#try living again [ astarion musings ]

[coreofgold]

@vcndetta for Freya

"Freya, is it?" Astarion asks, silver hair perfectly quaffed and dressed in a regal outfit from Baldur's Gate. "If it is, it appears I am your blind date."

[yandere-sins]

Hello! Another bg3 fan, your Ascendent!Astarion fic was delicious. I saw you mention yandere gale, and omg I'm losing my mind at the idea.

Man literally fell in love with a God, and yet somehow he found someone even more perfect.

Imagine being locked in the tower with him, resigned to your fate, and instead trying to play to his kind side. You'd rather he cast spells for minor things, like the sparkle light trick, rather than return to 24/7 Hold Person.

The man is a Archmage, I'm sure he would know a way to freeze you in place until you had agreed to behave.

I'm looking forward when/if you decide to follow through writing about him!!

Best wishes

-🌟

Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed the Astarion fic, and thank you for giving me a small idea for some Gale ♥

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Gale didn't look up from his book until the moment he felt your hand reach out to the little sparks he sent from his fingertips over the armrest of his reading chair for you.

Turning his head away from the pages to look at your sprawled-out form on the floor next to his chair, he watched as you tried to reach for them, always just a second too late before they disappeared. Even if you caught one, they wouldn't have done you any harm, but he knew that his magic amused you, albeit just for a while. Still, he watched in awe as you passed your hand through the illusions, leaving glittering tails of magic in the air, the sight of you mesmerizing him.

You had been awfully silent while he was reading, the comfy lounge chair across from him empty as you decided to spend your time on the wooden floor instead. It was a comfort thing you once explained, although he didn't understand why you needed to hide between amenities and piles of books to feel comfortable at that moment. You two had long passed the stage of getting hurt by each other's words and one or the other lashing out, Gale's punishments sometimes sending you into a flight instinct that could only be resolved by hiding somewhere in his tower.

Yet, knowing you stayed by his side despite feeling like you needed to hide yourself, gratification went through every inch of his body.

Life was peaceful now. He got to love you, got to care for you. Even if you didn't reciprocate his feelings unconditionally, he had learned to live with your compliancy. It was so much better than your anger and outbursts. All the days spent crying and throwing things against each other, with you inevitably ending up in a holding spell or hurt and desperate, were over, and Gale never wanted to return to them.

Closing his book, Gale leaned over the armrest of his reading chair, resting his head on his arms and watching you lay there silently and expressionless, with only your eyes moving to meet his. Even this small gesture reminded him of why he loved you so much. He loved every second he got to spend with you locked in this tower. Every minuscule day that passed was filled with euphorical love. Every spell he showcased to you, every moment of intimacy and affection you two had was ingrained in his memory. There was no one Gale would ever love again like he did you. It was sheer impossible to ever feel the same heart-wrenching, downright sickening amount of affection he felt looking at you with anyone else.

You wouldn't leave him. You'd always be waiting for him, no matter what, never letting him down or abandoning him. Even if it wasn't willingly, you'd stay here with him until the end of both of your times. Even then, Gale hoped the gods would give him a boon for his devotion and unite you even in the afterlife.

"You're beautiful," he mused, eyes twinkling with affection. Yours had long lost their spark, but knowing you were alive was enough for him. "I love you so much."

"Do it again," you asked, ignoring his comment and pointing your index at his hand. "The sparks."

Unlatching his arm from under his head, Gale hovered it in front of you, summoning back the sparkles. Their flashing colors reflected so beautifully in your emotionless eyes that it almost made him tear up. You almost looked like you had before he took you with him to this tower and locked you up for his own selfish reasons. It reminded him of how he fell in love with you, which only made his heart swell more.

You reached up to inspect his hand, softly touching him like a cat, pawing at a toy, as you tried to see where the sparks came from and find out how he did the magic that eluded you. Gale would have loved to teach you all he knew about the magic he loved nearly as much as he did you if you weren't at risk of using it to hurt yourself or him. His dream was to join you in your magic, connecting to you on a level much deeper than just his love for you. But for now, he'd content himself with the feeling of your touch against his fingertips, every one of them making his heart jump and other parts of him uncomfortably tight as his mind raced with thoughts.

It's been too long since you touched him, your affection so sparse and selective. Who could blame Gale for being excited like a little boy on his birthday when you shared some of it with him?

"Mind if I join you down there?" he asked, his voice cracking as he tried not to sound too needy. You stiffened, your explorations stopping abruptly. Your gaze shot up to his face, and your expression twisted into disgust, seeing the light blush around his cheeks. You didn't want him to join you.

It wasn't a question, though.

You shrieked pitifully as you tried to get away, noticing the changes in him just a second too late. Towers of books collapsed around you, undoubtedly bruising you where they hit, but at the end of the day, he was the hunter and you the prey, and the years had worn you down, so your advantages against him had diminished. Gale had always taken what he wanted. Right after the fight against the mind flayers ended, he swore he wouldn't let anyone else but himself dictate his life ever again, and that included you.

Even when you shivered, trying to worm yourself out of his grip as he pinned you down, fear and disgust wretching your beautiful face into a grimace, everything about you screaming that you were unwilling to comply with his lust and desire, Gale simply had to have you. He'd never have enough of his curious little kitten, the one so easily amused by low-level spells that he'd produce for you all day long if they made you stay by his side. He'd never tire of your touch or the memories of your body against his, and it was time to make more of them, lasting him even on the days you didn't love him at all. Memories that would break you down if they had to, as long as it meant he would get what he wanted.

And what Gale always wanted was simple—you.

So as he smiled down at you, his eyes filled with the madness of a lonely wizard while his lips quivered in anticipation of a kiss, his grip only tightened, and the word that you hated the most escaped him before Gale could even realize what he was doing to you.

"Hold."

[baldurs-gape]

To put it politely, Grymforge was miserable. Gale hated every moment of it with a vengeance. The oppressive heat made him almost constantly thirsty, his clothes were sticking to his skin and the lack of even a bit of air flow added to the horrors. Sweat clogged, he'd resorted to putting his hair up into a bun though strands did escape to cling to his neck and jaw. Looking around the camp, Gale huffed. Most of his companions were in a similar state, wearing as little as socially acceptable when not out and at risk of a fight, flopped over or fanning themselves for a little bit of relief. Even Karlach looked like she was suffering. They all did, except Astarion. It was unfair. Their vampire friend looked unruffled, hair still perfect, complexion as pale as usual. Then again, there were pitfalls to being unaffected.

"Astarion, we'll need you today," Lae'zel called. "Along with Gale and Karlach. We need that drow's head."

Oddly, there was no grumble from Astarion about heading out. Usually he insisted on some downtime where others did the hard work for a change. However, in the Grymforge he had falled strangely pliant and silent, doing as told. Perhaps he knew the others were faring much worse than he was in the heat, Gale mused. Either way, they were off. In silence. Ahead, Lae'zel and Karlach were amicably sharing tales of their greatest fights, it was the only sound from their group.

"Killing the drow means we might be able to save the gnomes." It was an underhanded comment from Gale, he knew how much Astarion didn't like gnomes. Any other day it would have been a surefire way of getting him ranting about what a waste of their time and energy it all was.

"Whatever."

It wasn't a 'whatever' kind of issue though and Gale pushed.

"They might have some handy reward in exchange for their rescue."

"Don't care."

Pouting a little, Gale huffed. If Astarion didn't want to talk, fine, he could keep quiet too. They lingered at the back of the talks with the dwarves, Gale sent a firebolt at the runepowder placed at the bottom of the rocks and blew it to smithereens. Nere stalked out, spouted some shit, Karlach lost any cool she had and picked a fight. After that the fight was a bit of a blur as Gale scrambled to differentiate between dwarves on their side and those on Nere's side.

At long last the fighting stopped, Nere was dead. There were arrows dotted around the place from where they had missed their targets. Gale was certain most were Astarion's doing, he'd seemed less vengeful and bloodthirsty than usual. He didn't have much time to ponder it a lot longer as Lae'zel snarled at the dwarf in charge. Just like that, the gnomes were free. Joys.

"We'll need the head," Gale said to Astarion while the other two were talking to the gnomes. "Shall we?"

"Yeah." Watching Astarion walk to the drow's body, Gale was struck by how heavy his steps were, gait unsteady and the opposite of his usual grace. Dagger in hand, Astarion dropped to a knee by Nere's shoulder and listed to the side before jerking upright.

"Right. Okay," he mumbled to himself. The blade wavered over skin, slicing in the air above it. "Shit. Fuck."

Staggering up, the dagger was tossed in Gale's direction and he barely caught it. Confused, Gale took Astarion's spot but looked up at his companion. Nothing had changed really, Astarion's hair was still perfect, skin devoid of any flush, not a single drop of sweat visible while Gale was positively drenched. But something wasn't right. Watching Astarion, his blinks were slow and deliberate as though trying to clear his vision. He had even stopped breathing, all usual mannerisms to blend in with the living were gone.

"Astarion?" Gale pushed to stand, a hand reaching out. "Maybe sit down for a moment?" Because Astarion was swaying on his feet, listing to the side dangerously.

"Yeah. Sit. Yeah." Except Astarion wasn't moving. He stared at the ground, unable to fathom how his legs worked. "I- Uh-" a hand pressed over his stomach and Gale recognised the motion. Instinctively, he stepped back right as Astarion bent over and retched. Blood blackened bile splashed on the marble floor, a pitifully small dribble. His knees almost landed in it as they finally gave out. It had Gale lurching into action, just about able to guide Astarion to lie on his side before he fell unconscious.

Feeling his skin, Gale hissed. Heat radiated from Astarion almost as bad as Karlach. It made no sense though, there was no sign that Astarion had been struggling with the heat. Not like everyone else had been. Except maybe Gale had got it all wrong. What if is wasn't the case of not being affected but being unable to physically express it? Mind whirring, he began stripping Astarion of his armour.

Sweat was a way for the body to cool itself, to contend with the heat. So was flushing, a fast pulse and rapid breaths. Astarion had none of those. Feeling his skin again, Gale recoiled. He was so used to feeling Astarion's cool body against his, to feel him warmer than he was, it went against everything he knew.

"Now's not the time," Lae'zel huffed at him and hacked off Nere's head with brutal efficiency.

"We need to get him somewhere to cool down." Still kneeling, Gale pulled an ice arrow from Astarion's quiver and slammed it tip down into the ground. Ice spread under him and Astarion, painfully cold but necessary. "He's in trouble."

"We're all hot, soldier. Fangs looks better than most of us."

"Exactly. Please, we need to help him."

Grumbling to herself, Lae'zel thrust the head at Karlach and moved gingerly over the patch of ice. As she scooped up Astarion's limp form, surprise raised her eyebrows.

"I see. We must not tarry. The myconid colony has a more favourable climate."

They took off at speed, Gale found himself struggling to keep up. But he pushed on, pulling his helmet off and discarding it in the empty halls. They'd be coming back anyway, he could pick up then. As they descended the stairs towards the skiff, Astarion stirred with a soft moan. Eyes blinked open but no spark of recognition flickered in them.

"Please," he rasped, a hand blindly reaching out to grasp at something only he could see. "No more. I'll be good. I promise." Voice breaking, he left out a mewling cry. "Please don't. Master, please."

Karlach glanced at Gale as they came to a stop, brow pinched with worry. She whipped her cape off and dunked it in the water and spread it out on the wood of the boat before Lae'zel eased Astarion down onto it.

"It's okay, Astarion," Gale murmured and caught a still too warm hand in his, pressing it to his own chapped lips. "We've got you."

"I'm sorry." It was a croak more than a whimper as Astarion tried to shy away from the touch. "I'll do better."

"You've already done so well."

Reassurances fell on deaf ears as they sailed back to the Underdark. Le'zel sprinted back to the myconid colony and Gale barely caught up with her as she veered sharply right and marched into the stream, armour and all. Gale followed in and reached out. In the water he could hold Astarion, most of the weight would be lost to the stream.

"I've got him. You and Karlach talk to the Sovereign. Sort out that mess."

There was very little in the way of resistance as Astarion was passed over to him. Gale found a low rock to sit on, submerging them both as much as safe to. He could feel as Astarion's confusion ebbed away and stiffness too over from the terrifying limpness of before.

"You're okay, it's just me, we're safe."

Rather than reply, Astarion sighed and slumped into him, face half submerged in the stream. Eventually, he pulled himself out enough to nuzzled against Gale's neck, lips at their usual chill temperature.

"The fuck happened?"

"You got too hot."

Scoffing, Astarion shook his head but still refused to pull away to look at Gale.

"Impossible. I'm already the hottest anyone alive or undead can get!"

Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Gale laughed softly.

"Yes dear, whatever you say."

Cuddling in, Astarion huffed and grumbled to himself a little more but eventually settled, content to not move. Despite his joking, Gale suspected he was more aware and shaken by the events than he let on. That was okay, they had plenty of time to work through it now.

[zwolfgames]

Goblin camp overtake (drabble) Platonic!Yandere!BG3 x Teen!Reader

(Hopefully it's a bit accurate because ive only played the story twice for now so i dunno all the posibilities.)

Summary: Teen!reader and the squad go take defeat the goblins. Therefore meeting Halsin, and Minthara again.

Warnings: Death (obv), mentions of gore, Goblins

Other related BG3 by me: Intro, Gith creché , The list

The sun was shining, the flowers in the forest were blooming... On days like this, kids like you had been tasked with commuting genocide on the local goblins.

Not that you really cared. They were little shitheads... Stole your laundry once back when you lived with your mom... before all this...

But getting closer to this alleged camp wasn't making you any more at ease. You could already imagine the stench of those sweaty creatures when you have to inevitably walk into that camp. Which you've heard is actually just an old temple.

You've noticed over time that people in your little group have gotten... well, friendlier. For example: Lae'zel was no longer throwing you glares, Shadowheart remembered your name, Astarion has indoctrinated you into his schemes... Yea, the three most hostile people had warmed up to you.

And the other have just... always been quite nice.

Well, Wyll still didn't seem to approve of you, a minor, coming along. But he didn't really have a choice as the others were not allowing him to take you back to the Emerald Grove. Guess they really do find you too funny to lose then.

"Ugh, the stench is disgusting." Karlach waves the air under her nose away.

"It is the smell of a goblin camp. What were you expecting? Tchk. And I myself find this odor quite thrilling. It promises of a good fight." Lae'zel slightly smirks. Clawed hands flexing around the handle of her greatsword.

"Of course you do... Tough the smell of blood has never scared me away." Astarion, in turn, chuckles in that weird posh way. You raise a brow.

"So you're sure you're not a vampire?" You question sarcastically. The pale elf gasps in mock offense.

"Of course not. I merely like the smell." He huffs. Right, so that time you saw him hunt down a boar must have been make belief.

The rest of the party didn't comment anymore as you made your way to the camp.

Gale had thrown his arm around your shoulder to keep you at the back. He excused that as 'magic users stay behind so they can asses the battlefield'. But he probably just didn't want to accidently get Lae'zels sword through his back.

This mission to save some druid calmed Halsin was looking like a total hassle. But hey, why not do side quests while the worm in your head is ready to kill you?

Whatever person lives in your head didn't take kindly to your remark as you heard the voice say they'd protect you.

Right, bullshit. You're just developing pshycosis. A hundred percent that.

"Y/N. If they target you, I want you to run, alright?" Wyll speaks calmly.

"Well, I mean, not that I don't want to but were kind of in this together -" You start nonchalantly.

"Don't listen to the human. It is unhonerable to run from a fight." Lae'zel scolds like a lecturing general.

Well, do you really care about your honor? It's not like you're trying to capture the Avatar here-

"Yea yea, got it, boss." You sigh. The slight stress makes its way to your head. It's just some goblins, right? Nothing a good magic missile can't solve... Right?

You take back your words quite quickly when Astarion smooth talks his way past the outside security to let your group pass. There's like... at least fifty goblins here!

You feel an arm slitter around your shoulders. Looking up, you can see Lae'zels warry face.

She's gripping that greatsword quite harshly, a bit scared, maybe? Tough you doubt it, it's Lae'zel..

You ignore the stink eyes these little creatures are throwing you and walk along with your group.

"My, what a festive place, no? Look, they even have booze." Astarion muses with his typical smug grin.

"We're not here to party." Gale groans. The wizard stares at the goblins in distaste. You note that everyone is on edge

A goblin child sticks her tingue out at you, so you do the same, blowing raspberries for good meassure. This action earns you a dissaproving look by Wyll.

"So where's this druid? I don't want to be here any longer then needed." Shadowheart complains with a little wave infront of her nose to showcase that she thinks this place stinks.. Wich it does.

"Let's ask!" Karlach offers her idea.

"You've got to be the most optimistic person I've met and we have a literal child in the group." Gale groans.

"You can't miss any of the chances you take." Karlach shrugs.

"Let's just gut all of them. I'm sure we can search for the druid in peace then." Astarion smirks.

"For once, I agree with the pale one." Lae'zel sneers.

You watch your group bicker a bit longer as you wander out of the grip you had been put in. Walking around the goblin camp instead.

Mhh, a clear booze tub. They're drunk. Quite ideal.

You scan around the area, a certain tall woman catches your eye, seeing as she isn't a goblin.

Wait a minute, you've met her before! She almost killed you on the beach when the Nautiloid crashed!

The nerve of that woman, she doesn't deserve the same hairstyle as your mother.

Astarion had snuk out of the argument your group of idiots was having right in the middle of the goblin camp. He stuck himself to your side, observing along with you.

"You seem... focussed. You have an idea, do you not?" The pale elf asks smoothly.

"An inkling. They're drinking, and Nettie gave us wyvern poison... I mean...?" You let your gaze travel to the booze tub. Astarions red eyed orbs follow along. You can see a sharp toothed grin spread across his face.

"I just know we're going to be great friends, Y/N.." He smirks and puts a cold hand on your shoulder.

You just smile in satisfaction that your plan is apparently good. Before you know it, Astarions snatched the poison out of Shadowhearts pocket. You watch the man go invisible to presumably go dunk the booze in poison. Or maybe he's gonna drink it... But he never seemed suicidal... So it should be fine.

"Y/N, c'mon, we're going into the temple, the druid should be there." Karlach waves you over.

You nod and join the group again. Getting tucked back under someone's shoulder.

The first leader of the Goblins you had met was a priestess. And oh boy, defenitly not your favourite... She wanted to brand you! Is she nuts!?

So anyways, Lae'zel chopped her head off... Uh... props to Wyll for covering your eyes.

Then there was Dror Ragzlin. Scary guy that one. Almost twice your size, mean face and doing necromancy. Yikes.

Unfortunatly, you did have to help in this fight. There were goblins storming in through the door and well just that beast of an orc.

So you you just started blasting spells at the incoming goblins. Fireball and Ice Knife were a nice combo, no? Make em slip and then steam the ice and do damage? Sounds logical to you. Was anyone else smelling barbeque or just you?

When that got taken care of, Karlach strapped a helmet to your head and lead you back to the group.

The last leader was the same woman that had tried to kill you. Minthara, apparently. You've never seen a real drow, so this was cool. Except for the part where she tried to kill all of you. That wasn't that cool...

Just before she was supposed to just die, Lae'zel had accidently hit one of the wooden beams in the room. The ceiling collapsed right infront of you.

Well, maybe she's dead? Atleast it's not your problem anymore?

After all the goblins inside had straight up been slayed, Astarion joined the group once more, seeming quite pleased with himself.

"Where have you been?" Gale asks sternly. Raising an eyebrow in suspiscion. It's still quite annoying that nobody really trusts anyone here..

"Let's just say the situation outside is taken care off." Astarion boasts proudly.

"Really? And you did that, alone?" Shadowheart states in a disbelieving tone. Gods forbid the fancy man does anything impressive.

"Yes! Is that so hard to believe?" Astarion scoffs and crosses his arms.

"Very." Shadowheart argues back.

"I'll believe it when I see it." Lae'zel adds.

Wyll and Karlach just exchange glances. Well you know that he did it. So there's no need for your input-

"Ahhh!" You eep in fear as a large man had appeared behind you. Wich is very scary considering every one in this temple was supposed to be dead.

"Calm down little cub, I mean no harm." The large man smiles reasuringly.

You stagger back to Lae'zels side. This man... Elf ears.. Brown hair. Ah, druid attire? Halsin, perhaps?

"And who are you?" Shadowheart asks for all of you.

"Halsin. You were sent here to come chack on me, or are you just lost adventurers?" Halsin asks with that same smile.

"Well, we found him. Back to the grove-" Gale starts walking off before Karlach grabs the rim of his robes to keep him in the group.

"We did come here for you. Have the goblins hurt you?" Wyll asks calmly. Halsin shakes his head.

"Nothing I can't handle. Why the cub?" Halsin tilts his head at you.

"They're actually an immortal being in the form of a child. Wiser then any of us." Astarion makes up.

Halsin raises a brow. Clearly not believing that.

"Right. But like your little wizard said, we should get back. I am sure the grove has missed me." Halsin hums.

"Don't think so, they're closing it off frol the outside world." You mention calmly.

"What." Halsin stops smiling. You just shrug, that's all you picked up from it.

Halsin frowns and starts walking out. What determination.

Your group eventually exits the dead silent temple after having taken any valuables. Can't leave without some loot, who knows if you're getting paid!

As you walk out the large door, the death Astarion had caused is quite visible, dead goblins everywhere. R.I.P, you won't be missed.

Now that that's taken care of, who knows what adventures await you thanks to this stupid worm in your brain!

Not the best, but it's something. Yan feelings gotta develop trough the story but I'm not fully there yet.

[coreofgold]

Astarion flicked at the bloodstain with his tongue before pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket. "Yes, right. Thank you." He dabs at it. "A good one can lead to some spillage, shamefully enough." He mused.

@hiddenstarters

"you've got a little something just there." audrey chuckled as she gestured to the spot on her own face, her eyes locking with whatever it was on the others face "have you got it, or should i help?"

[atsadi-shenanigans]

FSBE 42 - No Fucking Way

No fucking way this works.

On AO3.

You stand there. Dumb, deaf, defenseless. A baby rabbit staring up at a weapon of mass destruction you can barely perceive, let alone understand. All your thoughts is gone, blasted away like the clouds after the first, concussive wave of a mega-ton bomb explosion.

“Um.”

Purple sparks and whirls around Gale’s fingers. Astarion’s eyes is wild, teeth bared. You die if y’all stay. Astarion gets fucked if y’all leave.

You saw something in that whisper of an instant. Some instinct screamed at you, something about the words, something like a possibility.

“I ain’t trying to be rude,” you sputter. “But the contract. Something in your contract. Was that most of it?”

The beast don’t move. Don’t speak for a long moment and you ain’t never really smelled fear before? But you do now, all thin and sour and you think it might be you.

The lids lower a fraction of an inch over them hellfire eyes. Just enough to lull the internal screaming to a slightly more manageable level.

“Parchment can burn,” the thing says in the cough and growl of a tank engine. “Oral agreements aren’t worth the tongues they’re wraggled upon. A song lingers. Raphael made double-sure of that. I can’t forget the damned thing so long as my work’s not finished. Yet nothing living stalks these halls. I did as instructed.”

You wonder for a split second why McFuckface BitchDevil had such a hate boner for the Sharrans down here. Maybe ask Shadowheart about that later.

Then the thing’s eyes flare. “It rattles around in my head. The contract still stands.”

And there’s something in that. A note amidst the screaming of grapeshot tearing through an infantry line, of pilgrims standing outside a burning village of Narragansett, shooting anyone who tried to run from the flames.

Desperation.

Your ears catch on that, a cat pouncing on something small and scurrying.

“Enough prattle. The lyrics are clear—all who hear the song must die. Time to die.” It grins, the teeth for a moment ain’t tusks, but snapped bones streaked in blood and gore.

But there it was. That’s what you caught on.

“We didn’t hear it,” you say. It’s like your brain is hurtling down a too-steep sand dune, legs throwing out, unsure if each step will catch you but you’re going too fast (can’t stop) to really think about it. “The song is the contact. We didn’t hear the whole thing. Didn’t sign it.”

“You’d better be damned sure about this,” Astarion hisses. You ain’t even sure if it’s out loud or in the group chat.

The thing laughs; your vision blacks out a second, brain refusing to take any input. When you blink, it’s to find it still, well, not smiling—nothing like that can make an expression that isn’t the buzzing hum of a decaying field of slaughter. But it ain’t lifted the sword.

“Oh?” it says.

Wow hey, that thing amused? You’d rather chug bleach. Jump in front of a bus. Go hang yourself with your own bootlaces rather than witness anything like that ever again.

“We ain’t heard it,” you say again. Hope to god your legs don’t give out, cause that’ll be a dead fucking giveaway. “But you know who has? Them.”

The shapes above. Other demons or monsters, you ain’t got a good look. They ain’t said shit, ain’t made a sound but for the soft clatter and rasp of armor. But they’re up there. Watching. Waiting.

The thing looks up. Its head tilts all slow.

“This is our only chance,” Astarion says, voice quaking.

You reach blindly. Touch the back of his wrist. Hold it a second as the thing above considers. Push the manic churning in your head at his brainworm.

A chance. A possible path. Winnow down the opposition, at least.

“They’re your followers?” you say. Haven’t mentally tripped over your own feet just yet.

“Since my arrival,” the thing says, all slow. Thoughtful. “But they barely have a thought to share amongst themselves.”

It still stares. A mad man with his hand hovering over a bright, red button labeled “launch” in some bunker in Nebraska.

“But they do have ears,” it muses.

Then it gives an order. A horrible order. You keep your gaze on it, focus all you got to ignore the sounds above, which are hideously quiet. There’s carnage: wet thuds and muffled, involuntary grunts, metal catching on shit and the heavy drop of bodies. But not one scream. Not one word. Silent murder eventually drowned out by the chatter of your teeth.

Then it’s done, and a sticky hush falls over the changer, oozing over your head and into your ears like cold, rancid mud. The thing’s eyes close. Your upper lip is wet with sweat. Lae’zel is coiled tight as a rattlesnake right next to you.

Eyes open. Burning. Hateful. Fixed on you.

“It didn’t work,” the thing says.

It’s alone, now. If y’all attack it right now, in the next two seconds, y’all might, maybe have a snowball’s chance in hell.

“I still hear it,” the thing growls, the low reverberation humming between your ribs like you’re the skin on a plucked, goddamn banjo from hell.

But there’s still that desperation in the thing. That tiny tightness to its voice, like a lost kid at a fair. A bleating calf being led to the harvest shed. The congregation waiting for the lord’s mercy.

You got to be the hand of that mercy a time or two, before you fell to weakness and impurity (got older, developed—against all odds—a withered and sickly sense of self, a sapling all twisted to the side by scourging winds). A couple times, you did get to walk through the congregation with Mother’s approval, her momentary touch on your shoulder still burning like a fallen star. And you got to touch the shoulders of those who the lord saw fit to bless. Got to watch their face lift in rapture, when they grabbed your hand all weeping and thank you thank you.

You sink way deep down into yourself. Through water and down to the lake bottom. Wriggle your way deeper still, an insect in the muck, coating yourself in rot and burrowing into salvation.

“There’s only one more left who heard the whole thing,” you say.

You don’t say it. That’s not how this works. Blessings is sent by the lord to be felt by the blessed. Only the lord knows what he speaks to those he touched. Only the lord, and the blessed.

There’s a psychological term for it, you think. It’s mentally handing someone a shovel with the shared, group knowledge that there’s only one thing to do with a shovel. Let them come to that knowledge on their own (even though you practically spelled it out many times before, though they seen it done before). That way the idea is theirs, belongs to them (through the lord). You give them that ownership and watch as they drape and tighten them chains over themself all by themself.

“Me,” the thing says in the sound of the ground tearing open.

“Ain’t nobody else left?” you say. Hand it the lodestone to attach to them chains. Give it all the tools it needs to throw itself into the depths.

The air around you is so thick you can almost taste it. Your companions are a swarm of gnats buzzing around in your head and you can’t pay no attention to that. Mentally fling your hand around to scatter the hum.

The thing looks around. Surveys the bodies you’re real glad you can’t see up there. Returns its focus to you.

“If you’re wrong about this,” the thing says. “I’ll claw my way out of Avernus and eat you alive. It will take some time.”

You hope to fuck Raphael knows what he’s doing (which is making you hand him another lever of manipulation over y’all, that goddamn shitass motherfucker, he’s got to die).

“Fair enough.” Because what the fuck else are you supposed to say? You are the hand of the lord, his word made flesh for a single moment. Trust you. Believe in you and in the lord your god.

It lifts the blade.

“No fucking way,” Karlach murmurs.

Places the tip in the middle of its chest, just beneath an eye-less skull with no lower jaw.

“Holy shit,” Wyll says.

“Nicely played Raphael!” the thing bellows. “Bastard.”

It thrusts. You finally look away. Turn your whole head. But the sound still slips in your ears. The awful crunch and squelch. The involuntary gasp and the grunt the thing makes. The spatter of blood—a lot of it—hitting the floor and sizzling. And then a wet rattle. A stagger.

Astarion grabs you and hauls you back as something huge comes whooshing down out the dark. Hits the ground like a cow with a slit throat, a heavy, meaty smack-boom and you can’t stop the flinch.

When you open your eyes, that orange burning is gone dark. The horrible air around the thing scatters like a dissipating cloud of carrion flies. Leaving a big-ass slab of dead meat, still twitching. Horns and tusks and fucked up hooves.

Dead.

“I am glad you’re on our side, you know,” Shadowheart says with a weird smile.

Wyll nudges the thing’s shoulder with the toe of his boot. Thing still twitches now and then, little spasms like a horse shaking off pests, like the first time you caught a fish and clubbed it over the head and held it in your hand, feeling the fine, final tremors because it seemed fitting, somehow. Paying attention to its last moments, recognizing them for what they were and being grateful for it.

You know in old stories that Cherokee hunters would have to say the right thing after taking down an animal to make sure they didn’t get haunted. You don’t know what them right words is, and thanking this thing seems ridiculous. But habit is habit, and you mentally thank the fish you kill and make sure to savor the meat.

“Thank you,” you mouth but give no breath to.

And the shakes come.

Cause you did that, and that ain’t no fish. You did that with nothing but words. Sank back down into yourself and became that person again so goddamn fucking quick. So easy. Like you never left.

All known by the lord shall be remembered by him. The blood of the lamb forever knows your name.

Astarion still holds you, real light, though he’s staring at the dead thing. You step away, and he not-quite flinches back into himself.

“Sorry,” you say. “I, uh, I’ll be right outside.”

You manage not to run the fuck outta there.

***

Notes:

Got covid, got taken out, bon appetit. No update Saturday because I was pretty much on the floor the last week-ish. Mask up, y'all; this strain is no fucking joke.

[coreofgold]

@mischiefxmuses for Cullen

"I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to try living again." Astarion said to himself. He's not in the Forgotten Realms, or Faerun or. . .anywhere the vampire knows for that matter but. . .he's free. He doesn't have to fear his "master" anymore and in this strange world where they don't know his name? It's his playground. "You there!" Astarion points and makes his way to the other. "Hello, darling." The vampire gave his best smile. "I was wondering, if you can help me find some entertainment in this place."

[deadly-diminuendo]

WIP Whenever

Thank you so much @strixamans and @amoremagnificentbastard for the tags! 💖

I have another piece of A Fitting Reunion Chapter 2 to share! For a bit of context, Tav is going through some of his design sketches. It's a bit long, so part of it is under the cut:

It eases you, this repetitive motion, this comforting quiet, this sweet glimpse into the life of the one you love. Until you see it. Until your fingers tighten against the paper. Until you freeze. Not because of the clothing, but because of the model. The shape of her figure. The shade of her skin. The style of her hair. The familiarity of her face. It’s you. He drew you. Like you are his muse. Like he could not help but to think of you. Like he is as in love with you as you are with him.

No, you try to tell yourself, this must be some coincidence. And even if it isn’t a coincidence—and really you should just admit to yourself that this cannot be a coincidence—it cannot mean what you want it to mean, right? Maybe it is just because you are his friend. A real person he can easily visualize in his mind’s eye. Yes, that must be all this is. Yes, of course. You quickly flip through the remaining pages. There is no Karlach, no Gale, no Shadowheart, no Wyll, no Lae’zel, no Halsin, no Jaheira, no Minsc—not that any of them got to know Astarion as well as you did, though. All you find are faceless figures, generic and unremarkable. Until, oh, there you are again. Oh, and once more. And again. And, by the gods, again. “Did something catch your eye, darling?” Astarion asks, lips curled into a smirk, looking and sounding every bit like the cat that got the cream. You pull that first sketch of you out of the pile and set the rest down, holding it in the air for him to see. “Is this me?” “Ah, come to think of it, I did have you in mind when dreaming up that particular outfit, yes.” He shrugs, and the nonchalance of it all vexes you. “And not only this one?” “Not only that one, no. I do think of you often, you know.” No. You don’t know. But maybe you are beginning to know. Beginning to let hope blossom in your heart, brave and beautiful and boundless. He pauses his work, stares at you a moment, meets you eye to eye—and, gods, you feel like you are connecting heart to heart. Soul to soul. He speaks again, eventually, shifting back to a less serious, light-hearted tone. A retreat into his own comfort zone. “What more can I say? I like to imagine you in my clothes, darling.” And out of them, you can almost hear him say. Honestly you could go for a little body to body as well, but you know not to push him. Hells, you are not even a couple. You never will be, says a different voice. An unwelcome voice. Your own voice, ever cruel and destructive. But maybe that voice of yours is wrong. Maybe it isn’t never. Maybe it is just not right now. And you can live with not right now. “Actually,” Astarion continues, “I’m not sure imagination is enough anymore.”

Chapter 2 is super close to being done - and, no guarantees, but my goal is to have it up by this time tomorrow! I'm really happy with how things are going, and I really hope I can share it all with you soon!

No pressure tags (and adding a few new writing mutuals here, so I hope you don't mind!): @preciouslittlebhaalbae @xxnashiraxx @nerdallwritey @obsessedwhyyes @goodgirlgonebard @vividiana @bardic-inspo @honeybee-bard @pinkberrytea + anyone else who sees this who has something they would like to share! 💖

[dseerie]

Baldur's Gate 3: Self-Indulging With Astarion

Pain pulsed through my head as I woke from a dream. But when my eyes opened, I wasn’t in my bedroom. I was in a tent, a shade of maroon. I sat up fast, but immediately noticed my body wasn’t my own. It was a man’s, the hands pale with sharp nails and the legs long, swathed in brown pants until boots covered his feet. I checked down an old-style tunic, seeing a lean muscular chest. “Oh whoa!” I gasped, but my voice was deep with an accent.

Right then, something stirred within my head, a presence seemingly beside mine. “What’s going on?” my mouth uttered groggily. I covered my mouth, fear coursing through me. The presence lowered my hand, my expression warping into annoyance. “What the Hells?”

“Who are you?” I asked and my body tensed on its own.

“What the Hells is going on!?” the presence snarled, bringing the body to its feet.

But between my presence and the other trying to control the body, we fell back down.

“Ow! Shit,” I grumbled, wincing as the presence did.

“Who are you?” the presence growled.

“I…uh. Huh. I can’t remember my name,” I mumbled, staring at my hands. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Astarion,” the presence stated.

'Where have I heard that name before?' I wondered. “Well, hello, Astarion. It looks like I’m stuck in your body,” I said, half-sarcastic.

“How did you do it?” he muttered.

“I have no idea. I was in bed, last I checked,” I admitted as I had a hand waggle the other’s finger.

He jerked it away, leaning back on both. “Hmph. I don’t like the idea of someone possessing me. I’ve dealt with too much of that,” he grumbled.

“I’m not doing it on purpose. I’m just a woman, living my own life. Is this a dream? Or…did I die?” I murmured, fearful at the thought.

“You’re a woman?” he asked, sitting straight.

“Yeah,” I said then he had me look down at his crotch. I realized why and would’ve blushed, but I couldn’t seem to heat up. “Have you ever been with a man?” he asked, sounding amused.

“Er…yeah. Why?” I asked, acting naïve.

He smirked. “Did you orgasm?” he asked, sitting cross-legged.

“Once. What does this have to do with our situation?” I asked, nervous as he angled his head.

He scoffed, muttering, “Those fools didn’t know what they were doing. I could make you climax at least three times a night.”

The exciting thought caused an involuntary twitch of his genitals, a bizarre sensation to my mind. “What the fuck!?” I gasped, covering his crotch, then threw his hands up. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“That was…interesting,” he mused, bringing a hand down to touch himself again. I felt gross, but as he pawed over the pants, an ache began. I had no idea how to perceive it, but it was similar to stimulating my clit. His eyebrows quirked as I detected arousal welling in his loins.

“I…don’t know about this,” I mumbled, but a part of me wanted him to continue.

“It’s alright, darling. Let me,” he said smoothly. He slipped off his boots then untied his pants and lifted his backend to slide them down his legs. I automatically closed my eyes and he chuckled. “You’re a shy one. Even after having sex before.”

“Well, yeah! It was expected! This is not---”

He blocked my mouth then slid his finger under his chin. “We have to be quiet, darling. We don’t want anyone hearing us,” he said softly.

“But---”

He put the finger to his lips. “No need to be scared. I won’t hurt you or myself. Alright?” he whispered then wrapped his hand around his semi-hard cock exposed from his foreskin. At once, a spark of pleasure had my breath hitch. His eyebrows rose in intrigue then he began stroking, reclining on the other hand. I could feel the veins of his shaft under his palm, the sensitive nerves providing a slow pleasurable burn in his lower abdomen. He seemed enthralled, his thumb taking particular interest in circling his cockhead. I shivered at the thrill and he moaned. “Do you like that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked, panting a little as I angled his hips forward for more.

He chuckled, giving long strokes that had me fidget. “You know, I haven’t felt this good in a long time,” he murmured then lolled his head back when a flash of pleasure hit us when he squeezed his balls. “Ah, gods.”

“Fuck,” I moaned, digging his other hand’s nails into… “Do you sleep on a board?”

“Yes. I’m an elf. I don’t…have to sleep long,” he said, his breath catching as he massaged his testicles. I took control of the hand and whined as I drew his fingertip over the velvety skin of his genitals, particularly up and down the steel-hard shaft. He breathed a bit faster. “You’re doing excellent, darling.”

“Yeah,” I sighed as pleasure built at my kneading on his balls. “Where I come from, elves are just fantasy. They’re not real.”

He hummed, not seeming to care. He turned over, resting on an elbow, then brought the hand I had controlled to his mouth. He licked his fingers, but I perked when something pointy scraped one. I checked, discovering a pair of elongated canines. “What the fuck!? Are you a vampire!?”

He twirled his tongue around his fingers then muttered, “I’m a vampire spawn. You don’t have vampires where you come from either?”

I could tell it was a sneer from how his brows knitted. “No, we don’t---What are you doing!?” I yelped when he reached behind himself.

“You’ll find out,” he purred then two of his wet fingers entered his anus. I jumped him up onto a hand in shock and he laughed. “Don’t worry, darling. Just let me show you.” He went back onto his elbow as his fingers thrust slowly in and out of his hole. Then he pressed on a spot within. Pleasure seared across his loins and thighs.

“Ah!” I gasped, clenching a fist. He chuckled then hummed his liking as he caressed the pleasure button. I grasped a handful of his soft curly hair when he relaxed it on the wood. I gritted his teeth, making his hips pivot against his fingers, his fingertips brushing the malleable flesh within and giving me happy chills.

“Easy, darling. Let’s take our time,” he cooed between heavy breathing.

“O…kay.” But I wanted to hit the climax that teased us both. It felt like I hadn’t had a release in forever. He certainly knew how to edge, slowing or stopping when the pleasure neared the pinnacle. It burned so good! I soon couldn’t handle it anymore, begging, “Please! I need…to cum!”

“Very well,” he murmured with lust, his presence against mine as he applied faster friction.

We cried out as an intense orgasm flooded every part of his body. He collapsed on his side, but didn’t stop rubbing, his body twitching and toes curling. I wanted to cry, it felt so incredible! The climax faded enough to see past the dots in his vision. “Holy shit,” I whimpered then jerked as he swiped the spot when he removed his fingers.

“That…was amazing,” he moaned then grasped his still stiff cock with the same hand. “But we’re…not done yet.”

“We’re not?” I then whined when his hand slid pleasure up and down his cock. “Oh fuck!” I whispered.

“Indeed.” He winced as he ground his cock on his palm, the now intense painful pleasure flashing everywhere. Drool ran down his cheek, so I stuck two fingers into his mouth. His tongue swirled around then sucked, each pull and twirl matching the stroking of his cock or the massaging of his balls. The euphoria from the previous orgasm had us in a haze, but he kept the motions steady then fast, then slow. Our presences pressed tight together, almost connecting as we worked in tandem to reach ecstasy. I wished I could physically feel him against me, imagining his skin on mine, his lips bringing me into a kiss, his tongue tasting mine as his cock filled my pussy. The images had his body trembling with need. He must have sensed it because he kissed the back of his hand. “Cum with me,” he whispered.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so distracted. Nodding, I whimpered as I had the saliva-coated hand wrap around his cock shaft and he cupped his balls. In unison, we oscillated and undulated, picking up speed. The pleasure swelled with his cock as his balls tightened. The euphoria had us howl and writhe, barely concentrating enough to keep the motions on his genitals going. He and I spewed obscenities from his mouth as cum squirted from his cock, splattering across the wood and dirt floor. What felt like an hour of bliss eased into a savory serenity. We went limp, recovering while basking in the aftermath.

I spoke first. “Does that…always feel that good?” I asked.

“Never,” he murmured, his eyes closed. “Until tonight.”

I had his mouth smirk. “I’m glad. It was amazing,” I said and he chortled. He extended his arm, as if to hug someone, then paused, opening his eyes. “What?”

He planted his arm on the wood. “Nothing,” he mumbled. I had a thought and raised a hand, placing the fingertip gently on his cheek. “What are you doing?”

“Just relax,” I said and began slowly caressing his face. The sensation was nice to my senses, so I knew he could feel it. The comforting touch did the trick, his body losing any tension left. His eyes shut as his presence nuzzled against mine, weary and comforted. I brushed lazy circles across his face, particularly over his cheeks and eyes, wary of his nails. His presence sunk toward what I detected as sleep, so I placed his hand down as carefully as I could so as not to disturb him then let his presence take me with it.

****

Astarion woke when he heard his companions chattering outside, his tent brightened by sunlight. He sat, seeing himself half-naked, which brought back the memories of last night. 'It was real?' he thought, astonished. He searched his mind for the woman’s presence, but there was nothing.

Just him.

He then realized he hadn’t had any nightmares. He gazed at his hands then smiled as he intertwined his fingers together, hoping to one day meet her again.

****

I awoke when my alarm blared. “Shit,” I grumbled, shutting it off. I yawned then went about my morning routine, recalling the dream. It felt so real. 'Ugh, I hate it when I have vivid dreams like that. It's not fair,' I internally grumbled. But as I was stirring coffee and scrolling social media, a notification popped up on my feed.

“Baldur’s Gate Three?” I asked aloud. The post showed several characters, the man in the front beckoning, as if to take me away to a realm of adventure. I clicked on it and read. “Baldur’s Gate Three, a fantasy roleplaying game based on the Dungeons and Dragons universe. You will get a choice of six Origin characters, the Dark Urge, or as your own Tav. The Origin characters consist of---”

I dropped my spoon.

“Astarion!?” I clicked on his name then laughed in amazement as I read about him. I especially found one thing amusing. “I get to play as him? Been there, done that,” I cackled then smiled in adoration, seeing people’s pictures of him, his red eyes bright and his smile beautiful. “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

[petit-etoile]

Astarion/Tav prompt (or Reformed Durge): "I would have you smile again. You will live to see these days renewed. No more despair." I know it's a Lord of the Rings quote but gosh if it doesn't remind me of them ;-;

this  is  the  end  of  the  world ( a  time  for  something  biblical  )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,219 content warnings: canonical mentions of death, spoilers for the dark urge storyline & astarion's act iii romance, graphic mentions of injuries, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, mental health issues & physical ramifications from the tadpole + rejecting bhaal, i highly recommend listening to the exogenesis symphony by muse other tags: canon compliant,  canon-typical violence,  character study,  introspection,  hurt/comfort,  whump,  canon temporary character death,  the dark urge as player character,  codependency,  religious imagery & symbolism,  p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary:  ‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Your life is mine,’ he says, cruel eyes gazing at you. ‘Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.’

‘I would rather die,’ you say.

His hateful eyes narrow dangerously. It was never a good idea to betray a god, nonetheless one who had created you so lovingly. His voice is a low growl when he dismisses you  —  and suddenly, white-hot pain shoots through your veins and threatens to swallow you whole. Bhaal raises his hand and your blood obeys.

‘You were made to conquer,’ he snarls. ‘To devour!’

‘I don’t need any of this,’ you spit out. ‘I don’t need you. The only family  —  I know are those who fight by my side! I will not be what you made me!’

The sickness in your belly surges until you think it will overcome you. You stagger forward until your knees hit the stone floor. Bhaal is forcing you to submit, to become what he had made Orin. This thing won’t have you, Astarion whispers against the curve of your ear. It won’t win. You’ve got this, darling. And I’ve got you. You want to believe him, but your blood-kin has done damage beyond repair. What were children beyond the sins of their father?

‘You reject my blood?’ Bhaal asks.

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then I shall reclaim it,’ he says, his promise a growl in his throat.

You were your father’s seed cultivated to perfection by determination and bravery. Now, you were nothing more than a disappointment to be snuffed out root and stem. You choke on the warmth in your throat. Your veins seem to have exploded beneath your skin. You sneeze, red oozing from every orifice.

‘I will make another who is worthy,’ says Bhaal, lifting his hand.

As he raises his hand, you are forced to kneel. Every single one of your muscles contracts in agony. The others might be shouting but you can hardly hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your blood is rejecting you. Festering inside your flesh like a disease. Like the skeleton carved into the wall, you weep blood down your neck. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes to prevent it, your rich ichor abandons you.

No, you want to tell him. The rot of his blood will end with you as it had with Orin. The abomination of murder will never set forth and harm another. You reach for the dagger at your hip and raise it, but the Avatar of Bhaal dissipates before you can strike. The weight of your body collapses  forward.

Like a wounded beast, you keen loudly, shaking your head as if that will free your ears from the blood inside of them. You were born from this blood. You were created by this blood to be who you are today. Rejecting it should be like a sin  —  but if sin is a seed, you have eaten it willingly from the hand of mortality. If Bhaal is to reject you, then you will reject his godhood.

You close your eyes as blood overtakes your sight. You press your forehead into the stone to fight your fever. You shiver and gasp. You gargle on the proof of vitriol and lean into the chilled floor, resigned to your fate. At least you wouldn’t become a mindflayer…

“No!” Astarion wails. Your heart shatters. ‘No, please  —  Not you!’

I’m sorry, you say. You close your eyes and remember the color of the sun in his hair. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. Your fingers curl against the stone, and then  —  There’s nothing. Astarion touches the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes with such tenderness you forget his strength. You lean your cheek into his palm and sigh sleepily, but even as exhaustion overtakes your body, you shudder. You’re afraid to sleep, to dream. You don’t want to hurt anyone else ever again.

‘You have to rest, my love,’ he murmurs. He allows you to lay on his hand as though it were a pillow. ‘When was the last time you slept through the night?’

‘I’m not sure,’ you confess.

‘I might be a sleepless creature of the night,’ Astarion says, ‘but you… You needn’t fear your dreams when I am here. I’ll protect you no matter the cost.’

‘And who will protect you if I sleep?’ you ask.

You must be frowning, because Astarion uses his other hand to soothe the crease between your eyebrows. He sounds so outrageously heartbroken that you want to cry. You don’t want him to think he isn’t a comfort… You haven’t slept beside someone in so long, and the warmth of his body has always lulled you to your dreams peacefully until recently.

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m with you forever and always.’

But what if there isn’t an always?

‘There is always a future for you and I,’ Astarion vows. ‘Now sleep. He can’t control you as long as I’m around.’ When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His eyes are a soft cerise, and his cheeks are high and sleek, his lips plump and his hair soft and curled. An angel. You’re unable to control the way you reach your hand to touch his cheek, smearing a crystalline tear across his wan skin.

‘Who are you?’ you whisper, voice caught painfully in your throat.

‘Hush now, my love,’ he whispers. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth, and when he pulls away, his lips are ruddy and wet. ‘Thank the gods… I thought I had lost you.’

Oh, you think. You remember now. This is the man from your dream… You try to recall the details of how you know him, but it’s hard to follow a train of thought. You turn from side to side. It’s so hard to move, to focus. Your limbs feel as though they are made of lead and marble. Everything aches. The tips of your fingers and your nails down to the little bones in your toes. Your head, though, is the only part of you free from intense pain. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from the veil of your memories. You rest your arm across your waist, too tired to keep it lifted.

‘Who…’ Your brows furrow in confusion. ‘Who am I?’

‘I know you were once a child full of life and love,’ the angel says to you, gently cradling your face in his hands. ‘I know one day you were afraid and unsure and half-mad. I know you stained the streets red with cruelty and devised a plan larger than all of Faerûn. But I know you are strong and that your heart is good. You saved the tieflings, and you saved the refugees, and now you will save the world that threatens to be plunged into darkness.’

You smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all,’ you confess.

The angel shakes his hand, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His voice breaks. ‘But I know it to be true, so you must believe my every word. You are brave. You are kind. You are good. You are my love, and I know that I am loved by you in return. You are a protector,’ he tells you. ‘You have protected everyone, and now it is time to protect yourself. You have survived two gods and now you must survive a third.’

The knot in your throat grows larger with every word. You think you remember now. Yes, you can remember it all very clearly. You know the weight of his hands like baptism. You turn your cheek and kiss his palm, smudging his skin pink.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

Your love smiles down at you, your blood dribbling down his chin.

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s not worry about that,’ he shushes you, massaging the bruises beneath your eyes. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up.’

‘I don’t think I can walk yet,’ you say. Admitting it makes you feel weak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I can carry you.’

‘I will bloody your clothes,’ you say.

‘Bloody them,’ Astarion says. ‘I don’t care.’

Astarion does carry you. He carries you all the way back to the inn, to a private room just the two of you share. He orders a tub to bathe you in and then takes an hour to scrub your skin clean, carefully cleaning your gore from your hair and scalp.

You watch as Astarion passes a bar of soap against the skin of the top of your arm over and over again until it is red then pink then flesh. Then, he gently twists your wrist. He cleans the underside of your arm next, and your palm. He washes your fingers until they do nothing but shake in the cold air. You curl your fingers around his.

‘Was it hard?’ you ask him.

‘I will never forget the smell of your scent,’ Astarion replies.

He moves to wash the hollow between your collarbones, encouraging you to recline in the water. He washes your chest and your stomach until his grief washes over him in waves. His chin shakes until a sob escapes. He presses his face into your hair and wails softly into your crown. When he’s done weeping, Astarion returns to his cleansing. He speaks not of it again. There is so little of you left.

You often wonder how much of your brain is left between the parasite and the hole your father has left you. Sometimes Jaheira still looks at you as though the rot of your father isn’t entirely gone. You don’t blame her. You’re waiting for your control to snap. You were good once. You could be good again. You want to be good again.

Shadowheart smiles at you now. Lae’zel no longer frowns. Even Wyll has taken up eating beside you again when it’s nighttime and the adventure can go no more. Gale pours you an extra serving of wine. He says you need it. Karlach lets you hold Clive at night when Astarion goes hunting, and he goes hunting often now. It makes you wonder if your blood is vile.

Part of you wants to ask him if you’ve done something wrong. You’ve committed no crime, but you feel like you have. Your memories of before are slipping away. Your memories of now seem to do the same.

You wait in your tent that night for Astarion to return, your blanket pulled around your head and shoulders. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You want to reassure him you’re not angry. You just…feel loss. Empty. The loneliness nips at your bones like crows at carrion.

When Astarion slips inside, he looks guilty. It almost makes you want to change your mind, but you have to know. You feel as though you’re going mad. A flightless bird trapped in a cage. Like Dame Aylin trapped in Shadowfell. He refuses to meet your gaze.

‘Have I done something  —  ’

‘You,’ Astarion says through gritted teeth, ‘are perfect. Every time.’

You want to cry. ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

‘Avoid you?’ Astarion repeats incredulously. He looks at you now despairingly. ‘No, that isn’t what this is at all. I would never avoid you.’

‘You’re hunting more often,’ you say in a low tone, a whisper. Accusatory.

‘Can you blame me?’ he asks plainly.

It’s your turn to look away in shame. ‘If it’s too much, you should sleep somewhere else.’

‘I don’t want to be apart from you,’ Astarion says.

‘Then how do we fix this?’

‘You cannot fix what is not broken.’

‘Astarion,’ you plead. ‘Hold me or  —  I don’t know who I am anymore.’

Astarion wraps his arms around you before you can say another word. His lips are like a halo against your head. Each kiss he presses against your scalp is a prayer from a sinner. You turn your cheek, and he kisses you so passionately it makes your empty head spin.

You relearn who are you in his arms that night. And as he regales you with tales of your history, you think you can imagine them in your mind’s eye. He kisses your wrist. He tells you a happy memory when he kisses the curve of your belly, and when he kisses your ankle, he promises you that everything will be worth it.

It wasn’t you that was the problem. There wasn’t a problem, not really. Only an impiety he wanted to atone for. He struggles with telling you, but when he whispers it against your thigh, you understand.

‘Your blood,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I cannot escape the smell.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, but he shakes his head and his hair tickles your sensitive skin.

‘No, I  —  It is my shame,’ he confesses. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lech.’

Astarion struggles to put his words in a coherent structure. When you died, he was horrified and distraught. Only the gods know how hard he wept seeing you lifeless. Yet it was his vampiric nature that had betrayed him almost as much as your life’s blood had betrayed you. He felt hunger.

How could he be sad when he was so ravenous? Was he not an evil man, or is this what made him evil? That, in all of his beautiful tears and lamentation, the urge to devour you, bones and all, nearly consumed him? Your death was horrible, ugly, wretched. Your death was beautiful and coveted.

Astarion devours you again that night, mouthing and licking and sucking at your swollen core. He makes you a martyr in his grief. His tongue teases you over and over again. When you’ve climaxed once, Astarion seeks out to make you do it again until your legs are shaking violently and your voice has gone hoarse. He doesn’t take you that night, not in the traditional way, but he swallows you up regardless.

It isn’t until afterwards when he’s laying with his head on your chest that you understand his tragedy. It’s a misfortunate impossibility trying to grieve when you can’t stop salivating. Astarion thinks you’re horrified by the admission, but after knowing your past, it was hard to feel scandalized by anything.

You pet his curls away from his face, watching as he listens to the hum of your heartbeat. He might have it memorized by now, but each time it beats, Astarion’s eyelashes flutter with admiration. It is a hymn, a doxology, a liturgy that only he knows the words to. After all, he wrote them on your skin and immortalized them forevermore. He is so beautiful, you think, when there is no trouble to be seen.

You were once both trapped by your dark god’s design. You had set yourself free. You had sprouted the wings of a swan guided by the empathy you had planted in a garden as a child. It would be Astarion’s soon, and you would carry him in compassion until the thorn crown was placed upon his brow.

Astarion’s eyes are closed. In your perpetually confused state, you mistake him for having fallen asleep and resort to doing the same. The city becomes chilly at night and your skin is decorated with gooseflesh. He rises almost immediately and you try to chase after him, fingers piercing through a ghost.

‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ Astarion says immediately. He drags his cape from the corner of the tent and lays it across your shins. ‘You were shivering.’

‘I’m not used to this  —  ’ Will my mind ever be the same? ‘  —  chill.’

‘I will be here,’ he promises. ‘Here, let me hold you for the night.’

You clumsily trade places with him, and he tucks your blanket and his cape around your body as tightly as he can. He kisses you passionately and you taste your familiarity in his mouth. It’s so sweet that you sigh. ‘I know what you did,’ Orin says hatefully, spitefully, cruelly. Her voice is like honey.

‘What have I done?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t know?’ she asks. ‘Filthy rotten blood-kin undeserving of our father’s gift!’

You repeat yourself. ‘What have I done?’

‘You,’ Orin spits, ‘think your grey matter deserves to be loved! I should carve it out! I should make it disgusting and sticky again! Split it’s skull open! You foul traitor!’

Slowly, you pull Orin into your chest. You hug her and smooth her hair down her back. Her arms wrap around you begrudgingly until the lovingkindness causes her to rupture. She sobs into your neck hideously, clinging to you. She wails and she wails until you are both children again staring up at your grandsire for approval.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Orin tells you, hiccuping. She wipes her nose with her fingers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘I love you, blood-kin,’ you say. You kiss the top of her head.

‘Slaughter kin,’ she says sadly. She holds your hand with her snotty palm.

‘Sister,’ you say. In the coming weeks, your mind hardly gets better. Memories are still missing. You catch yourself gazing at the mirror longer than you expect to. You used to be so beautiful. It’s hard to recognize the face staring back at you. You touch one cheek and then the other. You turn your head and watch your jawline.

No, it still isn’t you.

You take the knife in your belt to your hair and begin cutting away pieces you don’t remember. You lean forward and smudge your eyes before sitting up straight and trying again. You recognize a part of yourself. You chase that feeling. You press your hand against your heart. You smile faintly. Astarion sobs so hard you think you might lose yourself. You’re at a loss of what to do. He’s alive but he keens like a dying deer. It’s supposed to be healing, you think. Cazador is dead. His reign of terror should end. Astarion is saved and he saved himself. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

Slowly, you step forward one foot after another. You collapse to your knees at his side. It’s easy to pull Rhapsody from his fingers. You drop it by his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, you hold him like you held Orin. Astarion sobs harshly into your collarbone and clings to you so tightly you might break.

‘I thought  —  I thought  —  ’ he cries brokenly.

I thought it would make me feel better, he says without saying. You shush him and pet his hair. Cazador’s blood smears against your cheek when Astarion burrows his face into your neck. You let him linger. You aren’t sure how long you sit on the hard marbled floors, but when you stand up, your knees creak so loud you’re almost insecure about it.

This time, it’s your turn to carry Astarion. He won’t let you pick him up, but you hold him by his waist. You carry him past your allies, past the onlookers who once saw you in opposition. You order the maids to bring you a bath, and as Astarion hiccups in the water, you bathe him.

You wash the taint of Cazador from his body. The soap cleans the dirt and the blood and the memory. You wash his chest and his belly and Astarion thanks you hoarsely. He looks at you, and his eyes are so wide and beautiful that you cry too.

Dying isn’t easy. It isn’t beautiful or romantic or a sweeping gesture. Dying is painful and hideous and ugly, and you have saved Astarion from a lifetime of torment. Rather, he did it by himself with your help. You swipe the soap against his cheeks and use a rag to clear it away. Astarion’s hair is somehow curlier when it’s wet, and you part the curls so they’ll dry without tangling.

Astarion watches you miserably as you towel his hair. You wipe droplets of water off his skin and slowly slide him into his smallclothes. He accepts your blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, staring at the wooden floor, at his feet.

‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I would never let you be alone,’ you say.

It isn’t what you bought the room for. Really, you only wanted to wipe the blood from his face but now, you climb into the sheets next to Astarion and hold him tightly. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about the future. He doesn’t want to talk about his siblings either or the thousands of spawn waiting to hang on his every word.

And you can’t even blame him. The gods know how long it took for your tongue to become free from the weight that held it still after you betrayed your father. Karlach said you talked a lot before, but now it’s hard to say anything without wondering if your words are in the right order. Astarion cries softly as if to not awaken you from your slumber, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t toss or turn either, but dreams evade you.

Dawn peeks through the window. Dawn-bringer, Jergal had called you. You slide out of bed carefully then and cross the room. You draw the curtains shut. Astarion watches you curiously from where he burrows in the sheets. His brow furrows adorably when you climb back into bed and plaster yourself to his spine.

‘Ah,’ you say monotonously. ‘The sun is gone. I suppose we'll stay in until it returns.’

After a day of lounging, Astarion still isn’t ready to talk about what’s on his mind but he watches you do your favorite mundane mortal things with explicit interest. He has you read the book you’re reading aloud, and if it takes you a few hours to struggle through one chapter, he says nothing about it.

Every once in a while, another one of your companions comes to sit in.

Lae’zel tries to commend Astarion for his warrior’s heart without sounding stilted, but eventually she gives up on complimenting him to sympathetically let him know she understands. They had all seen Vlaakith. Karlach brings Clive by and carefully arranges him in the bed next to Astarion. She tells him that he’s fucking awesome and asks permission to hug him.

The touch nearly sends him spiraling.

Gale approaches in his usual manner. He brings Astarion a bottle of wine spiked with blood and lets him know he’s available to chat whenever Astarion feels up to it. Wyll spends thirty minutes apologizing for the bad blood between them, which is funny considering their bickering was hardly vitriolic. Shadowheart visits and gifts him a perfume that makes his lip wobble dangerously.

Jaheira, Minsc, Boo and Halsin come together solemnly. They might be the least offensive of the bunch. Boo gives Astarion a thousand kisses on his cheeks, and Jaheira finally tells them a story of her youth. Halsin has Astarion drink a potion, not because he’s injured physically, but because it should help with his pain. Minsc tries teaching you a Rashemen dance, but Astarion laughs for the first time that day and you do too.

‘It is good,’ Jaheira says, ‘to see you both smile again.’

You touch your mouth shyly. Your cheeks are sore. Astarion’s smile fades slightly but returns in full, timid confidence lighting his features once more. Halsin crosses the room and opens the curtains you’ve closed. The light douses the room in holiness, and you turn your face to watch the sunset, unafraid of what the future will bring.

‘That which troubles you will soon be over,’ she promises. She pats Astarion’s hand, and although she doesn’t say it, you know he’s her son. ‘You will live to see these days renewed. There will be no more despair.’

You’re both left alone again together. Astarion beckons you to the bed instead of your chair and you join him, carefully sitting atop the covers, a respectable distance between your thighs. You inhale carefully.

‘You did the right thing,’ you say. ‘Not completing the Black Mass.’

‘Perhaps I had inspiration,’ Astarion replies. ‘You had a chance to become the Slayer, a being more powerful than you could have known. But you didn’t.’

‘I betrayed my father,’ you whisper, staring at your hands. ‘And he killed me for it.’

‘And if I had completed Cazador’s ritual,’ Astarion says, ‘I would have become Mephistopheles’s whore. I refuse to bow to the whims of others. Being an Ascendent…was blinding me to the truth.’

You look at him curiously then. He confesses to you his sins. He has thought of ascending, and thought of it often but it was never to protect himself. After a certain point, he wanted to protect you too. Your Urges had been mistaken for something else then. A possession, an invasion. Astarion sought to exorcise you of your demons.

But when you had died and the diseased lifeblood fled from your veins, Astarion realized the truth. The ascension would not have helped him protect you. It would have tainted him. It would have contorted him. Rising above all other vampires, Astarion would have become cruel like those before him. He does not want to be cruel to you. He wants to learn kindness as you have. He reaches for it like he chases the sun.

Astarion takes you by the hand, smoothing your skin with his thumb over and over. His skin is cold beneath yours. You curl your fingers into his. He did not want to make you a slave, not again. Not to him.

‘You are the dawn-bringer,’ Astarion says. ‘Even if I never see the sun again, I am free.’

‘I love you,’ you say, voice shaking. ‘I’ll be with you. In the darkness.’

‘You fool,’ Astarion laughs affectionately. He leans across the distance and kisses your temple. ‘There is no darkness. You are daylight incarnate.’

You look at him sharply.

‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ he says. ‘It’s…been on my mind all day, but I think it’s time. Say you’ll come away with me.’

You and Astarion dress slowly. You would follow him almost anywhere, but this is different. There’s something to be done. You don’t dress in armor, and for that you’re almost grateful. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of seeing blood.

But it isn’t blood or anything blood related that Astarion takes you to see. One minute, you are wandering Baldur’s Gate at night, and the next, you’ve come to the hollow of a tree where a gravestone is coated in vines.

‘This…is where my old life began,’ Astarion tells you softly. ‘Beneath there, I was turned into a monster. But Cazador is dead now and I get to decide my own fate.’

Astarion tells you in painful detail about his transformation. How his wounds fused themselves shut but the pain never went away. He tells you about breaking through the wood of his demise and the fear that flooded his veins and how, just when he thought he had found his savior, Cazador had laughed wickedly with his cruel glowing eyes.

‘I was his,’ Astarion murmurs, ‘but not anymore.’

He kneels before you on the dirt before his tombstone and bows his head. The prodigal son returned home. The sight of it causes your heart to squeeze. You want to step away but you can’t. You’re afraid.

‘There is nothing left of the person I was before,’ he tells you. ‘I am free to become who I want to be, free to start a new journey. I have all the time in the world to figure out who I am and what I want, but I think I know.’

‘I love you,’ you say again. ‘You’re what I want.’

‘You were by my side through all of this,’ Astarion says, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘And now I want you to christen me. Inaugurate me here on the site of my rebirth.’

This is another dream. You hold your hands over Astarion’s head and sprinkle imaginary water over his head. His eyes close instinctively. Love washes over him, something golden. You kneel down and pluck a flower from the earth and it does not bleed. Relief floods your veins. For once, you touch something and it does not rot. Carefully, like a ghost, you slide the flower into Astarion’s hair and watch as his crimson eyes spill open with tears and devotion.

Astarion kisses you, and for the first time in a long time, he presses his body against yours. He takes you that night in the dirt. His leg is tucked under yours, his cock against your core, his lips never leaving yours. Astarion recites verses in your ears until you burst with ecstasy, tightening around him so much that he can hardly move. He cradles the back of your head to comfort you as he drinks your blood. He cradles your head tonight because he loves you.

‘I am yours,’ he whispers against your skin, ‘and you are mine.’ You aren’t sure when or how Astarion has the time, but he presents you with a gift the night before the world ends. He wears a matching flower from his grave pinned to his armor at all times now. And on his hand, a ring with a silver band. He slides one over your finger as well and kisses your palm as you slowly realize what it means.

The family you’ve chosen throws you a celebration. The next day, Dammon arrives and shows you your repaired armor now dyed white.

You cry for hours out of happiness. ‘This could be the last chance we have for this,’ you whisper to Astarion.

Everyone keeps telling you that a light has returned to your eye, but you don’t see it. It isn’t until you’re laying naked with Astarion again, his skin pressed against yours, that you think you can see it too.

Astarion fucks you tenderly until you’re sore, and you cry and plead sweet things against his shoulder while he holds you safe in his arms. When the pleasure becomes too much and your spine arches from the mattress, he pulls you into his lap and holds you safe against his chest. You kiss him until your lips are sore.

 ‘Your life is mine,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘You belong with me, my love.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you moan weakly.

He has taken you again and again this evening. He doesn’t say it, but Astarion is afraid of what tomorrow might bring. You have outsmarted gods and men. You have found goodness where there was nothing but darkness. You refuse to be afraid now.

‘We were made to conquer,’ Astarion says. His mouth is like a fire across your cheekbone. You shudder around his cock.

‘Take my love,’ Astarion commands you, so you do.

You kiss a ruby bruise into his neck, and Astarion fills you with a grunt. He doesn’t part from you. He guides you back down into the sheets and burrows against your body as if determined to climb between your ribs. You smile. Astarion has already made a home in your bones and flesh. He has eaten the rot from your core and recreated you anew. You were not his sin but his salvation. Perhaps he was yours too.

[sinnabarmoth]

Quick questions

Which of the love interests do you think would be the best partner for the current timeline MC?

And which love interest would be most likely to find and love someone other than MC? (Not even taking their past into consideration, I feel like they have very small social circles that doesn’t allow for a lot of romance options)

Long answer cause I have to explain my thought process. I realized I had a lot of thoughts on this.

If we are talking current timeline and aren't taking into account any of their past lives, I'm going to say Rafayel. Now! This is by process of elimination I came to this decision. So let's go through it.

Zayne is out because he's MC's PCP. Just no. Do not date your PCP. I don't care if they were childhood friends or whatever, don't do it.

Next out is Sylus because they're on opposite sides of the law. That's only going to cause problems in the future. Not worth the trouble.

Now this was a hard cut because I love Xavier with all my heart but thinking logically, he is MC's coworker. And considering they have a dangerous job it's probably best they're not skewing their best judgement by being super worried about each other during missions.

So that left Rafayel who honestly outside of him hiring her as his "bodyguard" (which let's be real he's doing that primarily just to have an excuse to call her over whenever he wants) they have no real professional entanglements so the chance for a healthy relationship without professional conflict is him.

(Also another side note, Rafayel is at the bottom of my love interest tier list, mainly because I look at him the same way I look at Astarion from BG3. I'm not going to fuck this man. We're gonna sit on the couch with face masks, drink wine, and watch the Bachelor. He is my sassy best friend!)

ANYHOO!

The love interest that would move on from MC is a little harder to pin down. But again, not taking into account past lives and treating these guys as if this is the only life they've ever lived, I think I have to say Sylus oddly enough.

Xavier has a history of not really hanging out with people and keeping to himself so he isn't going to go out of his way to find a new girlfriend.

Same for Zayne who is just really focused on his work. He's more likely to get a pet than to try and find a girlfriend.

For Rafayel I think that he could go either way. He's very invested in his art but I think if he met someone he really connected with he'd go off on his whole, "she's my muse" thing and we'd never hear him shut about her again.

Now Sylus I can see meeting someone who is snarky, quick witted, and confident and he'd be all in immediately. He met this girl at gas station while filling up his bike and he cut her off to get to the pump and she'd come out of her car cussing him out mercilessly. Man would have full heart eyes immediately. This man WANTS a girlfriend that will call him a dickhead then demand cuddles and he will find one. Or Luke and Kieran will put an ad in the paper and find him one.

[coreofgold]

"Welcome to the real world, where no one is as good as they seem." Astarion mused. "Though, color me curious, what brought up that people do suck?" If this keeps the guy talking and entertaining him, then he'll keep going.

"hopefully it's more entertaining than it is now," they paused. "because it fucking sucks right now and so do some of the people,"

[dhampling]

How do you think astarion would handle a tav who is actually from earth and is going to return home after defeating the Nether brain? Like maybe mystra or some other god brought them to faerun and told them to "fix it" and at first it's all like "great, sure, why not? I can do that" but they meet astarion and he gets attached only to learn that no matter the outcome their days are numbered?

Firstly - thank you so much for this one. It made me a little sad thinking about it and yet it was a weirdly bittersweet sadness? Thank you for your brain. I like it. I think it’d be quite easy to write off Astarion’s response as ‘meh. They’ll be useful while they’re here and OH NO I’VE FALLEN IN LOVE I AM UTTERLY BESOTTED’ and watching the chaos around that. In reality, I reckon there’s a big fat chunk of mirth in how he deals with them.

He’s fascinated by the fact they’re from a different world, but mainly for selfish reasons. I do think there’d be a lot of questions on his part (he’s trying to suss out if it’d be a viable proposition to return with them when they leave Toril in order to escape Cazador’s clutches).

Early on in the journey, when it’s unclear as to their actual destination - and whether the heart of the Absolute will return them anywhere near Baldur’s Gate; whether Cazador can be dealt with is up in the air, and if the party would even be willing to assist him is an entirely different question.

So I think Astarion would be scoping out every avenue of escape, like a rat in a cage; frantic for a way out, which is where the seduction comes in.

The issue is that the typical script doesn’t really work.

Astarion has no relevant contextual clues for this strange being and his charismatic advances often fall flat. As a result the traveller sees straight through him with a stoic detachment that can often come over as unnerving.

He realises he really, genuinely enjoys the traveller’s company. It’s refreshing. No city-prattle, no self-gain. He can almost feel himself beginning to regain some of his edges.

Somewhere at the back of his mind he’s aware his new companion will have to return home someday, but every day alive and free at present is a blessing.

The earthborn grows fond of him, too - despite the fact he talks their ears off frequently - they banter together along the road; spend countless late nights sharing life experiences and pointless musings when their fellow travellers are resting, and inevitably become close.

Towards the middling end of their adventure; after the drow at Moonrise, he realises that Cazador might actually be an attainable kill. He could be free forever. He has a friend willing to help him.

Then he wonders what there actually is left for him along the Sword Coast. Everything and everyone he knew, dead or gone. 

Obviously, he can’t return to earth. It just isn’t an option.

He continues to hope the gods will make an exception though.

The Absolute is eviscerated, and so is Cazador. Along the journey their bond becomes ridiculously solid - love in every sense. He wasn’t aware he was still able to feel things so strongly. He feels safe. Cared for.

He’s free, and as he turns to relish in the victory along the docks his most beloved companion simply isn’t there. 

He begins to burn, hides behind a stack of crates in a dumbfounded stupor until nightfall.

Then, he realises he has to commit them to memory. Writes pages on pages detailing every last little thing he remembers of them; commissions a portrait with the money sat in his account since the day of his death (now having accrued a sizeable interest) based on description alone. Revises it time and time again while their memory is still fresh. A locket pendant he attaches to his belt.

He has a lot of life left to live and he doesn’t intend to forget them. 

Hundreds of years later and they still flit into mind. Careful, compassionate; his liberator. He’ll regale new friends and lovers with tales of this strange creature given by the gods. Likely long gone by now. 

Always there somewhere in his mind.

[bluerose5]

Just some of my Iron Bull in BG3/Faerûn AU musings from discord, so that I can keep them organized if I ever want to reference this and write something:

Out of all of the dragon age characters to be dumped in Faerûn, he would probably be the one to adapt the quickest to the change. He is a spy after all. He was trained to infiltrate foreign lands and learn more about their people, culture, etc. in order to blend in better and live there, if need be. He'd personally like the challenge. Still approaches everything with a healthy balance of fear, respect, and distance because this is new territory to him.

Although he likes the challenge, that doesn't mean he isn't freaking about the whole situation too. He still has some weird worm in his head. Some of the Forgotten Realms races (tieflings, gith, mind flayers), he knows nothing about, so he has no idea what to expect from them. He doesn't know how magic works in Faerûn and if it's as big of risk as it can be back home. I simply see him as being the more cautious, observant type when he's just starting out in a new land, so he's not as reactive at first. A lot of the freaking out is done internally. Eventually, once he gets comfortable with the companions, he'll open up and be his loud, boisterous self again and show more emotion overall, good or bad. He's trying to get a better understanding of his surroundings before he starts acting on anything, though.

He enjoys spending time with and getting to know the companions, but boy do they all need some serious help.

He picks up every book, letter, and journal that he can find. If it has information, he's taking it and utilizing it. Plus he likes collecting knowledge. He's smarter than people give him credit for.

People first assume he's a tiefling of some sort. He doesn't bother correcting them. If they believe him to be from the area, then that could possibly be used to his advantage. It also would be hard for everyday people to comprehend the whole "I'm from another universe" aspect of his story. He tells the companions eventually but on his own time.

He likes playing chess with Gale while they're traveling as he did with Solas. Tells him that he reminds him of this old friend he used to fight alongside.

He reads Astarion like a book. Not only does he know something isn't right there, but he also does not fall for the seduction routine at all.

On that note, when he recruits Astarion, I can see him picking Astarion up by the back of his shirt like he's a misbehaving cat or something because The Iron Bull can smell an (especially bad) attempt at an ambush from a mile away.

Oh yeah, he's definitely having the time of his life getting to watch the red dragons tear the nautiloid apart at the beginning, but that's a given.

There were other good ideas thrown around, but these were my headcanons specifically and I wanted to post them to my blog. Probably more to come in the future.

[coreofgold]

Astarion raised a brow. He didn't want to assume, but it did sound suspicious. It might have worked out threatening someone last time but in here? There are too many unknowns. . .even though the free will comment puts him on edge mentally. "Giving free will to everyone? My my, you must be someone important."

lilth couldn't judge too hard. they'd given free will to the people for a reason and if this is what they decided to do with it... who was she to judge. "well, at least they're doing something with the free will we gave them."

[coreofgold]

@vcndetta for Anne

"Each to their own, I suppose," Astarion said, waving his hand in the air to wave it off. "Although I am right."