#tav || echo

[mossydice]

"Your hands are bound with your father's fate, but who tightens the knot aasimar?" || god I'm so normal about Echo's connection to Ilmater and how they dont' tell ANYONE for the longest time. fool of an elf

[ladyofrosefire]

Companions by how likely they are to call Jaheira "mom"

or mum. or some other variant.

Karlach: I think there is a party banter line of hers that actually has her do this. Regardless, yes, she has. Repeatedly

Wyll: he called her 'father' and that is somehow worse

Shadowheart: not as frequently as certain party members, but it just makes everyone so sad

Gale: more than once, entirely accidentally, and he immediately followed it with such a deluge of other words that no one noticed

Astarion: he insists he was being sarcastic

Minsc: he did this exactly once, ages ago. The only person who talks about it is Boo

Lae'zel: far, far more likely to call her commander than mother, but she does it in a tone that might as well be "mom"

Minthara: no one can decide if it's scarier if she was making a joke or if she was flirting

Halsin: no, thank every god. He just teases her good-naturedly about the others

Bonus!

Isobel: on more than one occasion, and the first time involved some crying

(thank you to notaficwriter and capitola for joining me in composing this list over on Haven)

[miraculan-draws]

Ildàn's tattoos finally nailed down!! his gender...is everything to me

[leopardmuffinxo]

you will quiver and shake and whisper my name like a fervent prayer

[moonslittlestar]

If we could just hold on a little longer.

[nexelart]

held. secured.

[rielzero]

Loki: *panicked screeches in bat form*

Astarion: Calm down! Just think of transforming into something else.. it'll happen.

Loki: *turns into a rat*

Astarion:

Loki: squeaks.

Astarion: Darling, you look like an absolute snack.

[bladesandbhaalspawn]

Echoes of Innocence

A Post-Epilogue Gale Story

Pairing: Gale x Tav (she/her)

Words: 1k

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57591922

Inspired by: @hyperfixationstation128's post about Gale being terrified as a dad to a young son who shows magical prowess.

TW: Brief mentions of Gale's past abuse (grooming) - nothing is explicit.

Story Summary: For a moment, Gale was mesmerized. The sheer talent and potential his son displayed filled him with awe. But then, a cold dread settled in his stomach. Memories of his own childhood, of the moment Mystra had chosen him, came rushing back. ----- In the heart of Waterdeep, Gale Dekarios lives a peaceful life with his beloved wife and their talented son, Evander. When Evander reveals his budding magical abilities, Gale is torn between pride and fear. Haunted by his own childhood as Mystra's Chosen, Gale vows to protect his son from the same fate. Echoes of Innocence explores the bond between father and son, the weight of past traumas, and the fierce determination to shield the innocent from the darkness of the world.

Gale Dekarios stood at the window of his study, overlooking the bustling streets of Waterdeep. The city was alive with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet serenity he cherished within his home. His gaze softened as it landed on the garden below, where his young son, Evander, played with a wooden staff, imitating the moves of the great wizards he had heard about in his bedtime stories.

Evander was the very image of his father, with dark hair that curled at the edges and eyes that sparkled with curiosity and intelligence. Gale’s heart swelled with pride every time he looked at him. He remembered the first time he had held Evander, a tiny bundle of warmth and promise, and how he had vowed to protect him from all the darkness in the world.

Tav entered the study, her presence as comforting as always. “He’s been practicing something special,” she said with a knowing smile. “He wants to show you.”

Gale’s eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Oh? And what might that be?”

“He’s been quite secretive about it. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

Gale followed his wife to the garden, where Evander was now standing with a look of determination on his face. “Papa, watch this!” he called out, excitement evident in his voice.

Gale knelt to be at eye level with his son. “I’m watching, Evander. Show me what you’ve got.”

Evander took a deep breath, his small hands gripping the staff tightly. He closed his eyes and began to chant softly, words of arcane power that Gale recognized instantly. A spark of light appeared at the tip of the staff, growing brighter and more intense until it burst into a dazzling display of colours, swirling and dancing in the air.

For a moment, Gale was mesmerized. The sheer talent and potential his son displayed filled him with awe. But then, a cold dread settled in his stomach. Memories of his own childhood, of the moment Mystra had chosen him, came rushing back.

He had been playing in the garden of his family home, much like Evander now, casting spell after spell. He remembered the precise moment when the air around him had shimmered and Mystra appeared. She had been radiant, her presence filling the space with an otherworldly light. Her hair shone like spun silver, cascading in waves down her back, and her robes flowed around her like liquid starlight, barely concealing the womanly form underneath. The sheer power that emanated from her skin was palpable, an aura of magic that made the very air vibrate.

Her voice had been gentle, yet filled with authority, when she had spoken his name.

“Gale Dekarios,” she had said, her eyes piercing through him with a gaze that felt both warm and commanding. “You have been Chosen.”

He had felt so special, so grown-up, standing before the goddess. He had puffed out his chest, eager to prove himself worthy. The world had seemed brighter, filled with endless possibilities. Mystra had placed her hand on his head, and he had felt a surge of power, a direct connection to the Weave itself.

“You will do great things,” she had promised. “You will be my instrument in this world.”

Gale’s smile faltered as he looked at Evander, who was beaming with pride. The boy’s face was flushed with the exertion of the spell, his eyes shining with the thrill of success. But all Gale could see was how young he was, how vulnerable.

At just eight years old, he was the same age he himself had been when Mystra had claimed him.

“Papa, did you see? Did you like it?” Evander’s voice was eager, seeking approval.

Gale forced a smile, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair. “It was amazing, Evander. You’re truly talented.”

But inside, he was trembling. He saw the innocence in his son’s eyes, the same innocence Mystra had exploited. The realization hit him like a blow – he had once revered Mystra, had seen her as a benevolent guide. But now, he felt only disgust. How could she look upon a face so pure and know that she would one day take them to bed?

He wrapped his arms around Evander, pulling him close. “Promise me, Evander,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Promise me you’ll always come to me with your magic. Never hide it, never be ashamed of it.”

Evander looked up, puzzled but obedient. “I promise, Papa.”

Gale held him tighter, tears stinging his eyes. He would protect his son from the fate he had endured. He would ensure that Evander’s magic would be a source of joy, not a tool for manipulation. For the first time, he truly felt hatred for Mystra, not just for what she had done to him, but for the threat she posed to the one he loved most.

As he held his son, Gale felt Tav’s presence beside him. He looked up, meeting her eyes. At that moment, he saw the understanding and compassion there. In her eyes, he could see that she had always known, always seen the extent of Mystra’s abuse. She had been kind enough, patient enough, to let him figure it out on his own time. Gale couldn’t love her more if he tried.

Reaching up, Gale unclasped the earring he always wore – the last token of his connection to Mystra. He held it for a moment, feeling the cool metal in his palm, before placing it in Tav’s hand. Her eyes widened slightly, then softened with deep understanding. Gale squeezed her hand, hoping it conveyed both his thanks and his determination to keep their son safe. Tav squeezed back, her eyes shining with love and support.

As he held his son once more, pulling him into a tight hug, Gale made a silent vow. He would guard Evander’s innocence with his life, and he would ensure that no one, not even a god, would take that away from him.

The magic in his veins crackled, barely restrained, as a thought came to him.

Maybe the Crown of Karsus could still be retrieved from the waters of Baldur’s Gate.

[heylittleriotact]

Open Invitation - Thirty-Two (Watermelon Sugar Hiiiiigh...)

In which:

Astarion annoys everyone in camp

Hot, romantic, sensual period smut because this is a romance fic about a vampire

Ever been to a GWAR concert?

Content Warning: The entirety of this chapter is basically smut centered around menstrual blood so if that's not your thing, best skip this one . Excerpt under the cut🩸

Pairing: Tav (High Elf Feylock) x Astarion

Rating: Explicit

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Cycle Breaking, Happy Ending (but not without a lot of pain first), very involved archfey patron.

Disclaimer: Complex trauma delving with direct and implied reference to various forms of abuse, including rape/sexual assault, as well as implied self-harm, including suicidal thoughts/behaviour. Explicit violence. Smuuut.

Excerpt:

It wasn’t a warm night by any stretch, and she could feel the cool air on the sensitive, wet heat between her legs. Some blood was drying on her inner thighs and it made her skin prickle as it tightened in the open air.  She brought up a hand to softly trace the shape of his ear and pressed her lips to his. “Go on then…” she whispered.  He kissed her back and smoothed her hair with a careful touch that gave away the best of him whether he wanted it to or not. “Remember to relax,” he told her, “and I’ll see to it that this is as enjoyable for you as it is for me, my sweet.”  She nodded and took a steadying breath, exhaling heavily. She let her eyes slide shut and could feel Astarion’s weight shift as he began moving downwards, trailing sweet kisses over her neck and belly as his hands roved over her abdomen, pushing her shirt up and exploring her skin.  She felt them slide down to the sides of her hips as her nipples hardened in the cool air, and he whispered, “Lift your hips a little for me, love.”  She pushed her hips up slightly into the air and Astarion’s hands slid beneath her, cradling her pelvis. She shivered when she felt his breath on her skin once again.  “Good girl.” Those two little words in combination with the feeling of his lips on the inside of her thigh drew a whine from her, but it wasn’t one of lust or desire: it was one of barely contained longing. Her heart, her mind, her body… they were so full of affection for this man that she felt as though she may as well have a Netherese orb of her own embedded in her chest, threatening to explode at any moment. “Does that feel good, love?” Echo nodded and murmured, “Yes.”  He passed his tongue over the thin delicate skin again, cleaning away the mixture of fresh and dried blood that had been deposited inside of her thighs during the evening. “Good.” He whispered, and she felt his tongue glide over the blood-coated surface of her labia. Her hips jerked in his hands at the sensation of him worrying at her bloodied skin.  “Relax.” He squeezed her ass reassuringly and ran his flattened tongue over the length of her seam, causing her to bite her lip and writhe against him desperately: every touch left the sweetest fire in its wake and her body could not help but surrender to him in every way. He shrugged his shoulders under her knees so he could free his hands to pin her hips, and sounds of pleasure rumbled deep in his throat as he swallowed the life-bearing blood that had collected between her folds like pristine morning dew between the petals of a flower. Even the gentle waves of his voice vibrating into her hypersensitive pussy was a thrill. 

[mossydice]

Echo Guenhwyvar • Shadow monk • Lawful neutral • Wood elf - Aasimar - Child of Ilmater || His Shadow, His Grief, His Fury

A child brought into the fold of a heretical monastary dedicated to the tenents of Ilmater, the elven youth took to their training with a ferver; time would unveil to them the machinations of fate that drew them into waiting arms. Like all good Ilmatari martyrs, their first death would be far from their last.

A seemingly sunny elf, a bleeding heart type who jumps at the chance to help people; it's easy to give people the right impression if you don't point out the shadows in your corners. Echo is eager to do good in the world, eager to soothe and mend, so long as they are permitted to lavish the focus of this healing and soothing upon others before (or to the exclusion of) themself. They're not particular about how they go about seeing this good done.

Some basic Echo information:

Autistic low-verbal, technically capable of speech but barely engages in it due to how bitingly quick it overstimulates them. Their native tongue as a result is faerun sign

Seemingly quite normal for most of the campaign, keeping their divine heritage and dubious immortlity secret until events make that impossible for them. Largely keeps it quiet due to two factors; 1. they didn't know themself for a long time, and still struggle to reconcile with it being true and 2. their deepest scars are still from the day they found out, their first death

Scourge aligned aasimar of Ilmater, an odd occurrence given his tennents of forgiveness; this comes down to their being born (rather, reborn) in an ill thought out act of his grief, influencing the divinity rooted in their being. When allowed to, Echo's scourge nature emanates from them as divine radiation and floods them with the grief and fury it associates with. This is in large part why they avoid connecting to their divine heritage even in private; it's terrifying, to be swept away in a gods eternal grief.

Their monastery is now destroyed, but Baldur's Gate once played host to a heresy cult of Ilmater on awkward, but not terrible terms with the main Ilmater church. Echo's training largely consisted of using shadow walking techniques to remove sources of harm from the community in ways the stricter tennents of ilmatari faith didn't allow for; assassination, espionage, the likes.

While holding the harm reduction and sacrifice tennents of Ilmatari faith close to their heart, Echo has no qualms with... creative alternatives to combat. It prevents greater harm, after all

Echo has a distant, but reverent relationship to both others of their faith, and the god they worship through much of the game; given they still ascribe to their heretical understanding of the faith, and the role said heresy casts its adherents in as "unheeded shadows that allow the light of his great heroes to go on untainted", they feel ill at ease when hailed as simply a sibling in the faith, or a child of their lord. Despite this, they still adhere strictly to what they believe to be their callings under their faith

Their last name is a generic one, given to all orphans within the monastery who did not already have a family name; meaning shadow in elvish

About 26 years old, and 5'2 feet tall. short :]

[something-pithy]

Oooo a drabble. I've been craving your writing, I love the tone and the way you write internal dialogue for both Astarion and Zee/Tav, it's so distinctive for each character. Please gimme a (fluffy?) drabble from Astarion POV?

Looking forward to mid-Julyish!!

Ummm... soo.... first of all, I probably should have checked my tumblr messages before now if I was gonna make such an offer... >.< but better late than never? I hope? I'M SO SORRY Also I tried to do a drabble and this is what happened instead. loooooooooool Thank you so much for the ask! I swear to god I'll write them actually interacting with each other if I get another ask or request looooool ANYWAY HERE WE GO --- Obviously he couldn't tell her what a precious thing she actually was. His self-absorbed mien more than suited him; it was a trademark, a bait-and-switch, and as such, part of an intricate web of defense- and survival mechanisms that had served his aims well.

It wasn't the sex. Well, it wasn't just the sex -- which was obviously superlative, since he was involved, and she was not only creative and cheeky but quite the acrobat, really. At first, he'd tried leaving her tent after -- casual, rakish, smirking.

But the little gremlin always pulled some sort of trick -- asked him some question too ridiculous not to answer, hid his smalls or his boots or his favorite shirt, or simply draped herself over him as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and it always felt like she belonged there.

And how galling it was, at first, to have to attach himself to someone who not only committed their little band of miscreants and misfits -- and consequently and most importantly, him, to acts of kindness, generosity, and selfless heroism, but was a damned bard, and too witty and clever by half to dismiss. Yes, pretty and witty, and despite her do-gooder leanings, indisputably an agent of chaos with a penchant for mischief that... well, how could he help but appreciate it? She was worth her weight in entertainment value, that much was obvious to anyone.

But although it was a rare quality indeed for such a little altruist to be likeable, charming, and interesting enough for him to overlook -- or at least tolerate -- her benign shortcomings, that wasn't it, either.

Well, not all of it.

Part of it was that she was deceptively, appallingly observant. Keenly so. Quietly so. She saw what she oughtn't; past the misdirection, distraction, past the profundity of violence and darkness and rage that pulsed at his core to something... else. Something she had no business looking at, to be frank, but...

He actually hated that. Hated all that she saw and the strange version of it mirrored in her honestly absurdly large eyes and soft soulful melodies and the audacity of her unguarded sadness that in the briefest of moments, he saw. Hated the way it made him ache, the confusion of unsettling softness it evoked. But saw it he did, despite her performance of the clever, playful, pretty, witty mien that suited her even better his own fit him.

Because somehow it was all genuine, it was all her. Like her warmth. Like her kindness. Like her ferocity and tenderness and feral, demented glee. And though he hated those moments when something in her eyes or voice or touch suggested she saw every pathetic, stunted, debased nuance of his being, the magnitude of his deficiency, his weakness, she never exploited it. Never exposed it, never spoke of it.

He strongly suspected that it had never even occurred to her to do so, and that it never would.

Because she was good. Immutably, implausibly, irrevocably good, no matter her impish insouciance, her reckless intemperance, her convivial subversion. No matter whatever shadows or grief haunted her even as she reveled in joy and color and life.

That such a creature could look at him, see him, and see something worthy... it was almost enough to give him hope.

And the rarity of that for one such as him made her precious, indeed.

Or at the very least deranged beyond reckoning. Either way, entertaining such thoughts and... feelings (eugh) was troublesome enough. Actually speaking them could be ruinous.

No matter what she thought she saw in him or how good she might be, he could only entice if he was always just out of reach. It would hardly do for her to know that she was perilously close to having him in the palm of her dainty, lute-calloused little hand.

Besides, the little gremlin would never let him live it down.

[miraculan-draws]

ECHO CH 8 IS UP RIGHT HERE!!

[leopardmuffinxo]

match my freak

[moonslittlestar]

Arriving at the Gymforge

[nexelart]

close shave

[brightermorepls]

So ridiculously normal about these two.