#tav: Rhapsody

[antivanbrandy]

Rhapsody is down to clown no matter what he asks of her tbh

meme redraw

[trevisos]

my dm unfollowed me due to dragon age posting now i just need to convince my other fellow player to unfollow me so i can talk about my dnd character in the privacy of my own blog

[graveyardcuddles]

Rhapsody - Astarion x GN!Reader one-shot

You and Astarion are ready to embark on a new journey together. You begin by shedding a painful piece of his past.

A/N: I'm brand new to hobby writing, and this is my first ever fic! This was based on something I actually did with my Tav and Astarion in-game.

tags/warnings: sfw, established relationship, gender neutral!reader, nondescript reader, tavstarion (reader is tav), kissing, in-game spoilers, angst, hurt/comfort, brief mentions of Cazador-related trauma, feelings, fluff.

Word count: ~2000

It's a quiet early evening in the Elfsong tavern. The private room you share with your lover is warm, windows shuttered and curtains drawn. As you entered the room, you froze, stopping to admire the sight before you. Astarion was resting in the comfort of your shared bed. Trancing, to be precise. He hadn't been trancing these past few days, and the sight of your silver-haired love resting peacefully filled you with relief. Slowly, you peel off your boots and make your way over to your resting vampire. Your hands and knees sank into the plush of the bed cautiously in an attempt to avoid disturbing his trance. He was roused from it easily. Eventually, you managed to settle your head on the pillow, simply observing him in a rare moment of peace. He lay unnaturally still, chest unmoving, eyelashes resting delicately where his lovely dark circles ran under his eyes. Hair tousled, collar bones just peaking out of where the top buttons of his shirt clasped together. His face was calm, with no trace of tension he usually had during his night terrors. You smiled. Eventually, your lids grew heavy.

It had been only a week since you and your companions had destroyed the world-ending threat of the mindflayer Grand Design. Your little group of unlikely friends were declared Heroes of the Gate. You should be feeling triumphant, but your victory had been bittersweet. Despite taking pride in the fact he had been one of its saviors, Baulder's Gate would always remain host to Astarion's worst memories. Just returning to the city alone was overwhelming for him: facing his old stalking grounds, his siblings, Cazador. Your relationship had only recently evolved into something more after his confession in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. You knew this would be difficult and messy for him, but you were already hopelessly devoted to this beautiful broken man who was finally trusting you with his heart, wholly and freely.

So you took his heart in your hands and held it gently through all his anxieties and fears. Through the sleepless nights, the sobbing, the flashbacks, and phantom pains. All of which only increased as his confrontation with Cazador drew closer, and the promise of power and security that came with ritual became more and more tempting to him. You feared dearly that you were losing him and that your love and pleas for him to see reason wouldn't be enough to stop him. The fear wound itself around you like a bramble, the heartache gnawing away at you daily.

In the end, your worst fears did not come to pass. He rejected the profane power of the ritual in return for freedom with you. In that bloody moment when Astarion finally ended Cazador, you were in awe of him. His glorious spirit and strength. You allowed him to let out over 200 years of grief and rage. Watched closely as he came back to himself. Helped him back to the Elfsong to clean him up and tend to his wounds. Later on that night, after things had settle and he was in the aftermath of his victory, you had asked him what he wanted now that he was free. "You," he had answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was you that he wanted.

He had taken you to the very soil where his two hundred years of torment had begun and made love to you in that very place as a declaration of his new life and freedom. He cleared away every painful thorn of doubt and fear covering your heart, much like he had cleared the vines growing over his tombstone with his own two hands. The beginning of a new life with you. Sadly, the two of you hardly had time to properly celebrate Cazador's death before returning immediately to securing new allies and calculating battle strategies against Orin, Gortash and finally the Netherbrain's forces themselves. It had all been a whirlwind in which neither you hardly had any time to truly relish in Astarion's new liberation.

You would never forget that horrifying moment the sun had turned on him. It's once gentle warmth that had given him so much comfort on your journey now becoming a burning, searing light. When you found him shortly after, hidden behind some crates, he was still scarred from the light. His face and hands were ashened, pieces of what were once his flesh practically flaking off in cinders. He was panicking, and you tried your best to stay calm for him. You offered him your wrist, reminding him he needed blood to heal. It only seemed to further distraught him. He was just as furious as you expected him to be and more so. Furious that after everything he went through, he was being forced back into the shadows again. Furious at you for pitying him. Furious at Cazador. But most of all, he was furious at himself for having dared to have hoped again. For thinking that just because he had been a very good boy and helped to save the world that the gods or fate or anyone would take pity on him and grant him this one thing. But no.

He sat there on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. He had yelled so much about how foolish he had been to expect any outcome other than this, you half-expected his voice to give out. Eventually, he went quiet for a few long minutes before looking up at you, his beautiful red eyes full of sorrow. He tried to smile at you, but it broke off into a scoff.

"I'm never going to see you in the sunlight again."

He let out a long laugh full of bitterness before pressing his face back into his knees and breaking into a sob. It was then that you closed the gap between you two, holding him as wept. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and swear a paladin's oath to him personally that he WOULD walk in the sun again. That you were making it your life's mission. But you knew that wouldn't help him now. It wouldn't lessen the sting. It wouldn't soften the blow. Right now, he needed to mourn, and so mourn you let him.

You held him there and let him weep in your arms. When you offered him your blood again, he finally accepted, drinking in your healing essence and regenerating the scorched skin and flesh. You caressed the newly healed skin softly, kissing it with tenderness and reassuring him that he looked good as new. Later on that same evening, after you managed to make it back to Elfsong with him and were together in bed, he took your hand in his.

"I want to apologize, darling," You were confused, but he continued. "I acted abhorrent to you in a moment of weakness. I was so... angry about what I had lost. I was blind to what I still had in front of me."

He cupped your face, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Your sweet vampire. You took his hand and kissed his knuckles one by one. You reassured him that he had nothing to apologize for. The sun was one of the few pleasantries from his mortality that he could relish in again while tadpoled. The caress of its rays had become synonymous with freedom itself for him. And with the new love between you two. To have that ripped away would make anyone angry.

It was then that you told him that you WOULD help him find a way to walk in sunlight again. He had been surprised to hear you say so, as if he had expected you to write it off entirely as an impossibility, as he already had. But your words seemed to spark a new sense of hope in him. It was what he said next that took you off guard.

"That is...if this is what you want?" Your heart dropped. Surely he didn't still doubt how you felt about him? "I can understand if you would want to part ways..." Even as he says it, his eyes momentarily drop to the floor, and he sways a bit uneasily.

He is still always expecting the worst. Anticipating more grief. You took his hands gently into yours, telling him that if you thinks you're seriously going to break up with him now after everything you two have been through together, then he's going to have to start being a LOT more annoying. Because he isn't getting rid of you any time soon.

The next several days would be spent together, processing everything you had gone through. Your companions had all gone their seperate ways fairly quickly after a hasty celebration: Wyll and Karlach to Avernus, Lae'zel to war against Vlaakith, Gale to return the Crown to Mystra, Shadowheart with her parents and Halsin with his foundlings. After only a few days, it just you and Astarion left in the city. You had stayed by his side throughout this time, only ever leaving to get food or check on the acquaintances you had made in the city. But you were both growing restless. He appreciated your presence, but you could tell the time was coming for the both of you to move on from this place and make a new adventure for yourselves together.

You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep until a few hours had passed. As you open your eyes, you see your pale elf has moved from the bed. He's seated on the floor, in front of the chest full of the shared things the two of you have gathered along your journey. You slide off the bed, and he turns his head to smile at you. "There you are," his eyes were a soft shade of carnelian in the warm lamp light. You came to sit by him. He seems concentrated on whatever he's holding. You touch his shoulder and look to see what he's examining. A dagger. Not just any dagger but one that made your blood run nearly as cold as Astarion's. Rhapsody. The dagger Cazador had used to scar his back, and the one which would ultimately end his wretched existence. Nineteen times. Astarion had stabbed Cazador nineteen times. You had counted each stab. Presently, he was turning the blade in his hand with a contemplative expression.

"Hideous, isn't it?" He scoffs. You noted he was taking care to only touch the dagger's ornate hilt and pommel, avoiding touching the actual blade at all.

"Is it..?" You stared at the twin design of the twisting gnarled metal.

"Silver? Naturally. How else is one supposed to permanently scar a vampire?"

You bit back the sympathetic words that were lingering on your tongue, knowing he wouldn't want to hear them now.

"Pretty effective at killing vampires as well, I'd say." You quipped gently. Astarion hummed in response, but his expression remained contemplative.

"Yes. I suppose it might be somewhat useful if we ever get on the wrong side of another vampire," he mused. You lean in closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you pondered the dagger. "True. Could also be useful if Petras ever decides to come around and bother us."

You're almost startled as he throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh. He sets the dagger down as it's obviously lost his attention for the moment. "Darling!" He exclaims. "You were the one who convinced me to save the poor wretch! Twice, in fact! Only to want him dead now? I mean, it's understandable, but clearly, I'm having a bad influence on you."

You couldn't help but smile back. This was the most you had seen him smile or laugh since losing the sun. His laughter was so light and airy it made your heart burst. "Yes, you are such a very bad influence on me, Astarion."

You crawled over to him, eyes locked. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his gaze softens as you asked permission to go further. He answers by giving you a series of playful kisses leading along your jaw from your earlob to your lips. He locks on those lips and deepens his kiss, going slow and taking his time. A deep, passionate kiss. Your hands find their way into his curls, and they twine their way around your fingers loosely. He sighs into the kiss, whole body relaxing into you. When you pull apart, he's smiling, a touch of melancholy still lingering on his features.

"I saw you in my reverie," he says unexpectedly. You listen to him intently as he continues. "We were leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands after Shar's curse had been lifted. I hadn't seen the sun in weeks, and then there you were, bathed in its light. I hadn't realized until that moment how beautiful you were in sunlight." He smiles sadly and kisses your hand.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and look him in the eye. "And it's a sight you will see again one day, my love. I promise you." Your arms come around him and hold him close, stroking his hair and simply letting him feel. After a few minutes, he seems to come back to you. "I want to leave this stupid city already," he says plainly. You chuckle and pull away from him. "Me too, my love. We can leave as soon as tomorrow if you'd like."

Astarion's gazes at your travel chest again. He takes out the dagger again, looking at this time with disgust. "And I want to get rid of... this thing," he says with bile in his voice. "It's hideous, just like everything else Cazador ever commissioned. All that damn wealth, and I swear it's like he challenged himself to own the ugliest pieces of art he could." He huffed and shook his head. "I want to throw this damn thing away." An idea came to you. Looking towards the clock, you note there's still a few hours left before sunrise. "Would you like to get rid of it now?" You ask him, careful to only present it as an option. He's still getting used to making big decisions, and you don't want to pressure him. He looks at you. "Gods, yes."

The two of you head out into the warm night air of the city, and Astarion's nose almost immediately wrinkles in offense. "Gods, how have they still not managed to fully get rid of that rotting squid smell? I thought there were clean-up and recovery efforts underway." You roll your eyes. "There have been clean-up and recovery efforts underway, silly. They've gotten rid of all the Mindflayer corpses already. Your nose is just sensitive." Cloaked in night, the many little homes making up the vast reaches of the Outter City light up on the horizon before you. You walk together and tell him all about the acquaintances you've made in the city and how they had been faring after the chaos of the battle.

Eventually, you make your way to your destination: the docks of Baulder's Gate where you had all pulled yourselves ashore after crash-landing the Netherbrain into the sea. Astarion slows down as you walk along the dock. The last time he was running for his life, burning up in the sun. You hoped returning here with him to do this will make for a proper end to your illithid odyssey. At you stop at the dock's end, you take Astarion's hand in yours. You say nothing, waiting on him to make the next move.

He sighs and takes out Rhapsody, giving it a final look. For a moment, you wonder if he might hesitate. He stares at the blade intensely, holding it as if its weight were far greater than it physically was. Two centuries of terror. Without any further warning or fanfare, the dagger is airborne. For a split second, you can just barely make out a tiny glint of moonlight reflecting off the blade as it flew through the air. With a small splash, it's gone forever. Astarion lets out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "You monster!" You exclaimed with mock horror. "You just murdered some poor innocent fish!"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Maybe the Hero of the Gate should go and rescue the poor thing." He grabs you around your waist, his newfound vampiric strength catching you off-guard. He spins you around as if he means to literally throw you off the dock, and while you're fairly certain he's joking, you panic nonetheless. You let out a high-pitched "ASTARION!" that practically comes out as a shriek.

He's giggling like a madman as he sets you down, holding your shoulders for a moment to steady you. "You're lucky I love you as much as I do, you know," you mutter as he continues to laugh at how easily he can tease you. "You're adorable when you pretend to be annoyed with me," he says. The two of you sit on the dock together for a long while, holding hands and simply taking in the starlight dancing on the water. "There's something else I wanted to discard as well, actually." He reaches into his pocket and produces two rings that you recognize as the twin Szarr family rings you had used to unlock your way through Cazador's mansion.

Astarion contenplates the rings in his palm. "You know I..." the words catch in his throat, seemingly paralyzed. You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments, he shakes his head, a smile barely perceptible.

"It's nothing, my dear. You know Cazador really did have the most hideous taste in things, including jewelry. Can you imagine wearing these? Ugh." You take one of the rings and examine it. "Hmm. Not my style, I'll be honest."

"That's because you're not blind, darling." He stands up and prepares to throw it.

"Together?"

"Together."

[mutualcombat]

things i could add to that drawing:

astarion holding rhapsody in the visible hand

holding Woe in both hands

tav/durge naked and also covered in blood

an erection

[bby-bel]

bg3 has completely consumed me so enjoy this drawing of my drow tav at camp training with the rhapsody dagger (my current fav and main hand melee)

[brabblesblog]

Ch 15: Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Complications from the rescue collide with realizations about just how hard healing really is.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

Astarion fell and she caught him in her arms. He looked impossibly small and frail, and - though the thought brought a small wave of guilt to Ban - still impossibly beautiful.

Ban’s giant form finally released her, shrinking her back down. She cradled Astarion tightly. Rhapsody protruded from his chest, jolting erratically with every beat of the heart it was buried in.

She braced against the stabbing, tearing pain. As he had felt her staking, she felt his.

“Astarion.” For a moment, she forgot where they were, forgot the danger, forgot Gale, forgot everything but him. For a moment…

…there was only red.

The ruby of his beautiful eyes, glassy with pain. The scarlet blooming from the wound on his chest, spreading across his shirt. The crimson haze of rage and the red-hot agony, swirling in her own breast.

The urge to rip Vel apart became overwhelming and Ban turned, fully intending to give in to it. Instead, the spawn descended upon him and secured for themselves the freedom that should always have been theirs.

Astarion winced; his body shuddered and he felt the familiar grasp of death, the viselike grip on his chest unyielding and so cold. He wanted to tell Ban he loved her. That knowing her had been a privilege. That his time with her, as short as it had been, had been the happiest he’d ever had, and he was grateful for it. That she was everything to him. That she should find love again, someday. That he would look for her, in whatever lay beyond the veil of his true death.

But he was the Ascendant, and his power slowly took hold, oblivion withdrawing its grasp, death retreating like the ebbing of the tide.

It wasn’t enough to heal a wound this grievous, no. But it might just keep him alive.

Astarion raised his hand, reaching for her cheek, calling her attention back to him. She pressed her face against it.

“You fucking idiot,” she hissed, “Why did you-”

He shook his head, shushing her. “It’s okay. Just… pull it out, love?”

They both looked down at the dagger.

She was unsure.

Vampires could regenerate and the Ascendant at an even faster rate, but Rhapsody was unique. Likely made specifically for the rite, it had given Astarion his scars, had cut into Cazador’s back and they hadn’t healed. Pulling it out could help his regeneration, but it could also cause more damage or even cause him to bleed out.

In this, every option was a gamble.

Her hand carefully grasped the hilt of the dagger. She could feel it twitching in time with Astarion’s failing heart, the beat now irregular and alarmingly fast.

“Don’t!” Gale shouted, rushing to her side. “There are potions in his pocket. I provided him with some. Stabilize him first. Then we bring him to my tower and we’ll do… something.” He inspected the wound, unsure what could be done, but he wouldn’t risk pulling the dagger out until they were somewhere safe at least.

Ban reached into Astarion’s pocket, fingers fumbling until she found the pouch. She pulled it out; took the bottle and uncapped it, tipping its contents into his open mouth.

Work. Please work.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut; she wanted to scream at him to stay awake. Stay with me, please. Don’t go. Not now. Not ever. Please. But his hand on her face stayed put.

Still here, he thought at her, his body responding a little to the potion. She felt her own pain ease slightly, mirroring his, and wordlessly pressed a kiss to his unresponsive lips.

Enxisys approached uneasily; Ban tightened her grip on Astarion, barely containing a protective snarl.

“We… we have a teleportation circle, if you need it,” Enxisys mumbled pensively; it was a far cry from her demeanor at the party.

Gale went to talk to her and the quiet murmur of their voices immediately receded from Ban’s attention.

She couldn’t think, simply did not have room in her mind for anything other than Astarion. She slipped her hands under him, lifting him up. He groaned softly; she shifted him in her arms so that his head lolled against her chest. The sound was so unlike him, so frail. She found herself desperately longing to hear one of his snide quips, his witty disdain, his laughter, hells, she’d even take the Ascendant’s anger. Anything but that broken sound. She glanced up, realizing Gale must have made travel arrangements. He gestured for her to bring Astarion.

Following Enxisys and Gale, Ban walked gingerly, trying to keep her gait as smooth as possible, not wanting to jostle Astarion. As they walked, he mumbled into her chest, words too soft and too incoherent for her to understand. She tried to soothe him, her mind touching his. I’ve got you. We’re headed to Gale’s. Just stay with me. Just a little bit more. They eventually reach the room with the teleportation circle and were teleported to Gale’s tower.

Ban rushed through Gale’s tower as fast as possible without causing Astarion additional pain. Finding the guest room, she very gently laid him down on the bed, sitting beside him and squeezing his hand as Gale came in with an armful of potions and bandages. He set Ban’s pack and their weapons down in the corner of the room.

Gale split the bottles into two groups.

“Idea,” he began, “Half of this is for Astarion to take the moment we pull the dagger out. The other half-”

Ban understood. “I take the other half to replenish my own blood as he feeds on me.”

Gale nodded. Theoretically, the blood would be more beneficial to Astarion’s healing than pouring all the potions down his throat.

Steeling herself, Ban grasped Rhapsody’s hilt again. Astarion’s eyes were shut, his breathing shallow from the pain. Gale uncapped the first half of the potions, then parted Astarion’s lips, ready to pour.

“This will hurt, love. I’m so sorry.” He moaned in response, and she took that as an affirmative. Cupping his cheek, she leaned down to kiss his clammy forehead before giving Gale a quick nod.

They moved as one. Ban pulled Rhapsody out with a sickening squelch; Astarion barely had enough time to let out a pained groan before Gale began administering bottle after bottle of the potion, occasionally rubbing Astarion’s throat to encourage him to swallow.

Tossing the dagger aside, she firmly pressed bandages against the wound, stemming the flow of blood. The sight of it made her mouth water, the smell of it suffused her senses. Ban shoved the hunger aside and looked up to see Gale pouring the last bottle into Astarion’s mouth.

Hurry.

The moment the bottle was empty it was replaced with Ban’s wrist pressing against Astarion’s parted lips. For one terrifying moment, he was unresponsive. His mouth remained slack, and her stomach rolled in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

“Astarion,” Ban murmured urgently, nudging his mouth. If he doesn’t respond soon, I’ll have to make a wound for him to drink from. That would at least get him started.

His eyes flickered open, barely, but he found enough strength to bare his fangs.

He drank.

Ban’s eyes did not leave his face as she began to take bottles from the other half of the healing potions, drinking whenever she started feeling a little faint. She dared not speak, couldn’t even think, entirely focused on his healing. Her eyes tracked his every swallow, every rise and fall of his chest, every twitch of his body. Eventually, she saw the color return to his skin, ears slowly turning pink at the tips, his breathing became less labored. His wound began to close, the bleeding under the bandages slowed and then ceased altogether. She was relieved beyond measure to see the pain slowly drain from his face, to feel it receding from him through their bond.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered shut, and for once he did not hold back when feeding from her. He swallowed over and over, savoring mouthful after mouthful, because it was given, freely and without demand for reciprocation.

Because it was her, her essence and her life and her love.

He didn’t stop drinking for a very long time.

Ban closed the door behind her silently. Inside, Astarion was asleep, having slipped into trance the moment he had filled his belly. The wound wasn’t completely healed yet, and he would be vulnerable for a day or two, but the worst was behind him.

She headed to Gale’s study, finding him poring over sheafs of papers. He looked up at her entrance and she smiled.

“Yes?” Gale shifted to face her.

“Astarion’s fine. He’s resting.” She leaned against the doorway, awkwardly shifting her weight to one foot. “We might have bled on your sheets. Sorry.”

Gale scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it. You’re most welcome to stay here until he is better.”

“He probably won’t take long to recover.” Ban entered the room, sitting in the armchair by the fireplace. She kept her eyes on Gale. “Thank you, by the way. He’ll never say it, but he’s grateful, too.”

“I have the distinct impression he’s more inclined to gut me than to offer anything resembling appreciation.”

“He’s…” She watched Gale continue to work. “Well. Insecure.” Astarion would loathe her saying so, but what of it?

“We all know that. Even before he ascended we knew. He was just better at keeping it to himself back then.”

“Actually-” she began, then hesitated. Should she tell Gale, and by extension, the rest of their companions?

He perked up, curious.

“He’s trying,” she finally settled on saying. “It’s slow going, and it will take time. But he’s making an effort.”

“And what then, Ban, when he has you again?” Gale couldn’t help but ask. “What happens the day he no longer fears losing you, the day his patience runs out yet again?”

She tried to hide the flash of fear at the thought.

“I - he won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?”

Ban felt her temper rise. “I can’t. I can only trust that he won’t.”

Gale finally looked away from the papers he’d been grading to meet Ban’s eyes.

“Do you trust him?”

A valid question from her best friend, but a painful one. If he’d asked about her love, that would’ve been easy. She could’ve given an honest ‘Yes, of course. More than anything’ and been free of this uncomfortable conversation. But Gale had always been intelligent - and far too intuitive - and he saw right through her. Love was easy, but trust? She hadn’t been the most trusting or open person to start with, and then the Ascendant had crushed what little she’d managed to build. They’d made so much progress, and yet…

She wanted to say yes, but found that the word was stuck in her throat.

Astarion opened his eyes to see Ban sitting in an armchair beside his bed, asleep. He pushed himself up, disoriented. The room was unfamiliar. Then the memories came, and he placed a palm over his chest, finding unmarred flesh.

He reached for his wife.

“Love.”

She stirred and he took her hand, tugging gently.

“Come lie down with me.”

Ban did so, carefully settling her head on his shoulder, and as her arms wrapped around him, he was swathed in warmth and comfort. Her blood ran hot in his veins, her body wrapped around him, pliant and soothing. Astarion hadn’t felt loved like this in a while, and his body responded to it. His breathing quickened, her blood rushing to his cock.

“How are you feeling?” Ban asked quietly.

“Better, now that you’re here.” He tightened his grip on her, hands idly stroking her hair.

She trembled a little, the last of her emotional strength ebbing away as he held her. The hand wrapped around his torso tightened as she made an effort to not break down.

“I’m here, Ban.” Astarion leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “There isn’t anything to fear.”

She whimpered, and then she was on him, lips crashing against his with a fiery, desperate need.

Astarion grasped her hips, pulling her up, encouraging her to straddle him. Her weight settled on his cock and made him groan. His hips hitched up, pressing his length into her. He rutted helplessly, tilting his head back as she kissed a path down his neck. His cock felt the warmth of her mound through their clothes; he knew her wetness would be beginning to pool within. His hands scrabbled to undo the laces of her trousers.

“Fuck.” The word escaped from his lips in a guttural moan as he finally managed to untangle the knot his fumbling had made of her laces. His hands dove to her waistband to forcefully shove the trousers and drawers down and off. He glanced up to meet her gaze, seeing the lust he felt reflected in the dark pools of her eyes.

Ban sat up, splaying a hand against his chest for support. She playfully ground against his clothed cock, eliciting a gravelly moan from him. There was too much between them.

“Feel that?” he breathed when she rolled against his length again. His cock felt too hot, too tight, too hard. “Feel what you do to me, Ban.”

I love you. I need you. I want you.

He grabbed her ass, fingers digging in hard. He urged her upwards, trying to get her to scoot higher up - a lot higher.

She looked down, realizing what he wanted, huffed out a soft scoff, filled with relief and amusement in equal measure. “Really? Someone’s eager. And apparently feeling much better.”

“Well, you know. Near-death experiences and all that.” His eyes were half-lidded, lips curled into a smirk.

“I’m pretty sure I heard that line from Gale once,” she teased, and they both laughed.

Astarion fixed her with a sultry look, eyes filled with unbridled hunger.

“Sit on my face, darling.”

She obliged; the moment his mouth made contact with her was paradise. She gripped the headboard for support, hips involuntarily rolling, fucking his mouth.

Astarion eagerly lapped at her, tasting her slickness as his tongue flattened and spread her open. He worked at his trousers, freeing his cock. He didn’t touch himself yet, instead moving his hands back to Ban’s ass, pressing her tighter against his mouth. Her hips rolled in response, dragging herself against his tongue again; his own hips thrust up reflexively.

The need was exquisite, the ache in his cock almost tortuous. He could feel himself throbbing insistently, beads of precum forming at his tip. If he touched himself now, he would come immediately.

To think I almost lost this, almost lost it all. I’ll never waste another moment. Not one.

Instead, he focused on Ban, finding her clit and laving it with quick flicks of his tongue. Slipping two fingers inside her, he found her drenched and ready for him. His cock twitched violently, begging for something - anything - but he fought the urge to pleasure himself.

“Astarion,” she moaned, more than halfway gone in the throes of passion. She was barely aware, but enough to know he would need more. She leaned back to wrap a hand around his cock.

A low hum of pleasure greeted her the moment she touched him. His skin was hot, cock painfully hard and his tip glazed with precum. She stroked him slowly, languidly, making sure to linger at the head. He whined, the sound muffled by her folds; he began devouring her with increased fervor. She was close, her hips moving faster, grinding her clit against his worshipful mouth.

Astarion’s mind didn’t even exist for him; the pleasure between his legs and his need to make her come, his love for her, became his whole world. His fingers increased their pace inside her, tongue working in tandem to bring her to the edge. Her hand stilled as she lost the ability to focus, and eventually pulled away from his cock, but he didn't protest. There would be time for that later.

She loves me. That was all he really needed.

Ban whined, her thighs flexing hard on either side of his head. It only encouraged him; he stopped breathing entirely and just licked, fingers fucking her relentlessly. His own hips rolled, desperate for the friction that just a moment ago was there. The ache in his cock was immense, and he loved it.

He was pretty sure they’d ruined Gale’s sheets, between his injury and this, and that brought a vicious, petty wave of satisfaction.

Astarion looked up to meet Ban’s eyes. The gaze he leveled at her was well-practiced, seductive. Designed to make people come undone. His mouth made another pass, suckling, tongue flicking against her clit, and he took in the sight as her orgasm ripped through her.

She screamed his name, thighs spasming against his head with crushing strength, her weight pressing down on him as she rode out her climax. He mouthed at her throughout, eating her up like a starving man offered his favorite meal. He felt a gush of her slickness around his fingers and knowing he’d made her come that hard shot a jolt of electricity straight to his cock. His hips writhed and he moaned in delight.

Ban slowly came back to herself, slumping forward. The hand on Astarion’s chest kept her up, but just barely.

He waited until she began settling to resume breathing, pulling his mouth and fingers away. His face was coated; he licked his lips playfully.

“Good, love?”

She nodded, a little dazed. Offering him a small, almost shy smile, she moved lower down his body. For a moment, she hovered over him.

“Astarion?”

“Hm?” He tilted his head, excitement giving way to curiosity.

Her smile widened, and she took him in her hand, lining them up.

“I love you,” she purred as she sank down.

Those words, so rarely meant these long months, took his breath away. He’d had to ask, to demand, to beg for them; now they were freely given, and he nearly came then and there.

He felt her walls clench all around him as she began to ride him.

Her blood, filling his cock, his body. Her core, squeezing every drop of pleasure from him. Her, just her fucking him - no - making love to him.

Loved. I am loved.

He watched Ban ride him, every roll of her hips sending a great wave of pleasure through him. The waves built higher and higher, pushing him closer to ecstasy. He could feel her all around him, hot and tight and eager and wet just for him.

“Ride me harder, my love,” he crooned, his fingers digging into her thighs.

More, I want more. He began to thrust up into her as well, matching her rhythm.

Ban placed a hand over his chest, enjoying the desperate pounding of his heart. Her hips obeyed his request, transitioning from a soft roll to a rapid, punishing grind that made her legs burn.

Astarion felt himself approaching the edge, her walls dragging against and squeezing his cock with every roll of her hips. His eyes fell shut as he gave in to the sensations, lips parting, panting from sheer need. He wanted to make this last, but his body had been craving this release for far too long.

“Love-” he managed to say before his orgasm ripped through him. He whined, his nails clawing Ban’s thighs as his pleasure exploded. His hips lost their tempo, stuttering wildly. Astarion’s vision went white, and for a moment there was nothing but the sensation of spilling his seed inside his wife - of sweet, sweet release.

He eventually opened his eyes to see Ban smiling down at him. She rolled her hips one last time, making him squirm, cock oversensitive. She leaned down to kiss him, then pulled away, separating them.

Astarion didn’t let her go far; he tugged her to his chest, peppering her face with small, feathery kisses.

“Sorry,” she said, a little embarrassed about how aggressive she’d been.

“Whatever would you be apologizing for?”

“This. I got scared.” She shuddered, remembering the blood pooling, the dagger protruding from his chest.

He held her tighter. “I understand. You needed to be reminded of this. Of us. Of being alive.”

She nodded, burying her face in his chest. They were silent for a short while.

“That wasn’t the smartest idea, wasn’t it?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

“What wasn’t?”

“Waiting for the spawn to kill Vel,” he clarified. “I should have let you finish him, or ended him myself.”

It would have avoided his injury, at the very least.

Ban snorted. “Strategically, perhaps. I shouldn’t have turned my back on Vel, nor pulled you off of him. But you needed them to be the ones to do it.”

He considered this and found that he agreed. Outwardly, he tried to remain nonchalant. “Oh, no, darling. I just wanted to see the look on Vel’s face when his spawn tore him apart. A shame I missed it.”

“You do have a heart, you know? As much as you like denying it.”

Astarion stiffened, caught, but the tension broke and he laughed.

“Considering that it almost stopped again today, I suppose I have to admit that I do.”

She looked up at him and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He saw a slight sadness on her face.

“Something wrong?”

Ban’s face darkened, then just as quickly as the expression came, it disappeared.

“Just worried about you.”

There was a waver in her tone that told him it wasn’t the entire truth.

Astarion wished it wasn’t the case, but he was also aware that there was still something off with her. Ban today, in his arms, and the Ban before he ascended were not quite the same. With everything that had happened he feared she might never be the same, that she would forever be tarnished by his sins.

What would he do, then?

She had once been more open, vulnerable, much more willing to trust. And then he had ruined her.

He wasn’t surprised that all was not yet truly well between them - he knew better than most how hard it was to move past trauma - but a small seed of resentment remained. He had risked his life for her, nearly died in the process, and yet her reaction was, at best, muted.

How long must I keep proving myself?

[merilaurecus]

Companions reaction to Modern!Tav who is a metalhead

I'll just indulge myself I guess.

Karlach:

Loves it the second she hears it

Hypes her up more than soul coins and that ain't even funny

She'll ask about your fav bands (mine is Avatar so hello if there's any fellow fan!)

Also how concerts looks like

"Ha! So there's a bit of barbarian inside of you!" is the line you get when you explain mosh pit to her

When her engine is cooled down you're not escaping two people mosh, trust me

Amused how you faced judgement yourself and been called a devil

You explain it gave you a need to defend the tieflings

You just simply knew how it feels

Besties forever no matter what

You rock out to heavier stuff like Rammstein or anything that can be headbanged to

"Soldier, if you can do it the whole evening then you're tougher thant I gave you credit for"

When you first use your growling scream during the battle that girl is deeply impressed

Even more if you actually managed to rage

Gale

Finds music a bit loud and chaotic at first

You immediately give him power metal and that shit gets him

Like fantasy stories told through the music? Pure bard experience

A bit skeptical about mosh pit, but when he hears how great it feels to you he understands or does his best to try to

Also sees a bit of barbarian in you after that

When he mentions that the best artists started among the sticky floors you're stoked because that's how the venue after the concerts feels like

You tell him about the undergrund concerts right away and promise him you'll take him to one just for the sake of the experience itself

In time he gets to like bands like Twilight Force and Blind Guardian

Also goes "wow" when you yell like an animal (he's getting horny at the post-battle Tav so)

Astarion

"Ugh, what's that noise?"

You do your best to explain but he just doesn't buy that

When you explain the usual activities occuring during the shows he also jumps on the bandwagon that you're secretly a barbarian

Or maybe bardbarian if you happen to have a band

You seek something lighter and EUREKA

Queen

You put on Bohemian Rhapsody the other evening and he's stoked

Other hits from them come to his liking too

He'll occasionally hum these tunes to himself

Gale overheard Queen playing at the camp and now he's obsessed too

Shadowheart

This one's easy

She's already an emo queen so

Buuut

Powerwolf becomes her favorite because of the religious themes of the songs and the fact they sound like battle hymns

You don't tell her Powerwolf mocks the most widely practiced religion so she doesn't send a guilding bolt on you she'd miss anyway

Falls in love with symphonic metal too because of the lyrics and vocals

When Gale mentions the sticky floor her usual comment switches to "Then you and Tav will get along perfectly well in the middle of the mosh pit"

Secretly wishes she could just leave everything and do that for an evening

Lae'zel

"Bah, another unwise custom. Impractical too"

She goes like that unless you tell her what mosh pit and headbanging are

Still thinks it's not the wisest way to spend time but applauds your ability to fuck everything and survive in the horde of people running into each other (usually way bigger than you)

Believes you can use that rage and stamina in battle, satisfied when you actually do that

Won't show you she's vibing to any music you like but she'll stop sharpening her sword when she hears Sabaton

Wyll

Definitely curious about the unusual music he hears

Even if he finds it noisy at first will pay attention to the layers of music and lyrics too

You comfort him by telling stories from the times you were told you're the devil just because of the music you listen to

Tbh he also likes Sabaton, because it honors the heroes as it should happen

Mosh pit? Headbanging? In his eyes you're really tough now

Also thinks you'd make an excellent barbarian

When you actually rage he's both terrified and impressed in your primal growl

Karlach will have to teach him how to mosh and not poke someone's eye out, but you'll manage

Halsin

He prefers calmer music, but at the same time he's curious

You give him folk metal and all is good

Especially if you put on some acoustic album

You tell him stories tied to the songs (like f.x. Eluveitie has songs about the helvets)

For him you're small but when you tell him how you regularly go into mosh pit with guys his size and you are not scared he's concerned he may call you a lunatic again

Since then he sees you as small but fierce and resillent

He's not a barbarian but seeing you unleash your primal nature through growl - he himself has a wild side so for a moment he admires you and then joins you in his bear form

He's an elf so I bet he can play a flute, he'll learn some folk songs in no time. If not, Jaheira does.

[bg-brainrot]

WHaBFHtLA - Astarion x GN!Reader - Chapter 17: What We are Now

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader (Elf!Tav)

Genre: Reincarnation, Angst, Mystery, Slow burn

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Tags: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, blood, lots of talk of blood

WC: 11.5k words, 17/?? chapters

Summary: When you’re left to your own devices, you find yourself knee-deep in mystery. Despite all of this, Astarion never leaves your mind. And perhaps you never leave his.

Ao3 | [Ch16][Ch18] | WHaBFHtLA Masterlist

When you awake for your twenty-second day in the house, you wonder if you should even bother counting anymore. Astarion is done with you, what use was staying for another week? Should I just… leave? You think, blinking yourself out of your reverie.

You don’t leave immediately– rather, you can’t bring yourself to. He has condemned you, called your little situation over, but he hasn’t forcibly removed you, so you sit on the bed and think.

Let’s say he really never wants to see me again… What do I do now?

Your mind answers quickly, I need to help the spawn.

Well, I can’t just stay here! … Can I?

I don’t want to go, you answer. Maybe I’ll just stay until I get kicked out?

That wouldn’t help. Astarion may only be more upset. Shouldn’t you get out before you make him hate you even more?

Maybe he just needs time, you defend. I can hope, can’t I?

You’re not sure how long you spend just thinking, but when you finally finish you decide on a few things.

First, you will stay here as long as you can, until the vampire kicks you out himself. Second, this changes nothing– you may be the only one who has the means to help the spawn and you cannot abandon them when you might be their best hope. And third, no matter how much it hurts, even if Astarion abhors you with every fiber of his being, you can’t seem to feel anything but love for him. It’s like a valve you’re no longer able to shut. So, you will simply need to see where the flow of love guides you– whether it be into the man’s arms for forgiveness or away from his disdain.

Path decided, you spend the rest of the day hard at work memorizing the cipher. You light the paper as Dal instructed, illuminating an intricate pattern of symbols and their corresponding Common counterparts. Fascinating, you think, taking a quick perusal. It seems a mixture of some elvish, some infernal, and perhaps a smidge of thief’s cant?

Several of the symbols simply make sense, clicking immediately in your mind. Others swim in front of your eyes, as you realize with growing dread that you’re starving . Not enough to warrant risking an encounter with Astarion, right? Right, you think, steadfastly focused on trying to decipher the paper.

Eventually, your hunger becomes too much for you to ignore. Spending another day without food is certainly out of the question– you’re not sure how vampires seem to do so regularly given their unrelenting hunger– so you summon your remaining courage and intone an Invisibility spell. 

Now invisible, you sneak out of the room to tiptoe down to the kitchen. You pause for a brief moment on the stairs, debating whether or not you should steal Rhapsody while you’re invisible– you decide against it, afraid that going anywhere near his room could get you caught. Perhaps you should wait until it feels like you’re no longer welcome. Only then, only maybe, you should steal it as a last ditch effort.

Once in the kitchen, you grab anything that might stay well, dried fruits, nuts, grains, and slink back to your room. You never see the man you’re avoiding, but you’re certain that he knows you’re still here. How could he not?

Does he just not care? you think. The thought fills you with unease, dreading his apathy more than any amount of antipathy…

Back in your room, hunger sated, thirst quenched, and feeling more like yourself, you get back to work on memorizing the cipher. It’s easier once the growl of your stomach stills, allowing you the clarity you needed for some of the trickier symbols.

Ah, I see, you think at one point. In all of my dreams, I would never have guessed that symbol translated to this. What a clever little system. I wonder if Astarion contributed to it. 

Astarion– you mind keeps coming back to the man. Despite the dull ache in your chest every time a thought of him crops up, you can’t stop thinking of him. Even now, knee-deep in research he would loathe, your mind strays to him. I wonder what he thought of it all, back when my past-self started the research. He always let them do their work before eventually distracting them away. He must have been fine with it once upon a time, albeit unenthusiastic.

You think of him once more a few hours later, once you think you’ve nearly memorized most of the cipher and recognize his name written in code on a journal entry. It takes a moment for you to translate, but it reads, “Astarion is to join me on the next expedition. If you’re reading this, love, please finish packing.” You smile at the note, wondering if Astarion did end up reading the reminder.

The smile drops when you read the next line, “We’re exploring at coordinates 38, -22, it’s our best lead yet– a bit hidden, but I’m nearly certain it’s the wizard’s tower.” You set the paper aside, wondering if it had in fact been that fateful place.

Halfway through the day, a knock comes at your door. Your heart catches in your throat. Could he be…? You head to the door cautiously, quietly, as if you could sneak up on it– As if your silence could keep the man on the other side from reconsidering and running away. Maybe he understands, maybe he spoke with Dal and finally, truly–

You open the door to see Dal, waiting patiently, a kind, open look on her face.

“Hello,” she says, bowing her head slightly. “I’m sorry to arrive here unexpectedly, but I spoke with Astarion.”

You try not to let the mention of his name affect you, or the fact that it’s not him at the door show in sheer disappointment. You’re not sure how successful you are, but your voice sounds somewhat normal when you respond, “Hi Dal, it’s alright. We, um, fought. As I’m sure he told you.” If you could call that a fight…

She nods, and you wonder what he said to her, if he was as mad at her as he was at you. “He was hoping I would talk to you, actually. To… convince you not to help us. I told him I didn’t want to do that.”

Of course she wouldn’t, or she wouldn’t have snuck in here without his knowledge in the first place.  But you’re still curious where this leaves them. After all, they still clearly all care for each other. How did they all manage to stay ‘siblings’ this long, with this many disagreements? As an only child, you don’t suppose you’ll ever understand. “Is he mad at you?”

Dalyria scrunches her face a bit, as if unsure how to answer that. “Yes. But not in the way he seems to be mad at you. I won’t delude myself into thinking that any of us matter enough to Astarion to warrant more than a century of, well, brooding.”

Again, it feels like you’re speaking with an old friend– if your heart didn’t feel so thoroughly beaten, you might have even laughed along and assured her otherwise. As it was, you could only manage a simple response, “I see… So I really did ruin everything, didn’t I?”

“Hardly,” she says with the shake of her head. “He will come around. He just needs… time. And maybe for a few of us to beat him over the head.” She gives you a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite do anything to reassure you.

“Even if he has all of the time in the world, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop trying to help you, so what difference does it make?” you ask. It’s not in your nature to give up on something like this. You can tell that that runs deeper than who you are now, it’s who you’ve always been.

“We appreciate that. And I hope that Astarion will too, in due time,” she says looking down, perhaps to where Astarion may be at this very moment. “As much as he doesn’t want you to do this, he still cares about us enough to give me this chance.”

You look at her, furrowing your brows in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“I would like you to stay to help us,” she says, looking at you intensely. “But you can’t exactly stay in the colony, not with all of that… well, blood in your body. You might get eaten alive before you can read a single piece of paper.”

It makes sense– Petras had mentioned as much when you had been locked up in their cells. You can’t imagine being locked up and without magic again would be of much help anyway. “So, what’s happening? Is Astarion letting me stay here?”

She nods. “He won’t be staying here with you though. He’s still quite upset. I’ll try talking to him, of course, but we aren’t on the best of terms currently, so no promises.” 

You feel a weight lift off of your shoulders. The dread you had been carrying with you all morning fades ever so slightly. Thank the gods, I have time. “How long?” you ask.

“He said you’re allowed to stay until your ‘previously agreed upon time’,” Dal intones in his voice, and you do laugh this time.

A week. Not a lot of time, but enough to at least get through some of these notes, ask Dal questions. Maybe start to look for new leads…

“Okay,” you say to her, with a firm nod. “I can work with that. Thank you, Dal.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she says, waving away your thanks. “I am aware that you’re sacrificing a lot for us. Just as you did in your past life. Know that I will never forget that.”

In this lifetime, you don’t know what it’s like to have a sibling. But gods do you wish that you could count Dal as one. You wish that you could ask her for a comforting hug, for her to listen to all of your problems about Astarion– maybe you’d had that before, but you’re too afraid of ruining yet another relationship to find out. “I’m happy to help you all, just as I did before,” you say. “Maybe when this is all said and done, you can put in a good word for me with Astarion.” 

The woman laughs. “If you manage this, I will help you win over anyone. An archdevil, a god, you name them, and I will make it happen.”

Even with the world on offer before you, you know that your heart only wants the one man. “I think I would be quite content with Astarion,” you say, blushing despite yourself.

She gives you a knowing smile, eyes warm as she looks upon you. “Don’t worry, my friend. He will come around eventually. A love like yours doesn’t transcend lifetimes for it to fade like that.”

Gods, you want to believe her. Just like you wanted to believe Halsin. So you nod, trying to keep the burning in your eyes from turning into tears. “Yes, you’re right,” you respond, with no real conviction. I just hope he believes that someday. 

"I know I am!" she says, emphatically, sensing your lack of faith. "You know, when you first arrived, when you were locked in the cell– he and I spoke. He told me he wanted nothing to do with you."

You recall as much, so you gulp and respond, "Yes, he made that very clear."

"He only agreed to speak with you for our sake. I asked him to check at the very least, to see if maybe you had a means to help us. After all, if he wanted nothing to do with you, it wouldn't matter, would it?" She offers up the question like a challenge, one he likely took up with ease.

Sure , you think. Pawn off the weird elf that showed up on your doorstep to your desperate siblings. "That… makes sense." You still feel a sting of disappointment at knowing he truly didn't care what had happened to you. “He asked me about your hunger at the very least.”

“Well, he's nothing like that now. He wants me to leave you the hells alone,” she says, as if the answer was right before you. “Don’t you see? Whether or not he knows it, he cares now. He only wants to keep you safe– he just has a very… Astarion-way of showing affection."

That's one way to look at it. "I know, Dal," you say with a sigh. "I'm afraid that affection isn't enough in this case."

She looks at you for a long moment before she shakes her head in frustration. "Gods, you two really aren't any different. A hundred years, two hundred years, you'll continue to completely lose all sense of reason about each other."

You want to defend yourself, even Astarion, but you suppose she's right. "Did we… fight often?" You're afraid of the answer.

"Not particularly," she says, smiling at you ruefully. "But it was always about something truly exasperating like this."

You wish you'd dreamt of some of those arguments, if only to figure out how to fix everything– you doubt any of it would be that helpful for this particular situation though. Perhaps Dal remembers. "How did we fix things afterward?"

The woman shrugs. "Not a clue, honestly. I just know that eventually Astarion would show back up with a skip in his step, acting like the sun shone out of every dismal crack in the Underdark.” She gives you a lighthearted chuckle, which you reluctantly reciprocate. 

“Fine, I’ll retain a modicum of hope,” you relent. “But in my past-life, they had more than a hundred years of love between them, resolving their issues together. I’ve had what? Three weeks of awkward fumbles and apologies?”

At that she snorts, throwing her head back a bit. “You’re both so dramatic. You will just need to believe me when I say, this has been the happiest, most alive I’ve seen Astarion for the past hundred-fifty years.”

The thought fills you with guilt more than any type of joy. Not only had your previous life sent him into a broken limbo for decades, but to think that you also had ruined the first bout of happiness he’d experienced? You feel like the villain in Astarion’s story more than anything. “Well, let’s hope that proves to be enough, despite all of this.”

“Like I said, I’ll speak to him,” she assures. “Now, I should get back to him before he tries to murder Petras.”

Dal looks to be about ready to leave when she adds, “Oh yes, here.” She shoves a Sending Stone into your hand. “It’s Astarion’s.” She adds before you can ask, “Don’t worry, he gave it to me. Something about keeping his house from blowing up, but I suspect he also wants to make sure you’re alright. This way we can communicate a bit faster. If you need anything, Leon and I are ready and willing to help, either to answer questions or get you any materials.”

Your hands close around the stone, hugging it to yourself tightly as you recall that the last person to use it was likely Astarion. “Thank you, Dal.”

“Think nothing of it! I know this feels… bad,” she winces at the understatement. “But it might be a good opportunity for us to investigate openly– without needing to hide from Astarion’s worried glares.”

It’s true enough, you suppose. But you still feel like the bad outweighs the good. You decide not to tell her that though, since this is her life on the line. “Yes, I’ll be sure to call you up here if I find anything, ask any questions with the stone if I have them.”

With one final wave, the woman leaves you to it, heading back down the way she came. You think it’s the last you’ll see of her for the day until you receive a message from her once she’s out of sight. 

“Testing the stone. Also, don’t forget, no matter what happens, we’ll always be your family too.”

Your heart clenches at the shy admission of love from her, and you promptly reply, “The stone works. And thank you, Dal. I appreciate that more than I can say.”

You spend the rest of the night ensuring that the cipher is thoroughly memorized. Once you’re certain you could recite it forward and backward, you light the corner of the parchment with a small fire. As you watch the paper burn in your hands, you can’t help but feel a sense of real accomplishment for the first time since you’ve arrived.

Every other success has come with a caveat so far. You had gained entry into Astarion's house, only under his strict limits. You had helped save the colony, but not without exhausting yourself. You'd managed to gain Astarion's trust, only to destroy it quite thoroughly.

So you relish the feeling, soak in the momentary victory. That night your reverie comes quickly.

You dream of the Hero's life that night. At first, you suspect it's another useless, albeit comforting dream of Astarion, cozy in the man’s arms. But when you open your eyes you find his hands aren’t caressing so much as restraining.

Your body struggles against Astarion’s grasp. “Let me go, Astarion!”

“No!” he hisses, pulling on you tighter. “We need to go. Now.”

Oh no, you think, as the dream settles around you. You can feel a chill in your bones, the deep dank of the Underdark around you. You must be in the necromancer’s tower. Is this… that day?

“Astarion, we can’t turn away now,” you plead, tugging against him. “We’ve come too far for that.”

“Nonsense,” he responds with another forceful pull. “We can, and we shall .”

You can feel your body’s heels dig in, into the dusty tiles beneath you, crushing them slightly with the pressure. “I know what I’m doing. I can get to the wizard’s laboratory and–”

“Wizard?!” he all but yells in his panic. “I know you want to help, but this, my dear, is a necromancer’s tower. You know as well as I do that this isn’t worth it.”

“It is worth it. And I know what I’m doing,” your voice counters, strong in its confidence. You can feel that certainty, and maybe they had been prepared for all manner of inevitabilities. Unfortunately not the one that mattered. “If we leave now, we will have to wait another month until the tower is available to us. Will we be any more prepared then?”

“Fine,” Astarion growls, nostrils flaring with anger. He turns his body away from you and you’re left facing his armor-clad back. “Go on then. I’ll be waiting here when you finally come to your damned senses.”

And so you continue on alone.

Unlike other dreams, where you wish you could control your body, run into Astarion’s arms, save yourself– you don’t shy away this time. You already know how this will end, and you know that no amount of cowering will save you. So you embrace the experience.

Your body walks throughout the tower, careful all the way, but with solid, steady steps. You know that their confidence isn’t unwarranted. They’d faced necromancers before, they’d been in magical towers– the only difference was that back then they had had help. 

After what feels like hours of careful sneaking and searching, you find what you suspect was the laboratory from their research.

It’s as disgusting as one might expect a necromancer’s lab to be– beakers full of dark, suspended liquid, the thick stench of undeath in the air, and more than anything, blood. Gods, there is blood everywhere. The man who worked here was not a kind one if the splatters and trails of the substance were any indication.

Your body tiptoes around some unknown liquid on the floor, carefully inspecting every inch of surface, looking for something. The notes, you think. They’re probably hidden away somewhere…

Thinking in a similar vein of thought, your past-self heads toward a large, imposing desk at the end of the room. Opening drawer after drawer, they pull out papers, looking through them, tossing them back on the table once they dismiss them. Eventually, they find a compartment behind one of the drawers– tucked behind is a familiar stack of papers. The very same that Dal had deposited in front of you earlier in the day. Only this time, they’re pristine.

Your past self starts shuffling through the papers, clearly written in a language that neither of you read. Perhaps something long dead by the looks of this place. They seem to be unsure if these are the papers, their confusion seeping through to you, until they get to the final page.

There, a ring is sketched, several notes pointing out elements within the design.

The elation your past-self feels is blinding in its strength– It’s like staring into the sun, and you feel the reverie receding as a result.

No, no, you think. There are other emotions, anticipation, concern, curiosity– all of them call to you, indicating that there’s still more to find here. I need to learn more. I can’t–

The dream slips out of your fingers, and you’re left laying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling in disappointment.

__

Somehow, you're still counting down the days in this house. It's your twenty-third day, and you have free reign of the place– an odd sensation after Astarion's watchful gaze monitored many of your movements for three weeks.

It's not unwelcome though. Despite its overwrought decorations, the mansion is lovely. With a sigh, you get out of bed and wander down to the kitchen. Ah, you think, opening the pantry to a sad, lacking sight. I need to go get food.

You had skipped several meals last week, as a result of battle, injury, and general disposition, so yesterday you'd been able to forgo your weekly trip. Now, you nod and close the empty cabinet, ready to go restock. All the while aware that it may very well be your last trip to this market.

As you head out, you can't help but think about what an inconvenience this is. Gods, I wish I didn't need to eat. At the same time, what would the alternative be? An ever-present hunger that gnaws at you every moment of every day, like a vampire? You suppose you should be grateful for your mortal body’s needs.

The thought does result in you spending the trip thinking about blood.

There is a lot of blood in the world, and some mortals are even willing to offer their blood up freely. However no amount of mortal volunteers would be enough to satiate the entire colony of vampires.

You could try to create a source of blood for them, but would the hunger ever truly leave them? Or would they just need to keep drinking, stuck in a sanguine cycle of continuous thirst? You’re not certain, but therein lies the dilemma: How can you ever satisfy a hunger born of vampirism? 

Gods, I wish that myth had been reality, you think, heaving your groceries over your shoulder and heading back to Astarion’s mansion.

It's on the way back that you're reminded that you’re not the only one out to sate a vampire’s hunger. There are plenty lining up, just waiting for their chance.

As you climb up the stairs to the grand door of Astarion's manor, you spot someone waiting at the precipice. They seem to be nervous, not approaching the door even as the seconds trickle on. When you pull up behind them, they startle.

“Oh sweet hells,” they breathe out, hand on their heart. “Who… ?” They look at you confused, and you get a good look at the stranger. They’re a tall, purple tiefling– a bit lanky and awkward, but overall neatly arranged, with the appearance of a bardic scholar.

“Sorry for the fright,” you respond, nodding at them. “If you’re looking for Astarion, he’s away.”

The tiefling does nothing to mask their disappointment, but looks at you appraisingly. “And you are?”

Who are you? You’re not entirely sure how to respond. You’re not his lover, his housekeep, nor his colleague. You’re nothing but a stranger to him, you suppose. Pushing aside the introspection, you only say, “A guest.”

They look visibly relieved, and something in you stings at how easily they believed that. Do I really look that ill-suited for him? You decide not to express this as you push past them and toward the house.

“Excuse me,” they say, holding a hand out to you as you walk past. “Do you know when he’ll be returning?”

You could be honest, say that he won’t be back until the end of the week and even then, he will be leaving. Or you could be even more honest, say that he wouldn’t want to see them anyway. But for some reason, you hold your tongue, shake your head, and add a simple, “Sorry.”

They give a sigh, dropping their head in a deflated defeat. “Well then. All this way for nothing.”

Your curiosity can’t help but poke at that. “How far did you travel?”

“I hail from Athkatla,” they say, with a grimace. “I don’t much look forward to heading all the way back.” In Amn, you recall. Certainly a distance to travel, though not near as far as Neverwinter. It’s likely that they didn’t have the luxury of a teleportation circle though.

Such a sizable distance for a chance to meet with Astarion? Surely that couldn’t be the case. Then again, that was the case for me… You still ask, “Why come all this way for Astarion?”

They look at you as if you’re daft. “Are you quite certain you are a guest here?”

“I am,” you say, adjusting your bag as you try to stand a bit taller, prouder. “Why?”

“Because there’s not a single hopeless romantic alive who isn’t aware of Astarion,” they say, and you can practically see the ill-placed longing in their eyes. “Naturally, it’s a slim chance, but for the love of a good vampire? It’s the very fabric of legends.”

“Don’t you know that legends aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be?” you ask, a bit too bitterly. Both thoughts of the mythical sunlight ring and of Astarion’s long-unbeating heart turning your lips into a scowl.

The tiefling doesn’t seem to care, laughing lightly. “That’s where you’re wrong. All good legends have a kernel of truth to them. It’s simply a matter of finding it!”

Huh, you think, considering the odd optimism of their words. Externally, you respond, “Well then, good luck finding the truth.” You bow your head as you walk away, eager to put this conversation behind you and get back to your own myths.

“Wait! Could you– maybe you could relay a message to the man?” the tiefling calls, desperation raising the pitch of their voice.

You’re about to agree– after all, what harm would pretending to relay a message do?– when you take a pause. Maybe they should have the cold reality of the situation laid before them. Maybe they won’t have the same, horrendous experience you’d had, if only you can dash the last remnants of hope from their heart. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re feeling jealous. More jealous of this real, living person in front of you than any of the hypothetical lovers who’d arrived at his door in the past century.

Embracing the starting smolders of jealousy, you say, “He’s uninterested. In fact, I recommend that you rewrite the legend.” You take a step back toward them, staring at them with what you hope is an intimidating look. “He’s not a lonely, good vampire, waiting for someone to come save him. He’s flawed. He’s rude. And his heart belongs to one soul and one soul only.”

They take a step back, clearly uncomfortable with the turn in conversation. “And who are you to say such things?”

There’s that damnable question again. This time though, you tilt your chin up, ignoring the guilt in your stomach, the ache in your heart. Because you know who you are, despite everything that’s transpired between you. “Astarion’s long lost love. Write that in your next legend.”

With those words, you turn back toward the house. You ignore their spluttering responses, opening the door, entering, closing it behind you. Once you’re alone with your thoughts again, you let out a deep breath.

Gods, why did I do that? you think to yourself, acutely aware of what a disrespectful show that was. The tiefling hadn’t done anything wrong– nothing that you hadn’t done anyway. How could you snap at them like that? One day you realize you love the man, the next you decide to declare it to a stranger. Worse yet, a stranger who was vying for that same man’s love.

Love really does drive people mad. You go to organize your food supplies for the week in a fog of shame. Underneath it all is a subtle satisfaction: you had only spoken the truth. Astarion really has refused to love another, you truly are his lost love. All you need to do is fix everything that you’ve broken and the pieces will align again. Or so you tell yourself. It’s a solid driving force to keep you going forward, away from the depths of despair.

Perseverance is really all you need right now, because you have a large stack of papers with years worth of information, just waiting for you to uncover it.

You start at the beginning. Or at least, you think it’s the beginning. It’s hard to tell with the way that Dalyria has stacked the papers, and you take it upon yourself to start reorganizing them as you read.

After many hours, you find several distinct piles emerging in front of you. 

The first pile is where you place all of the research on blood: what makes blood, how vampires process blood, how it impacts them even if they can survive without it. Plenty of it is knowledge you know, only with the depth of someone who’s obsession is evident in the details.

The second pile is composed of all of the research you had done on the mage’s mythical enhanced sunlight rings, as well as the mage’s tower. Some of it overlaps with the research on blood, but a large portion of it is looking into the myth, tracking down its source, and where the mage lived. 

The next pile contains all of the ring diagrams that Dal mentioned. Plenty of intricate design work, courtesy of your past-self and perhaps some of Gale’s work as well– you recognize a few magic runes in his script. The designs range in sizes, in complexity, in form. From a glance, you can tell that the rings were designed with two major components in mind: a material needed to be embedded within the base metal and another material needed to infuse it. Truthfully, it’s basic enchanting, likely their initial design ahead of visiting the necromancer’s tower based on Gale’s conjecture.

The final pile consists of, well, everything else. You place notes about vampirism, journals of your past-self’s process, and investigations on other leads among other things. These leads include a mythical fountain of blood in Evereska, a stone said to contain the life’s blood of an entire nation, even a tall tale of how a man staved off hunger for three centuries through discipline and more than a little blood magic– all incredibly dark, gory legends which seem to be even more far fetched than the rings. It’s unsurprising to see the depths to which they would have gone to fix the problem, although a bit concerning.

Gods, you think. I would have hidden some of this away too. 

And the forbidden nature of these legends takes you to the singular uncategorized piece of information: the necromancer’s notes. They’re grotesque, of course– a testament to the dark depravity of this man’s magic. But they also feel distinctly different from your own notes.

A quick Detect Magic shows that none of the materials in front of you are directly magical in nature, but you can tell simply by the heavinessness in your heart that they are important. Perhaps there is more to this legend than meets the eye…

You wish you could tell though. It’s difficult to decipher the notes, with the dark, dried splotches of blood covering a large portion of the text. Surely Gale would have removed the blood if he’d been able to, but you still attempt a quick, magical clean.

Sure enough, the blood remains, and you curse the nine hells. “Fine then,” you growl at the notes in your hands. “We shall have to do this the hard way.”

The hard way will have to wait though, as it’s already gotten quite late in the day, your mind is inundated with information, and you’ll need to prepare a new set of spells to fight this particular beast. So you set down the materials, leaving them in an orderly set of stacks for the night, and enter your reverie in a bit of a huff.

That night you dream of a life in which you were a bard, spinning your tales of legend at a tavern. It’s one of your less preferred lives, as you’ve gathered that they’re somewhat of a scoundrel. You can’t help but wonder if dreaming of them is born of your guilt from the day, a form of wicked penance. It certainly feels like it as you spend the reverie playing the lute for a pittance.

__

On your twenty-fourth day in Astarion’s manor, you wake up well-rested and truly excited to get to the bottom of this necromancer’s notes. Underneath the excitement is a bit of dread. Only three days without Astarion, and you’re already wondering if you might ever see him again. 

I hope I’ll at least see him when I leave, you think. Surely, he wouldn’t let me leave without a goodbye?

You try not to dwell on it as you prepare a few key spells for the day: Identify, in case there’s any spell put on the papers; Remove Curse, just in case that spell isn’t a kind one; and Comprehend Languages, to be able to read the archaic text. 

Alright, you think to yourself, as you hurriedly scarf down a meal. Let’s try to figure this out.

Several hours, a few spell slots, and a lot of swearing later, your excitement has thoroughly wavered. What the hells are these made of, you think, staring down the necromancer’s notes in frustration.

They are certainly not made of paper, because any attempts to transmute the material have failed immediately. They are not magical in of themselves, but they do seem to have some kind of preservation magic affecting them, protecting them from everything save for blood. The notes seem to be written in it. And, worst of all, your own dying, damnable blood will not let you make out the text save a few spots– likely all of the same spots that Gale already took a look at. No wonder he wasn’t able to make heads or tails of this rubbish, you think with a sigh.

Those spots are informative, to an extent. Once you’re able to comprehend the ancient language, you find a few key pieces of information. They describe what Dal mentioned, that the blood of a vampire lord was key. They describe that the rings must be made of a magical metal, infused with that very same blood– you briefly wonder if you’d be able to melt Rhapsody down without Astarion noticing.

Finally, the notes describe a vampire’s hunger in deep, deep detail. You don’t want to know how this necromancer could have gathered this much detail, but it was clearly an integral part of his research. One passage in particular stands out to you:

A vampire’s hunger is unquenchable. It is as eternal as their souls, seemingly intertwined into their very essence. As such, I knew I would need to find the source of this unquenchable thirst and do the unthinkable: quench it. Naturally, I have utterly smothered it.

When faced with the dilemma of an eternal gift coupled with an eternal curse, you must somehow separate the two. So I have done so.

All you need to do is take this hunger, give it new form, and fill that form beyond all reason. Simple, really. How could it have taken me so long to find this solution? How could I have limited myself to the mere moral quandaries of mortals? 

Of course the most natural ingredient of all is blood–

The words cut off, as your own past-self’s blood cuts off the rest of the page. You’re not sure what to make of it. It certainly sounds like the lunatic ravings of a man drunk on his own power, but it also doesn’t seem entirely impossible… 

Regardless, the magic is dark. It almost sounds like he took the curse of a vampire’s ravenous hunger and gave it physical form, then quenched that physical form with the very thing vampire’s require: blood. More so than removing the curse, it seems to imply transferring it to an object, essentially, to sate your own thirst. You can’t even imagine how much blood you may need for a ritual of that magnitude.

I should think that this is ludicrous, you think, glaring down at the parchment. I do think that this is ludicrous. But… Some part of you isn’t wholly convinced. Yes, it sounds insane. Yes, the necromancer was likely mad. But, blood aside, it doesn’t seem that far from your own magic. Transmutation at its very core is modification, it’s changing the nature of things. This isn’t pure madness.

That’s all well and good, of course. However there’s no use dwelling on it while the rest of his notes are so entirely illegible. 

In fact the last time these were legible was… 

The thought strikes you like a crack of lightning. I was the last person to see these notes in their entirety. Well, not you. But it may as well have been you, given that you have their memories. 

Just a few nights ago, you read through the notes in your reverie, understanding none of them. You want to facepalm at the sheer misfortune of it. “What in the Outer Planes am I supposed to do with that?”

You remember from that very dream that you weren’t done in the tower. You have no clue where you could have ventured to cause your death. What else could you have been looking for? 

Should I… the thought feels wrong. You don’t want to finish it, Astarion’s angry face all but burned into your mind. But finish it you do. Should I head back to the tower? 

You’re not sure if it's your heart or your soul that aches at the thought. And you’re not sure if it's in pain, fear, or a deep, unshakable thrill. 

You still the emotions with a singular deep breath. No, I can’t go. Not yet.

There’s no point in going until you know what it is you’re looking for. You wish you could figure it out by simply racking your brain, but memories, reveries don’t work like that. You’ll need someone with arcane magic to help you.

The Sending Stone is out of your pocket a moment later. 

“Dal, do you have a wizard, maybe a sorcerer, available who knows Detect Thoughts?” you send.

Her response is as immediate as it is disappointing, “Leon has some experience as a sorcerer, but never learned Detect Thoughts, but can’t replace spells. No one else comes to mind. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. I’ll figure something out. Thank you Dal.” 

Another dead end. 

Fine, you think. I’ll simply wait. It’s only a few more days of being here. I can have someone back in Neverwinter help me.

The thought causes your heart to clench in fear. You had tried to avoid thinking too deeply about where you might go after this, but the thought of returning home makes you want to scream. It may not be returning home in shame– after all, you did manage to learn quite a bit– but it feels miserable.

After a few more hours of reading, ignoring the fear steadily building around you, you lay down for your nightly meditations. 

That night, you dream of your previous life as a blacksmith. It’s initially a rather welcome dream, as always. Repetitive and warm, soothing all of your frustrations easily. 

Then you realize that everything’s going wrong today. Your metals aren’t welding, cracks keep appearing after you quench. At first, you hate it. The additional stress to your already burdened mind is too much. But after the fourth mistake, you realize that your past-self is still going at it– a new metal, a new tool, a better form. 

Right, this is who you’ve always been. You will persevere.

In the end, it’s an informative dream, and you take notes from it before you can forget. After all, if your delusions of deciphering the ring’s magic bear fruit, you will need to forge six thousand rings. You may want to learn from yourself before that.

__

For your twenty-fifth day in the house, you spend most of it taking your own notes. 

After a quick breakfast, an even quicker wash, you’re back in front of the pile of papers, on to find another avenue for the spawn’s salvation.

You’ve always found that the easiest way for you to figure out next steps is by writing all that you know out. So you consolidate a lot of your learnings from your past-self’s notes, adding in some notes of your own context. And, as you continue to retread the notes, you start to uncover some odd patterns.

Under the diagrams of several ring designs, you spot a few symbols, ones you don’t recognize from the cipher. Once more the Sending Stone is pulled from your pocket.

“Dal, another question. What are these symbols underneath the diagrams?” you message.

You can practically hear the sigh that precedes her message, “Despite our best efforts, we never could make heads or tails of those. Even Gale had no clue.”

It piques your interest though, nudging at something in the back of your mind. “Are there any other symbols like this in my notes?” you shoot back.

“Yes, some in the enchantment notes. Others in notes of the tower,” she responds.

“Thank you, Dal.”

You go back to inspect those notes, and, sure enough, you find a different set of symbols. “What in the hells?” you speak out loud, as you recognize the one under the ring’s enchantments.

It’s the symbol of your shop– of your past life as an enchanter.

You flip back to the ring design and comprehension dawns on you. It’s the blacksmith’s initials composited into a brand, the one you used on the items you forged.

Are they referring to some of your past lives in these notes? You take a closer look, unsure of what the symbols could indicate. But as you spot the acronym of the innkeeper's inn under the tower’s notes, it all but confirms it.

You suppose they would have experienced the same lives you had, and some of the same reveries, especially around anything that might have been helpful to their life. The thought that they could have experienced memories you haven’t concerns you though. “What does this mean?” you think, tracing over the symbol with a finger.

Gods do you suddenly wish you had taken better records of your other, less interesting lives. Really, it’s your past-self’s fault for living such an exciting life. Astarion’s fault for being so damn captivating.

There’s no use in regretting now though, there are plenty of other mysteries for you to solve as you let that one ruminate.

Let’s say the daylight ring really is our best bet, you think, laying out the various diagrams. What would I need?

You know quite well at this point in your life the components of a spell. There are three component types, and the more complicated the spell, the higher likelihood that you will need to incorporate all three in greater amounts.

First, material components. Items that a spell consumes to be cast. In the case of the ring, you suspect that this is blood. A lot of it. Included in that is the blood of a vampire lord.

Second, somatic components. Hand movements to bring the weave into your spell. In this scenario, you suspect these components will be the actual crafting of the ring. Likely a complicated process, and one that you may be able to decipher from Gale’s added notes.

Third, verbal components. An incantation, a phrase, a song– anything to tie the spell to the material plane. Here, you had next to no clue where to begin. There’s not even a hint of an incantation in any of these notes, and, even if there was one in the necromancer’s notes, you don’t suppose you would be able to find it.

Looking at the three different elements laid before you, you know that your options are limited for now. 

Save one. 

Rhapsody. You know exactly where it is, you know exactly what it’s capable of. You could take it now and begin to find a way of transmuting it or… you could leave it. Because it’s Astarion’s blade and you’ve already taken enough from him.

He’s told you he hates it, you think, trying to rationalize your theft as you stand up.

He’s not even using it, you think, walking down the long hallway to Astarion’s room. 

He probably won’t even notice it’s missing, you think, entering the room silently.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing in front of Rhapsody. The wicked blade seems to call to you, its allure twisted and warped by years of serving a dark lord.

It’s not Astarion’s– not truly. He hasn’t used it in almost 300 years, if Dal is to be believed. So when your hand reaches out, grasps the handle, and wraps the blade in a soft cloth, you only feel the barest twinge of guilt.

You can’t help but turn to your former self’s portrait next to the bed, wondering what they would think of all of this. The answer is clear enough by the fire you see in their eyes, the conviction in the set of their shoulders. They would want you to finish this.

Before you head back to your room with the pocketed blade, you head to the parlor. An idea struck you, courtesy of your past-self’s portrait. Perhaps the anvil in the room didn’t belong to Astarion after all. Perhaps it was just another remnant of your past-self that he’d been too afraid to throw out.

Once in the room you make your way back to the oddly shaped sheet. Throwing it off, you take a closer look at the tool.

Just as before, you notice various metalworking tools, a few pieces of metal that you think you recognize as Platinum, Iron, even a few scraps of Mithral. Almost as if Astarion had covered it with a sheet without bothering to clean up your previous work. You suspect that that’s exactly what happened when you find a pair of pliers still squeezing a piece of gold.

From your notes, you recall that your experiments with the spawn and advice from Gale had led you to believe that gold or silver would be your best bets as conduits for the magic– assuming that the metal from Rhapsody would play well with them. You recall from your reveries that not every type of metal would weld together properly.

Surely you had more material than this to work with though. You look around the room, wondering where else Astarion may have stashed your previous treasures.

Your eyes land on a covered seat that seems a bit lumpier than the rest. Upon uncovering it, you discover various small pieces of metal, some common like copper, others much rarer, like Adamantine. You grab a few, in case you do end up transmuting Cazador Szarr’s blood-infused blade.

Back in your room, you lay out some of your material components. This shall do for now. You decide that tomorrow you will focus on solving the much bigger problem: blood. 

It’s late now though, and time to rest on what you’ve learned.

As you lay your head down for your reverie that night, you finally allow yourself to believe Dal. You truly may be the only one capable of piecing these clues together. 

The idea warms you as much as it concerns you. Knowing that it’s up to you, your memories, to save the spawn? You feel the pressure for the first time, an uneasiness settling in the pit of your stomach. No one has depended on you like this before, and the pressure feels almost tangible. 

That night, you dream of your life as the innkeeper. Again, the inn is dead, not a customer in sight and likely none for the rest of the night. So you pull out a book. 

Following along with your past-self, you read a story about a beautiful man who has been cursed, the adventurer that saves him. It would all be very touching if the adventurer didn’t resonate so well with you, leaving you wondering if perhaps you were as dull and predictable a ‘hero’ as Astarion had led you to believe. 

The story ends with the hero saving the man, of course– as all good, happy tales do. You love experiencing the twist with the innkeep, feeling their emotions rise and fall as the hero faces their challenge, and surmounts it with the help of those around them. 

It's a nice sensation after all of the frustration of the day and you stir from your rest with a content smile. 

__

Your twenty-sixth day in the house, you see red. On top of missing so much information, you know that you have another major dilemma to figure out: where will you find a lot of blood?

After several hours of brainstorming, considering different sources, magical substances or items, you land on one that seems the most feasible.

You could create blood with alchemy. While you would need a large amount of starting material, you could likely use water or another liquid. You yourself don’t have the capability to create water, but it would be easy enough to acquire.

But the solution seems too simple. Surely Dal and the rest would have found a way to transmute blood on their own, would have done so for the spawn at some point over the past several hundred years?

So you message her. 

“Hi Dal, have you all tried transmuting water to blood before?” you send.

“Hello. Yes, we have. It would help if it worked, but it never seemed to quench our thirst.” She immediately sends another message, “When we looked into it, we found that it was lacking any life essence. We needed to find a way to make it real.”

“Understood. Did you find any leads on that?”

“None on my end, let me check with Leon.”

A few minutes of silence pass as you continue to scratch notes with your quill. You’re a bit startled when she follows up, “Nothing on Leon’s end either. Though he said that your past-self had some ideas. He recommends looking at the research on blood composition.”

You thank her and are about to get back to work when you stop, Sending Stone still in hand. Before you can second guess yourself, your next message is on its way, “How is Astarion doing? Have you… made any progress?”

The pause that follows feels incredibly loud, your heartbeat pounds painfully in your ear as you wait for a response. It comes a second later, and gods are you unsure how to move or feel or react to it. “He’s been a bit stir crazy. I think he misses you.”

You remind yourself that Dalyria is only being kind. That she is rooting for you both despite the fact that neither of you want the same thing, that he’s not over your past-self, that the odds are so heavily stacked against you you may as well try again in your next life. But the idea of Astarion missing you sends you falling back, collapsing on your bed in a dramatic fashion.

Clutching the stone to your chest, you send one more message, “Thank you Dal. I hope I can see him again before it’s time for me to leave. Do you think I will?”

“I’ll drag him along myself if I need to. And I will definitely come by before you leave,” she replies, and you close your eyes in a mixture of relief and anticipation.

Despite all of the work you’ve done in the past several days, you miss him– more than you thought possible. More than you’ve missed anyone in this lifetime. You don’t regret a single moment of the progress you’ve made, but gods do you wish you could share it with him. He would look over your work with a ‘tsk’, maybe remind you to go get a meal before you drive him insane…

Imagining the scenario, eyes closed, laying flat on your bed, you’re struck with the stark, sad reality of it. I may never have that happen.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked Dal anything after all, because now you find yourself lulled into a sad daze.

The final few hours of the day are spent on daydreams of Astarion, as you futilely try to retain information on the composition of blood. When you lay in bed for your reverie, you’re unsurprised to find yourself in his arms once more.

“Astarion?” your past-self asks. You’re both in the kitchen, though it looks nothing like it does now. The walls are a different color, the table is different, shelves are stocked. 

“Mmm,” Astarion murmurs, burying his head into the nape of your neck like a cuddling feline.

“What’s the matter, love?” you ask, as you prepare yourself a meal. 

He shakes his head into your neck more, and you can feel your emotions surge with love and concern. “Did something happen with your siblings?”

Astarion gives a noncommittal hum, his arms squeezing around you tighter.

“I can’t help you if you won’t let me,” you say, tone chiding, but heart still full of compassion. 

The man pulls his head away from you for a moment, his ruby eyes meeting yours. “Aurelia said that they’re tired of living like that. That they would never have agreed to my suggestion of the Underdark had they known…”

Your past-self takes their food off of the stove, turning around to face Astarion. “Love,” you start, hand cupping his face. “It’s not your fault. None of it is. And they know that. What would the alternative have been? Dying in Baldur’s Gate?”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your hand for solace. “I know you’re right. But…”

“But nothing,” you say, stopping him in his tracks. “We’re doing all that we can to help them, and they appreciate it. It’s simply been a difficult few weeks and they’re on edge. Once we find someplace new, everyone will sleep a little more soundly.”

Astarion sighs into your palm, pressing a light kiss to it before opening his eyes to you. “You’re right. Gods, you know how annoying it is when you’re right this often?”

“I know,” you say with a smile. You kiss him on the nose, on the cheek, on the lips as he chases your lips down. “Now, let’s find a suitable place so that everyone settles down, alright?”

The two of you sit down at the table over your meal, beginning to discuss various areas of the Underdark. You simply listen to the conversation, already knowing the outcome, knowing how close they all truly grew despite the disagreements. You also take the time to appreciate the ease of your relationship, wishing that you too could solve problems like this, with Astarion by your side.

__

Your ache for the man persists when you wake up, and you find that your twenty-seventh day in the house isn’t as productive as you’d like it to be. 

You’re so filled with the building fear from the week. A stormy cloud hangs over you, dousing you every few minutes with thoughts that you’re about to leave, about to be tossed out unceremoniously. It’s consumed most of your waking thoughts, offering you little space to continue your work.

You were already so afraid to be left alone for the week. To think that you may never see him again, save maybe to come help his family…

What you need is to wash these thoughts away. You decide to take a long bath today, hoping beyond all hope that it will cleanse your mind. In the bath, you allow yourself a bit of pity. 

Gods, I don’t want to message my parents, you think, sinking into the water. It’s the least of your concerns, really, but the easiest one for you to focus on. What will I say? Sorry, I tried, but it turns out we’re fundamentally wrong for each other?

You wince at that, scrubbing at your skin furiously to strike the thought away. No, I would say: It turns out I’m not the same person I was in my past-life. You were right all along!

The scrubbing comes harder, and your anger builds. Or maybe I’ll pin the blame on the metaphysical… My soul has a hero-complex and I don’t quite care to fix it.

You stop scrubbing. You feel almost raw, your mind suddenly blank.

No, you finally think. I shall simply tell them it didn’t work out.

With a sigh, you continue to soak for a bit, considering the far trek back to Neverwinter with a hollow dread.

After the bath, you manage to pull yourself out of your dreary state. You focus, decide to keep your mind preoccupied with the work, shoving down any Astarion-related worries until tomorrow, when they are warranted.

Right. Blood composition, you think to yourself, pulling out the notes that Leon had mentioned once more.

Rereading them, thoroughly this time, you think you know what he meant. While at its core, transmuted blood is made of all of the same things, iron, carbon… it’s lacking something that gives it life. Likely whichever bit makes people’s blood distinct from one another, you think, recalling how Astarion had commented on your flavor.

You look through the notes, trying to see if there was a way for someone to contribute that life essence, but find that nothing clear comes to mind. At the bottom, you spot in your own handwritten code a small name, “Halsin?”

It makes sense, you think. Druidic magic is different from your own, honing into the very nature of life, they can tap into magic you cannot. Perhaps you ought to pay him a visit once Astarion kicks you out…

You push that thought aside once more, trying to focus on your research. To still your mind, you think of all of the leads you’ve earned in the past week. Your memories, your past lives, Halsin, the tower. Gods, you think. I appreciate my past-self’s head start, but I wish they’d left a to-do list.

So you run through all that you know, all that you have, and all that you will need to make these mythical sunlight rings come to fruition.

You have the metals to test the crafting, and have found several good diagrams from your past-self. You have Rhapsody to work with. All that you’re missing on the material components is a vast quantity of usable blood.

You are positive now that the crafting itself is part of the somatic component, having reread Gale’s suggestions. It’s certainly where all of the materials come together, and you think you should be able to learn the process with a bit of trial and error.

You haven’t the foggiest what the incantation might be, other than in the illegible notes from the necromancer. Or worse yet, it’s back in the tower. You decide not to worry about this part until you find a wizard to help you.

Satisfied with your learnings from the week, you’re determined to begin testing materials tomorrow– maybe try to sort out Rhapsody’s composition. None of your previous life’s tests included Rhapsody, as they’d only learned of its importance after your passing, so now is as good a time as any.

That night, you enter an uneventful reverie as the enchanter. You break down a few magic items, and try to remember what you can for when it comes time to finally melt down Rhapsody.

__

At the end of the week, you feel like Astarion has all but given up on you. 

It’s odd, but after spending nearly 28 days in his house, it feels like your house as well. You suppose you shouldn’t get attached to that idea, since the man who owns it hasn’t said a word to you in almost a week.

And not another word of him from Dal, not a message or a sign that he even cares enough to think of you. You don’t need him to love you, as you continue to remind yourself. You only wish that your time together had meant to him even a fraction of what it meant to you.

However the man is nothing if not full of ill-timed surprises. 

A knock comes at your door. Likely Dal, you think. She said she would be coming by before you left.

“Come in!” you call, not bothering to move from your place on the floor. You’re in the middle of taking notes on various metals, and you think Dal will appreciate what you’ve learned so far, so what’s the point in putting anything away.

The door opens, and you look up to see a familiar, silver-haired vampire at your door. He finds you surrounded by papers, a piece of Platinum in your hand, and knee-deep in research you just know he would hate. All of the shock and embarrassment pales in comparison to the way your entire body reacts to the sight of him.

It’s only been a week days apart, and your heart seems to be beating doubly fast to make up for lost time. Was he always this beautiful?

Yes, he has always been this beautiful, your mind answers. And this charming, and this graceful, and… you cut yourself off before you can be frozen in place.

“Astarion!” you all but scream, scrambling to shuffle papers out of his view, dropping the piece of metal. You didn’t expect him, and you’re not sure what to do, but you know he wouldn’t believe that you’re up to some light reading.

“What–” Astarion begins. He shakes his head before continuing, “You know what. I don’t care about whatever it is you’re up to.”

“You don’t?” you ask, incredulous. 

“No, I don’t.” His voice is deadpan, his expression blank.

“Oh. Okay.” You’re baffled. You’d thought throughout the week of what you might do if you saw him again before you’re kicked out. And it certainly isn’t what’s transpiring here. He cared a lot about this last time you saw him. “You absolutely don’t?”

“Nope, we’re going to pretend I didn’t see all of that.” He gestures at it dramatically with both of his hands. “And I’m going to continue with what I came here to do.”

“And that is?” you can’t help but ask, still subtly kicking papers under the bed, lest he change his mind.

“I came to ask you if you’d like to go to Waterdeep with me.”

You stare at him, certain that you’re hearing him wrong. This isn’t the conversation you’d expected to have the next time you saw him, not in a thousand years. You? Go with him? “To Waterdeep?”

“Yes,” he says, taking a deep breath, as if this is all quite the inconvenience for him. “I’ve always been offered a guest. I suppose it’s about time I impose on that damn wizard.”

After what had transpired between you, you’d been so prepared to be kicked out by the end of the week, this shocks you more than you expect. You’re certain your face is an open book and your voice is certainly eager when you ask, “Really?”

“Don’t make that look, or I'll regret asking at all,” he says, groaning.

You don’t know what look you’re making, but you wipe your face as much as you can before you ask, a little less hopefully, “But honestly, really, I can join you?”

“Yes,” he repeats. “But if you make me say it once more, consider the offer revoked. I expect to see you prepared for at least a few days' stay by morning or I shall leave without you. Understood?”

You tamper down the remaining urge for confirmation and nod. “Got it.”

“Very well,” he says, turning on his heel to go.

But it’s the first time in days that you’ve seen his face, heard his voice, you can’t just let him get away. “Wait, Astarion,” you call. What could you say? ‘ Sorry?’ It wouldn’t be honest. ‘Why?’ You’re afraid that the answer is just ‘Dal.’ ‘ Are we–?’ No, you’re absolutely not all better. So you simply say, “Thank you.”

He turns back to you and you get a better look at him. The expression on his face is light, unaffected, but there’s a strain to his eyes, his cheekbones look a bit more gaunt than you’re used to, and the tightness in his jaw betrays any semblance of nonchalance. “No need to thank me. I’d already been planning on inviting you.”

What? You’re about to actually ask him why when he exits your room, leaving you confused and your questions unanswered.

Aside from the elation you feel at having seen Astarion again, let alone having received an invitation from him, you’re giddy with thoughts of Waterdeep. You’ve never been before, and you will have the opportunity to meet the Gale of Waterdeep? You feel your face breaking into the same ecstatic look Astarion chided you for.

After researching the ‘useless’ formula for the ring for so many days, you want to get to the bottom of it. This is it, you think. This is my opportunity to pick Gale’s brain. Putting aside whatever it was you’d been in the middle of before Astarion arrived, you begin packing all of your notes in your Bag of Holding.

I’ll figure it all out later, you think, practically shaking with excitement. My gods, I can’t believe it. I will get to go to Waterdeep!

Before you pack the rest of your clothing, you sit down and send a message to Dal. “Dal, Astarion invited me to Waterdeep! I’ll be gone for a bit, but I think I’ll be coming back?”

She responds and you can practically hear the smile through the message. “I figured that’s why he kept me from following him. Enjoy, and we’ll see you back here soon.”

She’ll see me back here soon! you want to scream to the heavens, out the window, under the floorboards. But you don’t because you’re not about to make Astarion change his mind, and truly you’re not certain what this means for you. Until you know why he wanted to bring you to Waterdeep, then you shouldn’t assume…

That doesn’t stop you from feeling light as a feather for the rest of the day. From practically tripping over your own feet as you pack a few snacks for the road. 

You don’t see Astarion for the rest of the day, but you can feel his presence in the house, as if he’s watching you make an utter fool of yourself– you find you don’t mind. As long as the house feels full of him, you continue along, a smile never leaving your face.

That night when you sit down for bed, you pull out your journal and quill with jittery, anxious hands. Your journal entry reflects your week of learnings, of fears, of excitement:

I think I’ve made some real progress! I think I know how to make the rings, but not… how to make the rings. I know the materials I’ll need, the somatic component of creation, though I am missing the actual incantation and the actual materials. Better than I would have thought after a week, but my past-self seems to be guiding my hand every step of the way.

As for Astarion, well… I don’t think we’re better per say. But I also don’t think he hates me. He invited me to go with him to Waterdeep without much explanation. Surely he wouldn’t invite me if he hated me, right? We leave in the morning. I can’t wait to meet Gale, hopefully have a chance to ask him some things. Though I suppose it may all depend on Astarion’s mood.

[unsafecove]

speaking of ocs heres my durge and my tav smiles

left is rhapsody right is jehan

[faeruy]

Been on a Baldur's Gate 3 brainrot, so I thought I'd share my Tav and Durge.

First up: Tav aka Is'lei - she/her, wood elf, Circle of the Spores Druid, Outlander Background

So I've played Is'lei in other D&D games, and normally she's Eladrin, but since that's not an option in BG3, she's wood elf instead. She's the very definition of a hippie druid, with a scary knowledge of all of the ways plants can kill people, and while wise and knowledgeable in many ways, she's spent almost no time around people and is sorely lacking in social skills. Freedom and free will is her creed, with an alignment thats true neutral trending towards chaotic good. Is'lei has very little desire for power or even material possessions, she mostly just wants to do her part to keep a harmonious balance in the natural world and enjoy it's wonders. Illithids, being aberrations, are ananthema to her and she refuses using any of their powers, especially the mind-manipulating ones. Despite her lack of people skills, or maybe because of it with these weirdos, she gets along well enough with most of her party members, although she and Astarion have diametrically opposed world views and she's constantly annoyed that Gale has a tendency to treat druidic magic as lesser or not real. Is in a polycule with Shadowheart and Halsin, and their homebase is in the former Shadow-cursed lands and filled with flowers and animals.

Durge - aka Rhapsody - she/her, Mephistopheles Tiefling, College of Lore Bard

Rhapsody is not the name she was born with, but is the virtue name she took on; it's meaning is one of strong emotion, exuberance, and ecstasies and it speaks to her musical training, her character, and especially her ambition. She's never wanted to be forgotten or dismissed - she'd rather evoke strong negative emotions in people than indifference. Post tadpole-insertion, however, she's mostly forgotten the dark paths her ambition led her down and thinks that she's capable of being remembered as a hero saving the world. She's just... not great at it. Her moral compass is quirked more westerly than true north. She has very few qualms about getting her hands dirty or using her silver tongue to get her way and definitely trends more towards chaotic neutral. After all, her impulses keep telling her things like 'roast dwarf is delicious' and when compared to that, a little theft and a lot of grifting don't seem all that bad. But beyond all that, when things get too weird and rough, she turns to music, every time. It's the only positive thing about herself that she remembers and she takes great pride in it and uses it to ground herself and her party. She gets along well with most of them, and is inclined to encourage their more ambitious goals and dreams. Become a god? Sure, why not? She's also a bit of a flirt, and enjoys talking to Astarion a lot for that reason, but it's very shallow. For something deeper, there's something about Wyll's heroic, noble nature that draws her to him.

[fiercest-eigengrau-skies]

Patrons of Altered Fate

finally got this finished! tyrdove, my bg3 tav, and the patrons who have aided her. lore and singular patrons under the cut! :D

i'll probably do a full post about them at a later date, but for now, just their sprites.

"My ancestors oft spoke of divine heritors of old that provided them aid in their great journeys. Masters of a Pantheon of Altered Fate, whose forms have been touched by the strange magicks of the Feywild. My father and his father before him sought their favor, yet were met with a deafening silence.

"Yet, for me, they answered, and aided me they did.

"The first, my pacted patron, whose name has long been lost to history even before the Scourge of the Sea was met with the Faerûnian coast: the Arbiter of Fate. His command of the Cords of Fate are not something to be trifled with, able to read an entire history from one's Cord. My ability to be used as a conduit of my aura magic, as my mother referred to it, stems from an unutterably ancient blood pact they made with one of my ancestors of old.

"The next of my patrons, the Rhapsody of the Sands. It was he who stepped when my life was fated to end at the hands of my damnable father, his mastery of chronomancy unmatched. So, too, is he called a god of war, a representation of war in its truest horror. As just, I flew on his righteous wings to strike my father down in the house that became my prison.

"The last of my patrons who has answered my call, she calls herself a Guide of Crossroads. As I ran from my burning house, scorched and damaged in more ways than one, she came to me, my path at a crossroads, and offered me healing and aid. She provided me a path forward, and allowed me to meet with my divine benefactors.

"Much of what I know is owed to them."

From the journal of Tyrdove Sentio, 1536 DR

[antivanbrandy]

i just think cal and lia would have waaaaay too much fun teasing a tav-crushing rolan

i wonder what they're having for dinner? i hope it's spaghetti 🤌

[nightmarist]

TARETH — Archfey Warlock Lolth Sworn Drow Sage Background

STR 10, DEX 10, CON 10 (+0) INT 14 (+2), WIS 14 (+2), CHA 18 (+4)

5'3, 130lbs His eyes, hair, and skin have pinkish tones from his Archfey Pact

My first Tav that I've played since EA!

Tareth had always been a bit too clever for his own good. Because of it, he caught the glimmering eye of an Archfey who occasionally goes by Ingg.

Growing up in the Underdark as a female drow, he was at first presented with ample opportunities to gain advantages for his House, but they began to dwindle as he was nearly forced to detransition himself to keep them, or be treated as a lesser male drow. Neither were acceptable to him. The Archfey Ingg came to him and promised him a transformation, to be anything he wanted, as long as he would agree to collect magic artefacts and curios for them.

Tareth made the pact and the Archfey Ingg transitioned him to his desires, and follows as a whisper behind his ear.

He spent nearly a decade on the surface, preferring to live in the quiet small towns along the Chionthar. He trusts his patron wholly and entirely, being sent off to find and capture rare artefacts, trinkets, and other things in their name and in turn be rewarded. On his way to Baldur's Gate, he was kidnapped by Mindflayers and forced to take on the daunting task of defeating the Absolute.

He enjoys clambering for power, for any upper hand as is his drow nature. He was drawn to the very-literal cutthroat nature of Astarion - it was love at first knife. He caught on to Astarion's attempts to manipulate him rather easily and quickly but had assumed Astarion's motives were fueled solely by selfishness, which he respected and had fun with, but the more he learned of Astarion's, and the other companions', tragic stories the more he learned to allow himself to be vulnerable.

His spells mostly rely on fucking with people and having the upper hand. He prefer to be a saboteur, and is a duel-wielder.

For story purposes, I'd say he is no longer Lolth-sworn but has instead dedicated himself to his Archfey patron and loosely to Vaerhaun.

SKILLS, FEATS, & SPELLS:

EQUIPMENT:

Circlet of Mental Anguish Cloak of the Weave Spidersilk Armor Quickspell Gloves Boots of Speed Spellcrux Amulet Ring of Truthfulness Ring of Elemental Infusion Mainhand: Rhapsody Off-hand: Crimson Mischief Ranged: Gontr Mael* *Because I have superiority die from Martial Adept, I can use Bolt of Celestial Light, but can't use the other proficiency weapon features

[dndfantasygirl]

Little Red Rogue (Chapter 9: Just My Imagination)

Rating: Mature Word count: 1.2k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo

Summary: Ruby convinces the party to take a day of respite before entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

Every night on my knees I pray Dear Lord, hear my plea Don't ever let another take her love from me Or I would surely die, hmm

(Her love is) Heavenly, when her arms enfold me I hear a tender rhapsody But in reality, she doesn't even know me

Once again Runnin' away with me, oh Tell you it was just my imagination Runnin' away with me

~Just My Imagination (Running Away With Me), The Temptations

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

As the flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls of the corridor, the party found solace in each other's company. The respite they had decided upon was proving to be a well-deserved break from the perils they faced in the Grymforge and the looming dangers of the Shadow-Cursed Lands ahead.

Despite initial reluctance, Ruby's infectious enthusiasm for celebration won over even the most stoic members of the group.

Amidst the crackling of the fire and the soft whispers of the night, the party exchanged tales of their adventures, reliving past triumphs and defeats with equal fervor. The bitter chill of the wasteland outside seemed to fade away in the warmth of their shared laughter and companionship.

In a moment of impromptu creativity, Ruby, with her innate elven magic, conjured up a folk song from her childhood memories. The tune hung in the air like a wistful echo of times long gone, stirring emotions and memories within each of her companions.

With a nostalgic smile playing on her lips, the dhampir's foot tapped against the cold stone ground. Then, she began to dance.

As Ruby's laughter filled the air, the warmth of her joy seemed to penetrate even the darkest corners of the corridor. Astarion found himself intrigued by her playful antics, raising a brow in amusement as he observed her twirling around the fire.

Uncertain of what to make of Ruby's dance, Astarion watched as she seized Gale's hands, then Shadowheart's, and continued on, determined to ensnare each member of their eclectic band in her whirlwind of merriment.

When Ruby approached Lae'zel with the intention of roping her into the dance, the githyanki's characteristic scowl was enough to dissuade any further attempts, prompting Ruby to move on to her next target: Astarion himself.

With a coy smile, the vampire spawn initially declined her invitation, content to watch from the sidelines. However, Ruby's playful insistence proved too charming to resist, and before he knew it, he found himself being pulled off the log where he had been lounging.

To his surprise, he found himself willingly swept into the rhythm of the dhampir's dance, her infectious energy coaxing him out of his usual reserve. As she spun him around, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she effortlessly drew their companions into the festivities, each one clapping along to the beat of the music.

With the circle formed and hands joined, the party members eagerly followed Ruby's lead, their anticipation palpable as they prepared to execute her favorite folk dance. As they began to spin in unison, the corridor seemed to come alive with the rhythm of their movements, the sound of clapping hands echoing off the stone walls.

Once they were back to their starting point they turned to the person behind them. Gale was paired with Shadowheart. Wyll with Karlach. Ruby with Astarion.

As the dance unfolded, each movement became a seamless exchange of energy and rhythm, a symphony of motion orchestrated by Ruby's infectious enthusiasm. They linked hands, their steps synchronizing as they kicked beside opposing legs, a playful rhythm that mirrored the flickering flames around them.

With each graceful movement, they effortlessly transitioned from one step to the next, their bodies moving in harmony as they spun and twirled, their laughter mingling with the crackling of the fire. Astarion found himself entranced by the sight of Ruby's violet eyes, sparkling with mirth, and the endearing way her nose crinkled with each delighted giggle.

In that fleeting moment, as they moved together in perfect tandem, Astarion felt a sense of peace wash over him. The weight of their burdens—the looming threats of Cazador, the parasite, the specter of mind flayers, and the machinations of the Absolute—all faded into the background, overshadowed by the simple joy of being present in the moment.

For once, the relentless march of time seemed to slow, allowing Astarion to savor the precious moment shared with Ruby. In her embrace, surrounded by the warmth of their companionship and the flickering light of the fire, he allowed himself to dream of a world where worries and fears held no sway, where the only thing that mattered was the gentle sway of their dance and the unspoken bond that bound them together.

What was he doing? Daydreaming like some love-sick teenager? He didn't have the time or luxury to fantasize about such things. Furthermore, it was embarrassing.

Clearing his throat in an attempt to mask the sudden vulnerability he felt, Astarion distanced himself from Ruby, the absence of her warmth leaving an ache in his gut that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. He shifted his focus to more practical matters, feigning indifference as he noted the significant height difference between them, a fact that had often escaped his notice in their day-to-day interactions.

Without the customary elevation provided by her heeled boots, Ruby stood a few inches shorter than usual, her bare feet grounding her in a vulnerability that Astarion found disconcerting. Yet, as he gazed into her eyes, he couldn't help but be drawn in by the intensity of her gaze, the fondness and understanding reflected in the depths of her violet irises.

As Astarion wrestled with his conflicting emotions, a tumultuous storm raged within him, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls he had erected around his heart. A part of him longed to return Ruby's gentle smile, to bask in the warmth of her innocence and optimism, but another part of him recoiled at the thought, deeming such sentiments foolish and impractical.

He reminded himself sternly of the harsh realities of their world, of the darkness that lurked in every shadow and the weight of the sins he bore upon his soul. Ruby's child-like innocence, her unwavering optimism, seemed almost offensive in its purity, a stark contrast to the twisted depths of his own depravity.

He couldn't help but marvel at the contradiction that was Ruby—someone who had undoubtedly witnessed horrors beyond comprehension, yet still retained an aura of innocence that bordered on naivety. It frustrated him to no end, this incongruity between her outward demeanor and the darkness that lurked beneath the surface.

And yet, despite his reservations, Astarion couldn't deny the strange fondness that had taken root within him, a begrudging admiration for Ruby's resilience in the face of adversity. Her unwavering optimism, her child-like wonder, had a way of worming its way into his heart, even as he fought tooth and nail to keep it at bay.

But admitting such sentiments was out of the question. To acknowledge his growing fondness for Ruby's innocence would be to expose a vulnerability he couldn't afford to reveal.

And so, Astarion witnessed the subtle shadow of sadness cast over Ruby's violet eyes as he reluctantly turned away, retreating to the solitude of his tent. He couldn't bear to linger in her presence any longer, knowing that his conflicted emotions threatened to unravel the fragile facade he had carefully maintained.

[emeraldgreaves]

Those Tav asks 1, 10, 12, and 19 for both Irina and Thalassa please :D

questions to answer about your tav that have nothing to do with baldur's gate at all and are dubiously set in some ambiguously modern period

what smiley face would they use the most if they had a phone

irina’s fond of 😊🥰😃😅 as the situation requires, but insists that 😉 is a cursed emoji with different vibes than ;)

thalassa uses 🙂 and :) interchangeably, but only when she sees the emoji version pop up as a suggestion on her keyboard. it’s very random and everyone hates that. honestly i doubt she even had the emoji keyboard installed at first. she is, however, a fan of 🌊 since her name is ocean-related, and will sometimes sign her texts with it

what are they allergic to

irina’s allergic to penicillin, and lavender irritates her throat sometimes.

thalassa has a pollen allergy that she’s continually frustrated by.

12. if they were at a corporate or school-sanctioned group bonding event and someone asked them to say one fun fact about themself what workplace appropriate fact would they choose

irina’s would be that she grew up around her dad’s family in (insert whatever equivalent there is for elven lands here), and she goes back there for a week or so every year!

thalassa’s would be that she has two cats, which is not the most fun fact about her, but it is the fact she would deploy around other people.

19. their top 3 songs on repeat

Irina all you had to do was stay - taylor swift 2 be loved - lizzo Feeling good - nina simone

Thalassa time i love to waste - may-a Here comes the sun - the beatles Rhapsody in blue - george gershwin

[theomisu]

Thanks you so much for the tag, it's always fun doing these🤗💕 Why were these so hard to answer though? 🤣

last song: uuum, it's like I forgot all the songs I've ever listened to. umm Habibi and Kolibri were playing in the car from hubby's playlist. No, I don't understand the words, but they sound good 🤣

currently watching: youtube also😂 but rewatching Supernatural with hubby and we also started the Atla on Netflix (looking kinda boring, ngl, a little disappointed)

three ships: uuuum, I guess I don't really have ships? Cloud and Tifa maybe? Tyrande and Malfurion... Durge!Tav and Astarion :))

favorite color: Black is a color!🖤if not, red.

currently consuming: a frappuccino. wish it were a shawarma.

first ship: ship, ship, ship... does Legolas x modern!reader count?

place of birth: Romania 🇷🇴

current location: home, on the couch.

relationship status: to be married as soon as we have money 😂

last movie: Anyone but You

currently working on: The Aetherhollow Archive, Mons Immortalium and Rhapsody of Broken Dreams. Low key plotting a monster... lover IF. Yes, definitely wanted to say lover and not fu-

Tagging @sai-quo-licious, @coeluvr, @backstage-if, @sanguinesky-if, @apt502-if, @andscene-if and anyone else who sees this!💕

Tag people you want to know better

I thought it would be fun if I did this, especially since I haven't posted an update about ATOL (sorry about that btw, been busy but I am very much working on! Fixing and adding themes, you know?) and so consider this a little update to what I have been doing lately 😊 indirectly tagged by @saharasdawn

last song: Madeleine by Good Kid (just Good Kid songs in general lol they're so good)

currently watching: youtube 😂 and Skate Into Love (cdrama)

three ships: completely random. but. Sonaze. Lukerosa. Sokeefe. Just look them up and you'll find out 😐

favorite color: Blue! 💙

currently consuming: an amalgamation of chicken, beans, rice, and unknown spicy sauce.

first ship: Sonaze. I'm so embarrassed by it, but yeah...I remember the fanfics I looked up so vividly

place of birth: America.

current location: ...your closet home.

relationship status: ...we don't talk about it.

last movie: The Lion King, animated version of course. Nearly cried at the end, the nostalgiaa 😭

currently working on: writing, editing and fixing my games, as well as brainstorming new ideas but never following through on them (maybe you'll see one of them come up soon? or maybe not lmao my brain is a chaotic mess).

tagging my guardian spirit @albywritesfiction as well as @elegantunknownphantom, @theomisu, @iridescentcorvid, @aevisreads, @friend-frog and @emysjourney (for some reason the link doesn't pop up, hope you see this Emy 🥺). And also tagging anyone who sees this!