#orin did nothing wrong

[sincerelystesichorus]

me becoming a gortash apologist apparently

i never thought i'd say this. i am thinking about Enver Gortash. i'm usually not one of his apologists but... i've had brain rot for my Durge lately, and i think a big moment of developing your Durge is how you react to meeting Gortash again, yeah? you may or may not be close with Karlach but the party and Durge especially have all faced similar trauma of betrayal and exploitation nonetheless (and so has Gortash), he's already been introduced vaguely at the end of Act 2 as a threat/main villain, he worships Bane, he has general edge lord vibes (remember that bit where I'm usually not a Gortash apologist djdjdjd); what i'm trying to spit out, is there's a lot to sway you against Gortash in that first meeting. and I'd argue even a little further, as someone that followed Orin's plans of betrayal against him in my first Tav run, (just because her audacity is so damn funny.)

But anyway. Meeting Gortash. Finding out you used to be close. Perhaps homoerotically, perhaps in a strange platonic manner, or some other third thing, but nonetheless, Durge is assumably the only person Gortash has ever truly liked. He just really goes out of his way with praise at meeting again, the use of the word favorite is notable, and if Gortash had anyone worth elevating, he would, right? That was how Ketheric got here, Orin wants more credibility for herself and the Bhaalists, and Gortash... just enslaves his parents in their old home/business. But he liked you. He's really so similar to Astarion (it's nothing, you're just the only person I've ever truly cared for); he's just already a touch too far gone in his power hungry search for security. He's already repeated the cycle, years and years ago with Karlach as the main example and just the inevitability of being Bane's Chosen. And yet - Durge comes marching through the door again with this band of misfits and his old lackey he wronged, and he's willing to make a true bargain.

And I know it's just in Gortash's character to scheme, but l think playing as reformed Durge makes Gortash's potential deal all the more devastating, since he will truly follow through on his word (or, at least he would.)

It's so funny to show up dating Astarion or Shadowheart, and imagine them teasing you later that night, saying they thought you'd have better taste. Or the bitterness of being with Karlach, knowing that you seemed to be in such deep kahoots. And so on. The point is not valuing that past relationship with Gortash. Focusing on the shiny and new.

And like whatever. Gortash isn't ever going to publicly present that his feelings are hurt but like... wouldn't they? Your past lover or at the very least, only close friend struts in, now thinking they're some big shot, so beyond everything you two had ever done... when you always lived in their shadow beforehand, frankly. Gortash adores how this flawless plan was majorly Durge's, critiques Orin's sloppy manner of filling your place, how Ketheric was just a means to an end. But he liked you. The person who helped him raid Mephistopheles' vault, in turn helping him spit not only in the arch devil's face, but his past captor, Raphael's too (since Raph lives chronically in the shadow of his father, imo.) The person who thought they could formulate and enact this whole plot, and the only one he was willing to follow, to be an equal with, now coming to tell him what everyone always does, inevitably.

A final fuck you, or some form of betrayal, the same thing that caused his mess all those years ago when sold off to that warlock.

It would have to hurt, and while it's funny to imagine my little gnome Durge dying inside and cackling to the party about sleeping with an enemy and technically being the enemy... a little obssessed at the angst you could perceive of Gortash somehow falling for any crazy Bhaalspawn, nonetheless Durge, who was never one for morals, coming back renewed and not to come get him or work things out... but to slay him or turn against him. I'd send the Steelwatchers after our asses too.

In conclusion, Gortash, probably:

sigh. my bias against greasy little guys could never truly make me hate you, enver gortash. look at you, the man that you are.

[kawareo]

I mean true hero of baldur's gate was Orin because if she hadn't removed Durge and then proceed to be awful at being their replacement, everything might've worked out

Love saved the Faerûn but not in a way of "power of love" but in a way that if those two evil horrible people weren't so obsessed with each other, their plans might have worked...

[imthejudge]

Her name, written in Red

[gyrovagi]

i keep going back and forth on incorporating orin analogue into dragon age dak-wai backstory. sitting in a dark room staring at a candle in contemplation about it. Insane baggage to dig up while trying to help out bellara

[murdershaped]

ALSO my bestie got me this bless u @necr0-mantix

[sankttealeaf]

Sneak peak time? 👀🙏

OF COURSE beloved anon!!!

"He's still taking you away from me." Orin pushes her hands away and stumbles back, shaking her head with a shocked laugh. "This is why Father doesn't speak to you anymore, isn't it? The tyrant has ruined you and Father hates you for letting him! He told me Himself!"

Rumour's heart jumps into her throat at the revelation and she swears time slows around her. "What?"

oh my tragic bhaalspawn siblings... if only you could get along... </3 breaks my heart to see two queens fighting 😔🙏

gortash, miles away in the city minding his own business while rue and orin almost kill each other because of him. its kind of silly actually

[colonelarr0w]

Can you write one where Astarion realizes that Tav is acting strangely because it's actually Orin and the actual Tav is kidnapped by her?? Thank you so much and I love your work!!

A/N - Oh my god I absolutely adore the trope of kidnapped lover being rescued (the parasites in me crave the angst). I hope you like this, I had a lot of fun writing it! So thank you @fanficlov-3-r <3

I Know You

Preview - "And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, '(Y/N) isn't amongst us.'"

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, canon BG3 violence

Word Count - 3.9k

Astarion prided himself on his ability to have memorized everything about you, from how your nose scrunched when you saw something you disliked to how your eyes sparkled when you noticed him staring at you from across the fire. It was those little things that simply made you … well … you. 

Which was why he found it very offputting when he noticed your excessive alcohol intake while attending a Tiefling party. Yes, you liked to indulge in a glass of wine or two while you chatted happily with Astarion or any of your other companions – but never had he seen you cradle an entire bottle of wine to yourself and drink it in its entirety. 

But that behavior was only one of multiple that he had noticed throughout the night; you were dancing with any Tiefling who offered their hand, you seemed to stray away from him and the others throughout the night, and the smile you wore did not reach your eyes in the slightest. It seemed fake, similar to the smiles that Astarion had once flashed at you to get your clothes off. 

“Is it just me or does (Y/N) seem a little … off?” Shadowheart comments, her eyebrow raising as she watches you indulge another Tiefling in a drunken dance. You stumble over both your feet and his own, a detail that both she and Astarion narrow their eyes at. 

For an oh-so-grateful leader, you were being careless tonight. 

Astarion’s eyes follow those of Shadowheart’s, landing on you just as you are finishing a dance with your fifth Tiefling of the night. He bows to you shakily, and in return, you curtsy – another move that Astarion had never thought he would see you perform. 

“I must say that I agree with Shadowheart. Excuse me for a moment,” Astarion abandons his half-empty wine glass, sliding it across the bar. The bartender raises a brow at Astarion, but says nothing. 

You chuckle heartily as a Tiefling female approaches you, in her hands a sparkling glass of champagne. You take it from her the moment it’s offered, just about to bring it to your lips before a pale hand clasps over your shoulder. 

“Ah-ah darling, I think that’s enough with the drinking for one night,” Astarion says with a fanged smile, angling himself so that he’s able to pluck the champagne glass from your hands quickly. You turn to him, eyebrows pinched together in an expression that mixes frustration and shock – as if you had been caught doing something that you shouldn’t. 

“Come off Astarion, I can indulge if I so choose,” you retort quickly, fingers extending towards your glass. Astarion lifts his arm, the glass just barely out of your reach. “You are indulging tonight, are you not?”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling against your shoulder as his scarlet eyes rake over your figure. Something was wrong, it wasn’t just your general composure – it was everything down to the very way that you stood on your own two feet. 

“While that is true, I am watching what I indulge in,” Astarion says, already glancing at Shadowheart, who nods knowingly. She mumbles something inaudibly then to Gale, and soon a secret message is relayed over all of your companions. 

The Tiefling female had long since left your side, only adding to your annoyance that Astarion had come to your side. You turn sharply to face him, eyes narrowing at him. 

“And just explain to me why you thought it necessary to disrupt my fun?” you snap, glaring daggers into the vampire who stands in front of you. Astarion merely sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. His eyes flicker over you again, and it is in that moment that he realizes something … you were most certainly not you. 

And he knew that the others knew that little fact as well, considering that Shadowheart had already whispered to the others something along the lines of, “(Y/N) isn’t amongst us.” 

“Because I know you (Y/N), and right now,” Astarion pauses only to yank you closer, lowering his lips to your ear. “You are not who you say that you are.”

You freeze in his arms, eyes flickering to look at him. The crease in your eyebrows vanishes, your expression of frustration replaced now by one of shock. “What are you on about?”

“Oh come on now, don’t play dumb with me,” Astarion growls, his grip over your wrist tightening, “I know (Y/N), and she would never indulge in such things of her own accord.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, not protesting as a very angered Astarion drags you out of the Tiefling party. He is quickly flanked by Shadowheart and the others, none of whom offer you looks of sympathy – if anything, they look just as angered as the vampire in front of you. 

The moment that your feet touch camp, your wrists and ankles are promptly tied by Karlach, who offers you no answers even as you demand to know what in the hells is going on. Astarion stands quietly at her side, his arms folded over his chest whilst his mind promptly races.

Where were you? Who was sitting in your place? Where the hells were you?

With a singular wave of his hand over your body, Gale reveals Orin to the others, then steps back and glares down his nose at her. In response, her lips only turn upward in a grin, one that sends a shiver down the spines of those that surround her. 

“Where is–”

“Oh please, save me the dramatics,” Orin says with a roll of her eyes, adjusting herself so that she sits comfortably. Her attention moves to Astarion, her smile widening at the sight of the expression that he wears. 

“You have five minutes to answer our questions before–”

Orin’s head tilts in Lae’zel’s direction, her eyes crinkling as her smile widens impossibly further. Her lips part, a delighted chuckle falling from her lips. “Before what? You kill me? If I die, (Y/N)’s location dies with me.”

In a flash of white and silver, the blade of a dagger is pressed against the skin of Orin’s neck, pressed down just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. Astarion kneels in front of Orin, narrowed eyes glaring daggers into her as his lips pull back in an angered growl. 

“You will reveal (Y/N)’s location lest you want to end up a paled mess on the ground.” He was shocked by how much your disappearance had affected him – especially considering that he was supposed to be keeping his affection for you a secret from the others. 

There was a reason behind his secrecy, however, a reason that you had agreed with when he had first proposed the idea to you. It was for your safety, for your protection. But it seemed like even with that … he still couldn’t keep the one thing that kept him sane safe. 

Orin chuckles, leaning forward so that her nose just barely grazes his own. He can feel her breath as it fans over his face – it disgusts him. 

“Is that so?” Her head tilts, another delighted chuckle bubbling up her throat and spilling over her lips. Astarion pushes the blade further against her, ignoring the yells of warning delivered by the other members of the party. 

His eyes narrow, his eyebrows pinch together, and his expression hardens. Orin only chuckles again, sighing dreamily in a way that reminds Astarion of a hopelessly lovesick girl. Gods, what he would give to plunge the blade of his dagger into her neck. 

“Fine, but I hope you know I’m not yielding because of your … intimidation,” Orin murmurs, pouting childishly as Astarion pulls her to her feet, still glaring at her. He says nothing as he drags her past the others, not checking over his shoulder to see that the others have followed him.

< … >

Another chilled shiver runs up the length of your spine, using your vertebrae as a ladder. You turn uncomfortably onto your side, trying once again to tug your ankles from their shackles. All you’re met with is the sound of rattling metal. 

It had been a few hours … or perhaps even a few days since you last saw the others. You didn’t know – perhaps time worked differently when you were captured. 

The last you remembered, you were walking silently along a forest pathway with Astarion a few feet behind you. You were engrossed in the beauty of the willow trees that hung silently over you, their branches serving you the beautiful luxury of shade that covered you from the sun’s blaring rays. 

Just as you turned a corner in the forest, a cold hand that wasn’t Astarion’s clasped over your own, tugging you away into a forest patch. One good knock to the side of the head … and that was the last that you were able to clearly remember. 

When you awoke, your ankles were shackled to a wall and your wrists were bound with rope, rubbing uncomfortably against your skin and leaving behind angry red marks. 

Your body had been littered with marks; cuts, bruises, and gashes. At first, they hadn’t hurt you at all – but you blamed that entirely on your adrenaline. Now every cut burned, every bruise ached, and every gash felt as though it would never stop bleeding. 

Surely every vampiric creature within a 50-mile radius could smell your blood … especially considering how much of it lay in a disgusting puddle surrounding your body. 

A shaky breath escapes you, one that you surely hoped would be your last. Your teary eyes flicker around the cell that you’d been thrown into; the cell that lacked even so much as a window. You were completely disconnected from the outside world, and for a singular moment, you thought that maybe you had died. 

And maybe you were okay with that now … with dying. 

Even though for so long you had tried your hardest to protect everyone – practically throwing your life down on the line for the lives of your companions – being captured was making you realize something. 

Maybe they didn’t care about you nearly as much as you cared about them.

If they cared, they would be searching for you. If they cared, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in some dank old cell with no way to know what time of day it was. If they cared … they would prove it, wouldn’t they?

A choked sob claws its way up your throat, legs curling inward. You wrap your arms around them, hugging them against your chest as your body curls inward into a fetal position. 

They didn’t care. Not Gale, not Karlach, not Lae’zel, not Shadowheart. 

Not even Astarion.

Astarion …

After everything that you had done for him. You had spared him that morning while walking with Shadowheart. You had let him stay in your camp even though he spat venomous insults each time you interacted politely with him. Hells, you had even let the damn man feed on you. 

In exchange for your blood, he was letting you rot alone in a cell. 

So much for helping others, you think quietly to yourself, tears slipping down your cheeks as your lashes flutter shut. A gentle numbness spreads over you as if someone had draped a blanket over you. It felt nice. It felt safe. 

Your shoulders relax, your lips part. 

One gentle breath falls from your lips before all goes silent.

< … >

“Come on now, I’ve led you right to where she is! The least you can do is entertain a conversation,” Orin complains loudly, huffing childishly as Astarion continues shoving her forward. 

There was no lie to her words, she had led Astarion and the others to where she had thrown you – a dimly lit dungeon hallway that was only filled with the sounds of low groans and dripping water, but even those had become scarce the longer that they walked. 

“The only thing I’ll entertain is your demise,” Astarion bites out, though he desperately wishes that he had kept his mouth shut. Orin doesn’t fail to catch the tremble in his voice – the vulnerability that seeps from his words. 

Her lips curl, another delighted chuckle rumbling somewhere deep inside of her chest. Her eyes flicker to catch a glimpse of Astarion’s profile, her chuckle deepening as she notices the emotional turmoil sketched into his features. 

“I wonder what you will do to me when you realize that she’s–”

“Hush,” Astarion hisses, reaching down and yanking the bonds around Orin’s wrist. The rub of the rope against her skin is enough to silence her. “Not another word out of you, wench.”

Orin stifles the small whimper of pain that had threatened to fall from her lips, instead turning to the cell that they were nearing; your cell. 

At the sight of the metal bars and uneven stones, she giggles. Astarion passes her off to Shadowheart, ignoring the cleric’s protests as he approaches the cell. 

“Oh shit.”

The world seems to go completely silent at the sight that lies before Astarion’s eyes, a sight that he immediately wishes that he could forget. 

You lay on your side with your back facing the cell’s door, blood – your blood – surrounding you in a crimson puddle. The bits of skin that Astarion can see are littered with cuts and bruises, your legs covered in gashes that continue to drip with fresh blood. 

In any other situation, Astarion would have marveled at both the sight and smell of your blood … perhaps even allowed himself to indulge in it. 

But now?

Gods, he had never been more disgusted by any one sight or smell. 

“Astarion? What’s – oh my Gods,” Karlach raises a hand to her mouth, palm covering her lips as she gazes upon the same sight as Astarion. The others join her, and each of them falls silent. “You take … her … and get out of here.”

Shadowheart nods, shooting Orin a sharpened glare before tugging the shapeshifter back down the way that they had come, ignoring her yells of protests and the way that she struggles against the ropes that bind her wrists together. 

With one tug at the already worn-down metal, Karlach disconnects the bars of the cell. She steps inside, carefully approaching you before copying her previous actions and removing the shackles from around your ankles. 

“(Y/N)?” she murmurs down to you, lightly shaking your shoulder while simultaneously trying to be sure that she does not burn you – the last she wants is to add to your injuries. 

She’s pushed aside by Astarion, who kneels beside you and feels his breath hitch at the sight of your paled face. Your cheeks have lost their usual rosy color, replaced instead by a white that looked as though it could rival the color of his hair. 

“Shit,” is the only thing that he’s able to say properly before he scoops you into his arms. He shakes on his feet for a moment, the sudden weight in his arms debilitating his balance. He says nothing as he strides past the others, making a beeline for the exit.

< … >

The first thing that you feel is a dull ache, then followed by a wave of pain that has you shooting upright and promptly vomiting onto whatever surface happens to be beside you. The moment you’ve finished emptying your stomach, a piece of cloth is offered to you by a pale hand – a familiar one this time. 

Hesitantly, you take it, dabbing the cloth against your mouth before looking up to who had handed it to you. 

“Astarion?”

“That would be my name, yes darling,” Astarion responds, though his tone doesn’t hold his usual flirtatious lilt that you had grown so used to. No, he sounds exhausted … it made you wonder just how long he had sat at your bedside. 

Your eyes roam over him, taking note of the tiny, barely-there bags that rest beneath his eyes. For a man who cared so deeply about appearance, he surely looked as though he had let himself go … likely because of you.

As much as you wish to take him into your arms and comfort you, a fleeting thought passes through your mind — he had taken his sweet time in finding you. 

If the roles had been reversed, and it had been Astarion who was taken from you, you already knew that you would have searched Heaven and Earth trying to find him. No stone would have been left unturned, no witness left unspoken to … you would have stopped at nothing. 

But it felt as though Astarion hadn’t cared enough, if he had, you wouldn’t have been as badly wounded as you were. You wouldn’t have laid in that cell for as long as you have, not that you knew the length of time in which you had been missing anyway. 

Astarion’s head lifts at the sound of you rustling, body scooting back from him until your spine rests against the headboard of your bed. You lift your knees to your chest, hugging around them. 

“Darling?”

You remain silent, but you allow your eyes to raise to meet his awaiting gaze. He waits patiently, though you can’t help but feel as though he’s analyzing you.

“How long have I been gone?” you ask. Astarion pauses, scarlet eyes flickering away from you. He swallows, you can see the emotional turmoil that swims in his eyes. Answer me, you usher in your mind. 

“Orin wouldn’t tell us,” Astarion answers honestly, voice wavering as he recounts his angered questioning of the shapeshifter. She had only giggled in his presence and “answered” his question with another question of her own. 

You remain silent, nodding to yourself as you glance down at the bandages that adorn your arms and legs. It makes you wonder if Astarion had patched you himself … or perhaps he had made one of your other companions do it. 

You lift your head, noticing now that Astarion’s attention was focused elsewhere. His expression looks identical to your own — caught in his own mind. Guilt. 

Did he feel guilty?

“Does anything—“ he pauses to clear his throat, “—anything hurt you?”

”Just my arms and legs,” you answer. Astarion nods, inhaling deeply and shifting in his chair. For some twisted reason, you want him to stand up and leave. Maybe it was to further prove your point, or maybe you just wanted to be alone. 

You’d never really know the true answer. 

He hums, nodding to himself before he shifts again. For a fleeting moment, he debates on whether or not he should stand and exit — it was clear that you wanted your space anyway. 

Astarion knew you … and he knew that right now, you certainly didn’t want him around. Never were you short with him, but your tone insinuated that you wanted nothing to do with him. 

Not that he could honestly blame you. 

And so, he stands from his chair. You don’t lift your head to look at him again … telling. 

“Why did you take so long to come for me?”

He freezes, feeling as though someone had doused him in freezing water. His back stands rigid; you could see the way that his spine visibly tenses the moment that his mind processes what it was that you had asked him. 

You snap your jaw shut the moment that the words fall from your lips, regret filling your senses. Sheepishly, you look down, staring at your lap and screwing your eyes shut. 

You freeze at the feeling of arms wrapping over your shoulders, tugging you against a chest that you had spent many nights resting against. His skin felt cold against yours, a welcome contrast to the heat that was currently making you very uncomfortable. 

Astarion’s cheek rests against the side of your head, his hands squeezing at your waist while also being mindful of the injuries that you had sustained. He sighs shakily into your hair, feeling himself relax as he feels you reciprocate his embrace. 

“The moment that I realized that I was not interacting with you, I went out to find you,” Astarion confesses, holding you tighter as he recounts the fear in the moment when he realized that you were not you. 

You remain silent, simply soaking up the comfort that Astarion’s arms provides you with. Your head rests comfortably in the junction that connects his neck and his shoulder, nose buried into his neck. 

“You have … absolutely no idea how frightened I was,” he whispers, his voice so low that it even the rustle of the blankets overpowered his words. His arms shake where they rest around your waist, his fingernails just barely digging into the exposed skin of your waist. “The prospect of losing you–”

“Astarion.”

He pauses, feeling you shift in his arms. Without any word of protest, he releases you, settling onto his knees on the bed in front of you. You adjust yourself, then reach out to take his hands into your own. 

Astarion flinches. You pause, waiting for him to say something to you. He doesn’t, and so you take it as an okay to continue. Your fingers squeeze his own, the action directing his eyes to your own. 

You stay silent for a second or two, simply taking in the way that Astarion’s eyes soften at you. His usually sharp scarlet eyes are glazed over now with a new emotion – guilt. Guilt over not being there for you, guilt over not saving you sooner …

… guilt that you had gotten hurt. 

“Darling, if I had the chance to save you sooner, know that I would have taken it without a second of hesitation,” Astarion admits, shifting an inch closer to you. You feel the tears building along your waterline, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you attempt to suppress the sobs that begin to bubble up somewhere in your chest. 

One of his hands releases yours, hesitantly laying against your face. He thumbs away the tears in your eyes, sighing as you crumple and reach for him again. Astarion doesn’t waste a single second, wrapping you in his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head. 

“I thought that,” you hiccup, “you and the others had forgotten about me.”

His arms tighten around you at that declaration, chest promptly collapsing it on itself as he realizes just how scared you had been. He doesn’t want to imagine what you must have been thinking in that cell, likely thinking about if you would ever be saved.

If he would ever come for you.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair, fingers stroking comforting circles into the small of your back. “I would never forget you, ever.”

“You are the first thing in my entire life that makes me feel … feel something. Something other than burning hatred. You make this wretched world worth living in.”

You squeeze at him, hands bunching up his shirt from behind. He doesn’t bring attention to it, letting you cling to him with as much force as you need. 

“And I’m not going to let you go. Not now, not ever,” he promises you. You close your eyes, sighing shakily through your nose. He can feel your nod against his chest, his cheek leaning further into your hair. 

And that night, when the glistening moon hung over your tent and signaled to your companions that it was time to rest, Astarion remained at your side – fulfilling his promise.

He wasn’t going to let you feel that scared again. Not now, not ever.

[panksage]

WiP

I need to do more Orin art, I think about her approximately 5 times a day, she is the girlboss that was promised, my poor little meow meow and she did nothing wrong

[orinfucker]

12:52 AM

thinking about gortash corrupting an innocent, naïve tav. they always tried to see the good in everyone around them, even if said person wasn’t necessarily a positive influence.

enver watched as they walked into the audience hall with a welcoming smile on their face, their companions trailing behind them with less then happy expressions. the chosen spoke with a sense of faux sympathy, his words striking meaning into the adventurer stood in front of him.

gortash knew he had them wrapped around his finger before the conversation even ended, easily convincing them to hunt down orin’s netherstone for the ‘better good’ of his people. he knew your companions could see through his lies, but what did that matter? he’d just tell tav to ignore their concerns, because he obviously knew what was best for them in the end!

when he finally got his hands on them, their would be no need to convince them any further - not when his hands caressed the length of their torso, or when his cock slid into the warmth of their cunt. tav’s mind was only filled with satisfying him, believing every word that he spoke.

gortash always looked forward to hearing those little knocks on his office door, knowing it was the little adventurer coming to fulfill their needs. he knew it was morally wrong to be playing with their head like this, but how could he stop when his name sounded so delicious on their lips?

what enver loved the most, however, was how obedient tav acted around him. if he needed an errand to be run? tav would get it for him almost immediately. someone owed him money? they’d have it for him by the end of the day.

while all that was lovely, gortash’s favorite was when he asked them to tend to his more intimate needs. tav would be on their knees instantly, their jaw falling open as enver thrusted his cock down their throat, fucking into them to release his stress from the day. he could never get tired of watching them struggle to take his entire length, their cheeks stained with tears while they gagged against him.

and he could never get over the feeling of their cunt stretching open as his cock pushed into them, his name falling from their mouth like lyrics of a song. enver fucked into tav like he hated them, his dick bruising the walls of their pussy with every thrust. he would whisper small praises into tav’s ear, telling them how much of a good pet they were for taking him.

whenever tav had their doubts about gortash’s plans, he would always reassure them that there was nothing to be worried about. he was going to save baldur’s gate. he was going to rule over the city; and they’d be right by his side while he did so.

[quinthejester]

Orin the Red my beloved. best girl. she did nothing wrong in her life, ever. she is the most valid, most cute creature to ever exist. her every action is 100% correct. she is baby. i love her.

now let her stab you <3

[daemon-in-my-head]

The little tyrant being ridiculed because "Yes, yes, sure you're a genius and you're the best" is odd. Cuz really, it's not wrong. He is a genius, and he deserves to have that ego.

He did come up with the Absolute plan and he built himself to be one of the most powerful people in the city, or rather the whole ass Sword Coast if you believe the archduke to be even higher than the council of four, and all of that from absolutely nothing. His ego isn't really that unfounded, considering all that he's done. And that's the scary part if we're honest.

Cuz if Orin had gotten over her sibling complexes or if the duel happened a year earlier, the dead three would've probably succeeded. The premise of the game is very much "damn you got lukcy" and the butterfly effect at full display. With Durge still around and in possession of his memories, the brain wouldn't have tried to rebel, the Emperor wouldn't have broken free, if Vlaakith had gotten her hands on Orpheus on top of that Orin wouldn't have been able to shake the alliance the way she did and all of Toril would've been very much fucked. Because the dead three literally had an immortal General, a one of a kind Mastermind as strategist and the very Avatar of the god of murder on their side. As much as its fun to mock them, they were pretty darn overpowered chosen that would've been a very real threat if not for Orin.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Guarded Desires: Part 8

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Padawan!Qimir x Princess!Reader

Summary: After an assassination attempt on your mother, she’s asked a favor from the Jedi Council to watch over you and your family until the assailant has been caught. As a result, your mother’s old friend, Master Vernestra, has her padawan, Qimir, be your bodyguard. Based off my imagine here.

Series Masterlist

Qimir did his best not to let anger settle within him, but he couldn't help it. For the first time in his life, he felt...alive. Being with you set him aflame, it awakened a desire within him that he didn't know he could feel.

The Jedi aren't supposed to feel things like desire. The Jedi aren't supposed to form attachments. Such feelings were looked down upon, like they were bad. And yet...they made Qimir feel more alive than he's ever felt before. Only for you to be ripped away from him.

He got a taste of what it was like to hold you, kiss you, and...love you.

Qimir had never been in love but he was sure that's what he felt for you. He thought about you every day since he met you. He protected you, stayed by your side, worried about your well being. He learned about your likes, dislikes, your desires, your goals. He saw you at low points and high. In just a few weeks, Qimir had fallen for you. You made it so easy to do so with your kindness, your sass, your fire, and determination.

His heart aches being so far from you now.

Master Vernestra still remains on Nerathos Prime as she continues to lead the investigation on the palace attacks and the assassination attempt on your mother.

She occasionally checks in on him and his answers are the same. He's still training and working to be one of the best Jedi Knights he can be. However, the more he says it, the less it rings true to him.

He's not sure if being a Jedi is what he wants to do anymore. His faith is wavering as he doesn't understand how something that makes him feel good and warm inside is seen as something bad.

That's when he starts hearing a voice. There's been a poking in his mind. A voice whispering in his ear that the Jedi are wrong. That love and desire aren't a bad thing. That his affections and desire to be with you should be acknowledged and accepted, not swept under the rug like a dirty secret. You don't deserve to be a dirty secret.

_________________________

Nira was...nice. She was professional and was very keen on keeping the professional boundary between you and herself. She never shared too many details about herself. Only vague facts. It frustrated you, but you also understood.

You suddenly felt so alone now.

You took your frustrations out on training, kicking down any and all of the Knight's Guard that became your partner. Orin could see that something was wrong, so after a grueling session. He pulled you off to the side.

"What's going on?" He asks in concern.

You roll your eyes, "Nothing."

He scoffs, "Don't lie to me. We all see something is wrong. None of the others will say something, but I'm your friend. I care about you, Y/N. Whatever it is, let me help," he places a hand on your shoulder and you shrug him off.

"You can't help me," you mumble, looking anywhere but at him.

"At least let me try."

"Why? So you can be in my father's good graces?"

"No! I told you, you're my friend! Y/N, we've been friends for years. You know I'd never do something like that to you."

You run a hand down your face, "You're right. I'm sorry. It's-It's complicated."

"It's about him, isn't it? The Jedi," Orin whispers. You nod and he continues, "Had a feeling. Noticed he was replaced. Did-Did something bad happen?"

You sigh, "Yes, and no. We confessed our feelings for each other and-and we kissed. But then Master Vernestra looked into his head and saw what we did. He was sent back to Coruscant shortly after."

"Why?"

"Jedi aren't supposed to form any sort of attachments. I was too much of a distraction and temptation. So he was sent away."

Orin nods in understanding, "I see...I'm sorry, Y/N."

You shrug, "I'm tired of other people being in control of my life. For once, I was doing something for me. Not for my father's approval or for the good of our people, me! And it was stripped away at an instant."

Orin immediately pulls you into his arms. His hold was tight but also comforting. And for the first time in a while, you let yourself break down. You're heartbroken and feel so stuck. Knowing Orin is there for you really seemed to strike a chord in you.

So you wrap your arms around him and let yourself cry. You cry until there are no tears left.

___________________

You wake up to hearing waves crashing. There's a slight breeze and you smell salt water.

You open your eyes to brightness. The suns of Nerathos Prime beaming down at you. You're laying in the sand. You slowly sit up and look around. You're at the beach you and your family visited a week prior.

But you're confused. Why're you here?

"Enjoy your nap, princess?" you turn to see Qimir sitting beside you, a soft smile on his lips.

"Qimir? What-Where-"

"You're dreaming."

You shoulder slump in disappointment, "So you're not really here?"

His face scrunches up in a sorrowful look, "Unfortunately not. I'm still on Coruscant, but...I think our bond is so strong it's linked us. So we can be in each other's dreams."

"Why now? You've been gone for a week and now you're appearing in my dreams?"

"I've been trying to get the link to stick and I finally got it," he places his hand on top of yours, "How are you?"

You snort, "Miserable. You?"

"Just about the same. I, uh, I got into a fight a few days ago."

Your eyes widen, "What? Why?"

"Another padawan heard about why I came back. Started spewing off a bunch of fodder and wouldn't shut up, so I punched him."

"What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter," he shrugs trying to brush off the subject, he pulls his knees up and rests his arms up on them.

"Was it about us?"

He slowly nods, looking out to the sea, "Said I was stupid for ever thinking a princess could fall for me."

You snort, "How could I not fall for you? You're funny, kind, strong, understanding-"

Qimir blushes, hiding his face in his arms, "Stop it."

You giggle, "No! It's true! I-You're different, Qimir. You see me for me and not some princess."

"And you see me for me," he reaches out and pulls you closer to him. You rest your head on his shoulder and he rests his head on yours.

"Can we stay here forever?" you whisper with desperation.

He sighs, "No, but I'll do my best to visit you as much as I can. But this is my first time actually succeeding and I don't know the toll it'll take on me after."

"Okay. Just take care of yourself, alright, Qi?"

"I'll do my best," he replies, pressing a kiss to your head and letting the sound of the crashing waves fill the silence between you.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Ketheric continues to be the member of the Chosen I struggle to get a grip on. Like the other three I can tell you the details of why (I think) they grew up to monsters:

Long post.

-

Let's start with Gortash: spent his childhood being told he was a selfish monster for his thoughts - apparently from birth - for the way he perceived the world, for *checks notes* wanting his parents attention as an undeveloped human being that relies on its parents to survive and thrive.

Then his parents send him to hell as part of a deal. Because that's where monsters go isn't it? They go to hell to suffer eternal damnation because they were monsters in life.

So you grow up in one of the literal cesspits of the universe, where the only people you meet are the literal scum of the universe, or those you're going to learn to see as weak fools who had to rely on others - and were ultimately willing to commit atrocities themselves - who were taken advantage of by the scum of the universe. You get to the Hells by committing atrocities, either because you want something so badly you'll fuck somebody over for it (out of greed, or because you couldn't fix it yourself (weak)) or because you did them of your own volition. And curiously, some of these people had their price tags wrapped in such subtle terms they don't even realise they did anything wrong! Lesson learned; anyone will willingly be a monster if you make the evil sound nice. Every single devil you meet has had the humanity flayed from their soul, and they got to where they are in their existences by fomenting (and committing) hate and rape and murder and everything evil under the sun as a regular Monday morning in the ultimate goal to make the universe an evil place. Devils are also 'self made men', everybody started from nothing as a lemure and clawed their way to where they are now. Every social interaction in the Hells is manipulation and abuse. Everyone there hurts everyone.

But you do have one example of a good person! There's Hope! Lovely lady, kind and sweet... Trapped in hell being abused forever going insane because of it because your ambitious sister fucked you over. That's where trust and love being a good person gets you.

And that was his entire social life. That was the people he had to look to for examples. All his early experiences were limited to a sample of the absolute worst it has to offer, and he has a very skewed view of the universe.

And the fact that he's apparently so damn good at sex a lady gave him a ring worth everything she owns after growing up around a pleasure devil whose role is harming and corrupting people with sex and has built in charm person at etc is not ringing alarm bells(!) I'm not side-eyeing the boudoir at all.

I wonder why having a child/teen spend their formative years in the evil factory literally designed to spit out monsters... spat out a monster? Kudos to Karlach, though: just how many layers of defence mechanisms has she got in her brain?

Gortash's thought processes are 50% through the lens of engineering and 50% through the lens of a devil's perspective to me. People will sell out others for their own gain, because they're too weak to do it themselves or because they're bastards. If you don't get with the programme you're the victim. You only get ahead by being ruthless. Everybody is untrustworthy, and relying on them will get you betrayed. The world is divided into the weak and the ruthlessly strong who take what they want. Yes, he's a monster. And so are his parents. And so is everyone. And then Bane saw this perfect example of his way of thinking and said 'that one.'

-

Orin: obviously we've got grooming. The fact that her formative memories include her mother trying to murder her, and the fact that she feels like the only person who has ever cared about her or supported her is her grandfather. Who is implied to have been raping her, or intending to. All she's permitted is to have her brain poisoned by her faith, which her life revolves around, and then her kin 'does it all wrong' and inherits everything she's been groomed to believe is hers. But no, 'they're not wrong,' says everybody around her 'you are!'

She's a Bhaalspawn, so her relationships with her kin are "kill or be killed," as Helena proved. You will please father by slaughtering your siblings, or you will die - or worse. You must be and stay favoured by Bhaal above all the others to be truly safe ("safe"), and Durge outranking her is a threat to her existence. Actually Durge existing is a threat to her well-being. She has no way to live a life outside the cult, never has and never will. Her life is insanely lonely and mostly consists of paranoia.

But the overlaying theme here is that she's a changeling. She's mirrorkin with no unique physical identity of her own, she can only reflect those of others. To be dnd canon accurate: she has no real facial features, no pigmentation. She's not permitted an identity of her own, and was punished for trying. She's a mirror born and raised to reflect the glory of Bhaal, the glory of her failed grandfather, the rise of Bhaal's favourite child. Never her own. Gee, I wonder why she literally wears people's skins.

Denied the ability to do anything but live according to what she's told, she does her best to live up to it because to fail is to become her parents and the countless aunts and uncles currently enjoying their damnation in the Throne of Blood. And then she's told she's doing it wrong. By everybody. She's a 'rabid dog'. She, despite having doctrine poured into her ears and probably carved into her flesh her entire life 'doesn't understand Bhaal.' And everybody is insanely patronising about it! You're never allowed to be anything but what we tell you to be, but you're still not good enough! Which is death. The Temple of Bhaal needs murder feminism.

-

The Dark Urge is my favourite little nightmare, and I've talked about them at length: much of Orin's trauma also applies to them, although where she's a mirror made to reflect the egos of others, Durge is only allowed one identity: Bhaal's. Where Orin can never seem to reach the standards forced on her, Durge is never allowed to fail to meet them, or else. Every outside connection they ever had was brutally sabotaged, and they've had 'you're a monster and only I (your abusive Father) can love you' drilled into their mind. They hate themself. We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions. The prayer for forgiveness kind of sums it all up: 'I'm sorry for forming an emotional connection that isn't blind love for you father, but don't fret, I'll destroy it with my own hands just like everything else and then finally get to kill myself just like I've always wanted.'

-

But Ketheric? Like villains don't need tragic backstories to be terrible people, but it does make them more interesting.

OK, so your bio family is fucked up and I definitely get the impression that they sucked (Malus is giving me vibes that say he'd have been a villain anyway, and might've been secretly Sharran to start with; Gerringothe seems to be drowning whatever her issues are in gold), and then the loving family you made for yourself broke: your wife died, and your daughter died, sure. But plenty of people on Toril probably have similar if not the same stories and didn't go evil overlord! Why are you doing this? What is informing these decisions? Why does your existence hinge so much on your dead daughter that your son is basically named after her and you seem to hate him for existing and not being her? Does Shar have something to do with it? Has Ketheric just carved out so much memory and emotion, so much of his own identity, that all that's left is the grief and the hunger for the pain to stop but, as per Shar's intent, it keeps coming back, with less and less positive memories to soften the pain. A wound that festers and never heals. Is the obsession with Isobel because she's the icon of everything that was good in his life, and her loss was the moment everything good was gone? Was he a rational man who turned to Shar to stop the pain in a moment of understandable grief and rage at her sister, and then was trapped in a cycle that destroyed everything that was good in that man until we get the General?

Just guess working my way through his entire backstory...

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Irrevocably Yours

Astarion x Durge! Y/N - drabble - 1.1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of SA on reader, nothing too graphic, hurt/comfort, Astarion being himself (aka sweet af because that man is SOFT and I will die on that hill), in my feels big time, Durge reader!

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You rushed to camp, the brush and trees scraping at your skin. You clutched your shirt together, tears streaming down your face. You finally saw camp, sprinting the rest of the way. The sun was long gone from the sky but you could see that everyone was still awake. 

“Astarion?” you yelled when you didn’t immediately see him. Your voice was watery and weak. Your eyes were frantically looking around for him. Your cheeks were stained with tears that never ceased to fall. 

Astarion heard the urgency in your voice and your erratic heart beat, he threw his book down and rushed out of his tent. “Darling?” he said.

As soon as your eyes found him your sobs intensified as you rushed into his arms. He held you tightly as you nuzzled into him. Your head rested in the crook of his neck, he felt your tears hit his skin and his heart broke. 

“My sweet, what happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he gently pulled you away, just enough to see your face while still keeping you in his arms. 

Your glossy eyes searched his before glancing at his tent. He looked around, noticing your campmates giving you both concerning looks. He held your hands as he moved you both into his tent to gain some privacy. He sat down but you immediately shuffled into his lap, holding him close. Your fists were tightly grasping his shirt. 

Astarion looked down at you, wiping your tears away. That's when he noticed your shirt. He gently moved it a bit, noticing the buttons were ripped off. He noticed the top two buttons to your pants were also undone. If his heart was still beating it would be racing.

“My love, can you tell me what happened?” he said gently.

“I… I d-didn’t realize h-how late it was…” your voice was shaking, you were terrified and he knew it. “I was trying to find the password for the door to get to the murder tribunal… the alleyway was so dark… so, so dark.” he could see the pain in your eyes as you went on. “A man… a worshiper of Bhaal… he was outside… he pushed me against the wall… I couldn’t move…”

“Did he touch you?” Astarion asked as delicately as he could. You knew what he was referring to. 

You let out a sob, before nodding slightly. “He… he ripped my shirt open… and - and he put his hand down my pants.” you curled into him, you felt shame even though you knew it wasn’t your fault. None of this was. 

“Did he…” Astarion’s eyes looked into yours with the utmost sympathy. 

You shook your head, “I - I didn’t know what to do… I - I used… I became… the slayer.” you looked down. You swore you would never use it. Bhaal had “gifted” you the heinous form when you killed your sister, Orin. It disgusted you to your core, if you felt anything you felt shame about using Bhaal’s gift. 

“You did the right thing.” Astarion said as he cradled your head, rocking you back and forth slightly. “Did you kill him?” he asked.

“No… he ran off… I was scared to death… all I wanted was to come home… come to you.” You held Astarion’s cheek, searching his eyes for something unknown. 

Astarion nodded at you, “Let’s get you changed and go to sleep, alright?” 

You nodded, wanting nothing more than to slip away. You bathed alone, Astarion standing watch at the front of the tent per your request. You changed alone as well before beckoning him back inside. 

He handed you a small green vial, “To help you sleep.” he said gently. He laid down with you. You curled up against him, wanting him as close as possible. You fell asleep quickly after downing the bitter liquid. Astarion connected his parasite to yours, you stirred slightly but remained asleep. He felt your panic, your terror as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes. But he found what he wanted, the man's face. 

He snuck out of the tent, a murderous mission in mind. 

-----------------------------

You woke to the birds chirping. The warmth from the sun radiating inside the tent. You rolled over to see Astarion discarding a blood drenched shirt. His pale chest was covered in crimson, along with his hands. His face had spatters here and there. You sat up slowly. “What happened?”

“I cleansed the rot.” Astarion said, sounding like the kind myconid from the Underdark. 

You knew exactly what he meant and for the first time since that man held you against the wall, you felt the clench in your stomach relax. You beckoned him over, holding your hand out. 

He kneeled in front of you. “I don’t want to touch you… not with him on me.” 

You held his face, leaning your forehead against his as you nodded. You kissed him hesitantly, scared it would take you right back to that alleyway. But it didn’t. All you felt was immense love and gratitude for your lover. “Thank you.” you whispered. Astarion kissed you again before pulling back.

“I’m going to wash. When I come back we are not leaving this tent for the day. We can do whatever you like, my sweet.” he tilted your chin up slightly. You gave him a small smile. You knew it would take time to process and heal but you couldn’t ask for a more understanding partner. You knew for a fact he would never pressure you and would always be there to comfort you through thick and thin. 

Astarion started to fill the small tub. “May I stay?” you asked. 

Astarion nodded, smiling at you as he handed you one of his clean shirts. He knew you liked wearing his clothes since they were oversized and breathable. You slipped it on before rolling the sleeves up and shimmying out of your pants. You tied the tent entrance shut before picking up a stool and setting it behind the tub. Astarion’s head leaned back, a quizzical look on his face. You started massaging his scalp. He let out a sigh, loving your gentle touch. You washed his hair as he cleaned the blood off himself. When you finished you placed delicate kisses over his neck and shoulders. You leaned your head on his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around him loosely, giving him a back hug. 

“What is it darling?” he said.

“I’m just… grateful.” you said simply. 

He leaned back further, “I love you.” he whispered before pulling you in by the chin to kiss him. 

“I love you.” you said back before leaning on him again. The simple fact of him being with you. His soft touches that never scared you. Everything about the man in front of you. He is your everything, your heart was irrevocably his. And you would have it no other way.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope everyone likes this. My period hormones hit me hard today so here is this lol How is everyone? I hope you're all well. I have quite a few fic ideas lined up so be on the lookout for those! XOXOXOXOXOXO! Thanks for everything!

[cerys-scribbles]

we save each other

Halsin x F!Reader Wordcount: 2.4k When Orin takes Halsin, you are determined to get him back - no matter the cost. Warnings: blood, injuries

The temple of Bhaal smells of damp stone and blood.

It’s oppressive—the weigh of stone all around, the scent of old and new blood, the whispers, and the sense of being watched. After the nautiloid, the shadow curse, and the assault on Moonrise, you thought no place could truly rattle you.

You were wrong. Because this temple is wrong. And you want nothing more than to leave it. 

But can’t. Because Orin took the one thing she knows you can’t lose. 

“Come on,” you whisper to the others. Shadowheart has a hand on her weapon; Gale looks thoroughly unsettled; even Lae’zel appears uneasy. 

When you enter the temple, you see the altar. Orin is standing over it, her hand caressing the side of his broad face. Your heart lurches in your chest at the sight of him bound and unconscious. 

“Halsin,” you breathe. 

Orin lifts her gaze to yours and offers the kind of smile normally seen on skulls. 

You have little memory of what follows after that. You snarl a challenge, bring up your weapon, and then all the hells seem to break loose. Gale is snarling spells, Shadowheart whirling as she parries blow after blow, and Lae’zel charges through the ranks of Bhaal’s faithful like a battering ram. 

But your eyes are the on the altar. 

You fight alongside your companions until you can reach him. Then you’re at his side, a knife in hand. 

“Halsin,” you say urgently. You touch his cheek, trying to rouse him. 

He must have been drugged. You can think of no other way that Orin could have taken and held him. At the urgent sound of your voice, his eyes flicker open. He seems to be making a great effort to drag himself to consciousness. His eyes are glazed, his lips soundlessly forming your name. You set your blade against the ropes and saw through the bindings around his wrists. “I’m here,” you say. “You’re all right.” 

It takes a moment for him to find his voice. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” The ropes are infuriatingly thick and you drag your knife back and forth, fraying them. “You had any doubt?” 

There is a moment’s hesitation, and it has little to do with his drugged state. He did doubt, you realize. He must have thought he would die down here, sacrificed like so many others. A fierce protectiveness wells up within you. When you’re both free of this place, you are going to tell him precisely how loved he truly is. 

The ropes give way and you free his wrists, trying to rub blood and sensation back into his hands. He begins to sit up, but you press him down. “Rest a moment. Then we’ll—”

You feel the impact first. It’s like being hit with a rock—but then comes the chill and the utter wrongness of it. 

Halsin’s eyes widen. All of the drugged lassitude falls away from him and he rolls over, his ankles catching on the bindings. His hands reach for you. No, not for you—you realize—but for the dagger protruding from your chest. 

One of the cultists was invisible and he came up behind you. You turn, raising your weapon to try and defend you both, but the world tilts sideways. 

You can’t collapse. You have to keep him safe. You have to free him.

You fall. There is the distant sound of an animal roar, the clashing of steel, and the smell of coppery blood. 

Then, nothing.

*

Halsin has seen many beautiful things in his long life—the golden hue of dawn creeping across the old forest, the rarest of flowers blooming in moonlight, the sharp cut of lightning across a stormy sky. 

But none of those sights compare to this. To her. 

She kneels down beside him, as though the chaos all around them is nothing. A knife flickers between her fingers and she begins to free him.

She came for him. 

Part of him had hoped—no, he had yearned—to see her again. But Halsin has long been a protector, not the protected. He learned to fend for himself at a young age. Her rescue of him from the goblins was a welcome surprise. After Aradin fled, Halsin thought no aid would be coming. But she did come for him—not just once, but twice. 

He should have known better than to underestimate her, he thinks, as her hair falls around them both. She frees his arms, and then she is massaging circulation into his sore hands. 

Gentle, always so gentle. So caring. He has never met anyone with such a gentle heart. It’s why he fell in love with her. And he does love her, even if he has not found the moment to tell her yet. There were always other priorities—the shadow curse, the tadpoles, the missions. There would always be time later, he told himself. But then he was kidnapped, and he realized belatedly how precious their little time together has been. He should have told her everything: how he treasures their conversations, how beautiful she is, how her kind heart is a rarity.

And now she is beside him, hope blossoming between them. Once they are free of this place, he will tell her everything.  

But then a cultist appears and drives a knife through her back. She makes a small sound, as though the breath has been taken from her. She looks more confused than pained, and when she glances down, it is with a line between her delicate brows. 

“No!” The word is yanked from his lips. It is a raw and agonized denial. A plea. 

When she falls, it seems to take an eternity—as though time itself cannot bear to see her injured.

A fury such as he has never known howls through him. 

The animal takes him and he welcomes the change. The ropes binding his legs snap, and Halsin lunges for the cultist. Bone and muscle give way between his jaws, and he tastes fresh blood. Another cultist lunges and Halsin kills him, too. Everything is a blur of adrenaline and fear and violence. He has rarely allowed the change to take him so thoroughly, but right now animal fury is the best weapon he possesses. 

Once the cultists have been driven back, Halsin looks back at her. 

She lays on her side, hair fallen across her face. She needs the man, not the beast. With a great effort, he changes back. It feels wrong; his instincts are screaming that he needs to be the bear to protect her.

“Stay with me, love,” he whispers, kneeling beside her. He turns her over, taking her gently in his arms. 

His magic is sluggish; his body is still fighting to rid itself of the damn potions that kept him docile. 

“Oak Father,” he murmurs, pressing his hand to her wound. “If you only ever answer one of my prayers, let it be this one. Please, give me the strength to save her.” His throat tightens painfully. “And if I cannot, keep her safe until we can meet again.” 

He spell takes hold. Her flesh slowly knits back together, but he doesn’t release the spell. He needs to ensure that the internal injuries will heal, that she will not bleed from within. 

He pours all of his magic into her, every last bit of strength he has. And when that runs out, he simply holds her.

All around him, the room has gone silent. Orin lays dead, a sword wound in her chest. Lae’zel flicks her blade free of blood with a contemptuous snarl. She snarls a curse in her tongue, and even if he cannot understand it, Halsin agrees completely. 

“How is she?” Gale rushes over, kneeling by Halsin. 

“I don’t know,” Halsin replies. “But we should get her someplace safe.” 

*

They retreat to a place called the Elfsong Tavern. Gale explains that they took rooms here, and while it is no forest, it’s more comfortable and safe that sleeping on the city streets. Halsin eases her onto a bed, sitting back so that Shadowheart can work. Her spells reinforce his, and her brows draw tight as she murmurs a silent prayer. Halsin tries not to hover, but he will not leave. He cannot leave.

When Shadowheart finishes, she sits back. She is breathing a little unsteadily, having spent much of her own power.

“Well?” asks Astarion. He lingers in the doorway, looking a bit like a stray cat that cannot decide if he wants in or out. “Will she survive? Or do we need to resurrect Orin so Lae’zel can kill her again?”

“She needs time,” says Shadowheart. “For the spells to take, for her own body to take up some of the healing.” Her gaze meets Halsin’s. “She’s past the worst of it, I think. You managed to keep her from bleeding out back in the temple."

Halsin bits down on his lip. He should have been able to do more. If he had not been drugged, that wound would have been healed in a matter of moments.

She came to rescue him, and she nearly paid for his life with her own. The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. “I’ll stay with her,” says Halsin, settling at her bedside.

The night passes slowly. 

The others come and go. Astarion stops by with more blankets while Wyll ducks out to buy more healing potions. Shadowheart urges Halsin to bathe, promising to watch over her in the meantime. He goes, if only to scrub away the blood and the smell of captivity. He changes into clean clothes and returns to his beloved’s bedside. 

She sleeps fitfully. Sweat beads at her brow and her eyes roam beneath her lids. “My heart,” he murmurs, taking her hand in his. “Rest easy. You’re safe.” 

Finally, near dawn, she wakes. 

She tries to speak, but it comes out dry and raspy. “Just a moment,” says Halsin, reaching for a pitcher of water. He pours a small cup, holding it to her lips. She looks as though she wants to protest that she can sit up and drink on her own, but her arm shakes. Her fingers still curl around his, as though to maintain an illusion of control. But when she’s finished drinking, she looks exhausted.

Halsin lowers her back into the pillows, rearranging the blankets around her. 

“What happened?” she asks. “Did everyone make it out all right? Are you hurt?” 

Of course she is more concerned with the others than herself. “Everyone made it out,” he says. 

She reaches for one of his wrists. There are still red marks where the ropes rubbed his skin raw. “You haven’t healed yourself.”

He turns his wrist so that he can take her hand. Hers are so much smaller. “You needed the magic more.” She frowns at him, as though she wants to protest. Halsin smooths her hair back with his free hand. “Sleep. You should rest.” 

She closes her eyes and leans into his touch. “What about you?” 

“I’ll meditate in a little while,” he says. 

Her frown deepens. Then she shifts in her bed, making as though to sit up. He places a hand on her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Moving over,” she says. “Or, trying to.” She pats the place beside her. “Please. The bed is more than big enough for both of us. That chair looks terribly uncomfortable.” 

It’s true. This is one of those large, goose feather and linen affairs. 

He bites back his protests—that he doesn’t wish to harm her by accident, that he doesn’t need sleep. Instead, he carefully lays down beside her. She lets out a small sigh, and curls into him. 

She feels so small beside him. So fragile. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispers. “When Orin came to me and said you’d been taken.”

Halsin wraps an arm around her. He had wished to save this for a time when she is well, but he has wasted far too much time already. “I feared the same.” He takes a breath. His heart pounds with uncertainty, but he needs to say it. “When you were injured... I realized how much time I have wasted. There are things I want to tell you."

She lifts her gaze to his. “You can tell me anything.”

His hand cups her cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. "I love you.” He feels her go still but he forces himself to continue. “I should have said so before, when the nights were calmer. When we might have stolen away for a few hours to ourselves. When we weren’t in a city on the brink of war. But even if the words have come too late, I have to tell you that I love you. You are a wonder and even if you don’t feel the same, I want you to know.”

He half expects her to pull away. But instead, she snuggles closer. “You should have said something earlier, it’s true,” she murmurs. “Or I should have been brave enough to say it first. One of us should have spoken up sooner.” She kisses his hand, and the touch burns through him. “I love you, too.”

Joy fills him. It has been years since he felt such unbridled happiness—there are no demands on him, no responsibilities other than this. He will keep her safe, ensure that she comes through the coming battles alive. “We will live through this,” he murmurs, pulling her close. “I promise you that. And once you are well…”

He hears the smile in her voice. “What are we going to do?” 

He kisses her hair. “Many things, my heart. Many, many things.”

*

When you wake, you’re still in Halsin’s arms.

It is like sleeping near a fire, but not unpleasantly so. You’re cozy beneath the blankets, his arms around you and your face turned into the pillow. You feel a little dizzy, a little giddy. You can’t quite believe that Halsin is beside you, that he loves you as much as you love him. You can’t help yourself; you snuggle closer.

The moment you stir, he rouses. “You’re awake.”

“I am,” you say. Your voice sounds a little rusty from sleep. “How long have I been out?”

“That does not matter. You need the rest,” he says so firmly that you cannot protest. He smooths a hand over your forehead. “No fever, that’s a good sign. How’s the pain?”

You gingerly touch the bandages around your chest. There’s a deep ache, but you know it’ll fade with time. “Not so bad.”

“You’re staying in bed for a few more hours,” he says. “The others are out shopping and collecting information on something to do with rescuing Wyll’s father.”

Your heart lurches. You try to sit up. “I need to help—”

“You will,” he says, gently pressing you back down into the mattress. “But you must recover first. I’ll speak with the others, and don’t fear, my heart, when we go out to rescue Duke Ravengard, you’ll be there.” 

That mollifies you a little. You know he wouldn’t lie to you, even for the sake of keeping you safe. “All right.” Your stomach gurgles loudly and you flush.

“And I’ll see about breakfast,” Halsin says, smiling. 

He begins to rise from the bed, but you catch his hand. “Hey.”

Halsin looks back at you, a question in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” you say. “For taking care of me.”

His face softens. He kneels beside the bed. “Thank you. For always rescuing me.”

You kiss him—and it doesn’t feel like the first time. It feels natural, like slipping into a comfortable shirt. You both fit together perfectly. “We rescue each other,” you whisper. 

End

[papastarion]

I know everyone has their different takes on Astarion’s character, and what they think his story should look like/what he would or wouldn’t do with his life after the events of the game, and I think they’re all valid. And not everyone is going to like your read or what you want him to pursue or be like after all is said and done. And there’s nothing wrong with that! Could you imagine how boring things would be if we all agreed? I personally love seeing the diversity of takes.

That being said, I am very much a fan of the idea of non-Ascended Astarion starting a family after everything, just me personally. Now, I know that’s a whole can of worms for people who don’t like that concept or who don’t like the idea of kids/pregnancy in their fiction. That’s completely fine. Funnily enough, I have no desire to have my own kids, but I love exploring that sort of lifestyle and the dynamic it creates when it comes to my characters in my own writing.

And I do think he wants kids, in my world state (to borrow a Dragon Age term), anyway.

I always go back to Astarion’s confession, when he says he wants “something real.” All those years where sex and love were nothing but a performance to seduce people and lure them to what he thought was their death. And now, with Tav/Durge, he wants the real thing. He wants to love and be loved.

He says he doesn’t know what “real” looks like anymore, which means he’s got to figure it out. And we know he isn’t much for plans, so that means a lot of what he learns is learned as he goes. That must extend to learning what he wants, too.

“I Want to Live” is the song that is consistently played in relation to his character development (despite being the players song.) Want. For all of those years, he was told by Cazador that he and his fellow spawn were a family. If he doesn’t ascend, then what he desires, and discovering what he wants, and taking what was false for so long and learning what the real version of it looks like to him all come together to make it easy for me to see him enjoying fatherhood.

He wouldn’t be Astarion without that prickly personality of his, but as his relationship with Tav/Durge progresses, you get to see the softness and sweetness he has in him, too. And I believe he really does mean it when he says he wants to protect them. He does genuinely care, as sarcastic and standoffish as he can be. That’s part of his personality and his character arc.

Now, do I think he likes all kids? Not at all. I think he likes certain kids, and for certain reasons. He may not encourage taking in Yenna, but he does insist on saving her from Orin. He seems to have a high opinion of Arabella. It depends on the kid. In a strange way, I think his own personhood being taken from him has made him view kids as more individual than most people tend to.

And I think he would adore his own kids because of who they are. They’re proof of how far he’s come, they’re proof that he’s alive and he’s living and that Cazador didn’t win in the end. He’s here. He won. He’s growing past everything.

And, most importantly: they’re his kid(s.)

Do I think he’s ever considered having children prior to having one, even before he was turned? I doubt it, honestly. But especially prior to his vampirism, I don’t think it matters whether he did or not. He can’t remember what color his eyes were, let alone what he wanted or who he was. And it doesn’t matter, he makes that much clear. He isn’t that person anymore, and he won’t ever get to be them again. So whether he had thought about children specifically or not, whether he wanted them or not, I don’t think that matters to him anymore.

He never saw himself as a hero, either, but he’s a Hero of Baldur’s Gate now. He cares. In his own way. And he defines and does things his own way in his life now. He’s still not your stereotypical hero, but he’s also no longer your stereotypical vampire. He wouldn’t be Astarion if he was easy to define. And after everything, he is still Astarion. He’s complex, and he can be quite contradictory and inconsistent. That’s both part of his personality and a result of the 200 years of trauma he survived, I think.

And again, he’s also not one for plans. I don’t think he considers being a father until Tav/Durge is telling him that he’s going to be one. And that kind of life-changing news can rattle even the people who have planned for it and wanted it their whole lives. Sure, I think it takes some getting used to, and I’m sure there are complex feelings that come with it. Rediscovering yourself and building a life are never easy. Living isn’t easy.

But this is another part of the life he’s living—really living. This isn’t the mockery Cazador forced the spawn to play pretend in, it’s a real family, his family. And I think that means everything to the person he chooses to be now.