#just. holds him gentle. as though that’s not what you just did for durge??

[qrovidcore]

man the thing about doing the temple of bhaal first is that durge is speaking from experience huh

[u-f-e]

One Last Glance

Pairing: astarion x fem!reader, 

WC:3.4k

Content: no y/n mentioned, revival scrolls don’t exist here we live for the angst, minor durge reader, not quite canon to game

Warnings: angst, major character death, self sacrificing, hurt no comfort, some gore, 

Summary: As much as Astarion loves to be nosey, he also knows when best to turn tail and run. You on the other hand have always been stubborn to no end. When one of your nosey adventures doesn't go as planned it’s time the ultimate sacrifice is paid. Curiosity killed the cat and no satisfaction could bring this back.

A/N: hi, this is like my first ever one-shot fic that I've done. and also my first time using tumblr. It's rough its angst and something that I accidentally did in my own game and took inspiration from to pop out this guy. I'm really slow with writing altho I do love it so I'll eventually slowly be adding more stuff. But yeah, hope you like tha angst <3ufe

*** Curse your curiosity. When you had agreed to help Grey with avenging her fallen sister you never thought that it would lead to an underground hidden submersible. You certainly never thought that it would lead to one of Gortash’s underwater prisons. But really you should’ve known better by now. You also should’ve known that jackass Gortash wouldn't believe you when you said you had just been curious. Now you’re here, docked at a prison waiting to explode and your damn saviour complex can’t leave without rescuing everyone. The only problem is you don’t know how long you have till the place goes sky high. You’re stuck in your head, you want to save them, you need to. But this is probably one of the most nerve wracking adventures yet. You don’t know what awaits you beyond the hatch or how long the ticking clock has. You have a feeling it’s not long though. You also don’t want to force your friends and lover into yet another dangerous situation because of your damn curiosity. Your rag-tag group has always managed to get out with just a few scrapes and bruises, but this time you’ve got a bad feeling about it. There’s too many uncalculated variables.

Through the time you’ve been together Astarion has gotten good at being able to tell when you’re stuck in your head. When you’re stuck between two different moral paths. Usually he’s one to take the path of least resistance, usually the one involving retreating. He knows you too well now, he knows you won’t listen, he knows that above all else you feel it’s your duty to save the people within these watery prison walls. Something to do with a way to atone for all that you’ve wronged in your dark past. Knowing this he approached you, a gentle hand finding its place on the small of your back, “we’re not leaving without the prisoners, are we, darling?” 

It was less a question and more a statement. He was giving you the push to make the decision you knew you couldn’t walk away from. “I can’t leave them Star. I can’t leave knowing I’ve just doomed them to a fiery watery death. Yet I can’t guarantee your safety this time. There’s so many things I can’t control. So many unknowns-”

“When have we ever walked away from a challenge, away from you?”

You looked back towards him and then at the rest of the group, they all had small reassuring smiles on their faces. Karlach stood in the back, holding up two thumbs ups, her smile the biggest of all. You smiled back at the group and looked up once more to Astarion. After a beat you gave a nod and turned back to the hatch.

“Okay. We got this”

You don’t got this. As soon as you all descended into the prison the place gave a not so reassuring shake. There were lights flashing everywhere, alarms blaring, water leaking already and the place had a nauseating fishy smell that you feared would be glued to your nostrils for weeks following this. If you made it out of this, that is. Not only all that but you could see guards down almost every hallway.

“Sahuagins, ‘sea devils’, vicious and merciless. Watch yourselves around them” Gale warned from the back of the group. You gave a huff and nod as you ran over plans through your head.

“Okay. We don’t know how long we have in here. We need to be in and out as fast as possible. Get as many people out before the place blows. Preferably everyone. We won’t have the time to kill the sea devils so just try to hold them off as much as possible. Keep them away from the prisoners as I doubt they have the ability to defend themselves. Since we don’t know how long we have I’d suggest we split up. Shadowheart, Karlach, you go left, east. Gale, Lae’zel you go south, straight. That seems to be where a big portion of the fishy guards are, from what I can see. I need you both to find a way to keep them at bay while we get everyone out. Got it?”

Those I named gave curt nods before splitting off. 

“You and I to the right then?” Astarion smiled, reaching a hand towards you.

“Forever and always, remember?” You took his hand as he gave you a grin. His devilish teeth shining beautifully in the dim damp light. With your hands intertwined tightly you both ran off down the right corridor.

Since the moment Astarion first held a knife to your throat you both have worked so well together. You worked like a well oiled machine, being able to immediately tell what the other was planning and work with and off of their actions. It’s what made it so easy for the both of you to connect. Through battle, through messing around, or trauma bonding. The only parts you’ve ever had difficulties is where your stubbornness lies. You always wanted to help people, despite all the complaints Astarion would throw your way. You always ignored him on that front, sticking to your morals. You’d appease him later by the two of you messing with Gale anyways. Knowing this and having him willingly running down the hall with you, opening prison doors as you go, with not a groan or whine in complaint to be heard. It was greatly appreciated. It was just another reason why you knew you’d never be able to leave him after this whole tadpole situation was over. Once the netherbrain was destroyed, Baulder’s Gate restored and Astarion free from any past torturer. It’s one complaint that you knew you’d never back down from if presented with. He was stuck with you now. And you stuck with him.

Finding a lover through all this crazed nonsense was not something he had ever planned. If you had told him before that he’d have a tadpole put in his brain, be free of Cazador, and fall in love with the women he’d threaten in first meeting. He’d tell you you’d gone absolutely mad. Yet here he was, following you down corridors, your lives dangling on a thin wire ready to snap at any moment, as you opted to care for others instead of yourself. As annoying as your stubbornness can be, he wouldn’t say it’s something he hates about  you. In fact it was one of the many reasons that made him love you. Your innate ability to stare down the barrel of danger and smile while saying no to backing down. It was probably the hottest and sexiest thing he’s seen someone do. No, he didn’t hate it. What he did hate was the blatant disregard for your own safety that followed that stubbornness. He’s not one to miss how every adventure the group has gone on you’ve always come out with the brunt of the injuries. Always the one to jump in front of your friends, keep them from getting hurt. 

He’s tried to bring it up in the past but you’ve always brushed it off. A coincidence, you’d say. Yet it’d happen every time. It worried him. You were as much a ticking time bomb in his eyes as much as this prison was. Just one wrong move, one move too late and he'll never get to see that smile again, never hear that laugh. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. This adventure he was determined to get you out of here with the least amount of injuries as possible. 

Usually between the two of you it would be you that would hold off any enemies while Astarion was the one to sneak around completing tasks. This time however Astarion had managed to convince you to allow him to hold off the Sahuagins while you went around and unlocked the cells. Let me tell you, these things were ruthless. You felt bad for the amount of groans you could hear coming from Astarion, despite how hard he’d try to keep them as quiet as possible. Thankfully there weren’t too many cells needing to be opened. Once you’d gathered everyone you rejoined with Astarion and helped him knock the last Sahuagin out for now. 

“Go, get them to the submersible. I’ll follow behind and make sure they stay down and that we don’t lose anyone.”

He paused and looked between you and the knocked creatures, he went to protest but you stopped him with a look. He knew the look. It was the look you gave him when you were being stubborn and would refuse to have your mind changed.

“Fine…. But don’t stray too far behind you hear me?” He gave you his own stern look that you could never say no to. You gave a curt nod then motioned for him to go. He gave you one last glance before turning and motioning for the prisoners to follow him. You stayed back and ushered the group ahead, keeping an eye on the Sahuagins on the ground. Once the last prisoner passed you followed. 

Up ahead you could see Astarion helping the prisoners to get up the ladder. Karlach and Shadowheart having joined them as well. Amongst the prisoners you could even see Wyll’s dad. Good. You owed it to him to get his dad back. You felt bad about Wyll. You had been so focused on some of the other group members and their troubles that you hadn’t even noticed Wyll not acting the same. And now he’s been taken, all because of you. Well at least that’s what you believe. Anyone else, even Wyll, would say that it’s not your fault. You would insist otherwise. You could just start to hear the other’s conversation as you grew near, Gale and Lae’zel joining the centre as well.

“We got everyone from the east. A few entanglements with nets but otherwise everyone is fine and out,” Karlach reported.

“We managed to hold back the large group of Sahuagins for the most part. There were quite a few of them. The hallways have heat sensors we discovered. So the south airlock doors have been sealed. It doesn’t seem like they actually know too much about the mechanisms so the doors should hold them back for now.” Gale huffed out, panting from exhaustion. Lae’zel looked hardly affected by the matter.

“We managed to get everyone from our end!” You informed, as you joined the group.

“Another mission successful it would seem!” Shadowheart smiled.

“Yes, now all that’s left is us. If you would be so kind, I wouldn't mind leaving now. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think water and fire would go too well in our situation right now.” Sarcastic as ever Astarion was. 

Everyone gave a small chuckle and nod in agreement and started heading up the ladder. Maybe you do got this. It was just the two of you left to climb the ladder when Astarion reached over and pulled you to him into a crushing kiss, overcome by a great sense of need. His kisses always took your breath away. He always threw everything into his kisses. All his passion, his love, his adoration. He never left anything to the imagination. You could read every thought, every intention, all his love for you in every single one of his kisses. It was intoxicating and addicting and you could never get enough of it. Through this kiss you could tell every worry he’s had during this whole debacle, every stress, every panic. You could sense his need for this, for the accomplishment, for the kiss itself, and for what would be sure to come later tonight when it’s just the two of you laid in his tent. Not only all that but your lips always just fit so right against his. Your lips, your body, your everything. It was like you were made for him and he was made for you. It felt like an eternity and yet like it wasn’t long enough before the both of you pulled away, breaths heavy with desire and passion. 

“I love you,” he affirmed against your lips.

“And I you,” you pecked his lips once more before motioning to the ladder with your head. 

“Now we must leave, Star. Who knows how much time we have left.”

He gave his one last peck to your lips before pulling away to start his ascension to the submersible. It felt almost too good to be true to Astarion. We were leaving here and he had actually managed to keep you out of trouble. He was quite proud of himself really. He thought it would be almost an impossible task. Yet here it seems to have been done. Now all that's left was to close the hatch and pull away from this gods awful place.

You grinned up at Astarion’s retreating behind as you began to follow him up. Lost in the thrill of possibly getting away from this one unscathed you didn’t hear the gurgling near. Not until you felt yourself get enveloped in a hefty net, trapping you against the ladder. 

“Shit,” you grunted, the weight of the blow winding you slightly. Glancing over you noticed one of the Sahuagins the two of you had knocked out was slowly crawling their way out of the corridor you’d come from. 

“Shit, shit-” you should’ve known things had been going too well. You struggled as you attempted to untangle yourself from the net, feeling like every movement only made the situation worse. You glanced back over to the corridor noticing them getting closer. You couldn’t allow them to get past that door. After a decent amount of struggling you had managed to get one hand free enough to throw a fire bolt down the corridor. The fish watched it fly past before looking back at you. A gurgling sound emanating from its gills, as if it was laughing at you before the corridor erupted in flames and the door sealed shut in its fishy face. You grinned at your accomplishments and proceeded to burn the rest of the net away in annoyance with it. As you began to make your ascent once more you glanced down the east corridor at the worst possible moment. What you saw made you freeze. The bolts holding this place together were beginning to pop from their homes. The constant tremors having caused them to start to come loose. In the seconds it took to realize what was happening you watched as the first explosion began down the far corridor, the place immediately beginning to flood with water. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” Panicked, you started to try to climb faster only to discover a part of your foot still entangled in net that hadn’t burnt away. You looked back towards the explosions and rushing water and you knew. It was all too good to be true. Seconds felt like minutes and those minutes felt like hours as you took one last glance up at Astarion. He had made it up into the submersible and was just turning around to greet you, help you up, when he made eye contact with you and he knew. He knew things were wrong immediately by the look in your eyes. His stomach dropped, his breath and heart stopped. He felt a cold chill run through him as he watched in slow motion as you shot a crossbow arrow at the hinge in the hatch, forcing it to close with you behind. With the hatch closed the submersible went into auto-pilot, pulling itself away from the docking station and starting to make its way home.

“No…” it felt like the world was caught in his throat as he rushed from the hatch to the giant window only in time to see the prison explode, the shockwaves pushing them farther away. Away from you, away from his life, his heart, his everything.

“NO!” He’d barely spoken, barley cried, yet his voice already felt like sandpaper when he screamed for you, screamed your name. It felt like he’d already spent an eternity crying for you, crying your name into the loneliness of the dark night. Yet he still had an eternity to live. An eternity to miss your kiss, your breath, your warmth your touch your heart your loveyourkindenessyourbodyyour…everything.

He could’ve done better, should’ve done better. He should have known something would happen. It never goes this smoothly, this well. He should’ve made you climb up the ladder first. Gods, why didn’t he do that??! Everything felt numb, empty. It was all passing in a blur. It was quiet and cold and then it was loud and musty. He could barely register the arguments around him. Something about betraying a sister? Who’s sister? He doesn't remember anyone having a sister. It was cold, damp, musty,and then it was bright, breezy and still smelt like gods awful fish. He could feel himself being led, by who or what, he’s not sure. He wished they were your hands. He loved your hands. They were so small and soft and yet harsh and strong. They were dainty yet they also showed the years of experience you’ve had, the troubles you’ve been through in life with the many scars that adorned them. They were beautiful. He loved the feel of your touch, whether innocent or sinful, he could never get enough. Were….were. Here he was already thinking in past tense. You’d barely been gone an hour, has it been an hour? Less? More? Yet, he was already changing the way he thought of you. It wasn’t right. None of this was right. Where were you? You should be here. Something’s wrong. Why weren’t you here? Why’s everything so cold? So numb? There was a constant buzzing that he just couldn’t seem to get to go away. What was wrong with him? Where was he? He doesn’t remember how he got here. One moment he was underground the next he was walking the streets of Baulder’s Gate alone searching for you. Where were you? It’s not like you to disappear like this. Surely you’d have told him if you were going any-

He froze. His whole brain and world collapsed when he saw you. You, lying on the beach face down. Where one would be after being washed up on shore. He made a mad scramble down. He could vaguely feel his hands and legs being scraped and and scratch during his descent to the sands but he could hardly care. Not when he could see you, or what was left of you really. He skidded to a kneel beside you, hands immediately going to touch you, turn you over. You were so cold. You’ve never been this cold before, you hated being cold. You were always warm, you were his favourite heater to snuggle. You shouldn’t be this cold, especially to him. He could hardly recognize you. Not an inch of your precious skin could he see that wasn't marred in deep wounds, gashes and blood. Your bones shattered to pieces, broken like fragile porcelain. This wasn’t his love, not as you should be. Yet this is what you were now. This was what was made of you. What your last adventure had done. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he saw the tears falling from his face onto your’s. It was upon the realization that he was crying that turned it from silent sniffles to violent sobs. Sobs that racked his body. Sobs that echoed for miles on end. Sobs that would haunt anyone who heard, who listened for days to come. They were the cries of a broken man. A shattered man. He’d lost his love, his heart. It was something he’d never be able to get back. Something that would take years, if not an eternity, to overcome. He was to face the hardest challenge of them all. Because you were gone. This was real, this was true. He’d never get to see you again. Never get to experience your touch, your kiss, your laugh, your love, your heart. 

 You got to share one last adventure, one last kiss, one last laugh, one last ‘i love yous’, one last glance before this was your end. 

[animentality]

What if Durge and Gortash were walking back to Gortash’s Upper City place late one night after some frivolous patriar ball (that they actually both enjoyed more than they’d ever admit, thanks to each other’s company), and the streets are calm and quiet — and you know, they’ve just spent a whole evening pretending to be normal, and maybe they’re tired enough that maybe they can almost feel what normal must be like, at this point. And maybe, riding this feeling, Gortash goes ahead and just. Takes Durge’s hand in his, while they walk. He does it like he’s done it a 100 times before (and he has, in his head) even though he’s never dared try — even though he’s never bothered to hold anyone’s hand before, has never given enough of a damn to ever want to — and Durge, they let him do it, and maybe they kind of want to tear his arm off (so they never have to let go) or yank their hand away (so they don’t have to beg Bhaal for forgiveness later) but they don’t. Because it feels nice, this simple little gesture, and so few things in their life do (and they know they shouldn’t want it but oh god they do, they do, more than they even know how to express). And when Durge doesn’t push him away Gortash lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding (because it’s much the same for him, isn’t it, craving a gentleness he has no right to). And maybe it doesn’t advance Bane’s master plans, or contribute to Bhaal’s grand death of the world, but what if that didn’t matter? What if they were allowed to want this too?

hey anon?

thanks for the axe to my skull.

i really needed the blunt force piercing trauma to my cerebral cortex.

can you kill me in person?

i hate you. i love you. i mostly hate you. have my entire life in your hands.

this disgusts me.

you have hurt me.

do you feel powerful?

do you feel big?

i hate you.

oh i want to die.

(what if they did something for themselves, what if they were not the chosens of bhaal and bane for just a moment, and they could have this? GO FUCK YOURSELF ANOOOOOOOOOOOOO-

[sorcerous-caress]

I know requests are closed but I just wanted to say that I found the Halsin x Durge!Reader delicious

Imagine if he did get mad though once he found out about her druid savagness and gets mad and decides breeding her would calm her down more bhaalspawn for her though

I mean, at least you're the only person who acknowledged the fact that my requests are closed while requesting. I gotta give you some points. Others just shoot the request one after another no matter if I say it's closed or not.

You're talking about this fic I assume?

I think he'd feel betrayed. Heartbroken yes but mostly betrayed and robbed, anger is a only a passing madness in Halsin's case that will drive him to march into your tent and drag you by the ankle to offer an explanation, beg for mercy or maybe both.

Have you seen this clip of him being angry? Actually angry? It's during the confrontation of when you murder the grove but let him live.

Imagine that intensity with the fact that it's also his own heart you "played" with. At least from his slightly toxic point of view, he thinks that he was owed you being heroic and innocent. So by being...yk durge, you completely robbed him of his fantasy and shattered that stained glass view he had of you.

It would take a lot to get him to that state, he'd try to argue with anyone who says otherwise that you aren't really responsible for your less than ideal actions, that it's Bhaal controlling you like a curse or something. That you can't possibly enjoy it let alone enthusiastically go along with these dark whims.

A front row seat to one of your gorey shows is all it takes to flip his world upside down.

You're not some fawn learning to balance or a rabbit hiding between his feet. He sees you clearly for the venomous snake that you were, that you are. Curling around him, sinking your body and teeth into him. It must be you why Silvannus hasn't been answering his prayers lately, why the animals in the forest flee from your lingering scent on his body.

Death is too kind of a revenge. You deserve something more cruel, redemption. Willing or unwilling Halsin will drag you to the brighter side, the nicer side, the morally right side. Part of his stubborn hope stems from the fact he grew too weak of a soft spot for you to even consider the idea of ending or harming you in any way. So either you make him worse or he breaks you into being a better person first.

Kick punch and claw at him, it will not phase him. He will hold you down whenever that gleam of sadistic glee shines in your seemingly innocent eyes at the curious squirrel sniffing your hand.

Drown your threats of violence and promises of a bloodbath of gore and viscera to passerbys with his tongue down your throat. Kissing you as if he may purge the evil from within if he got you to melt into his arms.

As a result he becomes harsher in bed, not that you're complaining. If anything it's him who's suffering the most from the way his once gentle grip on your thighs turned bruising and possessive. His once soft slow thrusts became feral and merciless. The way he used to coo praises and apologise against your neck became litters of insult in elvish at how much of a traitor and a snake you are, how you deserve each bite he leaves behind.

He loathes himself, like a poison sinking into his stomach and refusing to resurface. Droplet after droplet falling to weight down his body each time you force his hand into breeding you for an inch of your life so you may do no harm to others nor fulfill your dark destiny as a child of bhaal.

What has he become? How can he call himself a druid?

It feels like it's his job now to keep the evils at bay, to keep the hungery wolves fed with his own flesh, to take care of the monster he has created. You are his responsibility.

It seems like you're getting closer to breaking him by day, especially since he already does half the work himself for you by simply antagonising himself and every loathsome action you force him to take.

[freesidexjunkie]

Reposting by request with text here instead of just a link. Read on AO3 here.

if I could hold you for a minute

Ship: gortash x f!durge

Word count: 487

Tags: fluff, morning/evening after, angst, pre-tadpole

Gortash and Durge cuddling in bed, feelings and angst. I have a full length fic between these two in the works. It is further down behind some other projects though so it may be a minute.

Hazy moonlight struggled to pierce through the shadowfell, to find its way through the windows of a bedroom near the top of Moonrise Tower. Candles burned low around two lovers, tangled in sheets and limbs, recovering from the exertions of worshipping each other.

She laid with her face pressed to the side of his neck, breathing him in. The scent of stolen moments, unimaginably soft, of caresses and whispered promises and feelings not meant for such a tainted vessel. She sprawled across his chest, legs tangled with his, arms holding him close as if she was scared he would float away. Her face was buried in his neck not just to drink in his comforting scent, but to hide the tortured expressions he made flitter across it.

Her feelings for him felt urgent, confused, needy. Yet his attentions to her... so calm, so sweet and caring. One arm draped languidly across her waist, fingertips dancing lazily across her skin. The other hand tangled itself in her hair, holding her head closer to him as his lips peppered small kisses to the top of it.

The carefulness he took with her, wretched thing that she was... It was too much to bear. Her chest tightened as she thought how misplaced these affections were. She was a murderer. A monster. A vessel for Bhaal's twisted will, nothing more. Did he realize what he was doing to her? She pressed her eyes shut tighter, nuzzled closer to his skin to shut out the world around them. "Why are you so... gentle with me?" She muttered into his neck.

He laughed softly against her hair, lips curling up ever so slightly as his arms tightened just a bit around her. "After everything you've done? Everything you've been through?" He said quietly. "Because you deserve it, love. Because I love you."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she exhaled into him, half laugh and half sob. Dangerous, she thought. Not for his service to his god, not for his actions or capabilities, but for this. "Gods... I don't know what to do with that."

He gently pulled his fingers out of her hair and cupped her face to look at him, wiping by away a tear with his thumb. "Why is that?" He asked.

"It's terrifying," she answered, finding it hard to look at him, "I'm terrified. For myself, and for you. Because I think... I think I love you, too. And I don't know what to do about it."

He smiled down at her fondly, if a bit sad. He pulled her head gently to meet his lips in a soft, slow kiss, and murmured against her, "you could let me love you. Hold you, worship you. Keep you safe, dearest."

"You can't protect us from the gods," she replied without pulling away.

"If the gods try to hurt you," he answered, holding her ever so tighter, "I will. I promise."

[baldursgrave69]

Gentle

Summary: During their travels in the Wilds, Astarion has gotten himself in a messy situation. Agnes (the Dark Urge) musters up enough kindness to help the vampire out.

Pairing: astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word Count: 959

Tags: fluff

While writing this I was listening to: The Fall by half alive

Find me on Ao3 here

“Gods, what a mess!” Astarion let out a frustrated sigh as he attempted to wash the mud caked between his fingers in the river. Agnes watched from afar as he frantically attempted to clean the dirt from his hands. The group had encountered some mud mephits while exploring, one of which exploded right next to the vampire. Astarion had disappeared once they returned to camp without a word to any one, presumably to clean up. Agnes rummaged around and found some soap she had been saving. She hated how he made her feel, that she wanted to take care of him. Agnes watched for a moment longer as Astarion remained knelt by the water, scrubbing furiously at his hands and neck. “Astarion,” Agnes said, walking up behind him. “What’re you doing?” he hissed, jumping and nearly falling forward into the water. “I’m sorry… I brought you this,” she said awkwardly, holding out her hand to show him the small bar of soap. Astarion straightened up, looking at the soap in her hand. “Where did you find that?” he asked, walking up to her. “I found it a while back, I’d been saving it but I figured you could use it more than me,” she said, averting her gaze. Astarion stood for a moment, unsure how to react to this gesture from her. She wasn’t often kind like this. 

“Um, thank you,” he said, reaching out to grab the soap from her hand. She looked up at him, noticing the amount of mud caked in his white curls. “Your hair, it’s covered in mud,” she said, crunching a muddy curl in her fingers. “Gods,” he growled, attempting to run a hand through his hair, though his fingers got caught in the hard mud. “How am I ever going to get this clean,” he grumbled to himself, turning back towards the water. Agnes stood awkwardly for a moment, debating whether or not she should leave. “I could help,” she finally said, almost too quiet for Astarion to hear. “You… you would do that?” he asked, turning back towards the other rogue. She nodded, walking towards him. “Just don’t get used to it,” she grumbled, grabbing the soap from his hand. Their fingers grazed one another for a moment, causing both rogues to freeze awkwardly. Agnes cleared her throat, motioning for Astarion to sit near the water’s edge. He nodded, walking over to a log nearby and sitting down facing the half elf. Agnes joined him by the edge of the water, grabbing an abandoned cup sitting next to the log and filling it with water. 

“Lean back,” she ordered, lathering some soap in her free hand. Astarion complied, leaning his head back so that Agnes could pour water over his muddy locks. Agnes mustered every bit of gentleness inside her as she poured water over Astarion’s curls. He closed his eyes as she gently combed her fingers through his hair, distributing the soap throughout. Astarion could feel himself relax as her lithe fingers massaged his scalp. A sigh escaped his lips, causing him to tense up in embarrassment. A smirk crossed Agnes’ face as she continued washing his hair for him. The vampire relaxed once again, allowing himself to be cared for by the half elf. Agnes rinsed out the soap from his hair, running her fingers through the now clean curls. “There,” she said, squeezing a bit of moisture from his hair for him. Astarion sat up, his hands falling awkwardly in his lap. “Um, thanks,” he said, looking over to her. A wet curl fell into his face and Agnes instinctively tucked it behind his ear for him. Her face and ears turned red as she awkwardly looked away, embarrassed by the intimacy of her gesture. 

“You can be so gentle when you want to be,” Astarion said after a moment. “Don’t tell anyone or I’ll kill you,” Agnes quipped, moving to stand. Astarion grabbed her hand, keeping her sat next to him on the log. Confusion knit Agnes’ face as she looked at the vampire, his expression was softer than normal as he looked at her intensely. “Is everything alright?” she asked, looking down at his hand still holding hers. Astarion froze for a moment as he looked at her hand in his. He weaved his fingers with hers, squeezing her hand slightly. Agnes sat frozen, the tender moment almost making her dizzy. “I like you, Agnes,” Astarion said, watching her intently. Agnes cocked her head to the side, trying to come up with a clever comment to deflect from the intense intimacy. “I-” she started, but no more words came out. Astarion leaned in to her, pressing his lips gently to hers. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to indulge in this closeness with him, moving her lips against his. He pulled away after a moment, releasing her hand as he did. “Thank you,” he said, standing up from the log.

Agnes sat, her fingers coming up to touch where his lips had just been. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure,” he said awkwardly, grabbing his pack from the side of the log and heading back towards camp. Agnes remained sat on the log by the river, her fingers still lingering on her lips where Astarion’s had been. She felt a smile spread across her lips as she tried shaking the moment from her head, standing up to head back to camp. Throughout the next few days she kept thinking about that moment. How gentle he was with her. They had slept together before, but that single kiss felt more intimate than anything they had done in the past. She wasn’t sure she deserved to be treated so kindly, but she wasn’t going to stop him either.

[jacey-spacey]

The Burdens We Find

2k : F!Resist Durge x Spawn Astarion : Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Before the duel, Ulcharis thought Orin was just another ghost of the past and a barrier to saving the world - but nothing is so simple. Ulcharis’s fractured mind chose the duel as the perfect time to reveal that Orin was more than just another wretched murderer. Even once the horrors are over and her freedom is in hand, Ulcharis can’t stop the weight of what just transpired from bearing down on her all at once.

Content: a touch of gore, intense guilt and grief, one very slight allusion to SA, not-so-subtle depiction of a meltdown and going nonverbal, a few brief allusions to Astarion's various traumas, self-indulgent comfort, a very sweet and attentive vampire boyfriend, lots of headcanons and OC lore.

If anything about Ulcharis or my headcanons confuses you, don’t be shy to shoot me an ask. :)

Ulcharis sat on the bed in the rented tavern room, watching as the evening sun dipped down into the Baldur’s Gate cityscape. The sunset was a sickly yellow that did nothing to soothe her aching body. Her bare arms and neck were chilly, but she didn’t grab a blanket, afraid to stain anything.

She was dressed in only her trousers and bra; the pretty powder blue undergarment bore a dark, ugly stain where she’d accidentally let her blood-soaked hair fall. Perhaps she should hack the locs off, she thought as a ray of final-call sunshine dazzled her. They were as long as a halfling was tall, and getting it tied up and out of the way was such a hassle. Ulcharis had never minded much before, even priding herself on keeping her hair handsome despite everything life threw at her; but now, after everything, she dreaded the endless hours of upkeep to come.

She didn’t turn as she heard soft, familiar footsteps approaching.

“I hope nothing’s troubling you, my dear?”

Suddenly, she was aware of herself and how she must look. Ulcharis had barely had the wherewithal to remove her her robes and put on pants that weren’t bloodied to the knees; but she still hadn’t tended to all the gore on her face, and her beloved hair, tied at her neck into a large, lazy bun, must look like an abattoir’s mop.

“I was -” She dropped off the bed, looking for the clean rags they kept for similar, though admittedly more controlled, blood spillage - “distracted.”

“Well, no need to get your worm in a twist,” he said.

Ulcharis spared a glance for her lover. Astarion stood beside her, holding a bucket of water and a washcloth. His brows were raised in concern, and as their eyes met, his expression softened. She almost thought his cheeks pinkened a shade, but that was impossible. 

“Want some help?” he asked, gesturing with the cloth in his hand.

Ulcharis was silent, but he must’ve taken the dip of her chin as a yes. He wetted the cloth and began to dab at her neck.

As he worked, Astarion clicked his tongue. “Tsk. I don’t think any of this is your blood; she didn’t even scrape you, did she?”

“Not once,” replied Ulcharis, her throat dry.

“I must say. Taking on an unholy monstrosity, all by yourself… I was ready to leap to your rescue the moment things went sour, of course, but - no need! You dueled beautifully.”

Sounds like something she’d have said.

A sob caught in Ulcharis’s throat, and she pulled away from Astarion’s gentle touch to cough.

He tilted his head, reaching forward again with the washcloth. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t touch me.” She cupped her hand around the cloth, pushing him away.

Instantly, a look of fear spread over Astarion’s pointy features, driving a tiny knife into Ulcharis’s heart. She tried to meet his gaze, but couldn’t keep her eyes off the floor. “Babe, I’m sorry, I just - I’m tired. Very tired.”

“I can see,” he said, voice soft as velvet. He leaned affectionately towards her, but didn’t touch. “I’ll admit, I was hoping the night of your emancipation would be just as joyous and pleasurable as my own. Though if that is not what you want, I’m just as eager to comfort you as I am to delight.”

She didn’t smile, nor did she meet his eyes. But she did feel her heavy heart stir with a tiny ember of warmth. How ironic, she thought, that a creature belonging to the night could light such a sweet, sunny feeling inside her.

It didn’t last, of course - the weight of the dark day in the Undercity soon pressed down on her again as heavy as nightfall. Of course she wanted to tell him, but - Dead Gods, where to start?

After a long, quiet moment, she decided to just start talking. “I’m seventy-six.”

“Pardon?”

“Maybe seventy-seven now - I don’t know the date. I remembered a few days ago and forgot to tell you.”

“Indeed!” Astarion stammered, dark lashes fluttered. “A fair age, for one of an elven father. Not as if I know how half-elven ages ought to be reckoned, of course.”

She shrugged. “I recalled Orin’s age, as well. She was twenty - or thereabouts.”

Ulcharis managed to steal a glance at Astarion’s expression. He hid it quickly, but for just a moment, there was that look - the one he made when Gale or Wyll was talking about their lives, their childhoods. The quaint confusion of a being born for the centuries, watching the whisper of life that are those born for mere decades.

“Young,” was all he could manage.

“Her mother was…flawed,” uttered Ulcharis, despite her throat contracting. “Devoted so deeply to the cult that she failed to train her offspring in its ways. So even before the death of Orin’s mother, the responsibility of bringing the child up fell to me. Or perhaps I took it, before Sarevok…” She forced the churning bile in her stomach to stay down.

She shook her head. “I remember feeding her, disciplining her, seeing the glow in her eyes as she was named an Unholy Assassin. I had braided her hair so intricately that day - even now, I don’t think I could recreate it. As a little thing, she’d always hated how pallid her true form was, but when she emerged from that red pool…she was beautiful. She knew it, too. She was a canvas for all the splatters of blood and trails of gore she would create in the name of our Father.”

Astarion was frowning, in disbelief of all this knew information. “You speak as though you relished the whole affair.”

“I did,” she sighed. “I do. And although it caused problems for me later, when that cursed ego of hers materialized, I was proud. She let her artistic passions get in the way of Bhaal’s true will for her, but she was so full of passion. That joy was something I never truly shared, not even in the depths of my degeneracy. She was ruthless, indomitable, undivided; I, however, needed a butler to keep me on my proper course.

“All Bhaalspawn are doomed to slaughter one another until only one, the purest one, remains standing. There were times I prayed that my sister’s purer bloodlust would triumph over my conflicted heart, so that a superior spawn might’ve done Bhaal’s will in place of me. A vanity, a fantasy - one I let go of the moment her ego started making problems for me.”

She let out a wry laugh. “I wonder - why didn’t I just cull her then? I knew she was more of a hindrance than her worth. Perhaps I just…”

Finally, the sob broke through her defenses.

“I held her,” Ulcharis groaned, doubling over with tears. “When she was born, I - I held her. This tiny baby, white as a pearl and just drenched in her own mother’s gore. The most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

Astarion looked on in awe. Her grief was far from something he could empathize with, but he could see plainly how it agonized her. He reached out with both hands, one squeezing her forearm, the other clutching her waist.

“Ulcharis, darling,” he said, trying to catch her eye. “When in the world did you remember all this?”

A shudder ran through every part of her. “When - when I was tearing her face open.”

Astarion let out a breath. “Hells…”

Something about that - that brief curse, the smallest acknowledgment of her pain from someone else -  broke her. The floodgates burst open, and Ulcharis went limp. She had barely the awareness to fall towards Astarion, and he caught her, holding her tight.

“My baby,” she muttered weakly. “My baby. Oh, Hells, my baby.”

For a moment, Astarion stared dumbfounded at the top of her head. Then he pressed his face into her hair, planting tender kisses amidst the blood-crusted locs. “Shh. Shh. You did everything you could.”

“I didn't even try to help her.”

“Darling, you didn't know -”

“I knew!”

Ulcharis's growling shout startled him to silence, though she clung to him like a desperate child.

When she next spoke, it was a whimper. “I knew - I knew it as I was ripping her apart and bashing her ribs in. And I still did it.”

After this, she spoke no further. Ulcharis mumbled absent desperations into her lover's shoulder, but Astarion knew there was no point in piecing any words out; the day was finished, and she was done talking.

He let her weep until the sun disappeared and the sky was a dusky almost-black. Then he urged Ulcharis to sit up. As he slid away, she tightened her embrace, emitting a displeased moan as she suddenly tugged him back.

Astarion raised his brows, having never felt such a rough sensation from his lover. Despite the chill running down his spine, he ran a gentle finger over her cheek.

“Just going to get you some water, love,” he said. For the briefest moment, he attempted an easy grin, the one he’d used a thousand thousand times to put his prey at ease. But the expression slid off his lips; even trying made Astarion’s facial muscles feel like they were about to cramp up. Instead, he just gazed at her with red eyes full of love and worry.

The look she gave him was remote, as if she were not a few inches from his face. But he could see plain the anxiety in her forehead and the deep, dark circles under her misty blue eyes. When he felt her hold loosen and he left her side, Astarion ached to leave her alone in such a state for even a moment.

He returned soon after with a glass of water and watched as she forced it down in big mouthfuls.

“Ah-ah-ah, thirsty girl,” he cooed. He ran his nails gently over her bare back. “Take it slow. We've all the time in the world, darling, and you have a very sensitive stomach.”

Though she took smaller sips, Ulcharis still swallowed the water hurriedly, as if anxious to get each painful step of her outburst over with. When she was done, she clenched her gurgling stomach.

Astarion sighed, biting back an I told you so. “Let's finish washing up, then we'll lay you down.”

She remained nonverbal, but he could see the discomfort on her face as he finished cleaning the blood from her throat and cheeks. Even once he was finished and she flopped onto the mattress, Ulcharis held her stomach, and she pulled her knees almost to her chest.

“Want a cuddle?” He asked. Still not yet ready to talk or meet his eyes, she simply nodded.

Astarion moved her mess of dirty hair up and out of the way and laid down, his chest against her back, cheek pressed into the base of her neck. He heard her emit a very deep sigh, so he knew he'd chosen the right position. But when his fingers came to her aching belly, gently pressing in, she made a very different sound. Groaning unhappily, Ulcharis grabbed his hand and pulled him away from her abdomen. 

“No massages?”

She groaned again, apparently an affirmation. But she continued to hold his hand, cupping it in both of hers and stroking his fingers almost reverently.

“Ha…” he whispered, and the sound was almost a laugh - her ministrations were so warm and light, they nearly sent him into a fit of giggles.

Astarion smiled. His soft, sweet partner was alright. Rattled - perhaps to her marrows, where none of his affections would ever fully soothe, and hurt so deep that a spell could never stitch the wound back together - but alright. He felt his own old scars tingle and took comfort. They were a pair of survivors; and, if he were to flatter himself, Astarion would say they were quite a lovely pair at that.

[archivestarlyht]

general - 4, romance - 6

Baldur's Gate 3 Companion!Tav Ask List

4.  What sort of general actions raise or lower their approval?

fox:  fox generally does not approve of cold or cruel choices.  sometimes he does see that it has merit,  but not always.  he isn't a stone cold killer and recognizes practicality,  but an embrace durge or someone whose decisions skew violently may have him entertaining the idea of leaving.  he approves of nonviolence by way of deception and persuasion.  he approves of trickery and subtle displays of cunning.

lex:  lex is,  first of all,  a compassionate man.  he approves of going out of your way to help others for nothing.  he approves of assisting the pixie due to his background as a man raised in the feywild,  and approves of killing the hag to free her victims.  he approves of helping people who cannot help or fight for themselves.  needless to say,  he can't tolerate cruelty,  whether or not for its sake.  that is the easiest and most reliable way to tank his approval.  he might not leave if you slaughter the grove or do anything of equal moral standing,  he'll help you just as you helped him,  but he'll make it clear that you're not going to be friends.

vivi:  cruelty will always lower her approval,  while treating people with kindness,  generosity,  and gentleness always raises it.  she aligns similarly with lex,  though she's a little more cautious with the party throwing themselves into situations like going after the hag.  that said,  her heart bleeds for innocents snared by a creature like it,  and she approves of helping them.  as far as she is concerned,  senseless slaughter for its sake goes against nature.  she would most likely leave a party with,  for instance,  an embrace urge,  even if they did not end up slaughtering the grove.

sol'rys:  he approves first of all of pragmatism.  mercy can have its uses if it means collecting on a debt in the future.  cruelty just as easily has its use,  and he embraces it.  when it comes to helping or saving npcs,  he is very much concerned with how useful they can be.  if he does not think they are useful,  he disapproves of assisting them.  kindness for its sake is weak to him,  and shows that you likely are not prepared to make difficult decisions should they arise.  strongly and outwardly disapproves of you if you take more illithid tadpoles,  or accept the dream visitor at face value,  or put your trust in the emperor.  clearly believes you are caving into weakness.  approves of choices where you respect  &  aid other people gaining their autonomy (breaking wyll's contract,  helping lae'zel see vlaakith for what she is,  etc).

6.  How do they react to the player character breaking up with them, or choosing another character over them?

fox:  invested in a relationship?  acceptance.  part of him does believe,  after a failed marriage due to his own mistakes,  that you can do much better.  pines quietly if he was really into you,  but won't make it your problem,  or will try not to.  he might not outwardly say it but it's pretty clear that he had in fact been invested despite his general twitchiness with allowing himself to feel comfortable with someone.

lex:  invested in a relationship?  maybe looks a bit like a kicked puppy and may ask if he did something to prompt this and how he can fix it.  if the answer is no,  he admits that he was hoping what he felt would be reciprocated but makes it clear he doesn't hold a grudge against you.  excuses himself with having more work to do.

vivi:  invested in a relationship?  tells you in a shaky voice that she respects what you want and admits that she wishes it had turned out differently.  maybe turns away to have a little cry,  but is determined to try not to let it get in the way of her being able to work.

sol'rys:  invested in a relationship?  still kind of infuriating.  he has very little to say to someone,  considering he wouldn't exactly find it  ...  unexpected?  accepts it and says they should get back to whatever they were doing,  even if it's somewhat clear that he's disappointed.  pretty easy to assume he wasn't invested in the first place,  but for a variety of reasons he's just not a publicly emotional person.