#orin in places he should be

[dentistpilled]

BONUS

orin SHOULD be celebrating trans visibility day!

[majorasnightmare]

more people with dark urges should lean into the fact its canon compliant to give them retail experience since the cult of bhaal runs a coffin shop as a front that nonetheless still got customers

[slayerdurge]

also now that i've killed jaheira, durge has officially killed more companions than she's recruited. shadowheart's next.

[evilminji]

O.O!!! :Dc wait a second.... Aquaman >.>

Good JOB Brain! That IS a good idea!

Don't know if YOU GUYS all know this? But Arthur? Son of a Lighthouse keeper and the Queen of Atlantis? THAT Arthur Curry aka. Orin? Has CONSIDERABLY enhanced durability. Like... *hit by a car* "ha. Cute." Enhanced.

It's because of the DEEP Sea water pressure he's built for.

I bring this up? Because the man is a legit BAMF. Absolutely TERRIFYING near any body of water. Dude has SUPER STRENGTH AND HYDROKINESIS. Not ONLY are YOU filled with water, but every street corner in the world has pipes! He is NEVER not armed.

That's not including the "yes I can ask a lobster to take your dick off" thing.

But most of all? He has the RAGE. The lifetime of injustice after injustice. His home under attack, his people suffering and regarded as LESS. The poison dumped into their air. Their lands taken, PRESUMED the property of land dwellers.

Treated as criminals and monsters should they DARE defend themselves.

Yet? He is a leader. A husband, father, mentor. The death of his child can not take from him that title. Nor years numb that pain. He strives to be good. Be wise. Live well.

Yet? There is once AGAIN fuckery in his ocean. Some "secret" lab. Poking at a swirling green portal. At the BOTTOM OF THE SEA. For God's sake, they DO REALIZE, you can't HIDE things from him down here, RIGHT?

It looks radioactive.

He refuses to have that so close to Atlantis.

Sends a notice up to the Watchtower, a call back to his Wife, and leads the gaurd team in. Painfully easy, really. Bog standard humans, caught off gaurd. Right until one of them does something... stupid.

He tries to blow the place. Destroy evidence. It would kill all of them. Which is not Arthur's main concern. No, what IS? Is that it would dump radioactive SOMETHING into the waters near Atlantis.

He dives forward. They struggle. A button is smashed and...

Their containment field drops.

They had been keeping it in a perfect vacuum.

Arthur is sucked in.

Watches, in free fall, as his men's faces turn to horror. As they desperately dive to follow him. Loyal. True. But ultimately too late. He curses himself as he loses sit of them. But forces himself to focus, twist, get his feet under him. His is in air, above LAND.

He hits HARD.

But not the ground like he had planned.

He's slamed, at an awkward, frantic, angle and knocked off course. His weight crashing down onto a scrawny slip of a boy, who weezes and struggles to get a proper grip. His arms not quite long enough to go all the way around his barrel of a chest.

He helps, by slinging an arm over his young savior.

Only then, does he notice, the tiny crown of ice and nebula, poking at a jaunty angle from the child's head.

Their landing would be rough, had Arthur not caught them, once he gets close enough to the ground. The young royal gasping for air, having clearly pushed his limits to get to Arthur in time. He hauls himself up. Not yet a man, but not as young as Arthur feared. His eyes glow.

"Hoooly SHIT. Are you okay?! I hit you really hard! I'm so, SO sorry! I panicked! And-"

Honestly? A little bruised. But nothings he's going to ADMIT too.

More concerning? The injuries.

There's a screech of tires turning sharp corners. Sirens getting closer. The young king whips around. Terror seeping onto his face. It gives Arthur an unobstructed view of pointed ears, softly glowing skin with star like freckles, and scars that creep up the child's neck. He does not like the picture being painted.

"We have to GO. Now. Please, I'll explain in a moment! But we have to go NOW!"

Really, REALLY does not like the picture. And he has WAYS of dealing with such things as this. But safety first. Prioritize the children. They go. He vows to get answers. And all around Amity? Certain individuals days are NUMBERED.

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @nerdpoe

[theannoyingurge]

Playing with the idea that none of the bg3 villains are fully honest with Durge. Everyone is hiding some piece of the puzzle and happy to abuse the amnesia situation to their advantage. 'Cept Kressa. She's psycho, but she's an honest psycho. In another life, we might have been friends.

Edit: part 2 here

Ketheric is the first, most obvious example of this. He doesn't even bother to inform the other Chosen you've reappeared. (Myrkul is the god of exhaustion, so this tracks.)

Balthazar also 100% recognizes you and also doesn't even bother. To him, your amnesia means no tedious reunions with annoying Bhaalspawn who are big mad that he stole their brother's name and rib bones.

The Emperor is sometimes overlooked when piecing together Durge's history, but he admits to knowing your past if you reject him in Act 3 (stating "I know everything about you" while threatening to turn you into a puppet like Duke Stelmane). Whether or not he's posturing, he should at least be aware of your past with Gortash, considering you helped kidnap him in the first place. For evidence, see Gortash's interrogation notes, which open with "When we captured you". (Sure, this could refer to Orin, but I simply do not see these two working as a highly functional team. More on this and the timeline below the cut.) Naturally, despite traveling together for months, The Emperor wouldn't want to fill any gaps in your memory that might cast doubt on his trustworthiness or help align you with his enemy.

The Absolute might be lying about respecting you/your plan and preferring you over your replacement. I am of two minds about this. If you were attacked immediately after crowning the brain, there should be no basis for a preferential relationship. In that case, the brain is just stroking your ego and need for approval. However, I have doubts about Durge being taken down during the initial raid.** I think some time must have passed after crowning the Absolute, giving it the chance to develop a working relationship with you that it lacked with the other Chosen, which caused everything to fall apart after you were tadpoled. This also buys us time to kidnap the Emperor and bring it under the Absolute's thrall as described in Gortash's interrogation notes.

**Some of Gortash's other notes claim Durge was lost during the first raid, but his journals are full of contradictions. He leaves the House of Hope out of his memoirs entirely. He seemingly retcons history to present himself in a more favorable light, which probably includes intentionally diminishing the work of his allies (or erasing the painful memory of his nearest and dearest). In any interpretation, the brain definitely hates Gortash the most, and that's good enough for me.

Orin and Gortash paint somewhat conflicting pictures of you pre-tadpole. The difference here might be genuine (the honest perspectives of a little sister vs a business partner or lover) or it could be a manipulative game of tug of war over your budding and impressionable self image.

Now, I like Durgetash - but I like every possible interpretation of these assholes, not just the mutually reciprocated and/or sexy ones. It's conceivable to me that Gortash may have discovered Durge's crush on him via the Prayer for Forgiveness and played up their history in Act 3 as a defensive measure. Maybe Gortash always knew of Durge's feelings and used them to his advantage (Orin outright tells you this, but again, nobody listens to Orin. Sorry sis).

It's also conceivable that he knew Durge was the first to be tadpoled, considering how close their pod was to his workbench. The brain was given orders to transform the party (that were resisted several times), so Gortash's surprise that Durge still lives makes sense, assuming he even knew Durge was with them (he doesn't seem to be checking the scrying eyes at all. What kind of loser tyrant ignores his own surveillance system? I digress). His general relief and preference for them over Orin is also still valid. (I imagine he feels something along the lines of Durge being the one who got away, you don't know what you've got until it's gone, etc etc. Cue hysterical bonding as the long lost love of his life waltzes into his coronation covered in blood to save him from their psychotic sister and the poorly housetrained Netherbrain they left him full custody of. Yes he wanted full custody, but still.)

Puppy eyes aside, Gortash is a blackhearted pragmatist (he will turn on Durge if they give him the stones) and progress is progress. The first True Soul was an incredible breakthrough, and the show must go on. So just imagine the bricks he's shitting in Act 3 if Durge comes back and remembers the Wrong Things from before the nautiloid. What if they want revenge on him? Nope, not good at all. Best to position himself as Durge's only friend and most trustworthy partner. Regardless of how well he treated them before, Durge was willing to piss off Bhaal to spare his life. That's an extremely useful vulnerability right now, because he's about to ask them to do it again!

Lastly, I have no proof, but I strongly suspect that Sceleritas is fibbing about Durge's past as well. Partly because the Slayer form is severely disappointing in-game and canonically excrutiatingly painful, despite Fel claiming you've always wanted it. It honestly sounds like a way to sell an unwanted used car back to it's amnesiac owner who failed to appreciate it before. Bhaal isn't a full deity any longer, so take what you're given (and you'd better damned well like it!) I also call bullshit on tossing a coin to a beggar being the "worst" crime Durge ever committed against Bhaal (*ahem* looking at you, Gortash). Some dialogue with the Oathbreaker Paladin suggests we've tried somewhat consistently to be good in the past, and Sceleritas has a vested interest in making Durge worse, not planting noble ideas in their freshly lobotomized murder-happy brain.

[senualothbrok]

Here

Summary: After you save him from Orin's clutches, Gale has some things to work through. You show him that he is not alone.

Featuring a fireside chat with Astarion.

A response to this anon ask. I hope you like it 💜

Word count: 2.1k

Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort. Gale x reader/Tav.

AO3 link

A/N: You can watch Gale's reactions to being rescued from Orin's lair here (at 12.32) and here.

Thank you so much @dekariosclan for beta reading and being my marvellous Gale consultant, as always!

****

His scream tears you from sleep. It is shrill, piercing, a desperate flinch against untold horrors. You reach out for him as he gasps, clawing at his orb scar, choking for breath.

When you touch him, he thrashes, still caught in the talons of his nightmare. You see the scars left by Orin in his cloying sweat, his shaking frame, his subsiding shouts as he crumples into you. He cannot hide them from you, much as he tries.

“It was a dream.” You press his head against your chest, twining your fingers through his tangled hair. “You’re safe. You're home.”

He does not speak for a long time. His eyelashes flutter against your skin, his heartbeat jolting through you as he searches frantically for his glade of calm. When he eventually finds it, you feel his hands come to rest on the small on your back, steadying, anchoring. You hold him, torn apart by a gratitude as strong as grief. He is here. You could have lost him, but he is here. You will never let go of him again.

He clears his throat. When he moves back to look at you, his smile does not quite meet his eyes.

“My apologies, my love. I didn't mean to wake you–”

His voice is hoarse, broken. You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologise for, Gale. Absolutely nothing.”

He looks away for a moment. You know you have a brief opening, now, before the mask comes up, before the jolly dismissals and self-deprecating quips resume their well-worn routines. You place your hand on his cheek.

“Gale, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? Everything that happened–”

He jerks his head, taking your hand in his. His skin is clammy, and there is a hollowness in his gaze, though it is still tender as rain-kissed earth.

“I'm fine, Tav. Please don't worry yourself.” A brisk smile of reassurance, warring with the dark circles under his eyes. “Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.”

You are about to object, but the kiss he plants on your cheek is swift and firm. When he rises from your shared bedroll, you feel bereft.

“I'm quite alright. Nothing that a bit of fresh air and a quick walk won't cure.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, squaring his shoulders. The walls are up, and he is retreating into the night. Even as you ask, you know what his answer will be.

“Should I come with you?”

He huffs, bending down to kiss your forehead. “No, please. Rest. I deprived you of a good sleep tonight, and gods knows how many nights before this. I want you to take what rest you can for our battles ahead. I won’t stray far. Don’t worry.”

You cup his face tightly, desperately. “I love you.”

This time, his eyes smile before he turns away. “I love you too.”

*****

In the distance, streaks of dawn tease at the bruises in the sky. Sleep is a triviality that eludes you. You huddle around the campfire, fretting, trying not to mark the hours that Gale has been gone. Trying not to imagine all of the nightmares which were until recently Gale’s reality.

You fail. You think of how Orin must have flayed Gale’s mind from his body as he struggled, powerless and alone. You imagine his terror, not just of torture and death, but of the orb inside him. And you wonder whether he despaired as he waited, doubting that his love would come for him, fearing that his friends had forgotten him. Convinced that he was once again abandoned to die.

‘Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.’

You bury your face in your hands, a chaos of panic, love and guilt. It takes you a moment to register the presence beside you.

“Gods, you look awful.”

Astarion is peering at you like he is examining a torn gown. A trickle of blood stains his collar, the triumph of a late night hunt. He wrinkles his nose as he studies you.

“Do I need to have a word with Gale about laying off on” – his hand circles vaguely – “whatever it is the two of you do at night?”

You do not have the energy to glare at him. Instead, you glance towards the edges of camp, scanning for signs of Gale’s return. When you see nothing, you sigh. Astarion arches an eyebrow.

“Do I really need to explain why Gale might not be in the mood for that?”

Astarion tilts his head. There is understanding in the pause that follows. Astarion had been the one who helped you get Gale down from Orin’s altar, after all. He had seen the turmoil in Gale’s eyes, the blood on his limbs before the healing spells. He had felt Gale’s resistance when you both laid hands on him, easing him up. The fractured moments before Gale’s usual cheery gratitude snapped into place. Astarion would have recognised the signs better than anyone.

“He’s been having nightmares,” you manage. “But he won’t talk about them. He woke up screaming tonight. Then he went for a walk. He’s been gone for two hours.”

Astarion frowns. “If you’re worried for his safety, the wizard is more than capable of blasting people to smithereens.” He purses his lips. “Assuming he’s not magically restrained, like Orin managed–”

You wince at your rising dread. Gale is an archwizard, you remind yourself, not a defenceless babe. You fight the urge to smother him in care, to protect him and keep him safe at all costs. It is not what he needs. But perhaps you do not know what he truly needs.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Astarion stares at you for a while. He leans back, brows furrowed, and you suddenly wonder if you give him enough credit. Perhaps there are things Astarion sees, despite his usual habit of deflecting things with thinly veiled insults.

“Sometimes, there are things that are better left unsaid.” He curls his lip. “Even for Gale.”

You ignore the barb, spinning towards him. “So Gale should just soldier on? Stiff upper lip, the show must go on? Even when he’s falling apart?”

“So dramatic, darling.” He tuts. “Who’s falling apart? He seems fine to me.”

You clench your hands. “The nightmares are getting worse, Astarion. Gods knows what Orin did to him.”

From the feathering of Astarion’s jaw, you know he can guess.

“And he won’t talk to me. Like he doesn’t want to be a burden. Like he’s sorry…” You scoff. “As if it’s his fault, that he’s the one who let me down.”

Astarion narrows his eyes. “If you’re suggesting that it’s your—”

“No, no,” you huff. “No, this isn’t about me. It’s about Gale.”

Astarion sighs. His gaze is weary as a scar.

“Some things are too horrific to share, darling. So atrocious that it’d be a nightmare to even hear them. He just needs to grit his teeth and get through. Survive.”

You struggle to keep the anguish from your voice. “Does he have to do that alone?”

Astarion’s mouth tightens. He averts his gaze. “Maybe that’s what he’s used to.”

You are taken aback by the resignation in Astarion’s words. Conviction rises in you, an unstoppable tide that weaves through the tents of each and every member of the family you have found.

“But he isn’t alone anymore. He doesn’t have to keep it to himself. He isn’t a burden, and there’s nothing he could do or say to drive me away. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him.”

There is a quiver in Astarion’s features. You have a sense of a door cracking open. A glimpse of something ancient and hidden.

“It takes a while,” he says quietly. “To get used to that. To believe it.”

The silence that falls over you is both heavy and light. Within it, a lifetime of loneliness and fear crashes against the battle-forged bonds of love and friendship. And you believe, with every fibre of your being, that love will endure.

Astarion jerks his head behind you. You turn, your eyes filling as they fall on what they seek.

“But if anyone can remind him,” you hear Astarion chuckle, “it’s you.”

*****

When you return to Gale’s tent, you try to settle him, but he is a flurry. His movements drag with exhaustion, yet are manic with determination.

“Is there something I can get you to help you sleep? A cup of tea? A warming spell? Do you need a–”

You embrace him. His breath catches, and you clasp him so close you can feel the points of muscle and bone. The weight of him, the miracle of him beside you. You will never take him for granted.

“Just you,” you whisper. “Here, with me.”

His lips tingle against your neck, his grasp tightening around your waist. For an eternity, neither of you let go. You are haunted by the shadow of your separation, chasing away Orin’s ghost with the strength of your need. When he dips back, his brows are steepled with concern.

“You’re troubled.” He traces his thumb across your jawline. “What troubles you?”

After all this time, he still does not understand. He cannot see how someone could love him so deeply that his pain becomes their own. He still cannot believe that someone could respond to his love by giving him their whole heart. That you could love him as he loves you. An outpouring of the soul. A sacred offering, steadfast and unending.

“That you’re troubled.” Your fingers interlace with his. “That you think your struggles are a burden to me - that I wouldn't want to share everything with you, including your suffering.”

He grimaces so sharply, it is almost a flinch.

“My love,” he heaves. “You quite literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It torments me to know I’ve added to that load, rather than easing it. If I weren’t such a fool to fall for Orin’s trap–”

You shake your head. The force of it stills him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Gale. What happened wasn’t your fault. And what you’re going through now…You don’t have to pretend that everything’s alright. I know it isn’t. I hear it, I see it, every day, every night.”

His eyes widen, the wrinkle between them deepening. You sense the knee-jerk apology that bubbles within him. Your grasp his hand tighter, the words tumbling from you like the sea surging against the shore.

“I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll never abandon you, no matter what happens. You can tell me anything. Everything. Whatever you want. And you can trust me, just like I trust you. Just like I know you love me, and will always be there for me.”

For a while, he does not speak. His gaze roams your face, searching for signs of doubt, hesitation, disapproval. But all you can give him is love.

You draw him back, sinking down to your bed roll. He softens as you curl into each other, his arm wrapping around your body. Your head nestles between his neck and shoulder, and you breathe in the sour tang of his sweat. He inhales deeply, nuzzling into your hair. Memorising you, just as you are soaking him in.

“You kept me alive, you know,” he whispers. “When Orin toyed with me, tore at me. The thought of you, your courage, your kindness. Your love. She could never break me, no matter what vile cruelties she inflicted. I had you.”

Your tears trail into the nook of his collarbone. His voice trembles.

“My foolishness, my carelessness… it could have got you killed. And when you saved me – when, yet again, you saved me from the precipice – I resolved to do better. I told myself the least I could do was cause as little hassle as possible.”

You lurch forward, your vision a blur as you take his face in your hands.

“Gale,” you breathe. “I love you more than anyone and anything. You are not, and will never be, a hassle. A burden. Never. You're the man I love, and you're everything to me.”

His eyes are bright as he brushes away your tears. You watch the shadows lift from his features as the truth of your heart washes over him, wave by wave. Slowly, reverently, he presses a kiss to each of your palms, holding them against his cheeks.

“What have I done to deserve you?”

There is awe in his voice. Wonder. And shimmering within it, the beginnings of acceptance.

You lean forward, circling the tip of his nose with your own. He lets out a shaky breath, his hands weaving around your back, pulling you closer.

“You don't need to do anything. Just be here, with me.”

You smile into each others’ lips, two rivers joining in the sea.

“I can do that.”

********

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think as always, so don't be a stranger 🫶

Liked this fic? Check out my other work

[feyascorner]

blurry eyes

summary. Orin takes Astarion as a hostage and you nearly lose your mind trying to get him back. Even when you do, things aren't the way they used to be.

warnings. angst/comfort

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

a/n. fluffier break from TFBU bec it's draining the soul out of me🧍‍♀️ this is kinda messy but for me orin always kidnaps lae’zel and Im glad it’s never astarion but what if;;;

You're not yourself. Everyone knows it. Not since Orin showed up at camp wearing Astarion's face, his own blood smeared on the poor imitation of the cheeks you love so deeply. She taunted you, smiling wickedly in a way that made your stomach churn before you lunged at her with a blade, only for her to vanish into a mist of red.

You usually prefer to use your silver tongue to get out of a dangerous situation. But now, all you want to see is her blood sprayed across a wall.

There are bags under your eyes, going days without sleep. You hadn't realized how accustomed you'd become to his arms cradling you in the dead of night, his cold hands wrapped around your shoulders and your cheek pressed against the crook of his neck. You hadn't realized how attached you'd gotten to him.

The fight is quick. Despite your companion's warnings to get some rest, you charged into Bhaal's temple the moment you had access to it, and rightfully so, because she didn't stand a chance against your wrath.

And now, even with him at your fingertips, laying so peacefully on a stone slab with his eyes shut, all you can feel is the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You gently touch his cheek, and you find that it's cold, as it's always been. There's a slice of a knife, surely to leave a scar if it's not treated well. You smile a bit, the first time in days, thinking of how he'd complain about the blemish a few weeks from now.

He finally stirs, and when his eyes peel open to your face, his face falls.

"Gods above," he whispers. "Stop with the damn tricks, Orin. I'm no fool."

Your heart breaks. And while all you want to do is wrap him in your arms and wipe away his frown, the adrenaline holding you together is long gone. You're exhausted, you realize, only managing to grab the edge of the stone slab before you crumple onto your knees, vision going blurry.

Ah, maybe you should have rested.

No, not when he'd been here to suffer alone, forced to face Orin's blood-thirst. Not when you'd smelled his blood on her blade.

You want to comfort him, but nothing comes through your throat.

The two of you don't speak much. He doesn't speak much to anyone, for that matter, for a few days. You can sense the uneasiness of your other companions, who don't dare ask what Orin did to him while you'd nearly lost yourself trying to get to him. You don't approach him, fearing he might recoil away.

The only thing you can do is watch over him while he writhes in his bed, drenched with sweat and nightmares you cannot take away. You're not even sure if they're about Cazador or Orin anymore, but you can't bring yourself to touch him or the healing scar on his cheek in hopes of soothing him.

It's only two weeks later when most of your companions have gone out, and it's just the two of you on opposite sides of the room. You rub at your blade with a cloth, numbly focused on sharpening it for a bigger foe while he's still reading his book in a silence that should feel comfortable but only makes your mouth dry.

"Hells, I can't do this anymore."

You blink as he strides across the room, and he's suddenly sitting next to you while you continue staring at him like he grew a mushroom from his head. "Do what?"

"We must talk about---well, you know, darling."

Even in this brittle stage of your relationship, the way he says your nickname is loving. It makes your heart squeeze.

You place the blade on the ground. "Okay. We can talk."

There's a silence that hangs in the air before he sighs. "Torture is not a foreign concept to me, my dear. If my years under Cazador's palace did anything for me, it's made my pain tolerance impossibly high."

You frown. This does not make you feel better.

He eyes you from the side, leaning back on both his hands. "What I'm trying to say is, you don't have to worry so much about me. Even if I were to perish, I'm sure there are other vampires willing to help you with your cause to defeat the Elder Brain, though they'd be considerably less charming."

You're immediately on your feet. "Of course, I was worried about you! And I don't care if you've gone through hell and back, pain is still pain, and I don't want to see or think about you even stepping foot into something like that, much less the temple of the Lord of Murder!"

He stands after you. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Other vampires?" you say in disbelief. "Well, I don't want other vampires, I want the one that I can't even sleep without."

Your eyes are glossy now, and you hate yourself for it. You should be consoling him, not becoming emotional over the torture that he experienced. But the words come out like vomit, and you can't stop yourself.

"Love, please don’t ruin your pretty face with tears,” he tries, hands awkwardly hanging in the air as he struggles to find what to do.

“Don't act like getting kidnapped isn't a big deal," you swipe at your eyes. "You won't even talk to us."

He blinks. "Me? Avoid speaking with you?"

"Yes!"

"Well, forgive me for giving you space. You looked positively demented after you were done stabbing that vile woman to the death, I assumed you needed time to recover before I could approach you."

"What? I was giving you space."

"I assure you it was the other way around.”

“You were avoiding me!”

“Because you were avoiding me!”

You're both just staring at each other now, at a loss of words for what turned out to be a miscommunication that should have been resolved days ago. The silence hangs thickly in the air, and a rush of emotions runs between you two, expressions shifting every few moments before they simultaneously become one.

He purses his lips to refrain from smiling. You stifle a laugh.

Then you're both laughing and while the topic of discussion does not warrant as such, you can't help yourself when days of ignoring one another have come down to such a minor bump between you. When both of you calm, you sigh again, this time in utter relief. "This was anticlimactic."

"It was," he confirms. "But this one time, I don't mind."

Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face into his chest while he returns the gesture by holding you tighter. You stand there a bit, quietly, until he clears his throat.

"For the record, I don't want you to go around searching for other vampires."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

You decide he can tell you more about what happened when the time comes, but now, you're more than happy the way you are.

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

We’re In This Together

Female reader x Dream Visitor | Female reader x the Emperor | I adore them both so why not both | elf daddy smut | mind flayer smut | tentacles literally everywhere | soft domination and mild manipulation | reader’s had the worst day and needs to be absolutely and so sweetly wrecked | PWP | nsfw

You’re having a hard time coping with everything that's happening to you and your crew, but your Dream Visitor knows how to make you relax and keep you on the right path. His path, of course. You know about his true form and you’re intrigued by what those tentacles can do for you. 

AKA please will an eight foot monster wrap his tentacles around you and lovingly use you as his fleshlight.

***

It’s been a bitch of a day. Your stomach is churning as you recall the manic gleam in Gale’s eye when he spoke about keeping the crown’s power for himself. Wyll wants you to decide whether he should sacrifice himself to save his father’s life. Karlach is going to die and you don’t know what to say to her, because there’s nothing you can say. To top it off, Lae’zel has been kidnapped by that madwoman, Orin.

Everything is too much. You rub a tired hand over your face as you sit before the crackling flames of the campfire. Who decided it was a good idea to put you in charge?

Tomorrow. You’ll fix it all tomorrow, you tell yourself as you crawl into your bedroll, your throat burning with despair. Everything will be clearer after a good night’s sleep, or maybe something will kill you and you won’t have to think about it anymore. That would be nice.

There’s blackness all around you as you drift off to sleep, and then stars prickle into life in the sky. You’re no longer at the camp, but in a dreamy, ethereal location with marble columns and purple twining flowers.  

You see a tall elf with long, white hair, a handsome face, and knowing eyes striding toward you. He’s so beautiful that he takes your breath away, but this isn’t his true form. You’ve seen the real one, and he’s a mind flayer.

He stands head and shoulders over you in glinting armour, folds his arms, and gives a heavy sigh. “What a bundle of self pity you are tonight.” But there’s gentleness in his eyes as he says it.

“Shut up, Mr. Perfect. If this is all so easy, switch places with me and you do it.”

“We’re doing this together,” he assures you in that deep, velvety voice. 

Are you? You want to trust him, but you’re still unsure of his motives. 

He reaches out and takes your hand in his enormous one, and the gesture is so kind and comforting and you need comfort so much right now that you allow it. 

Looking deep into your eyes, he says, “I would spare you if I could. You know I’m nothing without you.”

His thumb rubs circles on the centre of your palm and it feels so good. Why does he always know exactly what to say and do to make the tension in your body melt? And other parts of you melt as well.

He knows that, doesn’t he? He knows everything about you because he lives inside your mind.

“Yes, I know,” he says, answering the question that you didn’t ask aloud. “I’m flattered, but I’m nothing thinking about me. I’m thinking about you. I can help you relax,” he offers, the smallest smirk on his lips. “It’s the least I can do for you after all you’re doing for me.”

You’ve seen that smirk before. It’s the same pleased, secretive smile that was on his lips as he boasted that he saved your life. Twice. Then again when you spared his life inside the Astral Prism. He was so proud of himself for convincing you to be on his side, but he is a mind flayer after all. Everything about this species seems to be about domination and power.

“Why have you appeared to me in your elf form?” you ask. 

He flicks a sideways look at you, that same self-satisfied smile on his lips. “No reason. I just felt like it.”

“What’s the real reason?”

“You are too clever, little one. You read me as easily as I read you.” He laughs softly and takes a look around at the heavens. When he finally turns back to you, his eyes have darkened. “Because I’m hoping to seduce you, and I believe you’re more attracted to this form.”

His confession sends a hot spark shooting through you. No doubt this is more manipulation. He’s trying to use you, but maybe you can use him right back.

Experimentally, you reach up and cup the nape of his neck. Stroke his strong jaw with your thumb. He’s solid and warm. Very solid. He feels real. 

Moving toward you, he whispers, “I am real. Close your eyes.”

He waits to see what you will do--lift your chin to receive his kiss, or tell him that you're not crazy enough to try this with him? 

If he wants to touch you, you can think of no better way to relax tonight. Your eyelids drift closed, and a moment later you feel the brush of his lips across yours, soft and questioning.

You open your eyes and you see that he’s wearing not the armour anymore, but robes that reveal his strong shoulders and chest. Heavens, he’s beautiful. The world can go away and leave you alone tonight, because crazy is looking and feeling pretty wonderful right now. 

You hook your fingers into the fabric of his robes and pull his mouth down to yours.

He kisses you insistently, and you moan as his tongue flicks your lips.

“That’s right,” he murmurs softly in between kisses. “Just relax, little one. You’re safe here with me.”

You’re in your soft and thin sleeping clothes, and his large hands slide down to your ass, gathering you closer and kneading your flesh as he pulls you tightly against him. Your body molds to his muscles, you breasts pushing against him and your nipples tingling. This feels more real than anything that happens while you’re awake, and you give into it completely, opening your mouth so his tongue can caress yours. 

He lifts you up in his arms and lays you down on blankets that have suddenly appeared. 

You deserve someone kissing you and holding you like you’re precious. 

It’s so hard being strong and steely all the time.

You don’t have to be strong right now. 

You can be sweet and soft and surrender to this.. 

You frown slightly. Are these your own thoughts, or are they his? Some of them feel like his, as if he’s pushing them into your mind and making you believe them, but you don’t want to shove them away. It’s everything you want to hear right now. 

Your Dream Guardian pushes your robes up your thighs and drags your underwear down your legs, hunger and possession lighting his eyes. He strokes your inner thighs wonderingly, like he’s never felt anything so soft.

Then he pushes your thighs apart and runs his fingers down your sex. “So pretty. I have been imagining the way you taste. I know that it’s...” He lowers his head and caresses you with his tongue, making you gasp and jump. “Wonderful.” 

With a deep, contented sigh, he licks you again. As your breathing picks up, he strokes a finger down your sex, and then pushes it inside of you, all the way to the knuckle. You cry out loudly. Oh, by all the gods in the heavens. Nothing has ever felt so good before. 

As he goes on licking and thrusting his fingers into you, you whimper and clench your hands on the blankets.

“This is one thing I like about this form. A tongue,” he murmurs. 

“Which form do you prefer?” you gasp.

“Whichever you prefer,” he answers smoothly.

This form. Of course this form. Right? How would you even touch and kiss in his mind flayer form?

But even as you’re enjoying his soft tongue on your clit and his thick fingers pushing inside you, your heart and your core crave something...more.

Finally the words spill from your lips. “I want your true form.”

Your Dream Guardian sits up and looks at you, and for the first time you see worry in his eyes. The desperation of someone who hasn’t known intimacy in a long time. “Please let me stay like this. I worked so hard to make you trust me so I could finally kiss you. I can only persuade you so far that you...I don’t want this to end.”

You reach up and touch his face. “Who says it will end?”

He thinks about this for a moment, his fingers still moving in and out of you. Then he lowers his head and tastes you again, more insistently now. His voice is roughened with desire as he says, “You’re already irresistible. If I transform, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let you go until I’m finished with you. It’s a primal form. Everything I have will want to latch onto you. You have to be sure.”

Everything he has. His tentacles? The mental image you get makes heat pulse through you, and he groans.

“Yes, just like that,” he whispers. 

You’re so close to coming. Heat is balling up inside you as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. You don’t want this to end either. There’s so much more the two of you could have together. “Please,” you beg him. “I want your true form.”

He sucks thoughtfully on your clit, and this slowly sits up, considering your body. “It seems a waste not to use this form when I know you like it. Let me just…” He pulls off his long robe so his naked body is revealed to you. A breath-taking form. Strong thighs. A muscular stomach. He’s hard and his cock is thick and beautiful. 

Wrapping his hand around his cock, he moves so he’s braced over you, and you feel the broad, plush head of him pushing against you, and then sinking into you, inch after inch of his length. He’s right. This is wonderful. His body is entrancing as he slowly starts to fuck you. 

With each thrust, you moan louder and louder, your hands clenched on his shoulders. 

“Yes. Beautiful. You’re so good to fuck. You take me so well,” he whispers. His voice is hypnotic. The adoring expression on his handsome face is everything you’ve ever craved. Heat swells inside you with every thrust and drag of his cock. It grows and grows until you can’t take it anymore. Your nails dig into his muscular shoulders and you cry out, pulling him closer and deeper into you until you’re left shaking and gasping. 

“So you do want me like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you as he pulls out of you. “Then let us try the other way.”

You open your eyes to look at him but he covers them with his hand. Suddenly, the air around you shifts. Everywhere you’re touching him suddenly feels bigger.

When he takes his hand away, it’s a purple colour tipped with black claws. Your Dream Guardian is looming over you in his true form, with its tapered skull, luminous eyes, and four long tentacles where a moment ago there was a mouth. 

So strange. But not unfamiliar by now. And...alluring. You reach up and stroke your fingers over his smooth, fleshy tentacles. His hands stay braced against the ground, but his tentacles move over you, exploring your breasts, your hips, between your thighs. 

He watches you carefully as a tentacle pushes inside you, deeper than his cock. Thicker. It pulsates, making you cry out. Your whole body feels alive.

His cock has grown larger and turned a deeper purple than the rest of him, aggressively thickened, and with bumps along the underside and a slightly tapered head.

You don’t get much chance to look at it before he moves closer, the tapered head slipping easily into you, and thrusts inside you. You feel every bump. The tapered head probing sharply. The stretch of a thickness you’re not used to. He feels so strange, but as you cry out, you hold onto his shoulders with both hands, watching in fascination as the monstrous and strange cock moves in and out of you. 

“Yes. This will work. But you need more. I want to give you everything.” His reverberating voice speaks inside your mind.

He pulls out and two of his tentacles snake down to caress your thighs before slowly massaging your sex. Pleasure ripples through you and you close your eyes and relax back. This feels right. This feels even better than his handsome elf form. His tentacles are firm and fleshy and first one of them pushes inside you, and then the other. You reach down and stroke your clit as the thick, slippery tentacles slide and thrust inside you.

He pulls you up and astride him. You put a hand out to steady yourself in his embrace but, faster than a striking snake, his other two tentacles wrap around your body and pin your hands behind your back.

Without pulling his tentacles out, he pulls you firmly and sharply down on his cock. The sensation is overwhelming. You’re not sure if you can take much more. 

You feel a victorious growl inside your mind. He’s hungry for you. Greedy for you. “I have wanted you like this ever since we were connected. I am with you everywhere. I hear all your thoughts. I am always inside your head, but your body has fascinated me just as much. Each time your power has grown and evolved, I have craved you more and more. You’ve held yourself apart from me. You wouldn’t let me dominate you, but now you haven’t no choice.”

His clawed fingers dig into your waist, pricking sharply. Your sex clenches at his possessive, dangerous words, and then allows him deeper. 

You can do this. 

You want this.

A tentacle snakes up and wraps around your throat. You open your mouth to tell him that you don’t want him to stop, but the tentacle pushes past your lips and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I can hear you. I hear every thought you have. You can never hide from me. You’re mine.”

Your mouth waters around his tentacle. You feel saliva stream from the corner of your mouth and down over your breasts. So many wet, squelching, sucking noises fill your ears, along with your muffled moans and the deep rumbling from within his chest.

“You don’t want to think. You want to surrender to me. Have me dominate you completely. Fill you so full until there’s no room for doubt and uncertainty. Until there’s only me. Forever.”

One of the tentacles inside you slowly wriggles free, and he continues to move you up and down on his cock. Almost like a rag doll. You’re helpless in his grip. The tentacle pushes against the tight ring of your ass. That isn’t anything you’ve ever felt before. Your eyes open wide and alarm shoots through you. 

The Emperor sends a soothing impulse into you at the same time as his tentacle slips inside you, just a little at first, and then worming deeper. Gentle ripples flow along its length in time with his cock moving in and out of you. By all the gods, that feels so strange, but so good. Your head falls back. Your eyes close. He moves even deeper into your throat. Deeper into your pussy adn ass. He would never hurt you. He only wants to give you pleasure, and he feels so good everywhere that he’s deep inside you. 

“So good. So obedient, and all mine. This is what I can do for you. Only me. You love this, don’t you? Feel how good it is to surrender and do exactly what I say. Just a little more and we can be together forever. Just a little more. Just a little more…”

The mind flayer pushes deeper and deeper, stretching your ass, and making your pussy throb. Your core is lighting up with every rough thrust. All the delicious tension is winding your body tighter and together.

“You were made to be fucked like this. You were made for me. Only me. ”

Suddenly, all the tension in your body releases in an overwhelming rush. Your core burns with golden light. You feel his victory and self-satisfaction stabbing through you along with his cock, driving your climax higher and higher. You’re his. He owns this pleasure. He owns you. 

Every place he enters you convulses against his cock and tentacles, gripping and squeezing him. His pride and victory turn to urgent pleasure as your body works its magic on him. His thrusts grow sharp and selfish. Needy. Faster. His panting fills your ears and his pleasure fills your mind. He hasn’t let go in so long.

A spasm goes through you as he bursts inside you, and he pulls your body roughly against his and rocks you back and forth in his embrace. You’ve never felt anything like this. You never want to leave him. He lets go of your hands, and you wrap your arms around him. 

Slowly, you both open your eyes. He lays down on the ground, taking you with him and withdrawing his tentacles from everywhere but keeping his cock inside you.

With your cheek pillowed against his shoulder, he strokes you lovingly and murmurs, “I need to stay inside you longer. I’m not ready to let you go. Sleep. You may stay here with me as long as you need to rest. Time passes differently here, and when you finally awake, you’ll be deeply rested, your mind will be clear, and you’ll understand everything you have to do for me. For you. For us.”

You close your eyes, your whole body relaxing and feeling deliciously full, and you drift off into dreamless sleep.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hoped this pleased your horny monster heart. Please leave me a comment/reblog and let me know what you think.

[jimblejamblewritings]

Okay, but picture the party finally makes it to Baldur's Gate and they go to confront Gortash first and maybe stop the coronation (if they can do so without bloodshed or at least without killing Wyll's dad accidentally). Gortash of course spills the beans all about Resist!Durge and the companions are upset. Honestly, this might be a hot take but I think they should be even more upset.

There's something so deliciously angsty (and human) about the companions being upset despite knowing that Durge has no memories of who they were before the tadpole and has actively been working to be a better person. They should try to help them and work through this revelation together but they just can't shake the betrayal long enough to see past themselves. Maybe the character they're romancing (I always feel like Halsin and Astarion work best for Durge so they'll be my placeholders for the rest of this but use whoever you romance) is less irrational. But instead of being fully on their side, they're trying to convince Durge to just give the others time and space to come back.

Maybe even Jaheira and Minsc are struggling because to be a Bhaalspawn is one thing but Durge created this entire trouble they're in now.

Durge is feeling utterly alone as they are avoided at camp like the plague. Even when the group moves into Elfsong Tavern, nothing has changed. Karlach who is normally this wonderful bubbly person is the worst of all. Gortash fucked her over majorly and not only was Durge his ally but was clearly involved with him. She can't find it in her to be reasonable.

(more under the cut)

This leads to Durge still being their leader but with essentially no real respect past how they work... until Haarlep. Durge is actively still trying to be a good person although it's getting harder. But that means they don't want to fight and kill at every inconvenience. When Haarlep gives the ultimatum, they choose to give themselves to the incubus to save everyone from getting hurt. It doesn't work and they still have to fight after all is said and done but at least they got the hammer and Raphael is dead. But now, Durge has no respect.

The first time Haarlep uses their form, the companions are disgusted and making jokes at their expense (kind of in line with game dialogue). And Durge is just going through the motions at this point. Now, this kind of needs Yenna in the camp to work but Orin takes Yenna and confronts Durge when they are alone buying supplies to bring back to camp.

Durge decides to go to the Temple of Bhaal alone. A final show of bravado if you will and a final attempt at keeping everyone safe. They defeat Orin. They say no to Bhaal. And they die on the cold stone floor of the temple all alone with nothing but the random Bhaalist member walking about on the upper floors.

Withers shows up but he can't do anything. Not here. If he plays around with Durge's death in this domain then Bhaal might swoop in and take their soul again. Or worse Bane or Myrkul. Durge has to be in a safer place away from the temple. So he summons a hireling to grab the only alliance member Durge truly has at the moment.

One of Gortash's Steel Watch collects Durge's body and takes it all the way to Gortash's mansion in the upper city. The instructions the hireling delivers from Withers are clear: Do not bury the body. Do not tamper with the body in a harmful way. Leave Durge in a safe room until he returns with what he needs. Collect the party.

Obviously, the party is on edge when a steel watcher shows up with Yenna but they aren't being arrested and the alliance is real even if they don't like it. The watcher doesn't say much in case others are around. The message is cryptic but sounds urgent. They arrive in the upper city and Gortash is completely stripped of all the bravado from earlier.

He's stressing how he isn't responsible for this and "that bone man" left them these messages. Feeling like his life won't be in immediate danger anymore, Gortash finally takes them to Durge's bedroom — his master bedroom and the one they used to share many moons ago. All hell breaks loose.

They try everything. Shadowheart's healing. Any spell Wyll has in his repertoire. Halsin's druid magic. Weird githyanki potions from Lae'zel that they've never heard about before. Karlach using up every soul coin she's got to try and just do something. Astarion stays at the foot of the bed just listening. Everyone keeps watching his face and hopes he'll hear a heartbeat or the faintest of breaths but his facial expression never changes. The revivify scrolls don't work. Gale figures this sacrifice is worth it and uses his scroll of true resurrection. It doesn't work.

Jaheira has to pull them away and say there is still work to be done. The alliance with Gortash is now at its peak with everyone bonded through this tragedy. No one even objects when he takes all three Netherstones. It subdues the brain for now, allows them to plan accordingly. Karlach pushes aside all her pain and lets Gortash know loud and clear that Durge is the only reason she doesn't murder him where he stands. He doesn't even have a quip for that, just nods before getting back to work.

Everyone is concerned about Astarion the most. They all shed tears, screamed, were right messes. He's been void of any visible sadness. It's strange how he's acting like nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

They all keep checking on Durge, late apologies always spilling from their lips. Withers finally returns. They abandon all missions and plans and huddle in Durge's room. But it isn't dramatic. There's no roaring back to life, no huge gasps of breath, no sitting up or calling out. It's like nothing has changed. But Withers did everything. Yet there isn't a difference. Until Astarion sees it. Not a heartbeat to be heard yet but blood begins to warm Durge up. Withers encourages them all to return to work and leave his Chosen to rest. Durge has to stitch themselves back together before their soul can settle in and they can rise.

Halsin and Astarion are the worst at following his instructions. They only half pay attention to plans and never leave for missions at the same time even if the party would benefit from both being there. Halsin refuses to let a steel watcher continue to take care of Durge. He can clean them up from any sweat or dust that acquires on their resting form. He'll change their sleepwear every other night. Astarion is the one to watch them all night, needing the least amount of sleep out of everyone.

The companions start thinking of how to apologize to Durge's face once they finally awaken. It could be any day now. A tray of food and a pitcher of water are left on the nightstand and switched out daily in case Durge awakens while no one is home. Clothes that get washed more frequently than needed are folded neatly and placed on a chair right by the bed. Every garment belongs to Astarion and Halsin even though they know where Durge's wardrobe is.

Astarion actually starts thanking whatever gods are listening when Durge's heartbeat finally reaches his ears. It's not as strong as before but it's there. Everything might be alright he thinks as he calls everyone in. Then the tadpoles connect. Durge isn't even truly awake but the parasite is already back in business. And everyone sees what Durge is going through as they try to wake. Everyone relives the temple, Haarlep, Kressa, every vulnerable moment of Durge. They see the horror of when the urge first appeared. And then a realization that while the others are nightmares and memories resurfacing, Haarlep is now. Durge's form is still being used because why would an incubus care.

It's not an apology by a longshot but the companions decide they can at least take out Haarlep. They've killed a devil. An incubus isn't a threat. For once, both Astarion and Halsin leave.

Breakfast the next day is a lighter affair. Not pleasant, not with them having to tolerate Gortash, but light. And then in Durge's room, they finally awaken. It still isn't dramatic. Maybe because no one is there to make it feel so. Durge gets up, changes into what was folded up in the chair, and shakily exits their room.

The dramatics finally start once they make their way downstairs and into the dining room. Before Durge has a chance to process what all is happening, they are being seated and having a plate set in front of them. Without question, Gortash hands over Orin and Ketheric's Netherstones. Maybe in some fancy accessory or weapon for ease of wielding. Withers appears to look upon his Chosen, happy (as happy as he likes to let on) that they seem to be relatively healthy already.

Karlach begins to apologize first. It's heartfelt and profuse and completely cut off by Durge. That's fine, anger is to be expected. But Durge isn't angry. They aren't even addressing Karlach. Instead, they wearily ask Withers why. Why couldn't he just let them enjoy death in peace. Everyone is shook to their core because they heard Withers' entire resurrection speech. Durge wasn't in the heavens or hells. They were walking in purgatory forever yet somehow that was peace to them.

It's obvious now that Durge isn't tired from having to crawl back to life essentially. They're fatigued from everything, life itself and the cards they were dealt. Durge doesn't even eat the breakfast laid out in front of them. They don't want to hear any plans about anything and especially not about elder brains. All they want is quiet. So they ask Gortash if he still has that garden and that's where they go.

The party takes their time so as to give their leader space but eventually make their way into the garden too. Durge is just sitting there. And they stay there until the sun sets. When they finally do come inside, they only address Astarion and if he needs to feed. He's thrown off guard as he says no. Durge retreats back into their new shell at those words, only going to their lovers' room after being asked.

In the middle of the night, Durge wakes up to find Halsin's arms protectively around them. They turn their head to see Astarion awake and just staring at them. His processing was delayed, a gift of years of disassociation at the hands of Cazador. But now he feels it in full effect and has to make sure Durge is actually alive. He has to hear their heartbeat and watch their chest rise and fall.

Him trying to murmur sweet nothings so Durge can go back to sleep only wakes Halsin whose arms get tighter around Durge before relaxing as he finally comes to his senses. In the dead of the night, Halsin and Astarion are the first to apologize to a living Durge and be heard out. Quietly, Durge accepts it. For a moment, they think they might have been dreaming that something was said. But Durge repeats themselves just a tad bit louder before falling back into deep slumber.

[i-made-a-bg3-blog]

Look, it’s not like Astarion intended on becoming a Harper, it’s just - well, burglary and pickpocketing are a little more difficult when you can’t enter homes without an invitation or go outside during the day, and he’s grown rather accustomed to a certain elevated lifestyle. There are other places he could turn to for money: the city owes him an estate and a title at the bare minimum. But, there’s something to be said for self-sufficiency, and, though he hates to admit it, he wouldn’t make it through three weeks as a noble without being bored out of his mind.

The Harpers need warm bodies (or cold ones, as it were) to rebuild their ranks after Orin’s doppelgangers, and Jaheira’s a savvy old crone who never learned to take no for an answer. She pinpoints Astarion’s two weak spots: a heavy coinpurse and kidnapped children, street kids, the kind no one would miss.

They’re decidedly amateurish criminals, and it doesn’t take him long to track them down and dispatch them, messily and painfully. Four children sit huddled in a cage, and Astarion knows he must look every bit the monster as he picks the lock with hands covered in gore, but they don’t shy away in fear when he opens the door. One of them slips his chubby little hand into Astarion’s and refuses to let go until they reach the safehouse. It’s…odd.

“Good work, Harper,” Jaheira tells him after, and Astarion makes it explicitly clear that he’s simply an independent contractor, an expensive one. 

Jaheira just smirks like the witch she is.

So he contracts. He infiltrates the Guild (and feels insulted when Nine Fingers doesn’t recognize him; he’d like to think he’s rather unforgettable), foils an assassination plot or three, even teams up with Minsc and a turncoat Thayan to stop a gaggle of Red Wizards from doing…whatever it is they do. It’s a good business, he supposes. A hero’s reputation is a small price to pay for a hero’s coffers.

Jaheira’s wise enough to know when to hang up her blades, and it makes her more of an insufferable busybody than ever, which - somehow - becomes Astarion’s problem. First, it’s his own cell, then suddenly he’s the field contact for four others. He’s dragged to the most dreadfully tedious logistical meetings imaginable. The only reason he agrees to any of it is that Jaheira can turn an offhand comment and a raised eyebrow into the kind of challenge that itches beneath Astarion’s skin. It should be all too familiar and just as unwelcome, that burning need to prove himself, but it’s not. It’s different, perhaps, when he isn’t being set up to fail.

Jaheira passes away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of one hundred and ninety-two, and Astarion’s convinced he can hear her grumbling about that all the way from the Fugue Plane. She would have rather gone out fighting, but, privately, Astarion feels like she deserved something gentler than bleeding out on a battlefield. He never did tell her how much he admired her (though he doubts she would have appreciated such open sentiment: ‘I did not realize I looked so terrible that you’ve already started my eulogy.’), but she must have known. He thinks he’s really going to miss her.

Right up until the moment Rion is handing him a pin and leading him to a library full of dossiers and documents. Then, he’s ready to cross the Astral Sea just so that he can bring her back and kill her again. Independent. Contractor. What part of that did she not understand? 

He goes home and locks the door with the full intention of ignoring every Harper that comes knocking. But Harpers are nosy little shits, and after he nearly disembowels one who surprises him by breaking into his house just to tell him the most idiotic plan to dismantle a smuggling ring he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing, he realizes hiding isn’t going to be an option. Besides, Astarion cannot be privy to such levels of incompetence and sit idly by. 

So he helps. Provisionally. Just long enough to find a decent replacement, and then he can wash his hands of the whole thing.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy a task as he had hoped. Every potential candidate lacks something: consistency, creativity, confidence, the common sense to understand Astarion’s eminently logical filing system. It takes him three decades to accept that not only is he excellent at the job, but that he enjoys it immensely. 

When they make him take a title, he chooses Spymaster. It suits him - dashing, mysterious, questionably moral, because he’s never been a hero, and it would be foolish to pretend that he is.

They all call him High Harper anyways.

[dentistpilled]

orin in audrey 2’s mouth.

orin shouldn’t (should?) be in audrey II’s mouth!

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Bhaal Babe

Astarion x Y/N - Drabble - 1.3K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: softie Astarion, reader is Orin's twin, mention of Bhaal, very fluffy, slight hurt/comfort, kinda enemies to lovers?, smidge of angst if you squint

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

You paced your tent as you held the scissors close to your chest. Your long white hair was at the point where you were stepping on it daily; it dragged along the ground no matter how you braided it or attempted to tie it up. You had tried to cut it yourself before but it always turned out uneven and horrid to look at. You sighed before marching over to Astarion’s tent. He sat out front of it, indulging in a goblet of wine and a book he had picked up in the Shadow Cursed Lands. 

“It's never a good sign when someone comes stomping over with scissors in their hands.” he said, taking a sip of wine before placing the cup and the book down. 

You rolled your eyes at the pale elf, you two had a love hate relationship. He always thought you were a goody two shoes, helping everyone who needed it and always being hesitant to violence. Deep down you knew what you were - Orin’s twin; not just her sister - her twin. All you had was visions of your ‘sister’. Slicing your brain and body wildly, laughing while she did so. You knew she wanted to be Bhaal’s chosen desperately. Yet your father preferred you. It was despicable and you tried to resist every vile urge within yourself. Hoping your never ending acts of good could somehow atone the many atrocities you had committed in the past per what your butler had told you of. 

“I need your help.” you said.

“Oh? With what?” he asked, standing up to be eye level with you.

“I… could you please help me cut my hair. Just a bit, I can’t take another day of stepping on it and dragging it across the dirt.” you said, holding the scissors out to him. 

He took them from you, looking at the silver as he spoke to you, “And what do I get? You can't get something for nothing you know.” He smirked at you, holding his hands on his hips expectantly.

You thought for a moment, wondering what you could possibly give him. An idea struck you after a moment, “I can show you your face.” you said, hoping that would be a good enough bargain for him.

His smile faltered, his eyes growing softer “And how can you do that?” he said with an air of disbelief.

“I’m a shapeshifter, duh.” you said, mocking his usually arrogant tone. 

“Alright, sit down. Do you have a brush?” he asked, following you to the center of the tent.

“I can go get one.” you said, moving to go back to your tent.

Astarion grabbed your wrist and yanked you down, “Nevermind that.” he said, pulling out his own brush from his pack in the corner. 

You sat down criss-cross, waiting expectantly for him to begin.

As astarion brushed your hair free of knots he couldn’t help but notice the deep, jagged scars that littered your skull beneath all your thick hair. “Gods…” he said without thinking.

You winced away from him, his fingers untangling themselves from your scalp. “Just… cut it. You … don’t have to… ummm… do that.” you said as you leaned back hesitantly. 

Astarion set the brush down, gathering up your hair so he could cut it straight across, about five inches up from the end. He cut it before going back and slicing some random cut so it didn’t look so straight across, more natural. “That should do it.” he said, standing up and handing you back your scissors. 

Your demeanor had turned quiet, abnormally quiet. Your eyes looked anywhere but at him as you stood. “A deals a deal…” you mumbled before contorting yourself, your bones snapping before you twisted your head back into place, taking Astarion’s form.

He looked at you absolutely gobsmacked, completely silenced in shock. He reached out to touch your face, moving his hands over your face he traced all his features. “It's.. been so long since I’ve seen this face…” he mumbled. “Can I… see my back? To see the scars.” he said, a tinge of pain in his voice and desperation in his eyes.

You turned around, pulling your shirt over your head. You could feel that his hands were hovering above the scars, just not touching you. “What did he do to me?” he said.

You put your shirt back on, twisting your body back into yourself. “I’m sorry… about what happened to you…” you said to him, holding yourself.

“You too… your scars were thicker than mine. I don’t know how you’re alive if they sliced your head like that…” he shrugged. You could tell he was trying to be genuine, just not totally sure how to be. 

You stumbled towards him, unsure of why you were about to do what you were about to do. You hesitated but slowly wrapped your arms around Astarion. Holding gently but close, leaning your head against his chest before you let your eyes flutter closed. 

He faltered for a moment before indulging in your warmth. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, you both falling into a slight sway as you embraced. “Perhaps we aren’t as different as we think.” he whispered.

You hugged him tighter. “It was my sister… I’m a Bhaal spawn…” you said hardly above a whisper.

Astarion’s eyes widened, he leaned back slightly to look at you. Your completely white eyes were difficult to read but your facial expression and brimming tears were plain as day. “I’m so scared of myself all the time… I don’t know who I am and I’m so worried I’ll hurt one of you, especially you… I don’t want to be like this…” you said, finally letting your tears spill over.

“I know what it is to not have control over your body, your actions… to be ruled by a cruel master…” he said, wiping your tears away with his thumbs before he held your face in his hands. “Being a child of Bhaal… that is no easy thing… But I know this - you are no true Bhaal spawn.” 

Your eyebrows drew together, curious of his next words.

“You are far too kind. Far too independent… Far too - good.” he said, with a slight smile gracing his lips. A true smile, only meant to comfort you. 

You nodded slightly, thankful for his words. You leaned up, kissing his cheek, “Thank you.” 

“Whatever it is, whatever plagues your mind - it wont have you. I’ll be here to make sure of it darling.” he said, slowly releasing you from his grasp. 

You sniffled, wiping your nose and cheeks as you tried to compose yourself once more. You both looked at each other with sympathy for a moment. “Looks like you’re a big softie on the inside.” you said with a chuckle, holding yourself once more.

“For the right person, I can be.” he said, kissing your forehead. “Goodnight, my little Bhaal babe.”

“Goodnight Astarion.” you said, squeezing his hand before you both let go and returned to your respective tents.

You sat down in front of your ornate mirror you… borrowed from the Szaar Palace after you had vanquished Cazador. Astarion had beat his master and made the benevolent choice by not performing the Black Mass. Perhaps you could defeat your demons too. You began braiding your hair to protect it from tangles in the night. He had cut it perfectly. You reached behind to gather the last of it, noticing a small, frail stem of flowers tucked away in the thick of it. 

Lily of the Valley - your favorite flower. 

That spawn would be the death of you. With every small action, every kind word - you felt your heart ache at the very thought of him. You had to beat this; if not for you, then for him.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello all :) I hope this is a good one for ya'll, it is definitely a favorite of mine. I got some shitty news today at the doctors, they found a lump in my breast so I have to go get additional testing done to see if its a cyst, fibrous tissue, or (worst case) cancer. All in all, I could use a little comfort from our vampy boy while I anxiously await the ultra sound that I have to go get sometime soon. Anyways, I'll probably write again soon but IDK who for. Love ya'll lots and thank you for all the support <3 xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[optimisticgrey]

You could have done anything. Gone with anyone. Yet you chose me.

Part 2 of 3

personal note: This is for all the redeemed Dark Urges. We never got our Durge night with Halsin and only pathetic attempts of dialogues after rejecting Bhaal. I hope I did us justice.

summary: You enter Bhaal's temple to free Halsin and kill Orin. It doesn't turn out exactly as planned.

content warning: This is dark, bloody and monstrous. It includes torture, major character death and lots of blood.

Theme song: Apocalyptica - Scream for the silent

word count: 4,6k

AO3 Link

The stench hits you before the door fully opens. Thick and vile, a choking blend of rotting flesh, dried blood, and decay. It wraps around you, clings to your lungs, creeps down your throat.

You flinch on instinct, but your body reacts differently. Your shoulders loosen, your breath evens. That horrible, unwelcome familiarity washes over you, and you despise it.

It’s not comfort. Not truly.

It’s memory. Muscle memory.

A reflex born from blood-soaked years and a past you’d hoped would stay buried. This place once was home. Your sanctuary. Your playground.

The place you slinked back to after every kill in the city, preparing to torture, mutilate and sacrifice on this sacred ground, every mission done in the name of your father - Bhaal, God of Murder.

The realization sends a cold shudder through you, one that has nothing to do with the damp air.

You glance back. The others meet your eyes with quiet understanding. No questions, no judgment, only the steadying weight of their presence.

Just as they did after your outburst this morning, back at camp. You had apologized with flushed cheeks, eyes swollen and red-rimmed eyes, unable to meet their gaze, your stare fixed on your trembling hands.

And though they had every right to scold you, to lash back at you for letting anger and fear take the reins, they did not.

They did not raise their voices, not even once. They simply stayed. Quiet, steady, unwavering in their presence. Each of them. Just as they always have.

It meant more than you could ever put into words. More than even your quietly whispered thank yous could possibly express. You were not sure they understood how much this kind of grace meant to you, how deeply it reached into the wounded parts of your soul and soothed them.

Once you dried your tears and tightened your armour, you let them take the lead. Gale took charge, coordinating resources, assigning roles with the calm clarity that only he could bring in moments like these. He sent Karlach and Lae’zel to restock potions and ingredients, while he set to work preparing what he could himself, sleeves rolled, hands steady even though his eyes kept flicking toward you occasionally.

And you did nothing. You just sat, hands limp in your lap, eyes fixed on the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance but feeling none of their warmth.

Everything felt distant. Muffled.

The others did not push. They did not ask anything of you. They simply came, one by one - placing steaming mugs of tea into your hands when yours had grown cold, offering bites of food. Small kindnesses. Gentle reassurances of their presence and care.

Yenna. Wyll. Gale. Astarion. Karlach more than once. Even Lae’zel, in her own way; hovering just a little closer, sharpening her blade with deliberate noise, as if reminding the world not to try anything foolish while you were down.

It should have helped. It did not.

Because the battle inside you had not ended. It had only shifted.

The rage still burned at your core. No longer a bubbling volcano, but a steady, seething heat - coiled tightly in your chest, waiting.

You tried to smother it. You reminded yourself again and again of how far you have come. Of the control you have built, step by fragile step. Of the countless times you chose mercy and diplomacy over instinct and violence. Kindness over cruelty.

But thinking of Orin...thinking of her hands on him, the smile she wore when she hurt people just to see if you’d agree of her approach, praise her for her finesse or scold her for ending a sacrifices life to quickly…

It was easier to think about what you will do to her than it was to think about Halsin. Easier to plan pain than to sit frozen in fear.

Because the moment you let yourself think of him – his eyes, his smile, his laughter, his gentle touch, the way his hands reach for you - the ache came roaring back. The bone-deep, soul-crushing panic. The unbearable helplessness. The hollow, excruciatingly loud what if that carves your insides open.

And the tears rose again.

Your fingers curled around the little wooden duck he carved for you, hidden beneath your armour, strung on a simple leather cord. You held it tight, as if it could anchor you. As if it could keep you from falling apart entirely.

Your breath hitched. Your muscles coiled. You felt as if you might shatter under the weight of it.

So, you did what you always do: you buried it. All of it. You shoved the grief down, sealed the fear away, pushed the longing aside. Focussed on all the cruel, gruesome things you could. To bring as much pain and suffering through Orin’s prolonged death.

And when Gale finally stood at dusk, murmured that it’s time, the others rising in quiet agreement around him, you rose with them.

Their silent support grounds you enough to move forward now, step by step, into the familiar dark.

Your boots echo against the stone stairs. The air grows heavier, thicker with the weight of old and new death alike. Corpses hang from rusted hooks, their bodies twisted and brutalized. Faces smashed beyond recognition. Bones shattered in ways that once made you feel powerful.

Now, they only make your stomach churn.

One face draws your attention. A man. His features contorted by pain you can almost still hear. You do not recall his name, but the sound of his screams lingers. Faint. Distant. Like a memory that belongs to someone else.

Your jaw tightens as you push forward. You are not this person anymore. But this place remembers. And so does your body.

“Best not to dwell on the past,” Astarion murmurs beside you. When you glance at him, he offers a wry smile. “There will be enough bloodshed ahead, darling.”

You continue your descent, unease prickling across your skin. Something feels wrong. Off.

Your eyes sweep the cavern, settling on the ruined structure beyond the stone bridge. Your instincts flare. Your arm shoots out across Karlach’s chest, halting her mid-step.

“Soldier?”

You drop to your knees, fingers combing through the blood-soaked soil. Your eyes flutter closed as your mind scrambles, chasing some half-formed memory and your fingers search for something your mind remembers. And then…Ah!

A sound so soft you nearly miss it over the distant drip of water (or blood) and the quiet shuffle of boots behind you. But it is there, a mechanical twitch beneath the earth, a whisper of a trap revealing itself. Your fingers curl around the edge of a hidden pressure plate buried.

“There’s a trap,” you mutter, more to yourself than the others, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. You brush more dirt away, exposing the faint shimmer of runic etchings, dull and dormant for now.

“Astarion, if you would be so kind,” you grin while you stand up.

“Certainly, darling,” he grins and turns to his task, ever so casual in the face of looming danger. You scan your surroundings, muscle memory taking over before your mind even fully catches up.

There is a ledge to the right, perched over the abyss. You remember it just in time. Your shield snaps into place a heartbeat before you shoulder Gale aside.

He stumbles, eyes wide as he looks at you in surprise - just as an arrow shatters against the rock where he had stood a second ago.

You do not even glance at the impact. Your eyes are already moving, calculating. Astarion remains hidden, sharp and precise in his movements, retreating a half step as he finishes the delicate task of disarming the trap.

“Three archers,” you whisper under your breath. “At least. The distance shouldn’t pose too much trouble, but I’ll need backup. They can mask themselves in the shadows, but I’m certain—”

“How do you know that?” Karlach asks, brow raised.

You sigh as you draw your sword. “Because I placed them there, Karlach.”

The silence that follows is brief but heavy.

You turn to Gale, meeting his eyes. “Can you get me over?”

He nods, but his jaw tightens. “I shall accompany you.”

“It’ll be close combat. I’d rather not see you skewered before we even make it into the temple.”

Gale hesitates, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

“I’ll join you,” Astarion cuts in smoothly, twin daggers glinting in the dim light.

Gale lifts his hands in exasperated surrender. “Kindly note, for the official record of today’s catastrophes, that I am most reluctant to endorse this particular course of action.”

You smirk faintly, half-amused despite the tension curling in your gut. “Noted.”

Then you close your eyes, inhaling deeply. The scent of the stone and blood and the faintest tinge of rot fills your lungs. A shiver runs down your spine as Gale’s magic begins to hum beneath your skin, a gentle pull wrapping around your body.

You exhale slowly and close your eyes for a brief moment before your boots find the stone beneath them again. You know the archers are out here, hiding in the shadows. But whether you feel them or remember them does not matter.

The first scream splits the silence, echoing through the cavern, sharp and jarring against the heavy stone walls.

“Found one,” Astarion calls, his voice light as he parries a second attacker with a swift flick of his daggers. He shifts his stance, trying to press forward - but his heel slips near the cliff’s edge, your pulse spikes.

You do not think, you move.

Blade sinking cleanly into the archer’s side, your body twists with practiced force, a shove of your boot sending the limp form over the cliff and into the dark below while your hand catches Astarion arm to steady him.

You meet Astarion’s gaze. His grin mirrors yours.

Continue on AO3

[meanbossart]

Sorry if you answered this, I did go through your asks a bit but didn't find an answer and I was just curious if you have any lore regarding the drow and Orin? Does he have, like, any thoughts regarding her as a pseudo-sister or she is just a henchmen that stabbed him in the back? Or like, regarding the fact it was her betrayal that got him out from the cult and eventually meeting Astarion and the gang? I feel a lot of people sanitize the Durge a little too much (which fair reaction, they are very fucked up in the game 😂) so I love hearing about people who have their durge lean on their violent weirdness

Huh! I guess it's been a minute since we've talked about Orin. Yes, their relationship was very significant and you should be able to find all that I've written and drawn with/about her here (save for anything I forgot to tag, which happens sometimes, lol.)

Also as a side note to everyone, please abstain from making comments about how other people choose to write their Durges (and Astarion for that matter) in my askbox, it is rarely (If ever) necessary.

Anyways, I guess this is a good opportunity to try and put it all down cohesively, so here we go:

DU drow came into the Bhaal temple at ages 17-19, he had lived a profoundly isolated life up until that point where his only constant companion would have been the lackey Sceleritas and, for a time, a horse. He had no friends, no companions, and killed the one woman he lost his virginity to the day after he met her. Sarevok and the rest of the Bhaalists taking him might have been a mockery of a family unit, but it was the closest he ever had to it nonetheless - and by far the one person in it that he felt the closest to was Orin, who was close to him in age and in that moment in time occupied a similar place in the temple's hierarchy as himself.

It's important to note here that when I say they were close, I'm talking about a closeness befitting of Bhaalspawn. They didn't share any good times; they had bad times together. And they enjoyed it to the extent that two profoundly dysfunctional young adults groomed to become murderous deities can. There was no tenderness here, feeling was expressed through violence and vulnerability wasn't only discouraged, it straight up wasn't practiced or even conceptualized in either of their heads. They killed together, mocked one-another, and hurt each other on the regular, and it's through those actions that they saw each other.

And yet, DU drow felt a burning limerence towards her from the moment he laid eyes on Orin, and this feeling never faltered, only grew. Orin cut off his matted hair in a careless, uneven slice of a blade, she pulled out his rotting molars with rusty pliers, she mocked his stink and resented his arrival (dare I say she was afraid, because she knew what it meant) but they had much more in common than they had in difference. This was a silent understanding, a screaming fact of life that led to them often gravitating towards each other in both packed and empty rooms, but never once discussed aloud.

I have no doubt that what would eventually become this Rabid, burning crush and later obsession of the drow's towards Orin is a result of their continous Isolation. The rest of the world was beneath them and temporary, and above was only Sarevok and Bhaal. Because of this, DU drow never once thought or desired to search for companionship and love anywhere besides for her, and so he started to see her not only as the vague concept of a sister, but also as his only option for a mate and wife, one which he embraced wholeheartedly (and that's putting it lightly).

Orin, on the other hand, had no such desires. Not to mention that her fear of being replaced and the implied consequences of it always spoke louder than any genuine feelings of comradery.

As DU drow ascended in the ranks and became head of the cult, those fears solidified in several ways. Not only did Sarevok favor him and she could feel herself being pushed aside, but DU drow's ego grew tenfold. What was once a quiet young man who saw himself as an equal to her became a self-righteous bhaalspawn who lavished in his role and all the boons that came with it. DU drow took everything he had acquired for granted, including her, whom he assumed would eventually succumb and become his romantic partner.

It didn't help that Sarevok subtly encouraged this partnership, thinking that through their children they could continue to produce bhaalspawn of a purer and more efficient pedigree.

Ironically, DU drow's disillusions went so far that he never once in his life thought Orin would turn against him, and as much of an egomaniac as he became, his love for her was always genuine - misguided, but genuine, and he never once wished for her death until she betrayed him. Realizing this, as well as that Bhaal would only accept one chosen, she struck, putting the tadpole in his head and sending him off to Kressa.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Hi! I was wondering if you take request for Astarion and co.? The reader gets an aura migraine (worst kind of migraine in my opinion). But because of her/their past being a mercenary/hunter/warrior (whichever one), the reader doesn’t tell or even realize it until it’s too late. Just some angst and then love and care from Astarion.

I love your writing! So please take all the time you need to write this if you want to.

HIHI I'M SORRY FOR NOT POSTING FOR SO LONG!!!!!!! I've been very tired as of late from all the schoolwork and I swear it's almost like I don't have any down time. Writing through this slog has been difficult as well and I don't like forcing/rushing things. Still, I managed to finish this, hope you like it!

Summary: You collapse right in front of Astarion due to a particularly bad aura migraine episode. Panic and emotional constipation ensues

Your head is splitting. Again.

Inhaling sharply, you let out a slow breath, willing the pain away so that you can focus on the task at hand. Black spots creep in on the edges of your vision but you blink them away, you can’t falter now. You swing your blade, slicing through another of Orin’s assassins before ducking as a dagger stabs the spot your head was at just moments ago.

Even with spotty vision, your battle instincts are enough to help you survive the fight, but you don’t emerge from the fight unscathed. One of the assassins manages to sneak up on you and gets a hit in, tearing open your shoulder.

“Y/N!”

You hiss in pain, whirling around to cleave the assassin in half with your blade. Your injured arm shakes from the exertion, fresh blood streaming from the wound with each motion. The throbbing pain doesn’t help your migraine in the slightest and you nearly keel over.

“My dear, you look terrible.” Astarion catches you just before you hit the floor, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine.” You grab onto him to steady yourself, blinking as your vision begins to swim and push yourself upright, flashing him a grin. “See? Perfectly fine!”

And then the world spins before fading to black.

Bright light fills your vision as you open your eyes, causing you to throw your arm up to block out the light, only for white hot pain to shoot through said arm.

Right. You had injured your arm.

Groaning, you rub your eyes with the other arm and tenderly push yourself upright, letting out a croaky yelp when your injured arm buckles beneath you. Closing your eyes, you breathe out slowly, releasing your annoyance at the current situation.

“How are you feeling?” A familiar deep voice sounds.

“Fine.” Your reply comes out harsher than you intended and you internally cringe when Halsin noticeably pauses, taken aback by your tone.

“Sorry,” you mutter quickly. “How long was I out for?”

“Sufficiently long to make everyone worry.” He hands you a flask of water. “Drink up.”

You down the flask almost immediately, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat and let out a contented sigh. The throbbing in your head has dulled to a quiet hum, but it will remain for a few more days, if past experience is anything to go by.

"Thank you." You hand the now empty flask back to Halsin.

"If you're feeling well enough, you should go and talk to the others. Some of them were particularly worried when you fainted on them." Halsin gives you a sly smirk. "Especially a certain vampire."

You raise an eyebrow and Halsin laughs, "he was the most worried. I had to chase him out of the tent just so I could tend to you."

"He was that worried," you murmur to yourself, frowning slightly. You hadn't meant to do that, well not like you had meant to faint in the first place but knowing just how much of an impact your little 'accident' had on Astarion made you feel bad.

"Watch yourself out there, you were lucky you only collapsed after all the enemies were defeated," Halsin chides as he rebandages your wound and hands you a healing potion. "Try to tell someone when you're not feeling well, alright?"

You laugh, waving him off, "I'll try, no promises though."

The moment you exit the room, the others rush over to check up on you, save for a pale elf who sends a scowl your way before disappearing into his own room, his door left ajar. You reassure the others, quickly making your way past the conversations and slip away with Halsin's help, ducking into a familiar room.

"Hey." You attempt to make conversation but a scowl remains firmly on his face, his gaze buried in the book he's holding. Sighing, you make your way to the bed and nestle into the remaining space, feeling his cooling skin press against your burning one.

"I'm sorry for making you worry."

"You're sorry? That's it? You're not going to explain why I suddenly had your unconscious body in my arms, why you had the audacity to tell me you were 'perfectly fine' before collapsing, why you —" He stops to take a breath he doesn't need, feeling every emotion rush to the surface and tears prick the corners of his eyes. He's mad, mad at you for not telling him anything, mad at himself for not noticing earlier, mad at himself for not being able to express his concern in a normal manner.

"Star…"

"You can't just say sorry and expect everything to be ok! Sorry fixes nothing!" He yells, wanting nothing more than for you to yell back at him so that he can release the emotions he doesn't know how to deal with in the only way he knows how but you remain quiet, head hung low, and that frustrates him even more.

"You're right. Sorry fixes nothing. I…" You let out a deep sigh, lifting your gaze to meet his. You can see the tear streaks that have formed, the fear in his eyes, the anxiety and it steals your breath away.

"Halsin wasn't kidding. You really are extremely worried for me." You can't help but give a small chuckle despite it all, a quiet smile making its way onto your face.

"Of course I'm worried!" Astarion snaps.

"Thank you for being worried." You slip your hand into his. "No one's ever been this worried about me before."

"Have you fainted in someone's arms before?" He huffs, annoyed, but he has simmered down.

"Well…not quite. I always went on quests alone, fought alone, but the times I wasn't alone…let's just say things didn't go so well for me." You laugh, giving his hand a squeeze. "You all…you…are the first people I don't mind calling friends."

He clicks his tongue and looks away, but you can see the red on the tips of his ears. Your own cheeks are burning from the confession, your heart thundering like never before and you want nothing more than to bury your face into your knees.

"Why aren't you angry at me?" He mumbles after a while, still refusing to meet your gaze.

"Is there a reason I should be?" You murmur, running your thumb along his skin. His grip on you tightens and he bites his lip, shifting anxiously.

"There are many." The words leave his lips in a whisper and he wishes he could take them back when he sees the way your face falls.

"I can't think of any. I can, however, think of reasons for you to be angry at me." You shake your head. "I should have told you about my migraines earlier instead of having you find out like that, I should have done more than a simple 'sorry', I should have thought about you instead of just keeping to myself."

"You were just doing what you knew was safe. I'm no better."

"But you chose to open up to me. You spilled your deepest darkest secrets and yet I kept mine from you because I didn't want to look weak. I should have returned the favour, but I didn't." All your regrets come spilling forth, its flow stemmed only by the feeling of soft lips against your own.

He kisses you gently at first, and then it deepens, becoming more urgent as he conveys his feelings to you the only way he knows how.

"You're strong. You're the strongest person I know. You've been through so much, and yet you refuse to let any of it stop you. You've been dealing with your migraine by yourself for so long, putting up with the pain by yourself, nothing about that is weak in the slightest." He presses his forehead against yours, pulling you into his embrace. "Let me share in your burden as you share in mine."

"It's only fair, I suppose." Your lips curve into a grin. Letting out a quiet breath, you entangle your fingers in his curls, feeling him lean into the touch. "Promise?"

"Promise," he murmurs back, soaking in the moment. There's only you and him, bodies pressed against each other, embracing like it's the last time you'll ever see each other, washing away the throbbing in your head and the ache in his heart.

He closes his eyes, relishing in the warmth of your body tightly pressed against him, breathing in your scent that speaks of love, comfort, safety, feeling the rhythmic strokes of your fingers through his hair, and wants for nothing else. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he smiles, genuinely, and saves this moment in his memory.

"Get well soon, my love."

[donat-senpai]

This work lay in drafts for a very long time. Now I have translated everything. Woohoo! (Reminder: English is not my native language. There are mistakes here)

Please don't read this if you are uncomfortable with the yandere! Pairing: Yandere! Ketheric Thorm x Reader, Yandere! Enver Gortash x Reader, Yandere! Orin the Red x Reader tw: platonic obsession, manipulation, restriction of freedom, mention of murders

I'm ready to throw an idea at you. Attention. You get into the bg3. BUT you aren't Tav and you aren't together with Tav. You find yourself among the Chosen Three. And they become platonic yandere!

Ketheric Thorm, Enver Gortash and Orin the Red will know that you know about their future. You know how to achieve certain events, as well as how to prevent it. Keeping you close is not only a necessary measure, but also an advantage. From now on, they must do everything to prevent Tav from finding out about you and taking you away.

You spend the least amount of time with Ketheric Thorm. As the leader of the army, he is always in the most dangerous places of the war. Besides, the Moonrise Towers are a dangerous place. There are a lot of killers there. You are usually in full view of Ketheric. Over time, you begin to get used to it. Ketheric listens, but often doesn't pay attention. You can tell him anything. At this time he goes about his business, sometimes nodding to you. But if you suddenly ask him a question, he will simply look at you menacingly, making you afraid. The old man is not angry. He just didn't remember anything you said and doesn't want to admit it. Your voice helps him not to worry. If you're still talking, it means you haven't been eaten. Therefore, he can continue his business. When you leave the Moonrise Towers, Ketheric looks with bitterness at the things you leave behind. It reminds him of the times when he was still a father. Perhaps he will put your drawing or note in one of his books.

Orin will become friend or foe depending on your decision. If you refuse to help them, She will find ways to make you talk. Her ideas about the world are very perverted, so friendship with Orin barely differs from enmity. She will take great pleasure in fooling around with you. She likes to scare you by telling you colorful ways of killing you. You will probably not be able to make friends because of her. It's hard to trust someone and tell your secrets when that someone could be Orin herself. She will need time to convince Gortash and Ketheric to allow you to visit the Bhaal’s Temple. They don't trust Orin. The more disgusted you are by the atmosphere of her temple, the more fun she will experience. In the depths of his bedroom, Orin will get a little soft. She will let you play with her hair. And she will talk about the teachings of Bhaal, but not with the intention of scaring, but with the desire to share something hidden for her. She will also want to teach you how to make a sacrifice to her god correctly. If you refuse, she will be upset, but will not insist. (Gortash made it clear to her that she should not break you.) Then she brings you back and avoids you for a week or two. It's new for her to feel this way. Not even her family received this honor. When she calms down and copes with unusual emotions, she will visit you again. And she will promise to kill you in the most beautiful way possible when necessary. It's not a threat. This is her expression of love.

It is with Lord Gortash that you spend the most time. His castle is safe, and the Steel Watchers walk around the city everywhere. You are well dressed and always look great to match him. High society is asking questions about who you are to him. Are you a lover, relative, decoration or pet? Only you and Gortash know that you are a means to achieve his goals. And only Lord Gortash knows that you are someone he has grown more attached to than he should have. He gives you almost anything you want, but expects you to cooperate in return. In addition, Gortash believes that just looking beautiful next to him is not enough. Therefore, all your free time (which is not much) will be occupied with training. If you escape from the castle (which is absolutely impossible), the guards will bring you back. Gortash is perhaps the only one among the owners of three stones who understands that your usefulness is not constant. Everything can go along the route you know with minor changes in his favor. Or it may happen that what is happening will become completely new even for you. Sometimes he jokes that he will throw you out when you become useless. But you still remember how Lord Gortash got angry at the impudent Count for asking to take you as his wife and Gortash ordered the insolent man to be executed.

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Somewhere in the universe, the Emperor turns the table in a rage and demands Tav to quickly find and save (kidnap) you. (I don't know how he found out about you ._.)

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Tav sighs tiredly and silently agrees. They're too tired of all. They just hope that their new future ally will be a little less problematic than everyone else in the camp.