.

[moetartart]

So this is such a silly little rant but I have no where else to put it so here it is 😂 My very room temperature take.

Astarion gets a lot of hate for things Shadowheart is wubbified for.

I'd like to start by saying I love both charecters, I accept their flaws and that they can be evil. I love that for them. but I keep getting paragraphs written to me about how awful Astarion is and people really not liking my take that Shart is just as bad..

Shadowheart

.Not just pro torture but a pro AT torture which she brags about. No mind control needed (in the goblin camp and again she praises the doctor in the house of healing )

.Approves of lies and doing bad things

.is vein and narcissistic about her looks Tav-' your beautiful' Shart-'i know.'

.Will use and manipulate Tav (you get more than once insight check)

.Is racist (To the Gith mainly)

.Disapproves of you doing nice things -'that kind heart will get us all killed some day.' (Shadowheart disapproves)

.In her bad ending, even if you have done a fully good run and she has become a hero, she can still choose of her own free will to become a cult leader who abused others as she has been abused. No vampire mind control needed. (She has to give up memories, but not of her adventures with Tav)

.In her good ending she learns to live for herself going on adventures or settling down for a quiet life

Astarion -

. Approves of torture because he's smug he's not the one in the chair

.has done serious harm to others including children but had no control over his body and actions at the time 'He speaks, and our bodies move.'

.Approves of lies and doing bad things a LOT

.is vien and narcissistic about his looks 'AND beautiful! Not enough people mention that.'

.will use and manipulate Tav (admits it all on the confessions scene OR the rejection scene in act 3 if you don't help him in act 2)

.is racist (to the Gur and gnomes kinda? )

. Disapproves of doing nice things if they stray from his goal

.In his bad ending, he is consumed by evil energy that removes any good will he had, continuing the cycle of abuse. (If you use detect thoughts on a sleeping Cazador you will learn that his 'good' qualities are trapped inside him and only his worse qualities manifest in the waking world)

.Good endings can vary in 'goodness'. He can be the hero that saves the spawn or a bounty hunter or even go on a solo quest

All this to say, they both have the capacity to be evil. Regardless of truma or brain washing they can both be bad people once free. Both are brain washed and have memory loss. Both did bad things in the service of someone else. Both have truma that dosnt excuse bad behaviour. Both live in a violent universe unlike our own where death and murder don't mean the sane thing abs have different consequences and should not be judged as real people. Arguably Shadowheart has more autonomy and reasonable decision making begging to bad ending. Astarion hands down has the better chance for redemption by helping others if the player chooses. In game and before development, who loves violence more? Astarion. Who does more violence? Shadowheart. Which is worse, idk.

Again, love them both. Toxic queens. I just hold them to an equal standard

[commander-rahrah]

Talking to the Moon: Part III

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader

Word Count: ~4450

archiveofourown: here

masterlist: here

part I: here part II: here

Summary: Set in Act II in Moonrise Towers, after meeting Ketharic and Araj the first time; Astarion finally comes to terms with his feelings for you, and takes a chance.

Notes: I love elements of both versions of Astarion’s confession scene, so I decided to combine them and add a little extra to them too! There is some dialogue borrowed from the game from Astarion's actual confession, but I added a lot more into it, especially with Tav/Reader's responses.

I love this pairing so very much. I know it is very soft, but I just think Astarion deserves someone soft and gentle and patient with him.

Thank you for reading and interacting! It means so much to me ♡♡♡

.·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨:·..·:¨༺ ༻¨

Bile was rising in Astarion’s throat. The scent of the room, the things that drow was doing to those vials of blood. It was wrong, all wrong. He thought he was a monster for the curse bestowed upon him. But whatever experiments were being conducted, they were monstrous in a completely different sense. His entire being had screamed at him to flee when she had turned her violet eyes onto him. He hated that she even knew his name. He wanted to get as far away from this miserable tower as possible. To go find the stupid artifact for themselves and never return. And the drow was still trying to convince him. Gods, he wished she would just give up. Maybe if he just gave in — it would be only a moment, and then it would be over. His body would still cringe as he remembered it, but he could just add it to the list. But then he glanced to you. You had shown him, the other night, the power of listening to yourself. Of stopping. Of saying no. Really, you had been teaching him that over and over during your little adventures together. When he first realized his new found freedom, all he could focus on was being away from Cazador. Being away from his looming, threatening presence — the pain, the anguish. What he didn’t realize was that freedom came with something else. Autonomy. A choice. Astarion had been making many of them, every day for weeks and he hadn’t realized. Sometimes they were tiny, insignificant decisions. And sometimes they were remarkable… or foolish. But they were his and his alone. And he felt like he could make them. That he wouldn’t be punished or gutted by the group. Betrayed or humiliated for it. And that was because of you.

When Astarion had decided to seduce you he had done it for his protection. He had seen your abilities and power those first few days and realized the threat you could pose to his master. He had done it to ensure you would be on his side, always — that you would never turn on him. What he hadn’t expected was how your protection would really feel, what it would entail. He knew he had your blade and powers now — just as you had his. But what you had given him was so much more than just your abilities. It was sanctuary. He felt shielded, secure. He could let his guard down, he had let his guard down with you. He could make decisions and mistakes and grow… Feel what he wanted, think what he wanted. So as he stared at you, his mind resolved. His red eyes narrowed as he gave his attention to the drow one final time, “I gave you my answer.” She scoffed, “Your control over your spawn has lapsed. Order him to do this, you will not regret it.” The alchemist spat at you, her arms crossed with irritation from his rejection. Even just the word spawn made the hairs on the back of his arms raise. And she thought you were his master. He knew exactly what Cazador would do if he were here. A bleak thought tried to surface in his head, but he forced it away. No, you weren’t like Cazador.

He trusted you. Your nostrils flared as you snapped your head to the mad alchemist, “He is his own person. And he gave you his answer.” “If you would just—“ “No,” You growled, stepping forward with your lips in a snarl. “He said no.” The group blinked at you — you had never been so short with anyone. You were usually flowery and lighthearted even when were outright rejecting someone. Even when someone had a blade pointed to your chest, you were at least civil. They had never seen you like this. Astarion’s red eyes flickered across you face, you seemed just as upset as he did. He could hear your heart thundering, your blood boiling. “Stay away from him.” Your tone was final, your jaw set. “I’ve had enough of this wretched place. Let’s get out of here.” You huffed, turning on your heel and marching out of the tower. Astarion trailed behind you and the rest of the group, studying you carefully. You were vibrating. He couldn’t recall ever seeing you this mad. He almost expected you to go into a rage like Karlach did. He knew you would often put on a mask — one that said everything was fine, everyone was good. You used it because you wanted to be a good leader, because you so often wanted to see the best in the world. He had seen it slip up before, had seen you remove it just for him. But this anger was something entirely new. And it was on his behalf? Astarion grasped that in defending him, not only had you revealed something about yourself, you had made him feel something he had not known in hundreds of years. Respected. Safe. Alive. Not a pawn or tool. A person. He realized that you were both just two people. And that one of you (and maybe if the gods were kind), both of you… stupidly cared for one another. 

Fallen for the other. His plan had gone out the window much sooner than he wanted to admit to himself. He hadn’t been performing with you for quite some time. No, he had not been your plaything or object of desire. He had been… himself. A version of himself he had never known he could be. And the final step was to relinquish the thing he was harboring — control. To show you what he truly has to offer. To put his faith in you. And trust that in turn you would listen, and understand. And not immediately stake him through the heart. A thousand scenarios of how his confession would go began to swirl in his head. But his shoulders lifted as you all left the oppressive atmosphere inside. Even the doom and gloom of the Shadlowlands was appreciated over the dark energy swirling in Moonrise Towers. “Well, that was not what I’d expected.” Gale broke the silence first as the party finished crossing the bridge away from the imposing tower. You were about to begin the trek back to your camp. “Ketheric is…” “An abomination.” Lae’zel interjected, her teeth barred slightly as she spoke. Shadowheart let out a loud breath from her nose, “Agreed.” “Everyone in that place is vile.” Wyll grimaced as he looked over his shoulder, “That alchemist…” He glanced over to Astarion, worry plastered over his face. Though the vampire was sure it was for his missing father more than anything, not for him. “She was a little obsessive. But can you blame her?” Astarion put on his usual snark, letting out his fake laugh as he gestured at himself. “It wasn’t obsessive, it was disgusting.” Your voice was low — your distaste was clear. “She didn’t treat you as a person, only an object of her desire.” “She isn’t the first.“ He gave you a sad smile, before quirking his white eyebrows. “Well, she will be the last. And how dare she look to me, to try and get me to what—leash you? Control you? How dare she think of me as your master—“ “Darling,” Astarion grabbed onto your elbow, halting your rant and your movement. “You aren’t Cazador, trust me.” No, Cazador would have leapt at the opportunity. Not even for the potion. The sadistic bastard would make him do it just to get off on his humiliation. You were as opposite of Cazador as there could possibly be. The furrow in your brow softened, before you nodded your head. The pair of you looked around to realize you had stopped in the middle of the pathway, the rest of the party halted as well, watching your interaction. Realizing the sudden attention you cleared your throat, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you turned your attention back to the group. “Well, I think it’s best we get back to camp to strategize, right?” “Right.” Wyll nodded at you with a knowing smile, before you and the warlock started to lead the group again. Astarion’s red eyes trailed after you, a soft look tugging at his features.  “You’re looking a little smitten lately, Fangs.” Karlach poked him in the ribs as she walked by, “Don’t worry, they look at you like that too.” She said over her shoulder, before taking extra long steps to catch up with you.

He fought the smile that stretched his lips, before trailing after you. 

• • •

Astarion knew he was being anything but subtle as he sat across the campfire from you. His red eyes continually found their way to your figure throughout the evening. The different scenarios he had been imagining in his head were still swirling, consuming his every thought. When he told you his intended plan, but how he had fallen for you instead — how would you react? What if he told you and you laughed? Or screamed? Or attacked? His mind was a cruel, treacherous thing he realized. But his half-dead heart still thumped with the same tune of... hope. What if you had fallen too? Your laughter snapped him back to the present, the joyous sound something he had missed hearing lately. The shadowlands did not leave much time or room for happiness and lighthearted moments. But this evening seemed to be an exception. Gale continued his story, some tale of his about being a foolish boy with much too much time and magic on his hands. The group was hovering and sitting nearby as they listened. Even Shadowheart had joined, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips as she listened with Karlach’s arm slung behind her waist. “The hubris of wizards.” Lae’zel sneered with a roll of her eyes. “I do not understand how you have made it this far in life, istik.” “Dumb luck?” Wyll joked as he ruffled Gale’s brown hair. “Har har," The wizard rolled his eyes, before raising his finger in counterpoint, "But to be fair, the spell was transcribed improperly—" The group groaned collectively, but it was Karlach who spoke up, “Nooooooo, no more talk of proper etiquette and techniques. You’re the only one who cares for it!” He slumped, “Ugh, I miss Tara. She and I would have the most heated debates about proper techniques…” You placed an arm around his shoulders and gave him a half hug. “She is a much better companion than we are then.” You grinned at him, before finishing the last of your meal and placing the empty dish on your lap.

Envy coursed through Astarion at your casual touch with Gale. He wished... He wished he could touch that easily. Be touched that easily, so casually. Without a second thought. 

“Are you done?” Shadowheart stood above you, with her small hand outstretched and gesturing to the empty dish in your lap.

“I— oh, yes,” You stumbled over your words before you held it out for her. She grabbed it gently, and you let out quiet words of gratitude.  The cleric bowed her head bashfully, before grabbing the other dishes and heading to the river to wash up. Shock went through your face, your eyes shining bright and hopeful. It was the most interaction you’d had all week — and it had been soft and gentle. Remorseful, even. Karlach caught your eye and gave you a small smile — nodding her head in reassurance at you. 

Eventually, the tell-tale signs of the camp beginning to wind down for the night started. Gale grabbed a glass of wine and his spellbook, before excusing himself to his makeshift desk near his tent. Wyll and Karlach were now playing cards, chuckling softly between hushed stories. Lae'zel had excused herself for an early night, and Shadowheart remained at the fire pouring over a book she had picked up today. You were kneeling in front of your tent, searching through your pack for something. 

The vampire glanced around once more — if he didn't do it now, he didn't know when he would build up the courage to do it again. Standing up, he nervously picked at the sides of his leather pants as he tread closer to your tent. He made purposeful steps as he approached, alerting you of his presence. 

"Astarion, hi." You sounded breathless as you stood up quickly, abandoning your belongings on the ground. 

“Walk with me?” He quirked his eyebrow, his hands still twitching apprehensively at his side.  “Sure,” You said with an easy smile, falling into step by his side as he brought you towards the sandy bed near the river. The sounds and sights of the camp began to get quieter and quieter as you walked away.

You both took in the sights around you, the dim evening light revealing the dark water that was flowing slowly and a quiet breeze that didn't snare in any of the bare branches. “Even with the curse — this place can be quite beautiful sometimes.” His red eyes glanced around before settling back on you, “You think so?”

"I do."

He thought that spoke more about you, then it did about the Shadowlands. Seeing the beauty in somewhere like this, was a reflection of your own. You made him believe that some good and beauty could really be found in such darkness. Clearing his throat, he spoke with his fingers twirling behind his back, “I brought you out here because… I think we need to talk.” You cocked your head, “About what?” “I— I, uh…," His steps stopped, then yours. "I want to thank you.” “For?” He turned to face you, “For what you said while I was in front of that vile drow. I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered. You could have asked me to do the same — to throw myself at her, what I wanted be damned. But you didn’t. And I’m grateful.” You winced, “I would never — You should never have to do something you don’t want to." “It’s a novel concept, I admit." He gave you a sad smile, "And a little intimidating… it would have been so easy to do it. Just to go along with what I was being told to do. A moment of disgust to force myself through. And then I could have carried on, just like before…” 

But things were different now.

“That would’ve been wrong. How she treated you, how he treated you is wrong.”

"I know. I know that now. The entire reason for my existence was to seduce anything with a pulse. And every instinct I have tells me that nothing’s changed. That I’m still just a means to an end... But you made me see that I never stopped thinking like I was still his slave, even in freedom. But I’m more than that. More than a thing to be used.” The vampire stood up a little taller, his chin lifting. 

"You are so much more, Astarion. You deserve so much more.” His mouth twitched as he tried to force down the swell of emotion climbing up his stomach and into his throat. “Are you all right?” “Oh yes, I’m fine. I just — feel awful." His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes glancing down to his boots. "Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan — seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me. It was easy — instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in." He finally looked up at your face, studying intensely for your reaction. 

"All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. You… you’re incredible.”  Your eyebrows raised on your face as you stepped a little closer, “Astarion… what are you saying?” “I'm saying... That I’ve fallen for you.” He finally admitted. 

A look of astonishment crossed your face, before your lips pulled into the most beautiful smile he had even seen. If you were about to stake him — at least it would be a sweet death.

“And I you.” You whispered back. His mind went berserk, the thudding in his ears amplifying even more. “You — you have?” He sputtered.  “Absolutely. Astarion, you are wonderful, you are… My parents paid for some of the best tutors you can find on this continent, and I still can’t think of the words to describe you.” 

You both let out breathy nervous laughs, both of your eyes darting across the other's features with grins on your face.

The corners of his mouth turned down as he got serious, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve something real. I want us to be something real.” “So do I. More than anything.” You admitted, your eyes sparkling with hope and maybe something a little more.  “I just don’t know what real looks like. Not after two hundred years playing the rake. Being close to someone — any kind of intimacy— was something I performed to lure people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone still feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to.”

Because he did want to. There had been moments with you that had brought him such unexpected bliss, touch and pleasure more euphoric then anything he could have imagined. And he wanted to experience that again with you, all of it with you. But he wanted to experience it without it being marred from his past.  “I care about you — deeply. For longer then I should admit… My feelings for you have been about more than sex and attraction for quite some time now.” He knew what you were saying was the truth. He’d seen the look on your face in the Last Light Inn — the hurt and pain etched into it when you thought he only saw you for sex. That in the last few weeks you too, had been stepping away from the physical — and yet, you still spoke to him, protected him, cared for him. 

But he couldn't stop the little voice in the back of his mind. "Really? You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure. May I hug you?” You asked carefully, your brows furrowed ever so slightly. 

Uncertainty flooded through him. No one had asked his permission like this before. No one had offered affection without some end in sight. But he remembered your previous soft touches, and noticed how cautious you were being now. He nodded his head, convinced. He awkwardly moved his arms out, unsure of how to do this. 

You wrapped your arms around him slowly, giving him ample time to change his mind or pull away. He felt your fingers bunch the material on the back of his shirt, tugging at it gently. Your scent filled his nostrils, your warmth seeping into his cold body. No one had very touched him like this, comforted him like this. He choked back the sob that almost escaped him, his mouth puckering before he wrapped his own arms around you — burying his head into the side of your neck and pushing into you more. 

Astarion wasn’t sure how long you stood there like that — but he didn’t really care. He hadn't realized how long he had yearned for this, for you.

It took every fiber of his being to pull away from you, but he caught your hand before you could fully pull away. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're doing... or what comes next." He placed his other hand on top of yours, enveloping them with what he hoped was a tender touch. "But I know that this? This is nice." 

You gave him another life-changing smile, “It is. Isn’t it?” 

He couldn't stop himself from matching your expression, “Gods, I feel so foolish — I don’t know how to do this, to be romantic or anything without—“ 

You interrupted him softly, “We will learn together. And take our time doing so.”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so patient and kind? It makes me like you even more.” He said exasperatedly, staring at your now intertwined fingers. 

You looked up to the now inky black sky, “It’s getting late,”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, “I don’t want to turn in yet. I just got you to myself…” 

“There will be more nights, I promise.” You assured him.

His eyebrows rose as he had an idea, but the worry of rejection flooded through him, “Would you, if you wanted, you can say no—“

“Starry.” You gave him a reassuring nod, your eyes telling him to speak up for himself.  

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked in a hushed tone. 

You quirked your lips, “Perhaps you need more time before we share a tent — even just to sleep. I do not want to rush you.” 

“I—I must admit I quite enjoyed having you next to me while we just slept at the inn." He confessed. 

“You would be comfortable with that?” 

He nodded, “Yes, I believe so.” 

“And if you change your mind?” 

“I will tell you. I promise.” 

“As you wish, love.” You squeezed his fingers once more, before beginning to lead him back towards the camp. 

He stumbled behind you for a moment, slightly dazed. 

Love. The name made his heart swoon and flutter. Gods, his name on your lips had made him come alive again, but that single word made him feel like he was the only person in the world. 

• • •

Thankfully the rest of the party had retired to their tents by the time you two returned. The campfire snuffed out, and supplies tucked away. Scratch had lifted his head from his watch on a rock as you approached, but settled quickly as he saw who it was. 

You had changed in your own tent, insisting on that boundary until more time had passed. You had been shivering in your nightclothes as you slipped into his tent and immediately hid under one of his blankets. Astarion had chuckled before joining you, leaving a respectable amount of space between you. A comfortable amount for him, as you insisted. 

He couldn't help but look at you laying next to him. When he had laid next to you in the inn he had to force himself to look away, but he allowed himself to now. Your face and hair glowed in the soft light of the few candles he had kept lit. His eyes focused on your lips as you licked them before speaking. 

“You are much braver than I am.” You whispered, keeping your voice low so as not to wake your sleeping companions. 

The vampire scoffed, “Me? Brave? Darling, don’t make me laugh. I made Karlach wear me like a backpack today to cross over vines.” “To say what you did tonight first… I had been trying to work up the courage but I… I think I care about you so much it just terrified me.” 

He had seen you stand up to cambions, run through burning buildings. But that is what terrified you? “Why?” Your brow instantly furrowed, your eyes flashing down. “I… I never thought you would reciprocate. I was happy to take whatever scraps you gave me because I just assumed… I’ve been told I’m hard to love most of my life. Too loud, too much.”  “I could never have enough of you.” The words left Astarion’s lips without a second thought. Instant tears formed in your eyes, turning them silver in the glowing candle light. You clutched your chest for a moment, before brushing the tears away, “Oh, you can’t just say things like that.”  “Even if they are true?” He asked, tilting his head.  

“Astarion… I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” 

He scoffed, "If anyone should be asking that it’s me.”

You shook your head at his intended self-deprecation, before settling onto the bedroll as you prepared yourself to sleep.

He watched your eyes flutter open and closed for a few times, before he spoke again quietly. “Would you tell me one of the things?” 

“Hmmm?” You asked with a hum, your eyes still closed as you rolled slightly closer to hear him.  “A few weeks ago you— you said that you wished I could see myself the way you do… How do you see me?”

Though he was overjoyed with you reciprocating his feelings, he couldn’t help but be bewildered by them. Why him? Out of all the people you had met and befriended, why in the hells had you picked him? He was violent, arrogant, traumatized… 

Your expression softened as you opened your eyes, a happy sound escaping you as you thought. “I love the way you act when you think no one is looking.” He blinked. “What ever do you mean?” “Oh, when you hum around camp when doing chores or… oh, that cat at the inn. You were so delighted, petting that the little thing.” You smiled at the memory, “Everyone is afraid of being perceived, I know. And with the walls you built around yourself… it is such a lovely sight to see when you let them down for a moment.”

He stared at you in disbelief. You had been seeing him for longer than he realized.

He whispered your name, before choking out. ”I— Thank you.” 

You looked over at him like he was the stars in the sky. “Goodnight Astarion.” You said sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed as you began to doze off.  “Sweet dreams, darling.” He rolled over onto his back, his eyes moving from your form to close and see you in his dreams instead. A smile tugged on his lips as he fell into his trance. 

And so began the nights of you joining him in his slumber. 

Even just laying next to him, your presence was a gift. Blanketing him with safety and companionship — granting him a peace he had never known. 

The deepest intimacy he had ever experienced. And he wasn’t afraid of it. It wasn’t painful. 

And perhaps that is why the moon came up every night — so that the stars did not feel so alone. 

Part IV

[itsabardknocklife]

By no means trying to start an argument but I don't think it's fair at all to say people hate Mystra because she's a woman. Even if Gale wasn't a minor- she was his teacher, his goddess, she took advantage of the power she had over him, tossed him aside when the orb situation happened, and only comes back into his life to tell him to off himself- this has nothing to do with her being a woman. Am i not allowed to hate Zariel for abusing Karlach? Cazador for torturing Astarion? Shar for manipulating Shadowheart? Vlaiikith for lying to Lae'zel and the entire githyanki race? Mizora for trapping Wyll in his contract? - they are the abusers of characters I love. And equating that to petty fandom misogyny for the sake of ships isn't really fair imo

Nowhere did I say that you couldn't hate Mystra for what she DID do. I agree that she abused her power and manipulated Gale. I also think saying she tossed him aside is Unfair; the Orb in Gale's chest would LITERALLY EAT HER and she tells you as much in a Gale Origin run. She just got back from the dead and now the man she TRUSTED as her CHOSEN has run off in search of the very thing that killed the first Mystra without any sort of foresight or research into what he might find.

If you were in that position, what would you do? It doesn't matter that his intention was "good;" how could you trust someone who went chasing after consume you whole? Especially when the last person who used it intended to do just that? Especially when the moment Gale learns about the Crown of Karsus, he immediately begins to talk of replacing her?

I'm sorry, but I don't think what Mystra's done is on the same level as Cazador, Mizora, Zariel, or Vlaakith. I think there's a whole lot of Unreliable Narrator happening when it comes to the whole "tossing aside" thing. Gale ASSUMES that she stripped him of his power; she did not - the Orb consumed them and he's lucky it didn't consume more. He ASSUMES she's casting him aside when she tells him to go martyr himself; she is not - she's afraid of what he'll do if he gets his hands on the Crown of Karsus, and not without good reason.

I personally think the worst thing Mystra did was fail to communicate and trusted that Gale was smart enough to know what he was doing. He was not. This is not as one sided of a situation as the fandom makes it out to be. Gale dug himself a series of holes and when he hit rock bottom, he looked around and focused on the fact that he'd hit rock bottom without considering WHY he was there.

I understand that people want to see Gale as a Good Person - he wants to see himself that way too! But he's not. He's REALLY not. He's complicated, ambitious, power hungry, and most importantly, human. He has blind spots and biases and quite frankly, it doesn't take much to influence him. He's so close to becoming Karsus 2.0 and he refuses to see it because He Knows Better. He's a Good Person.

So yeah, I think it's extremely fair to chalk this up to fandom misogyny, actually. The fandom acts like the sun shines out of Gale's ass and that he is a perfect good boy who did nothing wrong, and that is, objectively, not true. Gale did many things wrong, and with your encouragement, he can do even more wrong things! Both people in this equation fucked up!! Stop putting the blame solely on Mystra's shoulders!

[murder-incarnate]

i respect durgetash enjoyers who have their durges rekindle their relationship with gortash post-amnesia, or feel any kind of lingering or confusing affection for him, but i'm particularly feral about gortash being elated to see durge again only to discover that they not only don't remember him, they loathe him.

the first time abaddon hears gortash's name post-amnesia is when their friend is telling them how he betrayed her and sold her to an archdevil, and really that would be all that it'd take. yes, his name is... familiar, but that's it, and the important thing here regardless is that he hurt their friend. just as abaddon grows to hate mystra and cazador and mizora and zariel and vlaakith and shar and everyone else who's hurt their friends, they grow to hate gortash. not to mention all the shit they learn about him as their adventure progresses, his role in the absolute plot and all the other despicable things he's done. by the time abaddon reaches baldur's gate, their opinion of this guy is 'he's a piece of shit and i need to stop him'.

that doesn't change upon meeting him, upon learning bits of their history. frankly, on top of the horror of learning about their own personal involvement in the absolute plot, abaddon is mortified to hear that they were close with gortash, this man who betrayed their friend. it's just another terrible thing they've learned about themself, another piece of guilt to carry with them.

i do like the idea of just tiny bits and pieces of memories filtering back in. impressions of Feeling, split seconds of moments shared. and of course there's the things they wrote pre-amnesia and the things others like orin tell them. abaddon wouldn't need it spelled out, they'd figure out that they loved him. that maybe he'd loved them back. but that wouldn't translate to affection now, wouldn't make them reconsider their plan to take him down with the rest of this absolute nonsense. the feelings would be nuanced, yes, but more than anything it'd make abaddon MORE determined to eliminate gortash. yes, they loved him, but they were horrible. they were monstrous. gaining the affection of a creature like that isn't a point in his favor.

in their reunion, abaddon would be professional but cold. willing to negotiate and maintain the peace, for now. but there's no affection there, no admiration. they make no effort to hide the hatred in their eyes, their disapproval. the vague impression that they're thinking about killing him is perhaps familiar but it's a lot less charming in this context tbh

i just adore gortash essentially having to grieve a second time upon realizing that he doesn't have the person he loved back, not really. there's so much of them standing there in front of him, but not all. not enough. certainly not the parts that loved him. this isn't a love story that has a happy ending, at least not for the participants.

[spacebarbarianweird]

I don't know if you got my request or I've been waiting here not knowing I never sent a request but let's forget about that for now, may I ask some Aasimar headcanons?? (Nsfw/sfw however you want)! Btw I love this blog and I'm glad I've found it because there are fanfics and headcanons that are barely talked about!! 💕‼️‼️

Hi! Sorry for making you wait! And thank you for joining!

I have already done Astarion x Protector Aasimar!Tav so this one is about Scourge!Aasimar. Hope you will like it!

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion x Scourge!Aasimar

You are filled with a divine energy that blazes within.

It fuels a strong desire to destroy evil - a desire at best firm and at worst all-consuming.

The fury inside you is so strong you usually wear a mask not to get distracted from your higher mission.

Astarion is the first one you allow to see your face in years.

He carefully takes it away looking at your shining with divine energy eyes.

His own mask shatters.

He is in awe.

Astarion has never seen such beauty and he is mesmerized by you.

Of course, he composes himself soon enough and returns to his usual self.

Your own soul is in turmoil.

Vampires are innate evil. Astarion must be your enemy.

But you can't hate him. He is annoying, he is mean.

But he isn't evil.

His master, on the other hand, is.

You crush Cazador with all your fury, doing what you promised to Astarion.

After the graveyard date, you confess you don't know what will happen next.

You have a patron, a powerful angel, who guides you. You have a mission to destroy evil.

You don't know if you can stay together if he can share this path with you.

Astarion refuses to go. He is stubborn and selfish, things unfamiliar to you.

And as time goes you start asking yourself questions.

Is there another life for Aasimars? Can you have a life of your own? Desires of your own?

With years you realize there is no conflict.

Well, as long as Astarion doesn't get close to you in the fight since your divine light can burn him to ashes.

He is still the only one who has a right to see your face and he cherishes this gift.

Carefully put your mask on when you are ready to go and patch it when you rest.

During a fight with a devil, you are heavily wounded. Astarion, having forgotten about precautions, jumps to save you and he is killed that instant.

You kneel beside him, crying and praying.

It couldn't end like that!

Then you approach the defeated devil and ask what she can offer for her pathetic life.

"Everything you say. Tell me, devil, is it true all the vampires go to hell?"

You make a pact with her to retrieve Astarion from Hells.

The devil obliges - and Astarion is returned to you.

Alive.

Not undead.

His eyes are green like wet leaves and his heart beats so loud you can hear it.

As he is back you refuse to keep living like a Scourge. You want freedom.

You still wear the mask and Astairon is still the only one who can see your face.

When it's time for you to die, Astarion stays with you till your last breath and hands your body to your angelic patron once she comes for you.

This part of his life is over. He is still young by elven standards - and heads forward to meet his own people.

No matter what will happen next he will always remember you.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryena-targaryen @queenofthespacesquids @ednaaa-04 @dajeong

[missygoesmeow]

missy's tips for honour mode :) (it's very long I'm sorry) (oh and here be many spoilers) (but pictures too!)

please note I am not a pro gamer or anything. I sucked so bad when I first started this game (I had no idea wtf I was doing). Like seriously. I didn't know what an action was. what a bonus action was. "No movement left". WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO MOVEMENT LEFT. I had played DnD once before.

I literally bought this game because of Astarion.

I usually play one game and that is Overwatch. the only other time I stopped playing OW was to play Resident Evil: Village because of Lady D. vampire marketing works on me. specifically evil vampire. damn u Neil and Maggie.

if you have any questions about a specific boss or something feel free to ask! I didn't fight everyone though - like I did not do House of Grief because I didn't need to and also it's hard :)

I think a lot of it just came on down to...

ANYWAY. letsa go! this is very rambling!

Like I said in my reply to anon, the best tip is to do tactician FIRST. You’ll get destroyed otherwise. I didn’t finish my tactician run but I did get to act 3 and I did most boss fights (Gortash, Raphael, Cazador). Bosses have legendary actions in tactician and it’s fucking annoying. All the homies hate radiant retort….

Another tip is fucking collect everything. It’s hard to get gold and certain potion ingredients later on. Potion of Speed (you need hyena ears for this) is the BEST. I used them for my Ketheric fight (second phase) and killed him in three turns. I also used them for the final fight and used one or two with Raphael and Orin.

Smokepowder Barrels. I think people call this Barrelmancy? I didn't use them much. I hoarded them for one reason and one reason only.

To blow Raphael.

His soul pillar towers that is. To blow up his pillars. His big long pillars.

Okay I'm done.

(also I did use three in my last fight against the brain - popped them next to it and blew 'em up) Elixir of Bloodlust - sooooo handy with Astarion!

Invisibility Potion is a must - I used this to escape fights when three people were deaded (this happened a few times😅) and get my good friend Withers to bring them back.

bonus tip: don't go into a fight with half your spell slots because you think "she'll be right". she won't be...as seen above

HOLY FUCK WITHERS. You can pickpocket Withers. I used Astarion to get our money back anytime I resurrected, changed class or got a hireling - he doesn’t care if you fail either, just keep trying.

DON'T BE DUMB LIKE MISSY Don't be like me, don't half pay attention in cut scenes and accidentally press the wrong dialogue option. Or else your good friend Lae'zel will turn on you and you will have A Bad Time.

Gale has a stressful day💗

The githyanki are scary and actually now that I think about it, those were usually the fights I had to run away from like a leetle biatch.

Halsin has a stressful day 💗

I forgot that Psionic Backlash is like a thing that does damage and that if your entire worm filled party does it and the person you are casting is at like...say 19 health...they will die because that is not Passive Damage.

And then Jaheira will leave because you murdered her friend.

Oopsie.

(I lost Shart, Lae'Zel and Jaheira in this run) GENERAL STUFF

Always surprise the enemy if you can, it’s a massive advantage!

Get the eye from Volo. This run was not about looking pretty, it was about getting any advantage I could get. Let that man poke out your eyeball. And make sure it’s your Tav, you will mostly likely swap companions and it’s just better if it’s you. It's helpful in a lot of fights but especially Auntie Ethel

Become half illithid. I did this with my Tav, Gale and Minthara. Astarion was a little bitch about it so I didn’t give it to him but I wish I had made him do it.

She looks Not Great but she can fly (sorry Astarion but Z'hera only likes pussy)

Being able to fly is just SO helpful and cull the weak is OP! Also mmmmm worms :)

MY BUILD/PARTY

A Giant Woman (my tiefling) as a Paladin - Oath of Vengeance.

I broke my oath when I ascended Astarion but you can just get it back. Oathbreaker is still good (that’s what I was in my tactician run) but I wanted my channel divinity charges. I started with the Everburn Blade from the cambion Commander Zhalk on the Nautaloid (when you get Shart, give her the Command Spell and use “Drop” so you can just yoink it off him and save a fight). My final weapon was the Nyrulna which you can get in Act 3 at the Circus. To get this you must pickpocket the genie to take his ring and then play his game. He will accuse you of cheating and send you somewher. The prize at the end is this weapon. I love it. I just went invisible and walked through, I didn’t fight the creatures there.

Astarion - the classic gloomstalker/assasin. I had one level assasin and then did 6 levels ranger before going back to assassin. So he was 6 levels in each. With him ascended, he does INSANE damage. I never swap out that vamp, he’s too useful.

Shart/Minthara - I lost Shart in the Shadowfell - wouldn't let her murder Dame Aylin.

a simpler time. before I killed my beloved and my brain was full of worms.

I had to fight her (it was very sad). I changed her class to Life of Domain Cleric. I then made Minthara my cleric when Shart died (same build). She replaced my lover and my cleric <3

i love my new evil girlfriend

Gale - Evocation Wizard so I didn’t change him at all!

he's so hopeful. and Z'hera is very gay.

TIPS FOR POTIONS

If it’s throwable (like invisibility) group the gang together to throw one on the ground to get you all - saves using multiple.

Potion of Speed has an effect called lethargic that is active for one round after the potion ends. This means you miss a turn. HOWEVER! If you drink another one on the last active round of the potion, your Tav will become lethargic immediately and next round you’ll be fine :) I did this for the Ketheric fight.

It’s also helpful (because of lethargic) to not have all characters take the potion in the same round (if you give it to everyone). I never did, I usually gave them to Gale and my Tav.

I hoarded so many scrolls. I had so many dimension door scrolls at the end.

I did get the Necromancy of Thay and did all the things. And then I never used it :)

BIGGEST TIP ONCE YOU'VE UNLOCKING LEVEL 6 SPELL SLOT WITH CLERIC (ALSO AVAILABLE WITH DRUID)

I saw this on reddit! Pretty much what I did was get a hireling - Cleric - and have that Cleric cast Heroes' Feast on my party.

The affected entity is immune to Diseases, Poisons, and being Frightened, it makes all Wisdom Saving throws with Advantage, and its maximum Hit Points are increased by 12

Lasts until long rest!! I also then cast Freedom of Movement on everyone in the party. I then cast Warding Bond on someone - usually Gale because he's a squishy boy :) If I knew it was a BIG FIGHT! I got another Cleric to cast Warding Bond on another party member.

you can see Heroes' Feast (the condition is called Thoroughly Stuffed) and Freedom of Movement. These all last until long rest!

Pretty much any other companions were respeced as Cleric (though I made Jaheira a Wizard same as Gale so I could use her). I did this so that I could use Divine Intervention multiple times within the game!

I used Opulent Revival and nothing else

KEEP IN MIND.

anything can kill you in honour mode. even an elevator.

it crushed me. somehow.

thanks Larian

(if you want proper guides definitely go to Reddit!)

[its-jaytothemee]

Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 3

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 1,042; Chapter 3, Astarion POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. First three chapters will come together, then hopefully one or two at a time after that!

Astarion grabbed a cloak from one of the many wardrobes in the familiar palace as he ran from the dungeon. Tears were streaming down his face, streaking the blood splattered over his cheeks and neck, shame boiling up in him like an overflowing pot of stew. He pushed the feeling down as far as he could.

‘I can’t think about that now…’ he thought to himself, ‘I have to get out of here…’

He knew Tav was right, he knew it the moment he had Cazador at his mercy, kneeling before him like Astarion had been forced to so many times before. There was something about being back here, something that awakened something dark and hateful within him, something that even his sweet Tav couldn’t draw out of him. It was intoxicating. But now, like a bad hangover after a long night of drinking, he was sobering up and returning to the nightmare in which he lived. And like a bad hangover, he felt disoriented even in the place he lived…no…was held captive for two hundred years. He kept running, bursting through doors until he found the one that let the sun shine on his face.

Another memory hit him like a punch to the gut. Feeling the sun for the first time after the nautiloid crash, waiting for the light to reduce him to ash. But it didn’t. For the first time in two hundred years, he was able to feel the warmth of the sun. Better yet, he felt no compulsion or presence from Cazador, yet he had no idea that it still wouldn’t be the best thing to happen to him that day.

Tav…

His thoughts wandered back to her. Tav, who had shown him nothing but kindness and compassion. Tav, who had held him through nightmares, sacrificing her own rest to make sure he felt safe. Tav, who constantly stood up for him with companions and strangers alike. Tav, the first person in two centuries to love him. And he told her that he hoped she died screaming. At one time, Astarion had wondered if her forgiveness and compassion knew any bounds but now, he knew he had found them. He swore to her that he was done manipulating her, done using her. And yet when he finally had the chance to repay her for everything she had done for him, he threw that kindness back in her face. Worse still, he actually hit her, just for trying to comfort him. He was mortified with himself. He saw the pain in her face when he left her in stunned silence. In that moment, he thought about turning back, running to her and apologizing, asking for her forgiveness, swearing every oath that he would change for her, but he knew he couldn’t. Even if she found it in her heart to forgive him, if she welcomed him back and still loved him, he knew the others wouldn’t feel the same. They all cared for her so deeply in a way they could never care for him. As much as he had come to admire and respect his companions, none of them had the same kind heart as Tav. He saw the hate in Gale’s eyes as he stormed away, the disappointment clouding Shadowheart’s face, the disgust as Halsin had ripped the staff out of Astarion’s hands. Tav’s strength didn’t just come from her skill with a blade, it came from her incredible desire and ability to bond with others. Everyone they had met on their journey immediately trusted her and loved her, Astarion was no exception. He was just the one arsehole that didn’t deserve her.

He kept running along the lower city wall until he found the stairs to take him back below to the city. His muscles were aching, so he quickly found a divot in the wall where he could crouch down and catch his breath. The citizens passed him by, taking him for another beggar or refugee. He sat down and pulled his knees up to his chest, gathering his cloak around himself. Burying his face in the fabric, he desperately tried to keep his grief from consuming him. He had nowhere to go, no family, no friends…nothing.

‘You have no one to blame but yourself you selfish arse.’ He berated himself.

Minutes passed, maybe hours as he huddled in the dark recess of the wall. Suddenly he heard footsteps that were oddly familiar. He heard soft sounds emerging from the same doorway he had burst through earlier. His chest felt heavy again as he recognized the voices.

“We could go and find something to eat? You look famished, my friend.”

“That’s okay, Gale. I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment.” A small, raspy voice responded.

He cautiously peered his head around the corner to see Tav, Halsin, Gale, and Shadowheart walking not 10 paces away from him.  The sight of Tav in her current state was more painful than any wound Cazador had inflicted on him. Her eyes were puffy and bright red, tear streaks lined her cheeks, her eyes were fixated on the ground in front of her. She was shuffling her feet as she walked, shoulders slumped forward. She clung to Halsin as if he was the only thing able to keep her upright. Even from his hiding spot he could hear how ragged her breaths were, each one seeming to bring another wave of exhaustion.

‘Gods above…’ he thought to himself.

He would rather have the infernal contract on his back carved into his skin again each and every night than see her like this. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run into her arms. To bury his face in her hair and beg her to take him back, beg her to help him be the man she saw in him. But he couldn’t do that to her, give her the false hope that he could change. She deserved to be with someone who could take care of her, who appreciated everything she had to offer. The realization crushed him. He watched the woman he loved fade into the crowd of the city, knowing that for her own good he could never see her again.

[marcynomercy]

Fate written in blood

Thank you @littol-rascal for beta-reading and for giving me so many tips and suggestions to improve writing thanks to that the next chapters got better too.

Summary: The blood has always been her way until the day that fate changed, After being kidnapped by mind flayers and the fall of the Nautiloid Calamity had a new opportunity for freedom and strangely her fate crossed with that of Astarion when the elf put that dagger around her neck. 

 Their fate until now was written by others, but now they would write with their own hands in blood. 

Warnings: Violence, blood, game events, mentions of trauma, distress/comfort, mention of abuse. (That’s it for now)

Ship: Astarion and Calamity (Tav), Shadowheart and Carniex (Tav), mentions of other characters.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4.

Chapter 3 - Blood and a song

 That night, Calamity told Astarion her story–vaguely, because it was a bit too foreboding in the middle of the night, and perhaps the details would leave them both with nightmares, she said. 

In turn, Astarion heard everything she was willing to say, making his own mental notes: First, that her masters were two motherfuckers who deserved death just as well as Cazador, and second, that she was clearly broken—she just didn’t know how much. 

 She’d admitted that she was just "acting" the lead role, and Astarion found himself impressed since she’d done so quite it masterfully... so he just realized that she just assumed what she needed at the time, like a good doll and puppet. 

 He felt disgusted by it. 

 For some reason, he began to hate it, the lack of personality, ambition and greed... the lack of life in her. By the gods, he was an undead and had more to live for than she who had a beating heart in her chest! 

 So he started little by little, and when she seemed to want something, he encouraged her to take it, no matter how useless it seemed.

"Darling, if you want something, take it! No one willcare, and it’s better to have than to not, don’t you think?"

Hearing these words, Calamity just kept quiet, but she agreed.

 Calamity went on to pick up a few things, starting with one or two books that she became curious about, and then jewelry–they found a bag with some, and Astarion picked up almost all of it, with the exception of one piece–a silver necklace. After all, he had to stay away from silver, but Calamity kept staring at the necklace with great interest.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"A-Ah... the stone." She pointed to the small stone in the setting, probably a ruby, judging by its crimson hues. "It’s beautiful… I like that color," she said softly.

"Do you like red?"

"Yes! It’s a strong and welcoming color..." She looked into his eyes. "Like your eyes."

 Astarion found himself at a loss for words.

"R-Right, if you like the necklace, then take it! I can’t touch it," he chuckled

 That’s how she took the necklace she would wear around her neck often now. 

 It was the sixth day after the fall of the Nautiloid and the formation of this strange group, and now, they had two more members: A tiefling who fled the blood war called Karlach, and the hero of the coast, Wyll.

 So far, they’d just had to deal with some goblins, gnolls, some false paladins of Thyr, and at the present time–a hag. 

"That bitch pissed me off." She told the group as justification for chasing the hag to the bottom of her lair.

 Was it perhaps another idiotic reason? Maybe, but this witch had angered everyone in the group one way or another, so no one protested. At least it was a decision she made based on the trial itself, and that was progress and... well, they found a Gur. For some reason, he’d been there on the trail near the hag’s house, and they bumped into each other after the fight against the hag, saving Myrina and giving her a zombie husband. The Gur said he was looking for a vampire spawn,and immediately Calamity and Astarion’s gazes met. 

"And what will you do with him? Kill him?" Calamity asked.

"I have orders to capture him and take him back to Baldur’s Gate," the Gur replied, "my people are waiting for me there." 

As easy as it would be to pull a dagger and kill him– something she’d done before– didn’t seem justifiable, since she was the only one to know Astarion’s secret... therefore, she discreetly poked the vampire, hoping he would stop looking at the hunter as a beast ready to kill, saying goodbye quickly before snatching the elf, taking him down the road with her until they were out of the Gur’s earshot. 

"Why the hell did you spare him?!" Astarion’s tone was frustrated at best, downright furious at worst. "I should have killed him!" 

"Shh!!" Calamity put her hand over his mouth as she walked him away from the group a little so they could speak. "I did it to keep your secret hidden for longer! Think about it, Astarion… if I killed him without a GOOD explanation what others would think?" She argued, stepping away from him a little. " You once told me to think first before acting impulsively."

"Well, that was because you tried to draw the sword to a devil! He was just a Gur, and we killed a Hag because she annoyed you, remember?"

"I think the Hag’s death was enough of an impulsive action for today." 

He rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Yes! But if he shows up at camp..." Astarion’s tone was pointed, clearly expecting a response.

"Well," she replied, meeting his gaze with as serious of an expression as she could, “then I will have the pleasure of killing him, and draining his blood to be your dinner." She finished with a flourish of her hand, smiling at the vampire.

 Astarion just laughed in response, imagining her hanging the cadaver upside down to drain the blood–imagining such a small and adorable person doing it was frankly hilarious.

"Hey, you’re mocking my height in your mind again, aren’t you?!" She crossed her arms, a half-pout on her face.

"Me? No," Astarion said, feigning both seriousness and innocence, "I was just thinking lovely things about how cute and small you are."

 Judgind from Calamity’s expression, she was ready to hit him.

"Hey, when did the two of you start being so close?" Shadowheart asked suspiciously. " Now you’re even talking and whispering."

"Awww, let them talk! They’re so cute, like a couple." Karlach, chuckled, seemingly enjoying seeing them like this.

 Both of them looked up, denial and surprise evident on their faces.

"It’s either that, or you’re trying to make up for her brother's absence, which is kind of a... pathetic thing anyway." Much to their dismay, the cleric seemed as sharp as ever.

"Astarion and I just got a little closer as friends... what’s up? Is Shadowheart jealous?" Calamity teased.

"Only in your dreams." Shadowheart replied, rolling her eyes.

"You hurt me, Shadowheart, I thought you liked me." Calamity fake-pouted, though the beginnings of a smile were evident at the corners of her mouth.

"Don’t be dramatic, you silly." The cleric said amicably.

 After all, Calamity and Shadowheart seemed to have had a good rapport from the beginning, and if she wanted advice or to clear her mind so she could plan more clearly, the other party members could be sure they would find the leader of the group talking to Shadowheart.

As they walked, Shadowheart pulled Calamity away from Astarion.

"What are you two hiding?" she asked.

"Nothing that is problematic in, I think..." She thought a little better. "I think it’s not problematic... at least not for me. Anyway! It’s a personal thing for him, and I promised that I would keep it a secret, and you better than anyone understands secrecy, isn’t that Shart?" The cleric sighed, mainly due to the fact that she'd used the nickname.

"Are you really going to insist on the nickname?"

"If you don't like this, I’m accepting suggestions! You know... you’re my first friend, and I know that nicknames are something affectionate..." Calamity’s cheeks flushed slightly."So... you can call me "Caly" if you want to."

"Oh, that’s a cute nickname. Your brother calls you that, I suppose."

"Yeah, you know, whenever he calls me by my name,I’m usually going to get scolded, or it’s something serious." 

 They talked for a while as they made their way back to the camp.

 Maybe it was because of the awkward encounter with the Gur or just his mind dragging him back into misery to remind him not to relax, but Astarion had a nightmare. 

 The vampire from his trance after dreaming of Cazador meeting him in the forest. He was terrified of his desperate mind, and hunger tended to strike him as terribly and strongly as his fear did. He needed more strength, more power... he needed blood, not those animals he was taking, but someone. Astarion left his tent and began to think about who he should pay a visit to, but luckily for him, there was someone sleeping outside the tent tonight... It was Calamity. 

 She said she’d help him, so she probably wouldn’t be mad at him for that, right?

However, Calamity woke up before he could bite her, and stared at him, sighing in exasperation as she sat up on her sleeping bag. 

"You know…” she trailed off. “I expected you to at least ask." Calamity paused, watching Astarion for a moment. " What happened? You didn’t get anything in the forest today?"

"I..." He was silent for a moment, thinking about what he would say. " I had a nightmare with my Master, he found me and I went back to the shadows... I need to get stronger, and the hunger… it’s consuming me." 

 She saw the despair in his eyes, in his expression… it was a despair she knew very well.

"I understand you, and you know I promised to help you and trust you,” she said, trying to reassure him. 

"Can you trust me but a little more?"

" If it’s a bite you’re asking for, I don’t have a problem with that, but just…” Calamity paused. ”Don’t overdo it. Can you promise me that?"

"Of course,” Astarion replied, feeling the hunger gnaw at his stomach, “now, how about we get comfortable?" 

"I think we’d better go to your tent." she suggested. "Better to prevent any accidents, I’d hate for someone to try to stake you."

"You’re right, of course,” Astarion chuckled. “Can we?" he reached out to Calamity,who gladly accepted his hand.

 So silly. She trusted him so very easily…was it really so easy to conquer someone like her, just like that? 

 As soon as they entered his tent, Calamity just watched everything quietly, as it was messy; the empty blood jars and the wooden tablet on the floor... He didn’t seem very comfortable. 

"Wait a moment." Astarion took some pillows and a sleeping bag,quickly preparing a bed for her. "Much better."

"Why don’t you do it for yourself when you get some rest?" An innocent question from Calamity, but it hurt, somehow.

 Astarion ignored the question, making her sit in the sleeping bag accommodating her.

"How do you want to do this?" Calamity asked almost automatically, her eyes wide.

"Well…” Astarion paused. “Are you afraid?" 

"Of being bitten by a vampire? Honestly, I’m not afraid. I can’t explain it, but it seems natural to me..." Calamity said softly, her expression thoughtful. 

"Have... you ever been bitten?" Astarion was intrigued by her perspective.

"If I was, I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything before I was 10 years old, and there are things I just know." 

"No memories, but her subconscious remembers information it needs, so to speak..." he muttered, more as an observation to himself. "Well, whatever’s most comforting to you." 

 Calamity just grabbed her hair that was loose, moving to lie on a pillow leaving her neck easily accessible to him. Astarion then positioned himself on top of her calmly, watching her features. She stared serenely waiting for him... so soft, so inviting. 

  He slowly approached, placing his hand behind the back of her neck, then he finally set his fangs and bit down, feeling the blood flow into his mouth.

 The taste was... something he himself could not explain, it was coppery, savory, and sweet as vanilla, but had something more full-bodied, dense, strong... powerful. It was intense and addictive, and the more he drank, the more his desire increased. Meanwhile, Calamity felt pain, but also something completely new, unique; she could feel her blood flow from her body to his... but even after that, there was still something more. 

  Something asleep inside her that began to stir, deeply. Calamity grabbed the fabric of his shirt, trying to something, but Astarion couldn’t make out the words. He lifted her body, embracing her waist as her grip on his shirt tightened, her voice rising again.

"A-Astarion... please... stop." She pleaded with him, her vision blurred, her tone exhausted, weak even.

 Astarione realized he may have gone overboard, detaching himself from her neck immediately, but he kept holding her in his arms...saw what he did to her.

"Calamity?! Hey, don’t sleep!" he demanded, hiding his nervousness.

"Calm down, I won’t close my eyes."  Calamity’s voice was weak and her eyes looked heavy, yet she still tried to reassure him...

 To Astarion, her skin looked paler than before, and the blood was still flowing from the bite on her neck. Astarion then licked the blood that was dripping from the punctures,laying her down carefully. 

"That - that was amazing. My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel… happy." Astarion said as he stroked her face. "This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it."

Exhausted and drained, Calamity chose to just accept the affection willingly.

"I’m happy to help... is it a bad thing if I fall asleep? I feel so... tired." 

Her breathing was heavier, and Astarion feared that if she slept, her heart would stop beating. An irrational fear, perhaps, but a fear nonetheless.

"You know, darling, maybe it’s a little dangerous if you sleep." He sat next to her.

"Are you afraid I’ll die?"

"Well, if you die after letting me drink your blood, I don’t think others will see it in the right light…it would at least be a stake in my chest."

"Do you think someone like me would die so easily?" Calamity questioned, slightly turning her face to look at him.

"Would you be offended if I said that at this moment you seem very fragile?"

"No…” she trailed off drowsily. “Am I delusional, or do you look worried?"

"It’s kind of hard not to be a little worried right now." Astarion admitted, concern laced into his voice.

Calamity smiled when she heard those words. 

"You know, I’m gonna need to sleep sometime." 

"Then, please drink a healing potion before closing your eyes." Shuffling about, Astarion quickly took a jar from somewhere–she couldn’t tell where.

 Calamity raised her head high enough to be able to drink the potion without problems. Astarion helped her, of course, and then laid her down again. 

"Will you rest too?" she asked.

"Not yet, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more… filling."

 Astarion left her in his tent and ran into the forest, the truth is that he was hungry in a different sort of way.

"Gods... any more and I would have devoured her." He muttered, feeling heat begin to simmer beneath his skin, feeling the tension pooling in his groin.

 When he returned to his tent, Calamity was still there, seemingly in a deep sleep. He laid down beside her, but much to his surprise, she was awake, turning towards him and open her eyes.

"Are you tired?" She asked.

"I’m still far too awake to go into a trance now." He sighed.

"I can sing, to help you relax." she suggested.

"What? Will you put me to sleep with a lullaby?" He joked, looking mischievously at her.

"Well, it’s a unique offer." Calamity hummed.

"In that case…” Astarion paused. “How could I say no." 

 Calamity began to sing; a soft and beautiful melody, but the music hit Astarion in a way he would never have imagined.

"Light is not a salvation, the shadows are,

Your place isn’t in the light but you still miss it;

Blood calls you, so don’t hold on,

I will accompany you; wherever you go, I will be by your side.

This moment is our eternity,

Don’t think about tomorrow or the next century;

Just stay in this brief moment by my side,

I’ll be yours until I die.

You don’t belong to the light,

The darkness in you that even the brightest light can’t illuminate;

For some reason I am drawn to this darkness, I can’t help it,

It ‘s the darkest part of my soul taking a breath from this welcoming darkness."

  It seemed to Astarion that this song was made for him, as the lyrics made every part of his being tremble, even down to his soul.

"Darling... where did you hear that song?" he asked perplexed.

"I don’t know, I don’t remember. But this song is recorded in my heart, I sang it whenever I felt lonely and helpless. It was my hope and my comfort, so I hope she will give you some of that comfort and hope Astarion." She smiled and stretched out her hand shyly to him.

 Astarion was still atonite, he didn’t know what to think or what he was feeling... but this is nice, why not? He held her hand and she continued to sing to him. 

"So I took her in,

I took you in,

If it’s my blood you want, I’ll give it to you;

If it’s my life you want, I’ll give it to you;

I’ll give you everything, down to my soul,

This moment is our peace,

This moment is our redemption;

Let me stay with you in this darkness,

This is our eternity, my love."

 He listened to the end, his mind slipping gently into a trance. Upon seeing him relaxed, Calamity finally gave in to sleep too, whispering to him before slumber took her... 

"Sweet dreams, Astarion."

Well that’s it! Thank you for reading the third chapter.

@spacebarbarianweird @spacesquidlings @thechaoticdruid @vixstarria

Who wants to be tagged in the next chapters please tell me in the comments.

[autistichalsin]

I'm really fucking tired.

All I wanted was a space to obsess over a fictional man, who brought me a ton of healing, in peace.

This group has made it their mission to chase not only me away, but anyone associated with me. They called me a rape fetishizer for writing CNC fic. They called me a pedophile for making an omega Halsin headcanon. They called me a self-hating lesbian/lesbophobic for saying it's TERFy to demonize queer male sexuality. They mocked my abuse by my mom, and when called on it, laughed that I deserved it for saying how Mint's actions remind me of her sometimes. They accused me of retraumatizing myself because of the fic I wrote, when THEY were the ones who retraumatized me by causing me to have a flashback to my mom abusing me. They accused me of absolutely vile things, and today they questioned if I even was "really" abused because of the fic I wrote. They repeatedly mocked my special interests and then got offended and played victim when I said this was ableist. They've sent suicide bait to me and my friends.

They've harassed others: they harassed a bi SH fan for asking them to stop saying it was icky to ship her with men until she left the fandom, they harassed someone who made a mod to turn Scratch into Astarion so they could see the animations (even calling this person as bad as Cazador), they harassed someone for making a headcanon about Astarion dancing with Tav, they harassed a lesbian who herself headcanons Karlach as a lesbian and doesn't like Karlach/Dammon but explained why others do, they harassed my friend Mish for saying she was okay with me writing CNC, they sent suicide bait to another friend of mine and said she deserved to get raped so she would sympathize with Mint, causing her to have a mental breakdown and have to go to the hospital for 24 hours, and every time someone pushes back against them, this group weaponizes their identity by saying that person is bigoted against their identity- while ignoring (at best) the marginalized identities that person has, or at worst, furthering oppression against them (I.E. their repeated ableist comments, including one of them snarling at another user about "enjoying your grippy sock vacation")

And despite all these vile things this group of people have done, people are still believing them and sending more harassment to myself and my friends in their defense.

I'm fucking tired.

I'm tired of defending myself. I'm tired of losing people I considered friends to their lies. I'm tired of having my inbox invaded by these vile people.

They are wearing at my mental health and this already made me relapse on one of my addictive behaviors and I am fighting really hard not to do the other one. I'm tired. I loved this fandom and I loved contributing my ideas. I get so many messages from people saying I made them feel seen or made them connect to Halsin's character, and getting a message from a survivor that my posts gave them the words they were lacking for what happened to them and they were able to work through it in counseling was honestly one of the best things to ever happen to me. I really don't want to lose that. Ever. But I can't keep doing this.

I'm not bigoted to my own identity. I don't hurt people. I don't fetishize rape. I'm tired of being a broken record and not being believed because that group is so good at fragilizing themselves. I can't do it anymore.

I just wanted to share my thoughts about a fictional bear man because it made me happy and so many parts of him gave me courage. I wanted to give up cynicism like he did. I wanted to find his strength to take care of people.

But I am honestly very close to regretting ever joining this fandom. I have gained so much from it, it helped my mental health immensely, but this shit has put me in an even WORSE place mentally than i was before I joined.

I don't know what to do. I'm just tired of the way, no matter how much I epitomize "living your best life" I get treatment from these people that I honestly wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

I have a lot of painful feelings right now and I don't know what to do anymore. It just hurts and I think everyone would be better off if I'd never made this blog to begin with.

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter Seven

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: Astarion answers the call of an old friend.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

_____________________________________________________________

The clinic in Heapside smells the same as it did the last time Astarion was here. The air has a distinctly astringent flavor to it, as though he can taste the yellowing paint of the walls. The smell wrenches him back in time two whole years, when he had been starving, empty, hollow. He was suddenly free, but also exhausted and scared and unsure of what came next.  

But it had been okay because Wyll was there. Wyll who had come in behind the team of Flaming Fists who had cleared the club and arrested Cazador. Who had insisted that Astarion and the other spawn received medical attention before they were questioned, who had sat in on the questioning, quietly insisting that they didn’t have to answer the more invasive questions. Astarion hadn’t known or hadn’t cared enough to pay attention to Wyll’s role and title, but he later learned that he was a social worker, coming in behind the blundering and smashing of law enforcement to pick up the pieces. And the people left behind. 

It had taken shockingly little to expose Cazador, to get the Fist to pay attention, to raid the place and arrest him. Just one woman who had been to the club who had seen it for what it was, seen Astarion for everything he wasn’t. He’d tried and failed to seduce Karlach, and she’d reported the whole thing to her friend Wyll and contacts in the Fist and his whole world had been changed. 

Astarion still wonders what made Wyll stay after the interrogation was over, after he was declared free to go. But he had stayed, and they had talked. And as the sun set over the city, Wyll had taken him home and told him to stay as long as he needed. He almost didn’t go with him, but then, he had nowhere else he could go. It had been the kindest and most generous thing anyone had ever done for him, so naturally it made it really hard to see Wyll ever again. 

The good news was that Wyll no longer worked for the Fist, instead, he spent his time traveling, taking short-term contracts wherever along the Sword Coast the need for him was greatest. It meant he was rarely in the city. Except tonight, apparently. He’d called, and Astarion had answered. He owes Wyll his life, so it’s really the least he could do. 

It’s just as well anyway, he’d desperately needed to escape the mess he’d just made with Liv. It had been a mistake to kiss her. And judging by the way she’d all but leaped from the couch when his phone rang, she knows it. So he’s not thinking about it. At all. 

“Astarion!” Wyll’s voice is full of warmth, of genuine happiness. “It’s so good to see you.”  He walks out of a nearby room, shutting the door behind him. He’s dressed simply, a threadbare flannel thrown on over a simple t-shirt and jeans. His smile is a promise that he only sees the best parts of a person, and Astarion is never sure how to meet it. 

“I’m sure it is, but you didn’t call me all the way down here for a social call,” Astarion replies somewhat waspishly. Seeing Wyll is…complicated. He likes Wyll, but he hates being reminded of who he was before Wyll intervened. Besides, he’s not sure he’s going to be happy to do whatever Wyll has called him down here for. 

Wyll’s eyebrows rise, but his smile doesn’t falter. “How are you? What’s new in your life?” Wyll won’t be rushed, he’ll make Astarion observe the social niceties before he tells him a damn thing. 

“I’m doing very well. I no longer have to work at the Elfsong at all as I’ve got a roommate,” he replies. A roommate that he absolutely definitely wasn’t making out with when Wyll called.

Wyll laughs. “A roommate. Gods, I’d like to see that. I hope they’ve got their own closet, you get rather churlish when you have to share.”

Astarion glares at him. “What about you? What brings you to the city? How’s dear old dad?”

Astarion knows he’s actually won this round because even though Wyll doesn’t stop smiling, he does change the subject. “You know that Cazador’s coven wasn’t the only one in the city, right? Several of the clubs got a little nervous with his arrest, got more secretive, but were still operating.”

So there’s another vampire here? Did Wyll bring him in to give them a little pep talk? Show them that life is worth living? How utterly ridiculous. “Did you find another vampire to rescue, darling? I’m hurt.”

Wyll shrugs. “I actually thought you’d be the one doing the saving this time.”

“What?”

“I’ve got a contract at a critical access hospital that starts in two days, so I can’t take him. He needs more support than he got last time. You can show him how to live. Besides, you know Petras-”

“Petras!” Astarion exclaims. “No. Absolutely not.” He turns to walk out the door. His brother had been an absolute thorn in his side for decades. He wants nothing to do with him. 

“Astarion,” Wyll calls out calmly. “Remember what you told me the day you moved out of my place?”

Astarion freezes; of course, he remembers. “Not this.”

Wyll’s hand hangs in the air as though summoning the words. “You promised that you’d do anything you could to pay back the kindness you received.”

A fool. He had been a fool to say anything of the sort. “Not him. Not right now. Besides, I have a roommate who doesn’t know anything about what I am.”

Wyll gestures at the door he’d shut. “What a good opportunity for honesty. Petras needs your help. He was freed when you were, but without a coven, without means…he found another. It was…he’s out now. But he’ll need help.”

“No.”

“If he doesn’t have somewhere to go, he will end up dead or simply back with another coven,” Wyll says. 

“I don’t see how his inability to be self-sufficient is my problem,” Astarion replies with a huff. 

“It’s not,” Wyll shrugs. “That’s what makes it a good thing to do. You made me a promise, and I’m asking you to make good on it.”

Ugh. He hates that Wyll is calling him out like this. And he really can’t say no, not to Wyll. “How long?” 

“A week, two at most. I’ve got some friends in an outreach program that will get him a place to live, but he needs a job first. Help him get healthy, acclimated. Show him there’s a life outside those damn clubs. He just needs a bridge to the next good thing.”

No part of him wants to do this. He sighs. “Fine, but he better be out of my apartment  in two weeks.”

He wishes he could smack Wyll in the face, and wipe the proud look out of his eyes. “I knew I could count on you. Should we give him the good news together?”

Astarion pauses. “Does he know I’m here? There wasn’t exactly any love lost between the two of us.”

Wyll nods understandingly. “Actually, after I mentioned I knew you, he was the one who asked for you.”

Oh goodie. “Well, I guess we better get this over with.” 

Wyll stands to the side, allowing Astarion to be the one who takes the next step. He goes to the door, and he definitely doesn’t hesitate at the door before going inside. Not at all. But he does open it, and there sits Petras, exactly the same as he’s always known him. Except…well, he looks like shit, thin, paler than is typical even for vampires. There are bags beneath his eyes, deep as bruises. He looks tired, wrung out. He’s in a hospital bed, but he’s not hooked up to any machines or IVs. They wouldn’t be able to do much for him anyway. There’s an empty blood bag beside him. 

“Hello, brother,” Petras says. There’s no venom in his voice, just an exhaustion that Astarion hates that he understands. 

“Petras,” Astarion says, unable to keep from hissing his name. He’s not sure he knows another way to say it. 

“Does this mean I can get out of here?” Petras asks Wyll. “I hate this place.” 

Well, at least he and Petras can agree on that. This isn’t the same room Astarion was in two years ago, but it might as well be. It feels the same. 

Wyll nods. “Yes, but the Fist will likely be following up, you must be on your best behavior. Astarion will be watching.”

Oh. Yes, that sounds just delightful . “Come along then.”

Petras stands, a little stiffly as though he’s nursing some injury Astarion can’t see. He doesn’t have a coat or a bag or anything of his own at all. Wyll seems to notice Astarion’s realization. “I brought him straight here.”

So it was just as bad as Cazador. He sighs. “I thought you wanted to leave, come on then.”

Wyll stops Petras on his way out, and they have a quietly murmured conversation. Astarion doesn’t catch much beyond Wyll’s promise to call, and a note of gratitude in Petras’ voice. 

Wyll slowly places his hand on Astarion’s shoulder, the movement exaggerated to give him an out if he wants it. He tolerates the contact, and Wyll gently squeezes his shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll touch base in a day or two.”

And then like two small children being ushered out to school for the first time on their own, Astarion and Petras find themselves back out on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. Astarion feels rather abandoned now that they’ve left the clinic, but he can’t let Petras see that. He starts leading them to the train station, realizing that neither of them seems interested in being the first one to speak. That’s fine until the silence drags on long enough to make Astarion’s hands twitch, so he breaks down first as they exit the train and walk up the steps to street level. 

“So, you got free of Cazador only to join another coven?”

Petras' gaze doesn’t even stray his way. “Yep.”

This is the thing Astarion can’t fathom. “Why?”

Petras shrugs. “I was hungry. Not a lot of options for people like us.”

“Was it better or worse than Cazador’s?”

“Better in some ways. Worse in others.” 

It makes him a terrible person for taking some comfort in that. It’s at least somewhat comforting to know that his experience with Cazador wasn’t entirely singular…that it comes with the territory of being a vampire rather than being evidence of bad luck isolated only to him. 

“Have I heard of them?” he asks. He doesn’t need to clarify. The only person that ever matters in a coven is the true vampire, whether they’d sired all the spawn there or not. 

“Probably not. Not sad to know Alkham will rot in prison just like Cazador. Wyll says there are other ways though, that I don’t have to…that it doesn’t have to be like that.”

Whatever is left of Astarion’s heart clenches a little at that. If it hadn’t been for Wyll and his patience and support, Astarion is sure he’d have ended up rather like Petras. If he was a better person, he might tell Petras that life can be better, that there’s a whole world of freedom just waiting for him. But he doesn’t. “There are some ground rules for living with me.”

Petras glances at him as Astarion puts in the keycode to enter his apartment building. “And what are those?”

“Well, first of all, I have a roommate.”

Petras grins hungrily. “Oh, is that how it works? You feed on them in exchange for them living with you?”

Astarion’s stomach sinks. This is a terrible idea. “It isn’t like that at all. She doesn’t know.”

Petras freezes and then he throws his head back and laughs. It’s a mirthless, joyless thing. “You’re kidding, right?”

Astarion steps into the elevator, leaning petulantly against the wall. “I’m not kidding. She doesn’t know, and that doesn’t change just because you’re here.”

Petras’ answering smile is a sharp thing. “Any other rules?”

“We’re not brothers. We’re….” Astarion searches for something that will be believable. If Petras had been half-elven instead of human, cousins might have been plausible. “Old work colleagues.”

Petras rolls his eyes. “Fine, but that seems even less believable. Why would you have an old work colleague live with you?”

“That’s another thing. You don’t live here. You’re a guest here. A temporary guest.”

Petras raises his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

Astarion had expected more of a fight. “I’m going to go talk to her first,” Astarion says, pausing at the door to the apartment. “Stay here.” 

Petras settles himself against the wall as though bored. “Not like I have anywhere else to be.”

This is going to be an unmitigated disaster. Perhaps he should just see if Liv wants a hotel room for the next two weeks. “Just…stay here. I’ll be back.”

***

Sleep is elusive. Liv finds herself replaying the kiss, and everything that happened after, looking for some answer, some explanation. Why had he kissed her only to disappear? Why did he look so relieved at being interrupted? And there was that scar on his neck…it almost looked like…like a bite mark. 

Oh. Oh . 

The signs are all there, aren’t they? His nocturnal habits, the way he never seems to eat, and when he does it seems to be without any real joy or interest. The fucking curtains in the living room. He’d pushed off going to the festival with her until after the sun had set. He’s been just as opaque about his past as she has, and she hadn’t pressed, but maybe she should have. No wonder his social media had no pictures of him, even the personal ones, it’s not that he doesn’t want pictures of himself…it’s that he can’t. Well, shit. 

Astarion is a vampire. 

Her roommate is a fucking vampire. Because of course, he is! And that’s fine! She’s not exactly bothered by it, except that she is bothered that he didn’t tell her. And why not? Did he think that she’d think differently of him or that she’d not want to live with him? Why didn’t he trust her with this? 

Everything she’s ever read about vampires is that they don’t often live outside covens, tending to stick together. When the preferred diet is humanoid blood, it doesn’t exactly inspire trust in people, no matter how law-abiding the coven is. There had been a time when they had operated in secret, in shadows, but with technology, it’s harder and harder to keep secret dens of vampires off the radar. So, most covens had leaned into it, inviting mortals into night clubs and lounges: pay with a little blood and have a great time. She’s sure it’s more complicated than that but it still doesn’t explain Astarion’s secrecy. 

She’s out of bed by now, pacing her room, trying to figure out what she does with this information. She should just ask him about it, but some part of her just…she just wants him to tell her. She wants to earn that trust from him, not pressure it out of him. So she just needs to play it cool…but…they definitely need to talk about that kiss. Because it absolutely cannot happen again. Especially now when she realizes that there’s a fundamental piece of who he is that he doesn’t feel comfortable sharing with her. Because despite the binge-watching and the bonding and the friendship, he still doesn’t trust her. Not really. 

And there’s some disappointment in that, something that stings a bit over the same cuts and bruises left by her family. But that’s not necessarily his fault. 

She jumps at the sound of the knock on her bedroom door. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t even realized Astarion was home. Okay, so she’s doing this now. This is fine. She’ll just tell him that they need to forget about the kiss because she doesn’t want to nuke her living situation. Which is true. And that’s…that ought to be awkward as hell, but it’s fine. It’ll be fine.  

When she opens her door, Astarion has already retreated to the kitchen. He stands, still in his coat, hands braced against the counter. He looks tired, and she scans his neck for the scar she’d noticed earlier. She catches only the tiniest hint of it peeking up over the high neck of his sweater. At the sight of him, her traitorous heart speeds up. 

“We need to talk,” he says. 

Well, at least they’re on the same page about something here. “Yeah, um…I’ve been thinking about that. I think we should just forget it happened?”

“What?” he looks at her, face scrunched in confusion. The confusion seems less unsure why she’d want to forget about it, and more a question of what in the hells is she talking about. Which…wow. 

“The…uh….the kiss?” She reminds him, and then promptly wishes that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

His expression is difficult to read, and she expects some quip or joke. “We can forget about it.” 

“Okay.” It comes out so small, so defeated. She’d expected a little bit more fight. More…something? This is what she wanted, so why does that hurt so much? “That isn’t what you wanted to talk about, is it?”

He sighs. “No. Is it alright with you if we have a guest for the next week or so?”

“A guest?” She’s not sure what it was she expected him to want to talk about that is somehow so much more important than the fact he had fucking kissed her, but it’s not this. She’s aware that he has at least two friends, who he sees somewhat regularly, but has certainly never seemed like he was interested in introducing her to them. So a guest is more than a little surprising. Perhaps it’s the Wyll from his phone earlier. 

Astarion rolls his eyes. “He’s someone I used to work with, and he needs my help…and a place to stay for the time being. He has nowhere else to go. I can get you a hotel if you’re not comfortable with it. He’ll be sleeping on the couch, using my bathroom, and has general instructions to stay the fuck out of your way.”

“You don’t sound like you like him much.”

“I don’t, but the person who asked did me a big favor once, and asked me to do this to pay him back. So…do you need a hotel? There’s a lovely place in Old Town, not far from the university.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she asks before she can think through the question. 

The question must surprise him because his annoyance fades entirely, revealing a glimpse at the stress and anxiety he’s apparently carrying. “No! Absolutely not…it’s just…well, he’s here. He’s waiting outside. I sort of had to agree without talking with you first, and I didn’t want you to feel trapped into being alright with it.”

That is…shockingly considerate of him. “I appreciate that. I’m alright with it, but it is probably a bit rude to leave him standing outside?”

Astarion sighs loudly, looking at the ceiling like it’s going to grant him strength. “I’m going to bring him in then…and I’m sorry in advance.”

She shifts a little from foot to foot, unsure what exactly to expect. But it’s not the man who enters. He looks sickly, pale, and far too thin. Like he could do to sleep for at least a week and then some. His clothing is thin, looking like it would fit in better at a nightclub than their cozy apartment. His dishwater blonde hair hangs limply about his ears, and he has the same deep red eyes as Astarion. He is a vampire too. She has a million questions she can’t actually ask, so she offers a smile. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the man grins, giving her a once over. She now understands Astarion’s apology. 

“This is Petras,” Astarion says, the words tossed out in annoyance. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Liv.” 

“Liv…what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Petras offers her a sort of ridiculous bow. 

She and Astarion exchange a pained glance. “Welcome to our home,” Liv replies, moving immediately into hostess mode. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? Tired?”

Petras grins. “I’d love something to drink .”

Oh. Oh dear. The implication is blood, isn’t it? Astarion has never been this obvious, right?

“He’s had quite enough,” Astarion interjects. “I’ll help him get a bed made up out here.”

“I’ll grab some extra pillows.” 

They’re not exactly well-equipped for guests, but she does what she can to gather some pillows and blankets and helps make up a bed on their couch. She can’t help but notice that Petras hasn’t arrived with anything beyond the clothes on his back, but she doesn’t dare draw attention to that. Not when she’s not sure what’s really going on here, but she knows she’s not being told all of it. 

“Well, I’m going to go to bed,” she says. “If I can help you with anything let me know.”

Petras looks like he’s about to say something, but Astarion shoves him toward his bedroom. “Come on, let's get you out of whatever it is you’re wearing.” Astarion turns back at his door, looking like he wants to say something, but isn’t quite sure what. Instead, he just meets Liv’s gaze and shrugs. 

Liv mouths ‘good luck’, and retreats into her room. Her second attempt at sleep doesn’t go much better than the first, but she does eventually get some rest.

In the morning, her coffee is already made when she emerges from her room. It tastes like an apology. Petras is fast asleep on the couch, and Astarion sits at the kitchen island like a sentinel. Once again, she has a million questions, but she’s pretty sure she’s going to have to content herself with half-truths for now. 

Perhaps it’s the help he’s giving Petras or the way it seems like he’s watching over the other vampire, but she wonders how bad things had to be for Petras for Astarion to bring him here. 

“Thank you,” she wordlessly mouths, holding up her coffee mug. 

He glances at Petras’ sleeping form and rolls his eyes. She’d like the chance to talk but doesn’t want to wake Petras, so she inclines her head toward her room, the silent question hanging between them. It startles her how much she’s hoping that they get to keep their morning chats, even though Petras is here. 

Astarion nods and stands, following her. He pauses at her threshold. “You’re sure?” His words are barely louder than a whisper.  

“Yeah, come in.” There aren’t a lot of options for seating in her room, and she’s more than aware of that as she pads over to her bed. His hesitation is clear, but then he joins her after closing the door. He sits at the extreme edge of her bed, as much space between them as he can manage. Gods, she’s too tired for whatever game this is. She really really hopes that whatever awkwardness they’ve allowed with that kiss doesn’t stick around for long. 

“So…”

“I assume you have some questions about Petras.”

She nods, sipping her coffee. “I really really do, but I feel like you’re going to just tell me to trust you. And that’s fine, I do.”

He blinks at her in surprise. “You do?” 

Liv shrugs. “You’re not really the type of person to do someone a favor like this unless they really needed it.”

“I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered.”

“Is he in some sort of trouble?” she asks. 

Astarion considers that, face hard. “He was. Now he just needs some help. It’s…a long story. Perhaps he’ll tell you some of it.”

“It’s nice of you to help him.”

He sighs. “I don’t want to. In fact, I tried very hard to get out of doing so.”

“But you said the person who asked you to do it…that you owed them?”

He looks everywhere but at her. “I was in a similar situation once, and he helped me. Says this is how I pay it forward.”

And there’s the half-truth. But the obfuscation reveals something, he’s ashamed of this, of whatever it is. She wishes he’d just tell her all of it, but she’ll let him have his secrets and his dignity. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looks rather disgusted. “Skip work so I’m not stuck here all day with Petras?”

“I can’t do that.”

He doesn’t look surprised. “I figured.”

“But hey, maybe I’ll grab us all some takeout on the way home and we can get him addicted to Crown of Shadows tonight?” She makes the suggestion automatically before realizing why that’s an utterly ridiculous idea. 

“Skip the takeout and just hurry home,” Astarion replies before getting up. He pauses at the door. “Your trust is a gift, I won’t forget it.”

She watches him go and wonders what sort of life he must have lived for trust to be in such short supply.