#i imagine that when astarion is alone he gets lost in thoughts

[insurged]

elodie sees astarion laying down and now she is just going to curl up with him, snuggling into his chest. “don’t move too much.” :3

it’s  a  newly  found  freedom  to  have  his  own  bed  all  to  himself,  able  to  enjoy  the  expanse  of  the  night  sky  without  the  worry  of  failing  to  bring  back  a  set  quota  of  victims  that  had  always  been  at  the  back  of  his  mind.  it’s  a  kind  of  peace  that  he  had  long  since  forgotten  after…  well,  let’s  just  say  that  cazador  always  had  a  creative  variety  of  punishments  for  him  and  they  left  a  mark  every  time,  chipping  away  at  the  hope  that  there  could  be  a  different  future.  cazador  had  so  loved  to  watch  the  utter  despair  take  its  hold  on  him.  he  shoves  those  memories  away,  attention  back  to  the  book  in  hand,  currently  immersed  in  the  subject  of  spells.  while  not  the  most  knowledgeable,  he  hoped  to  learn  anything  that  would  give  him  an  edge  in  battle. other  than  his  skilled  expertise  with daggers  which  is  quite  useless  against  a  vampire  lord.  it's  irritating  that  even  now,  the  hold  that  cazador  has  on  him  runs  deep.  every  thought,  one  way  or  another  leads  back  to  him  because  he's  all  astarion’s  ever  known.  his  reading  is  thrown  aside  in  frustration  at  the  intruding  thoughts,  turning  his  body  to  lay  down  on  his  back,  hoping  the  view  of  the  sky  would  change  the  trajectory  of  his  annoying  mind.  the  scrunched  wrinkle  between  his  brows  disappear  as  his  companion  approaches, quite  gracefully  he  might  add.  he’s  actually  not  in  the  most  sociable  of  moods,  preparing  himself  to  brush  her  off,  just  this  once  but  instead,  he  freezes  in  surprise  when  the  warmth  of  her  body  meets  his  own,  caught  off  guard  at  her  brazen  move  that  was  completely  unexpected.

���   a  pillow  would  better  suit  your [ @gracelis ]  needs,  in  that  case.   ❞     there’s  only  amusement  coating  his  words,  as  he  finds  some  sort  of  silent  comfort  in  her  presence,  the  weight  of  her  against  his  chest  is...  maybe  it  was  just  what  he  needed.  

❝   aren’t  you  becoming  a  bit  too  comfortable  around  me ?   ❞   it’s  a  playful  quip,  although  the  truth  underlying  the  inquiry  is  honest, for  once. he’s  reaching  over  her  to  grab  his  blanket,  throwing  it  over  both  of  them  as  he  squirms  dramatically,  trying  to  find  the  perfect  comfortable  spot,  knowing  full  well  she  wouldn’t  be  able  to  relax  until  he  did  as  well.  he  finally  stops  with  a  sultry  grin  on  his  face,  revealing  fangs.   ❝   i  could  suck  you  dry  while  you’re  asleep  you  know.  although,  if  you  think  about  it,  it’s  quite  a  peaceful  way  to  go. i suppose you of all people would know the answer to that. ❞   

[autistichalsin]

So I don't usually post all that many Astarion thoughts here, but I have noticed that some people feel that a certain set of lines spawn Astarion and ascended Astarion have in the new evil endings would have been better suited for the other. Namely, after the Dark Urge stabs either of them, Spawn Astarion cries, "I should have killed you when I had the chance!" while Ascended Astarion breaks down into inelegant blubbering, "no! No, this can't be. I can't- you can't- no!"

And I can definitely understand where it might feel like these would be better responses for the other- but I happen to completely disagree.

So, Astarion, first and foremost, is a fear-driven person after what he's been through. Everything- manipulating others, seeking power, lacking empathy- comes from his belief that power is all that matters, the only way to avoid being hurt, and only his quest to become the powerful one at last matters.

Through his friendship or romance (in this case, obviously, romance) with the player, though, he starts to find this being challenged. He sees genuine kindness for the first time. No expectations that he lay down his body to get advantages. No using him. His dignity and boundaries respected for the first time that he can remember. This is set against the backdrop of Cazador and the other spawn. If he kills them and takes Cazador's power, he can become powerful enough to never fear again. But if he doesn't, he can be something more than the game Cazador pulled him into when he made him a spawn.

Your confrontation with Cazador is the moment you either entrench Astarion in this belief, or free him from it. If you let him ascend, he becomes all-powerful- at the cost of believing forever that the world is nothing more than an extended power trip, a system where by necessity there are lower people and higher people and only the strong can be free. And he has finally become the strongest of the strong.

So imagine his surprise when you, who he thought was under his thumb, grab more power than him and kill him just like that. No chance to fight back or use his vampire lord powers. He went through all that, sacrificed the core of who he was- and it still wasn't enough. His one concession to his dog-eat-dog philosophy, his love for you, was the thing that let him die. No wonder, then, that all he can do is babble out something between disbelief, a plea, and a last attempt to assert power over you. He was as powerful as he ever could have hoped to be, and he still lost, cast aside by you as soon as he was no longer useful.

Meanwhile, there's spawn Astarion, weaker in every measure- but free of his belief that power is all that matters. He's fought hard and discarded Cazador entirely- including all the power he offered. He committed himself to becoming better. To experiencing a life where things like happiness and love have just as much of a place as sheer power. And he was enjoying it, too, especially with you at his side.

And then you show him that that was all a lie, that he may very well have made the wrong choice by abandoning all that; for all he knows, you may even have talked him out of the ritual specifically so he would be easier to kill later.

So it's not disbelief and begging. Spawn Astarion actually loved and trusted you and foresook his social-Darwinist beliefs for you; what he feels is raw betrayal. And betrayal gives way to anger rapidly. So instead, he's the one cursing you with his last breath. Lamenting that he let you live at all, let alone falling in love with you.

Ascended Astarion became more powerful but more arrogant, so his reaction is that of someone who can't wrap his head around how this could have happened. Spawn Astarion foresook power for the sake of a real relationship with you, so his reaction is utter fury and betrayal.

[thedevilssinner]

I wanna share something because I don't want to suffer alone with my thoughts 😅

It's one of the scenarios where Tav knew Astarion before he was turned, but I've never read anything where it played out like this.

I apologize if something is wrong, English is not my native language.

Imagine that Tav is an elf and Astarion's lover before he was turned.

They're devastated when they finds out that Astarion has been killed. Mourning his death for a very long time and even moving away from Baldur's gate because everything reminds them too much of Astarion.

They know that all their happiness and love are gone. No one can fill the void that Astarion's death has brought them.

And now, two hundred years later, they stand on the beach, the sun beating down on their head, the burning Nautiloid at their back and before them... Astarion?

Only it's all wrong, his eyes are red and he's pale... paler than he's ever been.

Anger rises up in Tav. How dare some shapeshifter even take on Astarion's form after their beloved has been dead for 200 years?

And do a bad job at it!

Before the pale creature could even call for help again, Tav lunged at him with an angry cry, surprising the imitation and truckling it to the ground, dagger pressed to it's throat while they straddled his body. "How dare you?! How dare you to take his form?! Show me who you really are... now!" They command, surprising even themselves with their actions. But they couldn't stop... not when someone is using Astarion's face for gods knows what.

"Darling, there seems to have been a little misunderstanding. I don't know what you're talking about, and I'd appreciate it if you'd remove the dagger from my neck." The shapeshifter replies, his voice smooth and flirtatious and so unmistakably Astarion's that it hurts, and Tav presses the dagger a little harder against his neck.

"Shut up, shapeshifter!" Tav shouts at him, gaze anchored on that so familiar yet different face. "Where did you even get his face?! His voice?!" They ask angrily, the hand holding the dagger starting to shake. "You have no rights to pretend you're Astarion when he's... when he's gone. And to do it badly!" They continue, still angry but deep seated sadness linger behind.

The shapeshifter's eyes widen, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something, Tav noticing the fangs there and even worse idea that him being a shapeshifter, starts to creep into their mind.

"Tav?" Fake Astarion finally speaks, saying their name as if he were saying it for the first time in a long time, tasting it on his lips. The previous flirting gone. Instead he looked confused and as if just now he remembered something that was hidden in his mind. "You are them, aren't you? Gods, how could I forget... so beautiful." His red eyes glide along Tav's face, his voice nothing than a whisper. He's clearly lost in his head and Tav swallows thickly, realisation slowly grasping their mind but they fight against it.

"No, stop! Stop it! You can't be him. You can't... he's dead and your eyes are wrong. You're wrong." Tav says, their body starting to shake all over, threatening to cut him by mistake with the dagger still against his neck.

But now it's easy for 'the shapeshifter' to take Tav's wrist and move their hand away from his neck, easily wrenching the dagger from their fingers and tossing it aside. His lips stretch into a sad smile.

"That's what vampirism do to you, my love." Astarion says ever so softly, the deepest pain and sadness etched in his voice and Tav knows, feels it in their soul, that he is telling the truth.

So that's how Tav meets Astarion again, this encounter more painful and bittersweet than anything else.

They stay on the beach for a little while, Tav crying their heart out and Astarion trying to hold back his own tears. Both of them not expecting something like this to happen.

(Sorry if Astarion seems ooc.)

[dark-and-kawaii]

I imagine Gortash to be a pantie stealer, but who else do you think will be a pantie stealer as well? 🩲

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Sober Gale would never do such a thing, but Drunk Gale would steal your panties with the biggest blush spread across his face and the cheesiest of smiles. Once back in his tent/bedroll he holds them against his chest, imagining you next to him… it’s enough to rile him up. Good thing he has your panties to help his imagination further. The next morning he awakens to his hand sticky with dried white crust upon his palm and your stained panties covering his cock… He’s a bit mortified at his actions and he does wash them and hand them back to you with the biggest apology ready… and he starts with , “It would seem-“

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Astarion does it to be petty/funny at first, but once the camp has died down he can’t help but to hold them up and take a moment to appreciate them. Your scent lingers on them, and the color is rather beautiful, he can’t help but to wonder what you’d look like with them on lying beneath him. Definitely becomes aroused and takes his frustration out on your panties.

Does not return them. At night he keeps them close, his eyes soft each time he looks at them- his slender finger tracing the patters of them before having his fun with them.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Halsin steals them the night of the tiefling party. He’s beyond infatuated with you and knows he shouldn’t act rash with you quite yet, so your panties will have to do for now. Slowly makes his way to the forest where he can be secluded, your panties in hand. The large grizzly man ruts into them- using your panties as a cocksleeve until he’s fully satisfied. Definitely loses control and turns into a bear.

Can’t return them because they are destroyed, oops.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Zevlor, oh Zevlor… Like Gale, sober Zevlor wouldn’t attempt to steal your panties- definitely thought about having them in his hands, but would never follow through with it. But drunk Zevlor at the tiefling party, well he definitely would if the opportunity presented itself. The older tiefling found himself enjoying glass after glass with you sitting next to him, and as the night continued the more you both started to get lost in one another’s presence. Your panties came off and his top came off but that’s as far as it got due to him falling asleep and you as well. He wakes up still drunk seeing your panties tossed aside. Smiles to himself while still holding you to his chest and reaches over to grab them. His pants never came off so he tucks your panties into his pocket for later.

Once on the road he notices something unfamiliar in his pockets only to reveal your laced panties… “Hells…” shaking his head, Zevlor can’t believe he took them… feels incredibly bad.

Tilly notices him holding something, “what’s that?”

“N-nothing! Come, let’s continue moving forward before nightfall.”

Shoves them back in his pocket- he’ll have to return these to you somehow.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Haarlep steals/keeps your panties for Raphael. The incubus knows how found his master is of you, his little mouse. This would be a great opportunity for him to poke fun at the Cambion and use it to his own advantage, definitely holds them over Raphael’s head. Haarlep also keeps them for his own personal interest, you were so soft, so warm, the way your hips rocked with his- it stirred something within the incubus. Yes, Haarlep has the ability to take your shape, but not actually you- these panties however are yours, with your juices and scent still clinging to them. The creature secretly wishes to have you in his embrace again, but these will do- for now.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Raphael finds your panties in his bed after your little fun with his incubus. Places the thin fabric in his pocket until later when he’s alone. Imagining you while stroking himself as his other hand holds your panties to his face, ah what true bliss and such a grand orgasm for him. He hopes you bring him the crown soon so he can slip these back onto you only for him to rip them off.

Doesn’t ever return them even if you bring him the crown. This is a new treasure of his, one he wishes to keep all to himself without anyone else knowing. -Haarlep knows-

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Dammon steals your panties during the tielfing party. He was obsessed with the way you smelled the moment he met you and as you danced around the fire forcing Rolan to dance with you- well now was the perfect moment to slip in your tent and steal your panties for himself. The road to Baldurs Gate would be long, and Dammon knows he has needs- needs he’ll have to keep satisfied. Your panties will be a lovely sight and toy for him during his travels. He can’t wait to daydream about you begging for him on your knees.

[frantic-fiction]

Hear me out… my TAV’s background is that she was a sex worker that was sold into the trade from a young age, and this has been her chance to break free, and she’s romancing Astarion and he’s the first person she slept with that she CHOSE to and WANTED to, and all I can think of is the “you were just a transaction” line he has… and maybe he says it to her because he freaks out and is scared of his feelings? Just something SO angsty, HEAVY groveling, happy ending??

My heart ugh you monster (I love you 🥰)

I don't write angst very often. This was incredibly fun and heartbreaking to write...and I might have gone a little too melodramatic with it. Hopefully this lives up to what you were imagining!!

Transaction

Astarion x gn!reader

Warnings: Angst with a slightly happy ending, implied that reader was a sex worker, if I missed anything major let me know

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

Transaction.

Transaction.

Just a transaction.

You were just a transaction.

It's a bitter realization that hits you like a cold wave crashing over your very being. How naive of you to believe that someone could see beyond your body? To look deeper than sex and find all the quirks and vulnerabilities underneath. The person who savors the taste of sweet rolls and red wine, who secretly indulges in cheesy romance novels but would never admit it out loud. The person who was forced to do unspeakable things but still stands strong in this cruel world.

You thought he understood. After all the nights spent sharing your history, baring your soul, and listening to him bear his own, you dared to hope he would be different. How could you have been so blind, so naive, to succumb to the romantic fantasy of finding someone who saw and understood the scars you carried and loved you all the same?

How could he do this? The laughter you once shared under starlight and the kisses captured behind tent flaps all feel hollow all merely a performance to win you over for his benefit alone. How could you have been so blind to his true intentions? Was it the desperation for connection that clouded your judgment, or simply the yearning for love you so desperately craved?

The signs were there. Astarion's gradual withdrawal began after the events at Moonrise Towers. You convinced yourself it was merely that the group was finally back in the city. You hoped that a night alone together would help. But hope was a fragile illusion.

Instead of finding solace in each other's arms, you are standing on the precipice of your unraveling. Each word, each action, reinforces the painful truth that you were nothing more than a pawn in his game—a transaction to be exploited for his gain. And as you grapple with the emptiness gnawing at your chest, you can't help but wonder why you failed to see it coming.

"Hey, Soldier."

The voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment. Blinking slowly, you find yourself in the dimly lit confines of an alleyway, the stench of decay mingling with the chill of the night air. 

Moving like you're wading through water, you turn towards the voice. You stare blankly at Karlach, who kneels beside you with concern and caution as if approaching a frightened animal.

You sluggishly realize—you're the frightened animal.

Behind her stands Halsin, his attempt at a reassuring smile falling short in the face of your obvious distress. 

"We were getting worried about you," Karlach murmurs, her usual cheer tempered by genuine concern.

"I'm sorry," you croak, your voice raw with emotion.

You don't remember when the tears began falling, but they nonetheless stain your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Halsin assures, his voice a soothing balm to your battered soul.

Wrapped in a cloak infused with the scent of pine and honey-suckle, you allow yourself to be guided through the silent streets of Baldur's Gate, the passage of time seeming to have slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

How long have you been lost in your despair?

"He, As—" you choke on his name, the pain of his betrayal still fresh in your heart.

"You don't have to explain anything. Not to us," Karlach interjects, her hand a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of your emotions.

"Thank you," you whisper, gratefully.

The journey back to the Elfsong Tavern is a silent procession, your footsteps echoing in the empty streets as you grapple with the weight of your shattered reality. Once inside, you are ushered into a bed. Gale gives you a sleep draught while Shadowheart heals your shredded palms, which you didn't realize you injured in your dissociation. After that, you're left with a fleeting moment of peace.

No one mentions the absence of a familiar presence, but the void he left behind looms large in the silence that envelops you.

*

From his vantage point on the rooftops, Astarion watches as Tav is led back to the safety of the tavern. Their frail form is a stark reminder of the havoc he has wrought. Guilt gnaws at his insides, punishment for the pain he has inflicted upon the one person who saw past the facade he so meticulously crafted—the person who began to love him.

He feels sick to his stomach, the weight of his actions crushing him beneath its burden. With each passing moment, the memory of Tav's heartbroken expression sears into his mind, the irreparable damage he has caused.

Astarion wishes he could take back the venomous words that slipped from his lips and erase the pain etched upon Tav's face. He wishes he could confess the truth that lies buried beneath layers of deceit and self-preservation and admit the depth of his feelings without fear of rejection or abandonment. Pull them into his arms, kiss away the tears, and whisper all the love Tav deserves to hear.

 But wishes hold little sway when your world is governed by fear.

*

You allow yourself one day to mourn, to grieve for the shattered illusions that once held sway over your heart. But with the dawn comes the realization that there is no room for weakness. You steel yourself against the pain, burying it deep beneath a facade of strength and determination. You still have a tadpole in your skull and a city to save.

The days blur into nights, a relentless cycle of action and exhaustion that leaves little room for introspection or regret. You throw yourself into the fray, tackling each challenge with a ferocity born of desperation and resolve.

Nights, however, offer no respite from the torment that threatens to consume you whole. In the darkness, when the world is shrouded in shadows and silence, the memories come rushing back with a vengeance.

Astarion's parting words echo in the recesses of your mind, a relentless refrain that serves as a painful reminder of your naive hopes. Despite the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface, you still hope Astarion's safe. Deep down, you still care for him.

It was another restless night. You were digging through your travel pack when a hesitant knock hit the sturdy wooden door of your room. It was late, but it was not unusual for Karlach or Shadowheart to pop in and check on you. Standing up, you stowed your pack away and moved to the door. Your socked feet padded against the wooden floor. 

"Shouldn't you be asle—" The words die in your throat, and your stomach drops as you're faced with the man you've been trying to forget. 

Astarion looked terrible. His hair was a frizzy mess, curls sticking out in unruly strands. He had dark purple circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. His clothes–the same ones he left in–were covered in a splatter of mud and grime. At that moment, Astarion had never looked more like a corpse. Where had he been?

"Tav," his voice was a whisper, laden with sorrow that pierced through the still air.

The sound of your name on his lips was like a knife twisted in an old wound, reopening the fragile scare you hastily tried to heal over the last two weeks. You recoiled instinctively, the pain of his presence threatening to ruin you all over again. You couldn't afford to unravel not again, not when so many counted on you. With wide eyes brimming with unshed tears, you turned away to flee.

But Astarion's desperation refused to be ignored. His hand shaking with uncertainty, he reached to halt the closing door. "Wait! Please, Tav," he pleaded. "I know you owe me nothing, but I beg you, let me say this, and you'll never have to see me again."

Your throat tightened, a lump choking back the bitter retorts that threatened to spill out. The impulse claws at your conscience, tempting you. Yet, the crack of Astarion's voice, the tremor of vulnerability that seeps from him, holds your tongue.

With a heavy sigh, you relented, the door inching open just enough to meet his gaze. "Two minutes," you whispered.

Astarion's relief was palpable. "Gods, Tav, I'm so sorry," he began each syllable, a testament to the regret that weighed on him. "You can hate me for eternity, and I would deserve it. But I need you to know that every word I spoke to you was a lie."

A tear traces a path down his cheek, and you long to reach out and wipe it away—to soften the turmoil on his beautiful face and erase the sorrow that consumes his glistening eyes. But instead, you tighten your fist against your thigh and stare up at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

"I need you to know that I pursued you instinctually because I needed someone on my side, someone to trust me," he continued his voice a fragile whisper against the silence. "But then you showed me love and happiness and became so much more. You were… you are… more than I deserve. And I hurt you, and I will carry that with me forever."

"Astarion," you began, the syllables catching in your throat, suffused with a longing you dared not acknowledge. But before you could find the words again, he spoke once more, voice quivering with regret.

"I love you, Tav," Astarion confessed, the words lingering in the silent room. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, but before I leave, I need you to know you are more than sex and safety. More than a Gods damn transaction."

"Astarion," 

 "And I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for ruining the one good thing in—"

"Astarion!" You grab his arm, ceasing his frantic apology. You're stunned, standing on the threshold of your room, feeling more confused than ever. Love? How are you supposed to feel when the man who tore you apart is telling you he loves you?

Astarion's eyes widen in surprise, his breath catching in his throat as he meets your gaze. His eyes swim with a mix of hope and despair. 

The weight of his confession presses down on you, threatening to suffocate. Wordlessly, you walk back into the room, leaving the door open for Astarion to follow. Collapsing onto a chair, you rub your face, struggling to make sense of your raging emotions. The heartbreak and betrayal are still so fresh, but the sincerity in Astarion's regret seems to chip away at your defense. 

"I don't know what to say," 

"I… I understand," Astarion murmurs, his resignation soaking his words. I'll leave you be. I promise you won't see me again, Tav."

But as he turns to leave, the ache in your chest intensifies, the void he leaves behind widening with each step. And that moment, despite the pain, the betrayal, and your base instinct to shut him out entirely, you still care for him. Maybe even love him, too.

"Astarion, wait, you call out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them. "Stay."

He freezes mid-step, his back turned to you, body tense with anticipation.

"Please," you plead, the word heavy with the weight of your conflicting emotions. "Just don't go."

Astarion slowly turns to face you, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope, his eye shining with more unshed tears. The silence stretches in the room. Hesitantly, with slow steps, he walks to the seat beside yours. The two of you sit there momentarily, unsure where that left you.

Tentatively, you reach out and take his cold hand into your warm one. "You hurt me," you start, not looking over at the man but feeling his intense stare. You betrayed my trust, and I can't just forget that."

"I understand." Astarion's shoulders slump in defeat. "I didn't expect…"

"But I care for you," You interrupt, squeezing his hand softly. "I haven't been able to stop worrying about you since you left. I don't think I can handle you leaving again."

"Okay," Astarion says, simply rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand. "So what now?"

"I don't know, but I'm willing to figure it out if you are?"

"There is nothing I'd like more,” he responds, pressing a tentative kiss to your knuckles.

Taglist

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[iamjucie]

Pet (18+) pt. 1 of 4

photo credit: @yabishrihere

Ascended Astarion x f!reader

Chapter One: Thinking

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

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

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

(AO3 Link)

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, your mind falls blank.

Wait…What were you thinking about again?

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

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

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

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

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

You were reminiscing…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obedient it is.

Next chapter: Boots

[leighsartworks216]

Say Something Loving

Astarion x male!Tav/Reader

Requested by Mutt_Thingy on AO3:

“so i was wondering if you could do a fic based on the song Say Something Loving by The XX. the song reminds me of him sooo much it hurts. especially including the scene where Astarion is asking for another night with Tav and says "i love you" in a bid to get them to sleep with him. i just thing if Tav was like "whats going on with you? why are you pushing for this? i dont think this is really what you want. its ok." and kisses him on the forehead and goes to bed. and Astarion is just kinda stunned by the concept of non transactional intimacy.

i would also prefer if Tav was male? and maybe taller than him?”

Wrote this in a hurry before I go to take my shower so I can get some actual work done so it's not proofread

Title based on "Say Something Loving" by The XX

Warnings: manipulation, references to sex, low self-worth, swearing

Word Count: 727

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“How about if I said these little words… Everyone’s favorite.” All at once, Astarion’s suave bravado slips away into something sad, almost pained. “I love you.”

The entire party, Astarion had taken a spot off to the side and stayed there, never straying except to grab another bottle of awful wine. He seemed lost in thought, eyes shifting over the many people but never lingering, never actually seeing. Perhaps it was an odd thing for you to notice, but even Shadowheart seemed to be enjoying herself.

This… whatever it was between you, was unrefined, unfamiliar. You’d enjoyed the first time you slipped off into the woods with him, and been so willing to give him the blood he needed to press on. But now, watching him pull line after line from thin air, practiced and perfectly measured to induce attraction and arousal, you’re not sure.

“What’s wrong, Astarion?”

The vampire blinks, confusion flickering over his face before he can put his mask back on. He smirks, tilts his head, smirks so a pointed fang pokes out. “Nothing, dear. I’m only consumed by my desire to explore you again.”

He wonders if he said something wrong when you only frown deeper. He feels utterly exposed as your eyes study his face, reading his expression carefully.

“Why are you pushing for this?” you press.

He laughs sharpish. “Like I said, this,” he gestures to the party, “is all rather dull. We’d have a much better celebration alone. It’ll be fun.”

He covers up his emotions well, you’ll give him that. But the way he speaks, it rubs you the wrong way. Like he’s trying to convince himself of the same thing. Trying to lure you in and assure himself this is the right thing to do.

You shake your head. “I don’t think this is really what you want.”

He wants to protest, firmly assure you that yes, of course he wants a night full of depravity and lust, but the words die when you smile. He doesn’t understand why you smile.

“It’s okay. It can wait.” He’s utterly lost when you carefully cradle the back of his head, slowly, giving him a chance to pull away. He… finds he doesn’t really want to. You lean down, brush aside his curls with your other hand, and press a kiss to his forehead. And then you’re stepping back, giving him his space once more. He stares up at you. His brain fights to recover, but he can’t imagine how. “You’re welcome to drink from me, if you wish. Goodnight, Astarion.”

You smile at him again, warm and patient, and retreat back to your bedroll. He’s still so lost. Why in the hells did you decline? It wasn’t even because you weren’t in the mood - you could tell he didn’t want it. Was he really so easy to read? More importantly, had he completely fucked up his plan?

It didn’t seem like it. You didn’t say you didn’t want a relationship, which was… good. And you’d kissed him, hardly something one would do if they were uninterested.

He’d never been kissed on the forehead before. Not so carefully. Not so sweetly.

His emotions fought themselves until the vinegar-wine felt even more sour in his stomach. He’d have to try harder, next time. If you didn’t want to sleep with him, then he had nothing else to offer. And once you realized that, you’d leave him in a heartbeat. His mind raced down that rabbit hole of thoughts (If you left him, he’d be without protection. He’d have to find someone else to seduce into protecting him, but everyone else was either too busy with their own issues or utterly distrusting of him. Without protection, Cazador would find him. And if Cazador found him-), until he chugged down the last of the wine with a grimace and slinked off into the woods.

He’d try harder. He had to make you want him.

Though, as he half-assedly skims his piercing eyes through the brush and trees, looking for anything edible to hold him over until everyone else went to bed, he couldn’t help feeling like his flirtations, his ‘I love you’ had felt different from before. Was it because the stakes were so much higher now? Or…

It’s not real, he reminds himself bitterly, and curses himself for falling for his own game.

---

Tag List:

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[dumbofass-homo]

Will prolly get some backlash for this buuut I had A Thought and now all of you need to hear it.

If Astarion was ugly, he would have very few fans, if any at all. Yes, reread that.

If he looked gnarly, had some odd looking scars (and not the aesthetically pleasing ones on his back), if his face was disfigured or god forbid, if he was older and had wrinkles and not a young little twink - almost none of you Astarion stans would be having him, let alone the Ascended Astarion. You wouldn't tolerate his behavior, wouldn't pursue his side quest, wouldn't think he's half as charming as you currently do.

From the fanfics, fanart and many posts I've seen - people tend to fetishize him. A lot. Also make excuses for his shitty/snarky/not redeemable traits, and I'll bet my coin purse it's because he fits the sexy vampire trope.

None of his ascended behavior would fly with you if he wasn't attractive. I imagine the people saying he "tickled the right kink" would go awfully quiet. There would be mods to make him hot. There wouldn't be half as much fanart of him. People would shit on him and his personality and probably not many would want to put up with his insecurities and grey morals.

And it makes me sad that he reiterates this point during the game. That his body is the only likeable trait he has and that's why people stick around.

I think it's time we embrace the fact that he is, in fact, a little morally grey gremlin who likes to do things that benefit him. He isn't selfless, kind for no reason or overtly affectionate. Canonically, he used to be a politician.

I do want to make it clear that this is still fiction, and by all means have your fill of the Sexy Vampire Man, but I would invite everyone who does to think a little about why they like him. For myself, I know that in reality and not in fiction, I would probably hit him in the balls over some of the things he does and approves of. His dramatics would go on my nerves and I wouldn't want him around me.

In fiction though? I love his attitude and it goes well with most of my (coincidentally also morally grey) Tavs. I love being his 'dagger-happy friend'. I love it when he hates being anyone's hero and would rather drink shitty wine and pretend he's busy than talk to anyone. I love it when you tell him you wanna be friends and he's over the moon to just have someone there. I love it when he admits him and durge would have been friends in another life.

That was a huge tangent but alas what I was trying to say is - he is an interesting character and there is so, so much more to him than his looks, which is what he was trying to say through all three acts. But somehow, that message got lost along the way to the real world.

[chthonic-mommy]

Imagine a Good Ending for Karlach

Larian hire me right now.

also my English is weak but I’m trying so please be kind I can’t REMAIN SILENT ANYMORE. it was a 3am unfiltered stream of consciousness written in language which isn’t my native.

So, the final battle. Karlach overheats. I don’t care how are they going to get rid of anything else - that’s not the topic. Then Tav (maybe with Gale’s help) uses extreme ice spell on Karlach, a few seconds before the end. This won’t let her die - but won’t let her live either. Tav just couldn’t tolerate the thought of Karlach dying. The battle ends. Everything’s over. Everyone is alive. But there is Tav - with swollen eyes, feeling like her own heart’s gonna explode instead of Karlach’s engine. And then there is The Body. Tav holds her head close to her chest, crying, but Karlach’s cold now, too cold. Gale tries to go talk with her, but both Astarion and Lae’zel ask him not to. Tav is overwhelmed and incredibly protective over The Body. She is a short and weak bard, but she will not let anyone touch Karlach, she’ll protect her like a mother lioness protects her cub.

She’ll take The Body home with her. Cold, with an ice crust on that place where soft light was coming from.

A year passed. Tav stayed in Baldurs Gate. Karlach’s dream was to help tiefling children who lost their parents. Karlach told Tav “All children should have proper housing. I didn’t have any opportunities when I was a child myself. It didn’t turn out good.”

So Tav opened a home school. She wasn’t as good with children as Karlach was, but she originated from aristocratic family, so she, as a woman of great knowledge, became a teacher for tiefling kids. They were stubborn at first and didn’t attend classes, but by time they started to listen. They began to help Tav with the garden, so they could eat stuff they grew together afterwards. Mattis remembered what Karlach told him - it’s easier to avoid battle and come out as winner out of any situation if you have a way with words. Mol was the last to stop leading her illegal lifestyle, influenced by others.

Tav taught them proper writing, counting, helped them with better clothing. She couldn’t give them everything - money won’t last forever. But she tried - tiefling kids had breakfast and dinner, they had a place to sleep, they were learning something.

Tav was numb. She stopped crying - work and children who needed her, all of that made her tougher. She was weak physically before - Karlach was always there for her to help. She remained weak, but could hardly afford that weakness now.

Three years have passed. Tav searched. Karlach’s body remained the same. There was a way to melt her heart, but she’ll die right after, Tav needed a way to melt her engine without damage, and a way to make it work. Gale told her one day “You need to move on, Tav, those children need you.” Tav answered him “She wanted to live more than any of us did. I’ll rip my own heart out, if needed. Help me or leave me alone.” She and Gale stopped talking for a year. Than he returned to her with loads of books and an apology.

Astarion didn’t like the whole idea of home school at first, but he still was coming to Tav as frequent as he could. He taught kids personal boundaries, cuz Tav didn’t want to be touched, so Astarion taught children that before a hug you need to ask first. Astarion never left Tav’s side, he supported her in her dream to bring Karlach back. He missed his barbarian friend too.

Five years have passed. Lae’zel and Shadowheart came to Tav’s place and brought their hatched gith child with them. Lae’zel also brought githyanki medicine, Shadowheart brought her prayers. Gale and Astarion came, bringing a fire artifact they’ve been searching for during the last year. Halsin and Will came, bringing their magic. Dammon was there as well. The whole group have got together again because everyone knew - if today’s stuff won’t work out, Tav will lose her life purpose. She needed their support.

It was the dark and cold night. Tav was nearly as cold as Karlach, tearless and calm. Gale started to dissolve the spell, the engine began to melt. Halsin was trying to support Karlach’s health, at least till the engine starts. And then everything went wrong. The engine started to heat like crazy, burning Karlach from inside, Dammon took his blacksmith tools and started to repair the engine right there. Tav took the fire artifact and put it into the engine. It burned through her gloves, it burned her hands heavily. Dammon took a step back.

Karlach’s body twisted in pain, she started to cough. She threw up. She coughed again, there was a black smoke, the smell of charcoal and burned flesh.

Everyone stood still, until Astarion ran for Karlach and hugged her tight.

“Damn, Fangs, I’m gonna vomit again…”

He looked nervous, his eyes twitched just like he was going to start crying, but he buried himself into that hug even more. Lae’zel came to them too, swearing, but hugged them with all her strength. Then was Halsin and his bear-like hugs. And Gale - who already started crying. Shadowheart and Will stood aside politely.

Karlach coughed uncontrollably, suffering from pain, laughed, not quite understanding what happened. For her it was just a moment - like she slept for a while. But everyone was different then she remembered. Gale had more wrinkles, Astarion never hugged her like this before, and Tav… looked like a pale imitation of herself. She stood silent, watching the hugs happening. Like she wasn’t there at all.

Everyone moved away, leaving Karlach sitting on the floor, still coughing but not that bad. Tav stayed on her place. She was afraid to believe it.

“Love…” Karlach started, and Tav whimpered, her heart skipped a beat. “…What’s with your hands? Did I burn you?”

Tav came closer, with tears dropping on the floor, breathing fast, looking like she’s gonna either have an anxiety attack or faint.

“Tav?” That’s was enough for her to burst out crying. She rushed into Karlach’s arms, crying like a baby, shivering.

Karlach’s started to kiss Tav’s face, trying to calm her down, caressed her hair. She worried so much and her engine was still unstable - it started heating again. Tav kissed her lips and felt them burning, like it was their first kiss.

“We need to stop, Tav, something’s wrong.”

“I’ll never stop! Karlach I missed you so fucking much! You were here, your body, cold and silent, I could touch you but there was no YOU in there! For five fucking years! I’ll rather burn myself than hold back now.”

Karlach looked at her in shock.

“Five years? How… How did you?..”

“I needed you to live. I did what I could.”

“That’s why your hands are burned?”

“That’s a small price.”

Karlach pulled her close, while her engine calmed down a little.

“And you waited for me for five years…unable to reach me… just like I waited to touch you… when we just met… it’s all crazy.”

“I was afraid I’d lose you. I’d die too.”

“Love…”

“Don’t tell me anything. It’s easy to get used to good things. When you lose them - you may never recover.”

Karlach kissed her again, kissed her burned lips, kissed her forehead, kissed the tears traces on her cheeks.

“We’ll talk about it later… I’m here, love, I’m here…”

That was the first night after the final battle which they spent happy, together. Tav was crying over and over, snuggling to Karlach and holding her hand tight, like she’ll disappear at any moment.

The next morning Karlach found out about kids. Most kids who she remembered were nearly young adults now. Mol and Mattis came early to help Tav with her house chores and ran to Karlach’s arms like they were her own kids.

“Karlach, we thought you dead!”

“Yeah, we thought mama Tav lied to us so we wouldn’t be sad about you!”

And Karlach hugged them close, but then pushed away to ask a question.

“Mama Tav?”

“Yeah, everyone calls her mom, it’s easier to explain and to remember.”

“She adopted EVERY child here?”

“Not really, but we’re still hers, I guess. She helped us all this years.”

They told Karlach about their jobs, about little ones who came when Karlach was already “away”. When little ones, those who stayed at Tav’s place, woke up, they rushed to see what’s happening and why this place is so crowded.

Mol said: “Listen here, little bastards, THAT’S Karlach we told you stories about! She finally came back!”

And then there were lots of “wow”, “she’s as tall as I thought!”, “the light from her chest is real, see?” and “are you mama Tav’s wife? she wouldn’t tell us”. Karlach was delighted.

She got to meet Lae’zel’s and Shadowheart’s baby gith, and couldn’t get enough of him.

She and Tav made use of every free minute to speak. Tav started to bloom like she used to - colors came back to her. They kissed again and again to the point when Astarion started to joke dirty about putting Karlach back to sleep.

When Karlach asked Dammon, how’s her engine, he told her he doesn’t know how long will it last. They didn’t know anything at all.

Lae’zel always asked Tav before, why does she read so much, isn’t she already one of the smartest women in Faerun?

Tav always answered that the main point of learning is that you never stop. Science has no answers, you learn and then you understand that you know nothing and then you learn again. And that’s an endless path, you’re never stagnated. Lae’zel was fascinated by that.

Tav answered Karlach’s question about her engine just as expected.

“If it breaks, we’ll find a way to heal you again. And again. That’s the never-ending path of knowledge…”

“Knew you’ll say that.”

“So why did you ask then?”

“Just wanted to hear it aloud. It’s strange to know… that now I’m finally free. What should I do, Tav?”

“You can start at helping me with our homeschooled gang. I’m slowly getting burnt out. Mal and Mattis are helpful, but I can’t trust them with everything and they don’t have to be here all the time.”

“Understood…” Karlach stopped thinking about her future after Dammon for the first time told her that her engine can’t be entirely fixed. She couldn’t imagine someone going this far to bring her back. But Tav did it.

Karlach was free. Finally free of Avernus, free of her past, nearly free of death (Tav made her believe in that). She was surrounded by children and her friends were all here to welcome her back. Tav was here - with her hands and lips burned and painful, but refusing to leave her no matter what. Sweet Tav, who seemed so little in comparison to Karlach. Her savior.

“Gods,” Karlach smiled bright. ”Love, it feels so good to be alive.”

[lirotation]

I Hail from Silverymoon: The Clash

Pov my little fanfiction: Astarion x Amaara (my wizard Tav). Angst I guess? This one is not a particular in-game scene, but the general feeling of Act II. The battles became hard, the atmosphere depressing, I was on edge the entire time while in the shadow cursed land. My Amaara was just a nudge away from flipping out. Also, while Dark Urge was like a person that the companions care about, Tav was more like a "Tool And Vessel". They'd dump their problems and requests on her without even asking, "Hey, how are you holding up?"

___________________________________

Amaara sat alone in her tent, absently cradling herself for comfort. She had skipped dinner, the day's events roiling in her mind. First Astarion had learned the sinister truth behind his scar, a revelation that shook them both. Then Arabella's parents were discovered murdered, despite Amaara's promises to save them. The girl's devastated screams and refusal of any consolation would haunt Amaara's dreams. She should have protected them. Should have been wiser, stronger, quicker. But she failed.

The impenetrable shadow curse loomed over the camp, an almost physical pressure exerted on Amaara. She can scarcely breathe. She sat, on the verge of tears, while everyone else tended to their own troubles. No one had even noticed her missing from the campfire tonight. Not that she blamed them; the quests pressed heavily on all. But a small voice inside still whimpered that she didn't matter.

With a shuddering sigh, Amaara pulled a blanket tight around herself. She wished it were Astarion's arms instead. This was one of those nights she would give anything just to lay her head on his shoulder and let him soothe her fears away.

But no, her thoughts drifted to him, remembering the first night they spent together. It was her very first time and he made it the single greatest experience in her life. She was completely lost in him and truly thought their souls bonded that night.

However, the second time was different. Her eagerness was clouded by doubts. She was also armed with new knowledge from Gale's books. She paid more attention to him that time, wishing to bring him pleasure, mend the bond they have. What she observed shattered all her hopes. His eyes were distant, withholding a hint of disgust and loathe. She didn't know what she did wrong, all she knew was the hurt in her heart and even more doubts in her mind. She didn't say or do anything though, still clung to him.

When they finally arrived at the shadow cursed land, there was no time to have a discussion because everything was thrown at her all at once. She could not seek comfort from him, for she didn't even know what his true intention was.

Suddenly Amaara heard soft footsteps outside her tent. Astarion popped his head in, giving his usual roguish smile. "Bad day?"

"The worst," she murmured. Carefully she allowed a tiny warmth kindled in her chest at the sight of him.

"I heard the girl yelling all the way across camp. This is what you get for helping every sob story that comes along."

Amaara sighed. "I had to try. I just wish I'd been quicker."

"Don't trouble yourself with every stranger's burden. You can't carry the world on your shoulders." Astarion's eyes glinted. "Although…we could have saved them if we had more power."

Amaara shook her head. "I did my best. Gave it my all."

"Did you?" Astarion pressed. "You refused to use the tadpole. But that was said and done. Now think - if I ascend in Cazador's place, we'll have might beyond imagining! You could help whoever you wished."

Amaara's eyes widened. Her heart turned to ice. He wasn't here to comfort her after all, "Don't." She snapped, then softened her tone, "please, not now, not today. We will discuss this some other time."

"Such innocence," he chuckled. "You know nothing of the choices survival forces upon us." His eyes flashed with cold ambition. "The power is there for the taking, if you'd help me grasp it. "

"There will always be a better way than violating our principles!" Amaara shot back, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes.

Astarion stepped closer, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. "YOUR principles. They make you weak when ruthlessness is required. You couldn't even help a simple peasant girl."

His words had weaponized her own guilt and doubts, leaving her consumed by grief. "How can you even consider the profane ascension, when you know what it entails? You said you just wanted to be rid of your old master, you didn't even want to be a true Vampire. what changed?" Anger started to set in, for his lack of consideration of her emotions. Harsh words lashed out, firm and curt, " NO, I won't allow it. "

"YOU WON’T ALLOW IT?" He bit down on every word as if to chew them into pieces. Rage erupted inside him and his vision went red, "When I was being flayed, you danced carefree. When I was seducing victims to their death against my will, you shared kisses with your bard boy on the Moonbridge. While I endured unimaginable torments, you spent your youth immersed in books and childish romance. you are nothing but a little mageling with no experience of the evil in the world, and your naïvety will be our undoing." Astarion's words were soaked in venom, "Powers that could help us lie within easy grasp, yet you cling to frail morality, chaining me with it too. "

He imitated Amaara's voice in a mocking way, "Astarion, don't bite thinking creatures. Astarion, don't kill the monster hunter. Astarion, don't use the tadpole's power, Astarion, don't ascend and be truly free." He sneered.

"Does restricting me give you purpose? Do you seek to become my new master? After all I endured…you presume to command me?" He spat, "Too bad, you do not dictate my fate. when the time comes, it is not your decision to make."

Astarion's cruel condemnation cut to Amaara's core. As fury boiled up inside her, the last thread of restraint snapped. "How dare you!" she shrieked, voice shaking with rage. "You know nothing of my life, yet boldly presume to judge me!"

"I may be young, but I've seen darkness across Faerûn that you in your cage could scarcely dream of." Amaara blazed, fury and pain etched on her face.

"You think I don't comprehend evil? I fought in wars, trudged through the wreckage left by those drunk on power. Held the hands of the dying and broken. Heard the screams of children orphaned, peasants crushed beneath the heels of tyrants! The Drows sought power, and drove the War of Silver Marches. The Ogres sought power, and led the siege on Silverymoon. My home in rubbles, my parents slaughtered before my eyes!"

She trembled with rage and grief. "And now mind flayers spread madness, and I'm cursed with their filth in my head! Every time someone grasps for might, I lose something precious!"

Amaara's shoulders slumped in defeat. "So do not lecture me about power's lure or necessity. I crave power too. If I were stronger, perhaps I could have saved my parents, kept my friends safe. I toil endlessly to hone my skills, master new spells, learn new recipes, anything to gain control." She lifted her head, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "But never at the cost of my soul."

"I offer you only compassion, yet you twist it into chains! Am I your enemy just for wishing you to retain your humanity?" Amaara wrapped her arms around herself, believing this is the source of their problem and the origin of his contempt. To her dismay, this is something unresolvable.

She felt utterly broken inside. "So choose your path, take your power, rule over ashes and bones. Lose yourself fully. It matters not, for I will have lost all I hold dear anyway. It would just be one more beloved thing sacrificed at ambition's altar. no big deal. I'm used to that by now."

Astarion stood there, his own anger overshadowed by the torrent of emotions that Amaara's words had stirred within him. Her confession had caught him off guard, and for a brief, bewildering moment, he felt a pulse of something he hadn't expected. But his well-practiced instincts to deflect kicked in, and he quickly composed himself.

"I do apologize, darling," he said, his voice carrying an unusual softness. "I didn't know. I suppose we're all products of our past, and you've certainly had your share of trials."

Astarion took a step closer, let out a small laugh "It was a bad choice of timing, I admit. In my eagerness after learning about the ritual, I got way ahead of myself. We don't even know if it can be done or not. We're practically bickering over theoretical situations. Silly of me, really."

His voice softened further, a familiar seductive tone seeping out. "Now, my little pet, would you like me to stay? I'll make it up to you, promise."

Amaara blinked, a mixture of anger and bewilderment stopping all her tears. The absurdity of his offer slammed into her, leaving her momentarily speechless.

"Get out," she finally said, her voice carrying the weight of her exasperation and disbelief.

"Sweet dreams." And with that, he turned and slipped away.

"It's over," she whispered, the bitter truth settling in. Perhaps there had never been anything real between them at all.

The weight of it all pressed down relentlessly until she buried her face in the bedroll, sobs wracking her body. Oblivion seemed the only appeal now, far removed from this anguish. I should have perished alongside my parents, she bitterly thought, sparing myself this grim future.

The group's fate beckoned in the darkest corners of her mind. What purpose did she have to go on? To keep fighting? When all the efforts were in vain and all that awaited was more pain at the hands of those she foolishly dared to trust.

That night, sleep evaded Amaara for hours. When it finally came, it brought troubling dreams. She found herself surrounded by a swarm of mind flayers, their tentacles grasping, a loud murmur of "Join us" seemed to come from all around her, then the ground collapsed under her feet.

Amaara fell screaming into darkness. She landed with a painful thud next to young Arabella. Tears streamed down her face. "You promised to save them! You promised!" she wailed, before blinking away. In her place, Halsin appeared out of thin air, who glared accusingly. "The curse remains. Are you even trying to aid me?"

Before she could respond, Halsin vanished. Wyll appeared next, panic in his eyes. "You must hurry! My father's life depends on it!" He too disappeared in a wisp.

After Wyll vanished, Amaara wandered alone through the shifting dark landscape, disoriented and afraid. Suddenly she spotted Karlach's broad form standing nearby, back turned.

Hope bloomed in Amaara's chest. "Karlach!" she called out, hurrying toward her friend, desperate for an anchor amidst the nightmare.

Slowly, Karlach turned to face her. But as she did, flames erupted across her body, consuming her. Amaara cried out in horror as Karlach melted away right before her eyes.

Reeling, Amaara staggered back, only to hear Gale's voice behind her, "goodbye, my friend." She whipped around.

Gale clutched his chest in agony. "This is my fate." He gave her a pained smile, with that Gale exploded in front of her with a force that sent her falling once more.

As Amaara plunged into darkness, she saw Shadowheart drifting alongside her, floating limply.

"Shadowheart!" Amaara cried out, grabbing for the cleric's hand.

But Shadowheart only gazed back blankly, no recognition in her eyes. Sinister shadowy hands materialized, seizing the helpless cleric and dragging her down into the abyss.

Amaara screamed and tried to hold on, but Shadowheart slipped away into the shadows' embrace. Amaara could only watch helplessly as her companion vanished, the void widening between them.

At last Amaara managed to land. As she struggled to get on her feet, a hand shoved her back to the ground. She tried to rise but froze at the sight of Astarion looming over her. He wore a sinister smile, "on your knees, darling," He commanded, fangs bared and eyes full of malevolent hunger. He descended upon her exposed neck as she screamed…

Amaara awoke, her throat raw from screaming Astarion's name, and her body drenched in a cold sweat. The remnants of her nightmare still held her in a tight grip, refusing to let go. As her ragged breaths echoed in the darkness, she felt Astarion rushing towards her, and she recoiled instinctively.

The companions had been roused by her cries, and they gathered around her tent, concern etched across their faces. Some of them reached out to offer comfort, but she flinched away from their touch, her eyes wild and desperate as they scanned the faces before her.

Amidst the chaos, Astarion's concerned voice cut through. "Amaara, what's wrong?" He moved toward her, only to be met with a forceful shove and a bolt of magic missile straight to the gut.

Staggering back, Astarion looked at her with bewilderment and alarm. He had never seen sweet, patient Amaara lash out so violently, especially toward him. Her usually calm demeanor was now overtaken by distress he didn't understand.

Before anyone could make sense of the situation, Amaara stumbled out of the tent, right into Lae'zel, clutching at the gith's tunic as if it were her lifeline. Lae'zel's eyes widened in surprise, yet she reacted with an unexpected gesture.

Slowly, deliberately, Lae'zel put one arm around the distressed wizard, while her other arm extended in a protective barrier, blocking Astarion's attempt to approach. Though her posture remained rigid and defensive, her singular embrace became a shield for Amaara.

Halsin's voice carried a sage wisdom as he addressed the group. "She had a nightmare, let's give her the space to collect herself."

Lae'zel met Astarion's incredulous stare with an unyielding glare. She then turned, guided the broken down wizard to her own tent, away from everyone else.

As the rest of the party scattered, Astarion stayed, completely dumbfounded. His determination to follow Amaara was halted by a firm grip on his elbow. His body tensed as he instinctively pulled away, his voice laced with an edge of desperation, "DON'T. TOUCH. ME." It was Gale who had caught him, trying to prevent his impulsive actions. Astarion struggled against Gale's grip, his frustration and anger evident in his eyes.

In the midst of their struggle, Gale cast a "Hold Person" spell on Astarion.

"Let go of me!" Astarion's voice seethed with impotent fury. Gale positioned himself in front of Astarion, blocking his line of sight to Amaara. "You need to collect yourself first," Gale stated firmly. "And I need to have a word with you."

Astarion's glare intensified, his lips curling in a snarl.

"Look at you - a feral animal. You'll only frighten Amaara more in this state," Gale admonished with a weary sigh.

Astarion glared venomously but slowly relaxed his aggressive posture under Gale's stern gaze.

"Congratulations, Astarion. You've accomplished the feat of enraging our gentle Amaara," Gale remarked, tone laced with sarcasm. "Keep it up, and one of us may gladly take your place."

Astarion let out a bitter laugh. "I'm sure you're all just waiting for that opportunity."

Gale's expression turned solemn. "I don't know what twisted game you're playing. But understand this - Amaara has options, far better ones than a deceitful leech like you."

Astarion's retorted defensively, "Hahaha, yes, a ticking time bomb, a murderous gith, and a druid who's more bear than man? Don't make me laugh. Amaara is mine."

Gale's gaze held steady, his words piercing through Astarion's façade, "Go on, Astarion. What is she to you?"

Caught off guard, Astarion faltered. "She's my…" He was at a loss for words, struggling to define the complex emotions that swirled within him.

"I thought so," Gale's voice softened. "For her sake, I hope you can find the answer to that question before it's too late." With a wave of hand, Gale lifted the spell before he turned and walked away.

Astarion stood there, his thoughts a tangled mess. Amaara's reaction had struck him to his core. She had never recoiled from his touch like that before, never met him with physical aggression. He replayed the events of the evening in his mind, trying to piece together where things had gone wrong. What had his intention been when he sought her out earlier? He recalled that it had been a pretty good day for him - finally learning about the truth behind his scars and the battles had not taken too great a toll on him. He had been in a good mood since Amaara promised to help him against Cazador. He was hoping to have a deeper discussion about the new information with her, and maybe offer some comfort for the disheartened little heroine.

And then it all unraveled. But how? What had he said when his temper had gotten the best of him? He struggled to remember the exact words that had led to their heated argument. But that hardly matters now, right?

The notion of losing Amaara utterly terrified Astarion. He had believed her to be hopelessly enthralled - whatever he did or said to her would have no consequences, she would always come back to him like a kicked puppy. But now doubt plagued him. Was she truly so spellbound? Or had he pushed her too far this time?

In desperation he scrambled for ways to regain control, to mend the cracks in her devotion. But even that impulse gave him pause.

Because the more he pondered, the clearer a startling truth became - it was not merely her compliance and thrall he feared losing, but her. For so long he had seen her as merely someone to manipulate and seduce. Yet now, the threat of her absence stirred a different emotion entirely. Not just wounded pride at losing a plaything, but the ache of something far more profound slipping away.

The gentle soul had offered him everything - compassion, patience, love freely given. At first she was just an amusement to him, a powerful wizard reduced to a toy. But she had tried in her own way to connect to him as a person.

He remembered the sweet taste of her blood, a gift freely given, and accepted without judgment.

He remembered the way she had looked at him when she had shared the beauty of her own world with him - her room she had conjured, the view of the Moonbridge. He now realized it was a gesture meant to forge a connection, her way of opening up and letting him in.

He remembered her using a figment illusion to show him his reflection when he had been wallowing in self-pity; He thought back on her shy smile, the kiss she planted so delicately on his conjured image. He now realized it was her creative way to show affection because she had noticed his adversary to touch.

He remembered when she carefully traced his scars, Remembered her relentless determination as she had spent the entire night trying to piece together the infernal letters. The disappointment that had clouded her expression when her efforts had yielded no results.

He remembered her words, "Of course I am with you," when she aided him against the Orthon - she had given, and asked nothing in return.

He remembered her bright-eyed smile and adoring gaze. A gaze unlike those he encountered before. It had held no lust, no violation. It was filled with simple admiration and joy.

He felt seen, wanted… even loved.

Never in life or unlife had he been shown such empathy and care without ulterior motives. Never in life or unlife had he asked for help and met with help, asked for compassion and met with compassion, asked for indulgence and met with indulgence.

He didn't care

No.

He thought he didn't care.

NO.

He didn't know he cared.

He felt like an idiot now. How stupid had he been? He had messed it all up. He had pushed her away, misread her intentions, and allowed his insecurities to tarnish the connection she tried so hard to build.

Now, the very idea of her slipping away made his blood turn into ice. What they had shared had been real, and he finally realized how much light she had brought into his bleak existence. Light he would give anything to get back, if only he knew how.

[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

Chapter 26: Smile

“You’re smiling,” Astarion observes across the breakfast table.

You carefully rearrange your features back to blankness.

“I didn’t say to stop,” he snaps. “It’s good to see you’re starting to appreciate your position again. Unless there’s something else that has your spirits so lifted this morning?”

His tone lets you know he already guesses at the answer, so you do not lie outright. Instead, you give him a half-truth, miming the opening and reading of a book, trying to ignore how it makes it look like you are praying to him, or begging for mercy.

“Mm. You may entertain yourself as you see fit, pet, but I would warn you against getting too lost in those petty fantasies. I feel as though you’re just making your way back to me, and it really wouldn’t do to have you disappear again.”

You nod solemnly. The rest of breakfast is taken in silence. When Astarion finishes his food - a particular favourite dish of yours today, you notice with a stab of jealousy - he speaks again.

“You may sit with me today. I have some correspondence I need to deal with this morning.”

You nod once more, trying to convey appreciation in your face. The mere thought of being alone still makes you sick, so you’re not sure why you feel a faint pang of disappointment at his words. When he rises from the table, you get up to follow him to his study.

He perches you on his lap when he takes a seat at his desk. He works his way through a stack of letters while you sit there, safe and bored and still and quiet, until a signature catches your eye.

Gale of Waterdeep.

The top of the letter is covered by other sheets of paper, and you can think of no way to subtly move them in order to read further. Tongue-tied though you are, you cannot let your curiosity go unanswered. You squeeze Astarion’s arm and point to the letter, eyebrows raised in question. He looks to where you’re pointing, then tuts.

“Naughty, little pet. If you insist on being nosy I might have to take your eyes as well as your tongue.”

He sees your face drop and laughs.

“Gods, can you imagine? You’d be insufferably needy. So helpless. It’d be funny for a day or so, perhaps, but not for much longer.” He sighs. “If you must know, our wizard friend has been helping me with the next stage of my plans. I was surprised he was willing, but I suppose he always did have a taste for power.” He smirks at his own joke. “Now, may I carry on in peace, or must I send you to wait in our bedroom?”

You bow your head and cast your eyes down, unwilling to give him any more cause to complain about you reading things that you shouldn’t be. You know it’s unfair, but you can’t help but feel angry at Gale for being a willing accomplice in Astarion’s grand plans. The wizard wasn’t a stupid man - he must be aware of, or at least suspect, how dark Astarion’s desires have become. Surely he, of all people, has the insight to realise that you are in dire need of help. You’d thought he was a friend, but his collaboration with Astarion is nothing short of complicity with your treatment. You bitterly force away your feelings of betrayal. You know they will do you no good. You can only be disappointed when you’ve hoped for a better outcome, and you’ve already promised yourself that hope is a thing of the past.

Your mind wanders back to the pang of disappointment you felt at breakfast. What reason did you have for being disappointed that Astarion wanted to spend time with you? It’s not like you had any guarantee of company elsewhere. Your chance encounter with the young Fist is plaguing your mind in ways you can’t explain, and therefore don’t like. Was it only because he had been so kind? So naively affable? Was it just because you craved such genial and light conversation after being so long of being denied any?

Or was it because his naivety had reminded you of a plan that you had long since given up on?

Could it still be possible to escape?

It seems, no matter how hard you try to disavow it, that hope refuses to leave your heart. When you break for lunch, you almost find yourself wishing that Astarion would excuse himself for the afternoon, but he invites you back to his office once more, and you follow obediently. Gratefully. You see how blank you can keep your mind until it is time to go to dinner.

You know, logically, that there is next to no chance that the Fist will be back where you met him yesterday, especially not at this time of evening. You know it, but still, you find yourself walking the long way around to get to your bedchamber when you go to dress for dinner. The long way around just so happens to go past the entrance to the west wing, and before you know it you find yourself standing in the very alcove that you met the young man yesterday.

It is, of course, empty. The corridor is entirely silent.

You stand there for a moment, feeling foolish for feeling disappointed. A stupid part of you wants to stay, but if you are late for dinner Astarion will question where you went. As you turn to leave, deflated, you notice that someone has tucked a book upright against the inner wall of the alcove. You bend down to pick it up, reading the title as you do so.

The True and Impossible Adventures of Tenebrux Morrow Vol 1

You’ve heard of the series, but never read it yourself. You flip the cover page open as you begin to walk back to your chamber and see an inscription scrawled in messy handwriting on the inside cover.

My lady, I thought you might like this, My sister says it is very good. Your humble and obedient servant, Fist Lucas

You close the book. You cannot help but smile.

[the-muffin-master]

TAV INFO | approvals, camp behavior, etc

TAV INFO | before the nautiloid -- here (1/2) and here (2/2)

GETTING IN CHARACTER

The moment I decided to get into roleplaying Zyra as a character and not as a self-insert (which was, admittedly, very early on in my first campaign) I realized this would take severe brainstorming. The fun and tricky part about their fixation on dethroning their nation’s king is that it says a lot about them regarding thoughts on privilege, nobility, wealth distribution… but that also means that a lot of their personality was outshined by this aspect alone.

Zyra’s life purpose and main driving force was getting revenge for her friend. She grew up and did everything she did to ultimately fail and be thrown into a future where none of it matters. It’s not an exaggeration to say that, without a cause to fight for, he wouldn’t know who he is. So we’d slowly watch him getting a feel for where he stands on certain issues, what his values are, what are his priorities.

THE GOOD

- wake up, sheeple: Zyra would disapprove of following rules blindly, especially if it hurts innocent third-parties;

- we live in a society: they’d approve confronting authorities and saving refugees / children / the less fortunate. On the other hand, they'd disapprove saving rich, privileged people (telling off that guy in Baldur’s Gate who doesn’t want to share his home with refugees earns you approval) and be neutral about helping random strangers;

- chaotic neutral: they’d approve insulting Kagha, saving Mayrina, poking fun of Auntie Ethel, letting Astarion (if the party knows he’s a vampire) fight Gandrel, playing hide-and-seek with Oliver, etc.

Zyra will leave your party if you kill the tieflings instead of the goblins in act 1 because they're very ride-or-die for their kin. I want to expand on this, but so far I've been picturing Zevlor as a father figure, Rolan as an annoying cousin and Alfira as a trustworthy confidant.

THE SAD

Zyra would probably have a hard time establishing bonds after waking up. I’d imagine they either lost or fell out of touch with most if not all of their friends from before imprisonment. Some have certainly died since, while the rest naturally had to move on. And despite it being an understandable reaction to having someone vanish for over a century, there’s a little bit of resentment / whiff of abandonment issues Zyra has to work through.

To elaborate on this struggle, just remember that Zyra is afraid of falling asleep. Their world fast-forwarded in the blink of an eye and there’s a looming threat of it happening AGAIN the next time they go to bed. This makes befriending others even harder because it feels pointless. Like, what’s the point of getting attached if you could open your eyes tomorrow and they wouldn’t be there anymore?

I can’t think of a clever Waiting for Godot reference but just know it’s in there somewhere. "There wasn't anyone waiting for me when I woke up" or whatever they said in Ace Attorney – which, by the way, if you think this plotline with slipping into a coma after being poisoned then waking up years later is far fetched, GO PLAY TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS. Look out for a character named Diego Armando then try telling me it doesn’t go hard.

Their insecurity would only start to subside as their companion quest progresses and there’s hope for their condition, at which point they’d be able to make healthy connections.

Their wishes reflected on the mirror in Blighted Village would be:

1. I’d see my mother, her eyes filled with familiarity and recognition, waiting for me at our doorstep. 2. I’d see my best friend once more, alive and grinning from ear to ear. 3. I’d see myself as part of something greater again.

THE WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

Due to their past, Zyra wouldn’t trust all-powerful entities like Shar / Vlaakith / Mystra, but they wouldn’t vocalize their disdain unless prompted. In my mind, this would spark conflict in act 1, where either Lae’zel or Shadowheart would say something equivalent to “if you stand for nothing, what do you fall for?” (which just makes Zyra even angrier, because the answer is freedom – and you don’t gain freedom by blindly following a leader).

As time passes, they’d learn to trust some authorities (Ulder Ravengard, although mostly due to his connection with Wyll; Selûne and Lady Aylin; etc). However, a few select ones (Gortash, The Emperor, etc) still deserve to be challenged, so it would be a long process.

I’d love to see Gale frustrated because Zyra refuses to put up with Mystra’s plan. Since the two would’ve previously bonded over the similarities between magic and music, it could feel like a betrayal to not trust the literal Goddess of Magic. Adjacently related but I believe Gale, out of all companions, would have the funniest reaction to the realization Zyra was asleep during the entirety of the Spellplague. Mystra DIED and Zyra was having the nap of their life.

Orpheus (if turned into a mind flayer) is an interesting case. Zyra would be onboard taking down Vlaakith, obviously! But she wouldn’t vibe with his desire to sacrifice himself at the end of act 3. For one, she believes Orpheus can remain in control of his faculties after the Netherbrain has fallen. Zyra also thinks he should get to see his legacy – much like Lae’zel, Voss doesn’t seem like the type to mind that the hero of legend looks a bit unorthodox.

Zyra is a “do as I say, not as I do” type in the sense that he’d be willing to die for a cause, but would frown upon someone else doing it. There’s something to be said about the awareness that rushing head-first to be a hero causes more harm than good and his stubbornness to accept his place in the world. Or rather, that he doesn’t have to “earn” a place in the world, he simply has it by virtue of being alive.

CAMP BEHAVIOR

She’s seen playing an instrument (it varies) or writing down something then furiously scribbling over it, crumpling the paper up and throwing it over her shoulder. During the first act, he’s not depicted sleeping like the others at long rests, either lying awake or not on his bedroll at all. Instead, they’ll pace the woods playing melancholic melodies to pass the time, too afraid to close their eyes for the night.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Hello!! i hope you’re having a good day!! I would like to ask for a BG3 matchup, please!! To make it easier for you, I’ve added anything that might be necessary here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-9dv4INxKsRYGLfZR22P7dUNY6gNqXnzEklxj_uxbhw/edit

A/N: Lol, I feel you w/ the undercut thing. If I let all my natural hair grow out, it would be its own situation every morning lol. Because you didn’t specify gender preference, I picked one male and female companion for you. 

For you, Google Doc Anon, I think you’d match best with Astarion (Male) and Lae'zel (Female)!

➶ Astarion is an independent person as well. Before he was turned he was a magistrate, a corrupt independent player who was very influential in getting what he wanted done. Of course, after being changed by Cazador, he lost all of his influence but managed to retain his aloofness and ambition. After getting a taste of freedom following 200 years of servitude, he’s insanely stubborn, and very vocal when it comes to voicing his displeasure about doing things. He makes it clear that he’s capable, but his capability is very intertwined with how much he wants to do something, similar to you. He finds such behavior to make sense and has absolutely no problems defending your thought process to anyone who complains. 

Granted, due to your shorter stature, he may not take you seriously upon first meeting you (he does make a fair amount of gnome jokes in game), but once he gets to know you, that all changes. He actually really likes your height difference because it makes him feel all the more  (dominant lol) in charge for once. And he loves, loves, loves your hair! He can’t see his hair in the mirror, but he likes to imagine it looks as cool as yours. He might even ask for your help dying his hair- of course, you’d have to try the colors first so he could see how they’d look on you before he’d dare try putting them on him, but that’s half the fun, right? 

Astarion enjoys the arts. Back as a magistrate, he’d frequent the theater and art shows, get the best-tailored clothes with the fanciest embroidery- anything that crossed art over with luxury, oh boy was he down. He wouldn’t ask you outright, he has his pride, but please please study him and draw him. He hasn’t seen his appearance in so long, and being able to see it through your gifted eyes would be such a marvelous treat. He trusts your craftsmanship 100%. 

And he understands your need for alone time. He, despite putting on a good show for everyone, is very drained after a day of ‘performing’. He needs time alone with you, just the two of you being quiet in order to recharge. He also tends to get a bit snippy when overwhelmed emotionally- which makes sense given his history. So don’t fret, he won’t take it personally if you yell or snap at him because you’re feeling overwhelmed so long as you don’t hold it against him when he occasionally does the same. 

And while he may be pompous at times, in most cases, it’s because he does have the skills to back it up. All the other times however, it’s good he has you to knock him down a peg, and get him to come back down to reality. You let him know he doesn't have to put on a show for you, he doesn't have to pretend. You love him just as he is. And he loves you just as you are. 

💥 Lae’zel is a great match for you because both of you are pragmatic, and disciplined people who do what it takes to accomplish their goals. As you said, you’re an INTP. INTPs tend to search for truth and accuracy, checking situations from multiple logical angles before proceeding. This is very much in tune with several Githyanki principles. However, unlike people who do not take you seriously due to your appearance, Lae’zel takes you as you are, at face value, so long as you’ve proven yourself worthy in your fields, your outer appearance is of no importance to her. 

She is much more focused on battle- the art of fighting. So she is very new to many of the artistic expressions you introduce her to. But if you put a lot of time and effort into your work, she appreciates it, not necessarily for how it turns out, but for the dedication you put into it. She also appreciates how instinctively smart you are. Intelligence is a sign of a worthy ally. 

She too, is not a fan of large groups, preferring to work by herself or with a few she really trusts. You, of course, are someone she trusts explicitly, so to have you around her doesn’t irritate her the way strangers do. In fact, she seeks out your company as a way to destress from the strife working with strangers causes her. 

She understands the need to separate work and social life now that she’s started developing a social life of her own. She respects your boundaries when you ask for time alone to work and does not worry about your loyalty or intentions. 

You are hers. You have said as much. And she is yours. She has said as much. No amount of time spent apart could possibly change that.

[sigloverofwords]

let me wrap my teeth around the world

An Astarion x spawn!Tav fanfic

Series warnings: violence, injury, abuse, self injury, suicidal ideation, animal death, rape (past), ptsd, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, scars, panic attacks, manipulation, transformations

Summary: You awake at the nautiloid crash, wounded and starving but free of your Master for the first time in your life. You’re determined to get as far away from Him as possible, and finally get some answers about your existence. Fortunately for you, you stumble upon another spawn. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.

Your ability to transform into a monster quickly changes his mind, though.

Posted to AO3 first!

Author’s Note: this is a y/n-free second person slow burn hurt eventual comfort fic. Lots of heavy stuff addressed, please take care of yourself and don’t read if any of the warning subjects are triggering to you.

2k+ word chapters

Chapter 3 (prev)

Astarion points out the path to the West and you walk along in silence for most of the morning. Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way he glances over at you, eyes narrowed into crimson slits as he studies you like a collector examines a pinned and mounted bug. 

Your own mind is busy piecing together your memories of the last week. Between your multiple bouts of unconsciousness and the havoc that transformation always wrecks on your body and mind, memories of your recent past are as disconnected and fleeting as lightning strikes. Carefully you trace back your steps, starting with the forest you now walk through.

Forest, druid grove, beach, nautiloid wreck, mindflayer pod…

Your throat closes a little at the flash of memory of the pod. You had come to in a haze, blood clotted over familiar wounds, fading bruises in rings around your neck. The pod had been too warm, the air heavy and humid around you, filling your lungs like blood. You had barely had the strength to try and turn away when the mind flayer forced the tadpole into you, let alone fight back. 

The feeling of the worm wrapping its needle-like teeth around your eye and wiggling back to press into your brain, biting and ripping to make room for itself, was almost the worst thing you’d ever experienced. 

A shadow crosses your face and you startle backwards, suddenly back in the present. Your heel hits a raised tree root and your lips part in surprise, arms flying out to try and stop your fall, but it’s too late and you can feel yourself heading for the hard ground. 

Before you slam into the dirt, a hand catches your wrist and hauls you back to your feet, steadying you.

“Careful there,” Astarion drawls. “Wouldn’t want to muddy those new robes so quickly.”

He’s too close, eyes too sharp, grip too tight. Your eyes widen, chest caving in around lungs that can’t hold enough air. Before you can stop it, you imagine pushing him away and fleeing to familiar arms to be cradled by hands that drip with your own blood. It makes you freeze, and you fight an invisible battle to force that instinct far, far down. 

He isn’t your home, he hasn’t been for a long time. Don’t fucking think of him like that.

You have to clench your jaw to fight back the urge to either scream or throw up. Maybe both.

In contrast, your companion is utterly unruffled. His eyes find your wrist, slim fingers unfolding like petals to reveal the mess of your skin. You watch him carefully, so you spot the almost imperceptible twitch of his eye, the shallow swallow that makes his throat bob.

“Not the prettiest mark to be left with,” you say finally, voice frustratingly weak as you claw composure back from the war inside you.

Astarion drops your wrist suddenly, turning away.

“Looks like someone didn’t learn their lesson the first time,” he says sharply. They were words meant to sting, but you had long been impervious to biting little barbs. 

You trail after him.

“Contrary to the impression I’ve given thus far, I don’t cry easily, so you’ll have to try harder than that to earn my tears again,” you say. It’s true, before the last 24 hours, you can’t remember the last time you cried. It was as if the tadpole was stripping away layers of defenses you’ve erected over the years, a double edged sword that you weren’t entirely happy with. In most cases you’d found dead eyes and unemotional reactions serve you better than weeping and flailing, but the release you’d felt at letting yourself tear up even a little had been welcome.

Now, with the sun and fresh air around you, your wrists free of all but the memory of restraint, you are finally starting to feel more like yourself. You push the last remnants of your tainted instincts away and take a deep breath.

“So, Astarion,” you say, forging bravely forward despite the cutting look he sends you. “How long have you been turned?”

The elf turns his eyes upwards, as if beseeching a god for patience.

“Good gods, you must be new,” he says. Each patronizing word drips with condescension. “You just jumped from ‘hello, my name is’ to ‘how much do you make a year and do you think your parents really loved each other, or you?’” 

You frown, tilting your head a little in confusion.

“I’m not new.”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? Could have fooled me, little monster.”

You stiffen, but the nickname isn’t imbued with any venom, so you simply scowl.

“I…haven’t been around a lot of spawn,” you confess through gritted teeth.

“Obviously. You manners are atrocious, but surely you must have picked up some form of decorum, even in Neverwinter?”

He glances over to see you glowering at him and chuckles.

“If you want to pull off the intimidating stare, darling, you’d do better in your other form.”

“Stop talking about it,” you snap, shame and guilt wrapping their hot hands around your spine and electrifying your nerves. Without thinking, you push past Astarion, stomping ahead on the path. You were starting to seriously regret your choice of traveling companion.

Of all the spawn I meet it has to be the one with a silver spoon up his arse.

You fume, throwing various profanity at him under your breath. This was going to be your plan for the foreseeable future, or at least until you got tired of scowling at the ground, but something pulls you from your anger. The familiar, sharp scent of blood teases your nose.

Your head jerks up, and your steps immediately soften. In an instant, Astarion is at your side, also moving silently. The two of you head to where the forest breaks ahead of you, slipping in and out of shadows. A quietly running river has worn a small gully in the land, but a sturdy stone bridge crosses it. The raise of the bridge blocks your sight, but you can practically see the tendrils of scent that beckon you from the other side.

“Blood,” you say quietly. Beside you, Astarion looks tense and drawn, a strange pallor to his skin.

“I smell it,” he replies. 

Surprisingly in sync, the two of you head for the bridge.

As soon as you reach the crest you can see the carnage laid out before you. Human adventurers and goblins alike lay slaughtered, their bodies abandoned where they fell, pools of blood staining the cobblestones. 

“What happened?” You wonder aloud. Astarion scoffs.

“Who cares? Let’s see if they have any valuables.”

He starts towards them, but something makes you reach out and catch his sleeve.

“Wait—”

An arrow buzzes past his nose, interrupting your warning. Then you spot them: goblins, perched in a few trees on the far bank of the river, and concealed along a crumbling wall that encircles whatever poor town they took over.

“Shit!”

Astarion backpedals quickly. The two of you run back for cover on the other side of the river, black tipped goblin arrows clattering to the stone in a hail right behind you.

When you reach the treeline you start to slow, but Astarion yells back at you.

“Keep running! Those bastards have our scent now, they won’t stop til they kill us or we kill them!”

Thus motivated, you kept running.

What had been a whole morning’s walk melts away under the speed of two scared spawn. Although neither of you are too much faster than a fit human, you both have more stamina, free of a beating heart to struggle to keep up with you.

Still, you know you haven’t fed in far too long, and when you finally misplace a step you can’t stop yourself from falling. Astarion isn’t there to save you this time, and you plow into the ground. Your head is swimming and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. The scent of earth and plants fills your nose, the cool dirt a welcome relief to your fear-flushed skin.

Astarion spins around when he hears you collapse.

“Oh for fucks-” he races back, but your muscles have given out, and you can do little more than loll an arm over his shoulders. You can hear the chittering of the goblins, who have given relentless chase since the bridge. Something rustles in the forest ahead too, and you could almost laugh if you weren’t delirious with hunger and over-exertion. 

Of course they got in front of us, too. Just my luck.

Then the unexpected happens.

Out of the foliage around the path bursts a party of adventurers, so mismatched and different that you couldn’t imagine them together in any other context.

At the lead is a githyanki woman, teeth bared in a snarl and sword already raised as she dashes past you and slams into the first goblin. A dark-skinned human is close on her heels, his jaw set and a glimmer in his eye. He dispatches the nearest goblin with an adroit twitch of his blade, moving to another like a dance.

A middle-aged human man skids to a stop next to you, raising his staff and chanting. As three glowing missiles fly from him to twist and wend to the charging goblins, a final figure stops beside you.

You look up into the serious, scarred face of a young woman. Her dark eyes are hard and severe.

“Come on,” she says shortly. With her help, Astarion is able to lift you and get you off the path. After making sure you’re out of the line of fire, the woman turns and dives head-first into the fray, although the other three have it mostly wrapped up by now.

The gith impales the final goblin with a satisfied nod, then withdraws her sword and flicks the dark blood from the tip.

The other human—the swordsman, not the wizard—approaches and drops to his knee before you and Astarion with a friendly smile.

“You alright?” he asks. You blink, still processing the fact that you’re not currently a goblin arrow-cushion.

“We are now,” Astarion answers for you. “That was a well-timed appearance.”

The man stands and holds out his hand. 

You reason that it’s far past time for you to get off the ground and introduce yourself, so you get to your feet. Although you’re a little more unsteady than you’d like, you manage it with minimal embarrassment, and hold out your hand.

“Tav,” you offer.

“The Blade of the Frontiers, at your service,” he says. His voice and stature is full of the heroism you had thought a thing only in story books. “Although, my friends call me Wyll.”

The girl who helped you off the road seems to roll her eyes at this.

Astarion is about to reply when he doubles over with a groan of pain. Wyll does the same, as do the others behind him. You step back in shock, barely noticing the tremors of pain in your own head. There’s a hint of something around the edges of your mind, like a dog sniffing around a closed door to try and get inside. A moment later it passes and Astarion straightens with a gasp.

“What—”

“You’ve got a tadpole too,” Wyll says. The gith seems to curse under her breath at this.

“I, well, yes,” Astarion replies. “What was that?”

“The tadpole. At least, as far as we can tell,” the other man says, stepping forward. “Gale of Waterdeep, at your service.”

And with that, it’s introductions all around. The girl who pulled you from danger is Shadowheart, a name that makes Astarion purse his lips with faux sympathy. 

“Her parents must have hated her,” he whispers to you when attention is momentarily off of you both. You give him a sharp look and a jab with your elbow that you hope communicate “try not to antagonize the people who saved our lives” but just makes him grin.

The gith is Lae’zel, and seems incredibly put out by this entire experience.

“We have now lost time and resources,” she says, every word clipped short. “Between your ridiculous demand to rescue that druid and now helping every helpless istik that crosses your path we will be ghaik before we even see the creche.”

Shadowheart scowls, annoyed, but Wyll maintains his chipper attitude.

“No loss at all, Lae’zel,” he reassures her, then turns to survey you and Astarion with a critical, but not unfriendly, eye.

“These two are under the same pressure we are.”

He addresses Astarion directly.

“We’re searching for a cure, and our best chance is the druid Halsin, who’s fallen into enemy hands. If you can fight, another blade is always welcome.”

“How can I say no to such a tempting offer?” Astarion replies lazily, then looks down slightly at you with a wicked grin.

“What do you say, dear sister? Shall we join forces with our brave rescuers?”

You give a weak smile in reply.

“As you say,” you reply.

“Fantastic!” Wyll claps his hands together. Gale surveys you both with mild concern, and Shadowheart and Lae’zel both seem unamused by the entire conversation.

“As long as they can fight,” the gith says finally, spinning on her heel and marching away. Shadowheart shrugs and follows.

“We can,” you say, stepping forward as the rest of the group starts to move. “Fight, I mean.”

Astarion rests an arm around your shoulders, the casual touch making you want to rip said arm off. You settle for glaring at him, which he easily ignores.

“I can fight,” he corrects. “My sister’s skills lie elsewhere.”

Gale brightens slightly.

“Cooking? Another hand at the fire would always be welcome.”

“Perfect,” Astarion replies smoothly on your behalf, making you sigh.

Let it be on his head, then, when they all find out you can’t cook for shit.

[omgkalyppso]

I've been thinking of eventual post-canon vampire Étoile.

The Pale Elf spoilers. End Game BG3 spoilers. If you open this and it's too long for you, you can press J on desktop to skip it.

Étoile did not ascend Astarion but I am brainstorming / working on a fic where he rips Cazador's throat out with his teeth while he's stabbing him to death so we get Astarion (and his six siblings) as vampires.

Either two, or twelve, or a few hundred years in the future depending on what I settle on, Étoile would eventually be made a vampire. I have a lot to consider with a fucking town of undead to manage (I'm sure Étoile grew up on the outskirts of a village of 400 and like. wtf. the numbers) (I've been reading about the populations of Waterdeep and Baldur's Gate and calculated Cazador's diet*).

The more immediate problem for Étoile is Raphael, who has the Crown of Karsus.

I need to decide whether Everything Happens At Once as it does at the end of the game. Does Karlach really start burning up right after Astarion? Does Étoile really have to choose between mourning, drinking with Shadowheart or facing Florrick and official business? Or can we spread this out over a few days? Does Raphael's message come to them that very first night? Or is it a week later? A year? Raphael says he's going to be coming to knock on their door "soon" - does that mean next? Does that mean within the week? Does that mean after a decade? How many planes or how much of the material plane should I imagine at risk or destroyed before Étoile has an effective solution.

What-if's are fun = like what if there's no solution? What if saving the world from this is someone else's journey and my short-lived hero dies or finds themself alone and abandoned? But that's not fun for a fic concept / full exploration to me.

Possible solutions for Raphael include:

Following in Gale's footsteps and making a plea to the divine. Becoming Auril's champion, if not her chosen. Either so that she will award Étoile with armor fit to fight a demi-god in the hells, or so she will be able to send them directly to Raphael so they don't have to go traipsing through the hells to get to him - regardless of whether she could summon them back. Either to provide her the Crown so she could freeze it in her frozen collections where she keeps natural phenomena, artworks and artists in ice for her to admire, with the risk that she would freeze Étoile as well in the end. Or to provide her the Crown to wear or to absorb, to return to her a piece of her that she's lost — reclaiming her previously stolen power over snow storms, even though she's abused this before.

.

Dishonoring Karlach's memory and making a pact with Mephistopheles or Asmodeus. Mephistopheles has had the Crown before and kept it hidden away, and Asmodeus has long been the Archdevil Supreme over the divided Nine Hells, either would likely be cunning enough to take advantage of the situation. And otherwise compelled enough to insult Raphael so specifically as to make (even) a (temporary) ally of his ... not rival. Pet project. Infatuation. This is especially fun if Mephistopheles feels slighted by not inheriting 7000 souls due to the way The Pale Elf resolved. If Étoile thought they were about to be betrayed after Raphael's defeat, they could put on the Crown, go to another plane, and die under the weight of it, only to be resurrected and mocked by "Withers" for stumbling so much on their path, "although being only mortal, it was always going to be so." Multiplying their survivor's guilt.

.

Asking Gale who already hates them to do the impossible and the ultimate blaspheme against his Goddess: If the Crown of Karsus - and the Karsian Weave - was constructed, could he create an equivalent to destroy the original? And why would he do this when they could have given the Crown to Mystra to begin with? And if he did do this, why would he involve Étoile in any capacity? In private, Étoile offers to hold him, as they should've held Karlach, in her last moments. They will allow him whatever revenge he chooses, if only he applies his mind to this for as long as he's able. Gale finds a way to detonate the Crown in the same way he managed to accidentally do the same with the Orb during his first encounter with the thing. They have a magical barrier / ward / shield that they don't expect to survive the blast, and when the Crown detonates, Étoile uses Warding Bond on Gale in solidarity / for good measure, but the like-magic instead starts siphoning / tearing the Orb from Gale's person, until his soul and the Orb are both outside of himself for a brief moment until the Orb tears away as if magnetically drawn to the Crown, and in the instant it happens, a portal to another plane opens beneath them, dropping them into another world, safe from the destruction they've left in the Hells. Gale's alright. I think Rolan would come on this adventure too.

.

We don't deal with Raphael. The Blood War is neverending and Asmodeus is going to swat him like a gnat.

.

We don't deal with Raphael. He was being coy. He comes by for tea and sex twice a season.

.

In any scenario where Étoile and Raphael face off, I will delight in writing / imagining battle dialogue. Étoile would absolutely throw in Raphael's face that he had needed them to get the Crown because Daddy put it up on a high shelf.

Once Raphael messages Étoile his warning, I think Étoile would lose it. They may have even included in Raphael's pact that he couldn't bring the Crown back to the material plane, but that doesn't stop his armies or hellfire. It just sets the stage for where they'd have to fight, if I decide that Raphael couldn't come back to the material plane for some reason -- because he won't be parted from the Crown, if it won't come back then neither will he.

But Étoile would worry about the fires and sun-situation in the Hells, they will worry about their responsibilities to facing this. They will want to be continuing with Astarion into the Underdark to organize the vampire spawn. They will want to be able to hope for that life after they've dealt with the latest insanity. They would try to convince Astarion that they need to part ... but they wouldn't be half as convincing as he is.

Astarion would propose that there could be a person among the seven thousand who has dealt with devils before, and may have advice. He will accuse them, after all their promises and all his honesty of feeling safe with them that they'd leave. He would argue in favor of his abilities and his perspective, his knowledge of the situation and Étoile's dwindling number of available allies, that he is capable of being an effective resource against Raphael's threats.

Étoile would presume to argue that Astarion's siblings and the vampire spawn won't tolerate them coming and going, and Astarion will declare that they will have to. Unless they want to be overrun with infernal portals and an even more inhospitable landscape — any source of blood, human or animal, would be at risk if Raphael starts throwing his weight around.

When Raphael is dealt with in some way, and after at least a year, but probably more like 6 at minimum of settling into whatever routine looks like for the vampire spawn (alliances with Wyll as Duke Ravengard, with the Sword Coast at large, perhaps with another plane or two, maybe even with some peoples of the Underdark), Étoile would be overdue for a journey home to see their mother.

Either this would be the first of centennial visits (at the very least) over the next few centuries (Aranea only has so many years left in her), or it would be the last significant visit before something irreparable was broken between them. Whether this is the first and last visit where Étoile visits as a living creature, or whether the last visit is far in the future, during that visit, their mother, Aranea, can see this will be A Last Time just by looking at her child. And she will throw a fit.

She's so angry. Heartbroken. Trying to convince Étoile to see it as a manipulation (while not truly believing this) and asking Astarion not to kill her child.

Aranea is concerned for two specific things: The first is death, whether as transformation or otherwise. She's not concerned that her child could "live" for centuries, but that Étoile would die before her. This is death. It's death and no one would be able to talk her out of that or around it. Astarion has a grave. It's death. She doesn't want her child to die. Her second concern is vampires' various weaknesses. The thought of someone exposing her child to sunlight in a day or in a millennia and to die a second time, in such a potentially horrible way, or to be driven to madness by years — and to seek an end because of it— She wouldn't want this for Étoile, nor Astarion but that ship's sailed; she can only console against what has yet to pass.

But Étoile only wanted to see her once more, the decision's already made, no matter the dread Aranea's outburst puts in Astarion. And when Étoile is briefly dead, whether in Aranea's house or in Auril's temple, they are laid out as if for a wake by the hands of whichever two servants or companions followed them and Astarion to this cold mountain. Aranea has locked herself in her room, stoic but inconsolable. Astarion stays with Étoile — right up to the moment where they wake, and he has to face what he's done.

He cannot hear their heartbeat, he never will again. Their natural scent lingers on their packed clothing, their pillowcase in another room; but their body too will forever have that 'whiff of undeath' as Shadowheart put it. The warmth of their body is muted and lost. Étoile's coloration has changed so that any who looks upon them will wonder if they don't know, that there is something unliving about them. They will have no reflection, no sunlight, and the unending, inescapable thirst. They may not even sound the same with fangs in their mouth.

They did not suffer as the vampire spawn in Cazador's care, but for all their suffering, Astarion could at least convince himself sometimes and often that Cazador was the monster, and— And now he's done this. He's taken something that can never be given back, and in a way he's even taken it from himself. Every vampire he's ever known has tried to hurt him, has been duplicitous and selfish and— Will Étoile inherit these traits too? Is their emotional heart as dead as their true one? Will he be as instinctually repulsed by them as he has been by nearly all other vampires?

When Étoile sits up, Astarion runs to a closed door, it hardly matters where, he cannot face Étoile though they call to him from the other side.

I just need a good contrast to how ascended Astarion is awed by his own power the beauty of the player character as a vampire spawn.

I was telling a friend that I was gaining new perspective for how Dr Frankenstein must have felt in the horror of the birth of his creation. What horrible misery, what glorious life, what inerrable pain - woe, success! No longer was his creature his ambition, now they were the same.

Astarion doesn't use some of his deepest terms of endearment for a while, and of course Étoile is understanding — but also afraid, offended, hesitant. There's an adjustment period, even though Astarion doesn't choose to control them once he can, doesn't delay longer than it takes for the subject to come up (1 day) to allow them to drink from him for full vampirism.

Meanwhile none of Astarion's siblings have the hang ups he has with regards to Étoile as a vampire and they tease and delight in how Étoile not only represents them in public, they've been folded into the clan.

I've assigned the vampire siblings ages and past careers for those who weren't explored in canon. I have headcanons for vampire spawn oc's who are part of their little society. My favorite is Anastasia. Only a week turned by Leon, she has a son and does not wish to go to the Underdark arguing that she is not starved as the others are, that she is still in full control of her mind and her ambitions. She helps develop their Council of Twenty. Wait, let me back up: many of the vampire spawn and all of the vampire siblings agree early on that they don't want to refer to themselves or for outsiders to call them the Szarr Clan or Cazador's Spawn; but there are seven vampires now, and to choose a name between them for all to agree to go by could easily come to insults and battle and abandonment; but they all know Étoile for what they've done for them and what they've done for Baldur's Gate. They call themselves House Ienith; which was once the name of a House in Menzoberranzan, and Étoile worries it will upset the drow because that House was disbanded when their mother was a child, but besides risking insults and a lack of allyship, it was discovered that so long as they were not trying to occupy the compound that used to belong to House Ienith, were not claiming authority in drow politics, and recognized that they would never be accepted as their House revived, that they at least weren't enemies. Drow envoys occasionally scout or visit.

Several drow book-keepers are calculating what several thousand vampire spawn could be leveraged for or against.

Anyway! The Council of Twenty of House Ienith consists for some years of the seven vampires (Astarion and his siblings), seven vampire spawn — one from each vampire's subclan as voted upon by their members, four vampire spawn from any vampire subclan as voted upon by all members, a vampire spawn who is a child to ensure that particular group's unique needs are met, and Étoile for whenever they are present. Some are more comfortable that Étoile would be a vampire, and I do think a not-inconsequential number of them would experience some kind of jealousy, either that they couldn't turn a person or twelve that they chose, or that they were not eligible to become a full vampire themself.

I think that the vampires feel some kind of way using their new powers over the vampire spawn, but I do think they have at least 4 Rules that the vampire spawn are magically obliged to follow, and then otherwise a series of laws that they're as beholden to as the population of any mortal city.

I have even more thoughts about their governing structure and Baldur's Gate, etc. But I think I've said everything I wanted to say in this very long post.

I think we should introduce Doctor Dalyria and Araj Oblodra. Dalyria would probably like her as much as Astarion does At First, but then they'd be experimenting in blood magic and possible vampirism treatments like nobody's business.

*So presuming Cazador either also did some of his own hunting or that his spawn brought him victims that were unsuitable for the ritual, I'll say he consumed 8500 victims over 200 years which is 4 people per month. If a vampire (spawn) needs 4 people / boars / creatures of similar size per month to survive then 7,000 vampires need 28,000 animals per month. Sheep in the player's handbook have a cost of 2 gold. That's 56,000 gold per month to feed these fuckers if we're conducting trade; but that's only 8 gold per person, which makes it sound more reasonable. But a person eating the meat - a single sheep should be able to last 6 months, rather than 1 week. There is the possibility that the vampires could sell the meat / partner with butchers in various cities as some number of livestock has got to be dying anyway to feed the mortal populace, but which butchers will work with them, which people will eat meat so close to undead, who will buy dinner from vampires? And could the farmers of livestock ultimately put up with demand? Might have to resort to starting up "vampire quarters" in cities all across Faerûn.

[little-tyrant-gortash]

Oathbreaker

Pairing: fem!Tav x Enver Gortash, fem!Tav/Astarion

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Paladin Tav (Baldur's Gate), Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Drunk Sex, Unrequited Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Scars, Blood and Injury, Injury, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Torture, Psychological Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture

Word count: 1,691

Ao3 here.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13. ⬇

Chapter 14.

Chapter 13: Innocence Lost

He should've expected things to go downhill. It couldn't be as easy as he imagined them to be, could they?

First of all, the way she screamed had a remarkable effect on him. Gortash quickly realised that the need to protect her went well beyond his sneaky little "safety measures"; he maneuvered so quickly around the office to check what was wrong that it was straight ridiculous. It was blind luck nobody saw it, and that she was too preoccupied with the pain in her feet to notice. But he couldn't blame her for that. The stench of burnt flesh made him crinkle his nose.

"Damn it!" He huffed, and he didn't even think, he picked her up, bridal style, to get the weight off of her feet. She clung to him for dear life in her agony, buried her face in his neck and sobbed loudly. "How can you be so clumsy?" He sighed as he started to walk through the workshop with her in his arms.

That was when the door burst open and revealed a very angry looking Shadowheart with her bright, silver hair. Gortash stopped in his tracks with a frown. The Steel Watchers should've stopped her-

"Your days are over!" She declared, looking every bit of feral as she summoned her spirit guardians – the green ones that would cause nasty necrotic damage to anything living they'd touch.

"Are you insane?!" Gortash yelled as he took a few steps back. "I have her right h-"

Organised chaos, was it? More like disorganised chaos. Most of the time he remembered where he left what, and he instinctively tiptoed over it in his workshop. Toolboxes, chests, pieces of armour. But Tav's injury and Shadowheart's sudden appearance shocked him enough that he couldn't remember fast enough that there was a chest just behind him – a chest he tripped over.

Falling backwards, all he could do was cursing out loud.

Hitting the ground wasn't that bad, actually. But when Tav fell right on him, she knocked the air out of him. There was an almost soft crack in his chest, then excruciating, horrible pain a second later.

"Oh shit", Shadowheart's voice was the first that made it through the ringing in his ears. Gortash's head was throbbing with murder. He kept Tav close, until she attempted to pull away and get up. "I'm so sorry, I didn't- I couldn't-"

"Heal me", Tav sobbed and remained sitting on the ground just beside him. "Please- it hurts- so much-"

"What the Hells happened?" Shadowheart made her way over to Tav, completely ignoring Gortash on the floor. Maybe she did that well. "I heard you scream-"

"Karlach's engine", Gortash groaned when Tav couldn't muster the words. "Her engine. Overheated. Melted… the pliers…"

Well, that broken rib really hurt. He barely could take a normal breath, let alone speak in complete sentences. I'm too old for this shit, he thought begrudgingly as he turned his head to look at Tav and Shadowheart. The latter dismissed the spirit guardians, and she already started to heal Tav's feet. The flesh knitted anew, making her accident a bad memory.

Good.

"You. Get. Out", Gortash groaned at Shadowheart, who stared back at him with a snarl.

"You don't order me around!" She spat back at him.

"Shadowheart-", Tav weakly protested.

"I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

"Shadowheart-"

"Is that your plan? Making us believe you're the good guy when you're attempting to kill us??"

"Shadowheart!! Enough!" Tav yelled. "He didn't do anything wrong! I held the fucking engine and I got too distracted, end of story!"

"Distracted by what?" Shadowheart asked with a raised brow. "He did it on purpose, didn't he?!"

Gortash also raised his brow. Really, what distracted her? Tav blushed and looked anywhere but at them. He didn't do anything out of the ordinary, just- oh.

"Ooh, Tav", he sighed – even if it was immensely painful –, a smile playing around his lips.

"You just be quiet", Tav huffed, taking her half burned boots off.

"You paid attention to what I was doing-"

Tav felt a rush of absolute fear when she realised he could expose her to Shadowheart.

"Gortash."

"What my hands were doing, to be precise- you got distracted by- my hands-"

Shadowheart looked like realisation dawned on her, then she made the realm's most disgusted face as she glanced at the flustered Tav. Who, in turn, angrily yanked her boots off and threw them to the far end of the room.

"Gortash! You're the absolute worst man alive on this gods damned planet!"

Tav pushed herself up to stand, thankfully, Shadowheart could heal her injuries in no time. Barefoot, she started to walk out of the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Gortash ignored the throbbing, sharp pain in his chest.

"Out! I'm done!"

"You won't even take Karlach with you?"

Tav's bare feet stopped stomping on the floor of his workshop. Enver finally got up, too; he resisted the urge to touch his aching side. It wouldn't do any good if he had his hand over it, anyway. He'd felt this so many times, growing up. He'd survive it again.

"I have no doubts she'd attempt to kill me, too", Gortash continued, walking over to his desk to sit down on the chair. "And believe it or not, you and your merry little band still need me."

"He's right", Shadowheart's shoulders dropped, and offered him an apologetic look. "Sorry about- what I said."

"Consider it forgiven. Now, please. You, get out."

"We'll talk later", Shadowheart told Tav in a serious tone, and neither Gortash nor Tav had doubts that the silver haired warrior would definitely interrogate Tav about their relationship.

"One more thing", Gortash told Shadowheart, "how come you weren't stopped by my Steel Watchers?"

"Well, Gale kept them… busy", Shadowheart smiled at him before she left the workshop.

Gortash sat back down, a bit harder than he wanted to, and closed his eyes at the flash of sudden, excruciating pain that shot through his chest. Gale. He was crushing the name in his head with mortar and pestle. Gale. Gale. Gale. He's going to make an ornate bowl out of his wretched, thick skull, and he'll use his brain t-

"He probably destroyed half of your Steel Watchers", Tav mused without turning to look at him.

"Wonderful", Gortash groaned, and this time, he couldn't hide the agony from his voice.

He gritted his teeth when he saw Tav turned to look him in the eyes. She noticed. What was more, she seemed like she… cared? That she was… worried? Enver seemed to rapidly sink in his chair when she started to walk over to him.

"What's wrong?" She asked him, and he scoffed.

"Oh, nothing. I'm fine. Just pulled a muscle."

She stared at him for a long second before she stalked even closer, stopping between his chair and his desk. This way, she had her back to Karlach.

"You're lying", she deduced.

He stared back up at her, challengingly.

"And? What are you going to do about it?"

"I'll get the truth out of you."

"Oh?" Despite the pain he was in, he smiled at that. "And how are you planning to do that?"

"I'm asking first", she crossed her arms and leaned against his desk. "Why did you have to embarrass me?"

"She rather should know about the truth than think that I'm scheming to kill you, isn't that right?"

"I don't want them to know about us", Tav shook her head and looked away.

"I can't understand why", he mused playfully, "we're making a good team."

"Good team?" She echoed. "Have you been paying any attention to us? We're making each other worse."

"Worse is always better in my book", he smirked now, a bit darker than intended. Tav squirmed where she stood, his smile awakening something inside of her. "You can't even take your eyes off me, can you?"

"You're a pompous bastard full of himself, nothing more", Tav spat.

Gortash laughed quietly, but not for long. His voice died in his throat and he let out a ragged sigh as he leaned back in his chair again. Tav was watching him like a hawk.

"If you're injured", she muttered, "why won't you tell me?"

"Complaining about physical injuries is weakness, and I'm anything but weak."

Tav needed a few seconds to absorb that. Then, she cupped his cheeks in her fragile little hands.

"I don't want you to be in pain", she whispered softly, "please, tell me, how can I help?"

"If you say that little word again, I may just tell you", Gortash teased.

He was disguising just how deeply it cut him to know that she cared. That she didn't lie. Every second he spent with her, he learned more and more about her expressions, the way she said words, what she thought of things, and to know that she did not lie now – that she truly did not want him to be in pain – was new and utterly terrifying.

Because nobody ever cared. Nobody ever asked. Nobody wanted to make sure he was alright. All the lessons he learned during his life were that the strong crushes the weak, and he never wanted to be the weak one. He was forced to be; many, many times.

"Please, Enver."

His name sounded like dripping honey from her lips. He crumbled at her touch, at her voice. For a moment, he felt like a frightened child again.

And then, he felt enraged. Enraged that he couldn't find her sooner, enraged that he had to walk this lonely path alone for so long. But not anymore. She was here, and Hells, he won't ever let her go again.

"I never get tired of you saying my name", he whispered back, placing his hands over hers as he closed his eyes.

Tav half smiled and ever so gently pecked his forehead.

"What the everloving fuck?!"

Their hearts skipped a beat at the same time when they've heard Karlach's voice from the desk where they left her, and they both thought of the very same thing.

Shit.