#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."

[aethergate]

tag dump 3 : character musings tags

[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 ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

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."

[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

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.

[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.

[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.

[greyias]

[ CUP ]: bringing both hands up to cup the receiver’s face, the sender draws them in closer to them in order to get a better look at their face.

Pairing: Gale x Tav Words: ~4700 Rating: T, despite any indications to the contrary Notes: I have no excuse for this, other than it made me laugh. I’m very sorry. Set late in Act 2, after the infamous spider meat scene. I should probably add a warning for the arachnophobic: SPIDERS

The walls of the tent seemed to loom around him. Normally a tight fit for Gale to stand up, now even more crowded as he finished his preparations for the evening. He couldn’t help but glare at the confines closing in on him, not exactly claustrophobic but also not a location he would normally choose to stage a grand, romantic gesture. He briefly contemplated the merits of conjuring the elaborate illusion of his tower back in Waterdeep again — but no, his concentration was already centered on a spell vital for his plans to try and make up for his outburst earlier in the day.

And even if it weren’t an issue, his Waterdeep illusion required more from him than he had after the day’s battles and puzzle solving within the depths of the Gauntlet of Shar. Which in itself was hardly the most romantic location to woo one’s paramour. Unless one happened to be a cleric of Shar, but even then, Gale doubted Shadowheart would find their current environs particularly stimulating in that way. And it wasn’t like he was trying to woo her.

And perhaps he wasn’t exactly trying to woo his beloved—just more… apologize? His normally boisterous paladin paramour had been unusually distant and quiet with him the entire afternoon and evening, and the timing between that and his less-than-accepting reaction to the reveal of her, erm, unusual proclivities could hardly be a coincidence. So, logic dictated that he make a romantic gesture to show that he accepted her, unexpected predilections and all.

His scowl deepened as he fussed with the stack of tomes that normally lay in a pile next to his bedroll, trying to make for the illusion of more space in the already crowded tent. This corner had seemed like the perfect place to get them out of the way, but every inch really was at a premium right now, wasn’t it? Hardly worthy of the grand, arduous gesture he was trying to pull off. If only he had some vestige of civilization, a romantic suite at an inn that wasn’t one sliver of concentration from disaster. Although he’d readily trade for even half the space of a thin-walled room at even the Last Light Inn at this point.

Although, considering one of the harpers had specifically warned them away from sleeping in any of the actual beds because of a lice infestation in the mattresses, that would probably also put a damper on the romantic atmosphere. Although really, after a century long of the inn suffering from a shadow curse, how were those vermin supposed to have survived? Barring the arrival on the head of an unsuspecting Elturian refugee, Harper, or Flaming Fist, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. The buggers would need regular blood meals to survive any length of time, much less a century—unless they were undead shadow-cursed lice?

Hrm, best not take the chance. The living version of the buggers were bad enough, and toss in an undead, necromantic curse on top would just be an additional nightmare to deal with. Perhaps it was best to make due with the limits of his current environs rather than—

“Gale? Are you in here?”

Musings on the merits of undead lice were quickly derailed by the call.Wait, no—it was too soon for the guest of honor to arrive. “Uh—yes, just a moment!”

Before he could reach the entrance to intercept her, Ari peeled back the tent flap and stepped inside, a gentle expression of concern writ across her features. “You’ve been cooped up in here since dinner. You even missed Raphael, he says ‘hi’ by the way, and you wouldn’t believe what those scars on Astarion’s back—”

She froze, statement ending in a lurch as her gaze whipped over to the shadowed, far corner of the tent. Her eyes narrowed, then widened alarm before she flung herself fully into the space, maneuvering her unarmored body between Gale and the perceived threat. An appreciated, romantic gesture in normal times, but not at all the way he’d been picturing this going. As her bare fists balled up, arm reeling back for a punch he found himself grabbing her wrist in an attempt to keep the evening from derailing completely.

“Wait—no! It’s okay!”

“It’s not okay, there’s a giant spider in your tent!”

“That’s just Llarry—he’s a friend!”

Said giant spider, who had been settled back in the far corner, was sitting as comfortably as an enormous arachnid could in such a cramped space, legs crossed as if settling in for tea. One spindly, furry appendage waved as if in greeting. Although perhaps the gesture perhaps came across a little more intimidating to the uninitiated as Gale had to redouble his grip on Ari’s arm to keep her from punching in one of the creature’s eight eyes.

“See, see, friendly.”

Her protective scowl gave way to a deeply confused frown as she hesitantly lowered her fists. “I’m sorry—Llarry?”

“Well, technically his full name is Llarraggathssinssrigg, but really, he only uses that in more formal settings. He much prefers to go by Llarry.”

“You named the giant spider infesting your tent?”

Llarry reared back, front legs now waving irritably as a soft whisper of discontent escaped his mandibles. Ari’s balled fists started to raise back up at the action and Gale forcefully lowered them back down.

“No, no, of course not,” Gale corrected before they could get off on even more of the wrong foot… leg… tarsus… claw… whatever. The correct terminology wasn’t important at this particular juncture. “You know he doesn’t really appreciate the insinuation that he didn’t have a name before this, and also, it’s not very polite to refer to his presence as an infestation—”

“I can understand him perfectly fine, Gale!”

Oh. Right. The spell for speaking with animals had been one of the first things she cast each day in order to properly give Scratch and their resident owlbear cub morning scritches — here he had to settle for a potion to try and arrange tonight’s events. Although technically Llarry would have understood his instructions regardless, but considering the nature of the evening, it seemed only polite to have a proper back and forth about expectations, boundaries, safe words and whatnot.

Llarry made a series of elaborate clicking noises, front legs waving eagerly.

“Yes, of course,” Gale said at the reminder, “how boorish of me. Llarry, this vision of loveliness trying to valiantly punch you is Aravyn, although she does let her friends call her Ari.”

Llarry's multitude of eyes lit up as he trained his hopeful gaze on the half-elf.

“I have known you for all of sixty seconds. I’m not sure we’re to friends status yet.” As Llarry drooped dejectedly, some of Ari's defensiveness melted. “But I suppose since we’re already using nicknames, fine. You can use Ari, I guess.”

A trill of excitement escaped Llarry, far higher in pitch than expected from a beast of his size.

Seeing that indeed they were not about to be wrapped into a cocoon of webbing, Ari's defensive posture relaxed slightly, although she hadn't quite yet moved from her protective positioning shielding Gale. She tilted her head dubiously at the giant arachnid taking up a full third of the limited space. “So, let me see if I understand this correctly.”

“Of course.”

“You found a giant spider in your tent after dinner, and then made such good friends with him, you’re on a nickname basis with him.”

“Ah, not exactly that,” Gale said as he tried to step around her, although in the limited confines of the tent there wasn’t much room to maneuver without manhandling her. “You see, I brought Llarry here.”

“I’m sorry, what? 

“Third level conjuration spell, really handy in a fight if you need some extra allies—but you know. I figured why not be a little creative, spice things up as it were, in a safe, controlled environment.”

“…what?”

“You know…” Gale trailed off, hoping he didn’t have to spell it out.

“No, I really don’t.” Ari glanced between the two of them with an expression caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “Explain it to me like I’m five years old.”

“Oh, this is hardly the conversation for a five year old.”

“Gale!”

The hint of irritation in her invocation of his name had him fiddling nervously with his collar. “Well, you see, I realize that things back in the orthon’s lair got a little unpleasant. And maybe I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been in the moment. But I love you, and I wanted to show you that I fully support your… proclivities. No matter how… unconventional they may seem at first.”

“Unconventional proclivities? How does a spider—” Llarry reared back with an affronted hiss at the rude generalization instead of his name, front legs waving irritably. Ari glanced at the display with a cautious frown before amending, “I’m sorry, how does Llarry fit into this?”

“It’s okay.” Gale abandoned fussing with his collar to give her an awkward but hopefully supportive pat on the arm. “It’s a fixation, we can’t help what we find stimulating. What one person may find a strange predilection, another may discover an unexpected fount of amorous adventure.” He ignored her trying to mouth the phrase in befuddlement, and instead offered an encouraging smile. “So as a show of good faith and open-mindedness…”

With his free hand, Gale made an expansive gesture at Llarry, who waved a giant furred appendage in a way that was definitely overeager to get the evening started. Damn it, Llarry, don’t get too thirsty.

Horror slowly dawned on Ari’s face, color draining from her usually rosy, freckled cheeks as she turned from spider to man. “Gale.”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Is this about the spider meat?”

“And there’s zero judgement here. This is a safe space,” he was quick to reassure. “The point is, I brought Llarry here to show that I want to make this work, unexpected kinks and all.”

Gale wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been hoping for was, but her slowly sinking to the ground as if her legs could no longer hold her weight was not it. Instinctively he made to steady her, batting away the giant spider arm that was also trying to do the same thing. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed at the magnanimity of the gesture, the whole-hearted acceptance of—

“I... I need a moment,” she said weakly, swatting both of them away as she hid her face in her knees.

“I… yes, of course. All the time you need. Although, maybe less than an hour? There is a time limit on the conjuration spell, so if you’d like to get started—”

Llarry eagerly extended a leg in her direction, and it was immediately shoved back.

“I said a moment!” she insisted more forcefully.

Gale quickly made a “cut it out” motion at the spider, who folded back in on himself into his cramped corner with a huff. He knelt down next to her, hands hovering uselessly in the air as he tried to understand this reaction.

“I have a feeling I may have made a miscalculation.” The opening statement was spoken at a normal volume, but the next was dropped to a whisper that hopefully only she could hear, and he did his best to not let any dread creep into his tone. “Does it have to be dead? Llarry’s pretty open-minded, but I don’t think he’d be particularly amenable to that arrangement.”

Not to mention that would be beyond the bounds of this particular spell. But baby steps. Unfortunately, his whisper wasn’t quiet enough as Llarry let out a noise that was neither disturbed nor eager. Intrigued? Oh gods, best to not contemplate that.

“Gale,” Ari croaked.

“Yes, yes, I’m here. Unless you don’t want me to be? Do I… need to leave the tent for this? Is this a private affair? I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I—”

She whirled on the spot, uncomfortably twisting as she grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and pulled him close, eyes wide as her voice raised loud enough for the entire camp to hear. “Stop! I’m not sexually attracted to spiders!”

“What—I mean no, not attracted to them, of course. I didn’t think that!” Not entirely. “Attraction and arousal are two different things. For example, some people like me get hot under the collar when they see a beautiful, strong woman tear a bloody swath through cursed shadowed creatures, and when you lick… rotting… spider… meat… you—”

“It was charmed!” Her grip on his collar shifted to his shoulders as she shook him fiercely. “The spider meat was charmed!”

Elocution left him. “What? But you—”

“It was laced with succubus spittle, Gale!” She fixed him with a wide-eyed, mortified gaze. “I wasn’t… I don’t get turned on by licking spider meat.” As Llarry proffered a tentative limb, she released one hand to shove it away. “Or any part of a spider!”

“Oh.” Gale blinked. “Oh. Why in the nine hells would anyone dope spider meat? With an aphrodisiac?”

“There’s no good answers there, Gale! None!”

“Oh gods, you don’t think Yurgir was—not with the displacer beast?”

“I have been unable to think about anything else for the entire day!”

“Okay, not to lose the conversational thread, but I want to be one hundred and ten percent sure on this point. Your titillated reaction was in no way genuine, and you do not have any desire to indulge in any arachnid-related fetish?”

“I do not.” It came out a defeated whisper as she buried her face into shoulder to hide her burning cheeks. 

Llarry slumped and emitted a dejected trill, his evening clearly ruined.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“A relief?” She raised her head back up from where she was trying to hide from her mortification. “I thought you said you accepted me as I am—even the weird parts!”

“Yes, but that’s not a weird part of you is it?” He shook his head, then replayed back the words that he’d just spoken. “Wait—that came out wrong.”

“So you don’t accept my weirdness?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Gale held up his hands defensively. “I love your weirdness, your unexpected nature—I just am a little relieved I don’t need to reserve a third level spell slot to summon a fey spirit in the form of a giant spider for you to salivate over if we want to get intimate!”

“What the fuck is going on in that tent?” Astarion’s loud voice drifted their way.

“Dark Lady preserve us, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to!” Shadowheart chimed in.

Okay, that was unfortunate. Another issue to deal with at another time. 

“You—you didn’t use your sound dampening charm you created?” Ari whispered fiercely. “When you thought we were going to have a wild night of spider licking?”

“Look, Llarry requires a dedicated amount of concentration to keep on this plane of existence—”

“Oh, well if Llarry requires your concentration—”

The spider in question made an elaborate series of gestures with three of his appendages, clearly indicating that this was not a part of the relationship he had agreed to be party to.

“Please, Llarry,” Gale begged first to spider, then turned his attention to his girlfriend, “I’m trying here.”

“Trying what?” An edge of equal desperation tinged her voice. “Why, why, why why—” she caught herself, took a breath, then exhaled before finishing the question, “why did you feel the need to bring a giant spider into… this?”

“I already told you—I thought I hurt your feelings.”

“You did hurt my feelings—because you yelled at me!”

“And I was only yelling out of surprise,” he tried, oh he tried to stop himself from finishing the rest of that thought, but Gale of Waterdeep was nothing if not thorough in the worst of ways, “because you licked a dead spider!”

“I only licked it because it smelled weird and magical and off!”

“Oh yes, a great justification for supping a little essence d’arachnid — not to mention a sure fire way to pick up a food-borne illness.”

“Hey! I needed to investigate!”

“With your tongue? Did you see me putting ancient relics in my mouth?”

“Yes! I gave you several to stabilize your condition!”

“I—I didn’t eat them, I just consumed them, there’s a difference!”

“And that difference is?”

“Well, one involves a dead spider and your tongue—”

“You know for someone who’s claiming this was a safe space, I’m hearing a lot of judgement in your voice.”

“I’m not judging,” Gale insisted. “I’m just…”

Ari quirked a single brow, arms crossed as she awaited his explanation for why this was about his concern, not judgement. And this entire thing was a ridiculous misunderstanding as it was. Llarry let out a long series of very sincere, but chiding clicks.

“You’re not helping,” Gale muttered darkly.

“You have to admit, Llarry has a point.”

“I really don’t have to admit that.” He shot her a look. “And okay, let’s say I concede that inadvisable curiosity had you put your tongue on it the first time. But if you knew it was charmed, why in Faerun did you taste it again?”

Her cheeks flushed a deep, deep red again. “Because you yelled at me!”

“I feel like we covered that point already.” Gale frowned. “Have we reached a circle in this ridiculous argument? Or is it a spiral at this point?”

Llarry made a low inquiring trill, front legs gesturing in a fluid motion toward the tent flaps, as this was definitely not the fun evening he had been promised.

“Not now, Llarry,” both Ari and Gale  sighed in unison.

Gale scrubbed a hand across his eyes, a desperation clawing up and squeezing at his chest as this conversation, if it could even be called that at this point, seemed to spiral completely out of control. Ah, control, what a beautiful, deranged illusion to grasp for.

Words. He needed words. “It was never my intention to upset you.” That was a good start. “When you grew distant, avoiding my gaze… can you really blame me for wanting to fix it?”

She stared at him, long and hard in a way that told him without any words, that yes. Maybe a little blame was being directed his way. He couldn’t help but wilt some at that.

“I can see you’re mad,” he started.

“I’m not mad,” she insisted. 

“But you’re not happy either.” This really wasn’t going well at all. “Look, I may not have the cleanest track record when it comes to correcting mistakes in relationships. Possibly overcorrecting just a tad.”

“Just ‘a tad’? You don’t think this was a little extreme?” She asked softly, the trace of hurt in the question like a twist of the knife. “Instead of… talking to me first?”

“When you put it that way… I suppose going to such elaborate lengths without consulting you first was perhaps a little ill-considered.” The wounded look still lingered in her eyes, and he tried to swallow past that gnawing guilt trying to rise back up in him. “You just seemed upset, and you know how they say actions speak louder than words, and I know I use a lot of words.”

“You do,” she said quietly. “You know, the first time was out of curiosity.”

“I do feel like we’ve firmly established that fact.”

She shot him a look, but the heat in it was quelled by something a little more raw. “The second time wasn’t just because you yelled or the meat was charmed. It was what you said.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You suggested that we’d run our course.”

“I did no such thing,” he insisted, with a heat. “I would never—”

“You literally told me that, and I quote, ‘the time might just have come when you and I should split ways’.” After the verbatim recitation she dropped her gaze, looking anywhere but at him.

“That was a joke,” Gale insisted hotly.

“It certainly didn’t sound like one at the time.”

Again, she wouldn’t quite look at him, just like most of the afternoon that had started this whole sordid affair. Llarry’s eight eyes glanced between Ari, to Gale, and with a world’s worth of recrimination behind the action. Stupid summoned spider—why had he not let the damned thing leave the tent when they had a chance?

Spider voyeur be damned, he moved in, gently cupping her face and tilting it up so he could look her in the eye. He half-expected her to pull away, but she allowed the motion. The shuttered expression on her face cranked that vice around his chest one notch tighter, even as his thumb brushed lightly across her jaw line.

“I told you once that nothing would turn my heart from you,” his voice was naught but a whisper, but with no room between them, it might as well have echoed from the walls, “and that hasn’t changed.”

She swallowed and after a moment managed to summon the semblance of a smile. “Not even my unfortunate habit of sampling things I shouldn’t?”

“Not even that,” he breathed.

She let out a half breath, half-laugh in response, and this time when she closed her eyes it seemed to be in relief. It was a small win, but he’d take it, and the vice loosened enough so he could breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, leaning into him.

“Whatever for?”

“Overreacting?” she tried. “I probably should have said something too. I just… felt stupid about the whole thing. And you were just so angry when you were yelling at me to stop licking things.”

“I was concerned,” he insisted, and yes, maybe a little irked that he’d been ignored in the moment. “Maybe we can just chalk up this entire sordid affair to misplaced affections and intentions? I mean, I brought Llarry into our lives to prove my love, didn’t I?”

The third wheel cleverly disguised as a giant spider rolled all eight of his eyes.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, “it was a genuine misunderstanding. Anyone could make this mistake?”

“Anyone?” Ari asked.

“Okay, maybe just me,” he amended, “but I think it’s safe to say that you’re off the hook for the evening, my eight-legged friend.”

A woeful, keening sound left the spider, his large, bulbous head dipping low in clear dejection.

“It’s you not you, Llarry,” Gale insisted, “it’s me.”

The mandibles clicked in rapid staccato, intercut with distressed squeaking.

“Yes, yes, but given the new information we’ve all uncovered in this impromptu group therapy session, the parameters of our previous negotiations really don’t apply here.”

Another click, what counted as a huff.

“Come now, let me just release you from your service. You’ve got less than an hour left of existence, my friend, you should make the most of it.”

Llarry turned his octagonal gaze in Ari’s direction. 

“No.”

Now, spiders couldn’t exactly snort, as they lacked the nostrils to do so. However every single spiracle across his large hairy body exhaled their frustration at the same time, and with a decisive shuffle of all eight legs pounding against the rug-lined floor of the tent, Llarry waddled his way past the embracing couple and shoved his way out the tent’s front flap and into the camp beyond.

“Wait, Llarry, don’t be like that—”

Almost immediately, cries of alarm went up from the rest of the party going about their evening, Scratch let out a loud growl as the owlbear cub screeched a warning. The clang of metal against stone indicated that someone had taken a swipe at the vorekink-friendly spider — and missed.

“Oh no,” Ari murmured, starting to move towards the tent flap to try and save their weird relationship counselor, “Llarry!”

“He’s up in the rafters already!” That seemed to be Lae’zel, presumably the one that had tried to cut the poor dejected spider in two. “Damn it elf, can’t you aim your longbow better?”

“It’s not my fault he’s faster than a Quickling on a sugar high!” Astarion snapped back.

“Okay, am I going crazy,” Karlach asked loudly, “or was that spider crying?”

“Leave that poor spider alone,” Wyll, ever the voice of reason, tried to bring peace and order back into their lives. Bless him. He tried.

“Yes. It’s clearly had a rough evening,” Halsin rumbled.

“I guess he’s fine?” Ari winced, turning back to Gale.

“He always did have a penchant for drama,” Gale sighed.

“You’ve known him for less than an hour.”

“But it seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“Gods yes.” She buried her face into his shoulder again. “Do you think we have any chance of convincing everyone they didn’t hear any of this?”

“I’m afraid I’m tapped out of that particular magic for this evening.”

“Is there no justice in the world?”

“Modifying our friends memory? Probably not justice—I would say it’s morally dubious at best.”

Ari tried to sink her head further into the retreat of Gale’s night shirt. Unfortunately it was not nearly as voluminous as the folds of the robes he wore in the daytime, so there was not much solace to be found there. The muffled groan was the best she could muster. At that point, the tent flap shifted again and Karlach looked in, an eyebrow raised as she took in the sight before her.

“Soooo,” she managed to draw out the two-letter word out into multiple syllables, “you’re both alive I can see. Well, I mean we already kind of knew you were alive. Because of all the yelling.”

“Remarkable observation as always, Karlach,” Gale’s reply was dry, one hand busy smoothing the top of his mortified girlfriend’s head. “Can we help you?”

“Ah, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Look, the gang—” At Gale’s quirked eyebrow, she amended, “—okay, mostly Astarion because he’s nosey as fuck, sent me in to ask what the hells is going on in here? I told him if the spider tent’s a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking, but he insisted…”

“Just a little… mutual misunderstanding is all.”

“Uh huh. You know, if you want to keep it spicy, there’s a lot easier ways than the five million fucked up scenarios I imagined listening to all that.”

Another pitiful moan left Ari, but it was mostly muffled by Gale’s shoulder. He gave her head a consoling pet.

“She okay?”

“No,” Ari’s words were muted by her insistence of slowly smothering herself in her boyfriend’s shoulder, “just let ceremorphosis take me now. I don’t think even my soul wants to remember any of this.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” Karlach insisted.

“Astarion will never shut up about this,” is what Gale was pretty sure she said, but it was mostly just indistinct mumblings at this point.

“Hey, first wise crack from Fangs, and I’ll cave his skull in. Then we can have Withers bring him back. No harm, no foul.”

“Except for Astarion’s skull,” Gale pointed out.

“You’d do that for me?” Ari mumbled.

“For you, soldier? Anything.“ She gave Gale a lurid wink. “Well, I’m just going to leave you two lovebirds to go ahead and smooth out any remaining ‘misunderstandings’ you might have. Maybe just put up that fancy sound dampening charm before you really get going, ‘ey?”

With that, she ducked back out, a chuckle in her wake. Finally alone, Ari emerged from her refuge in Gale’s shoulder, a red crease marking where she’d pressed her face particularly hard against his clavicle. “You’re really smart, right? What’s the chance of a rogue portal appearing and swallowing us up before we have to face the others tomorrow?”

“Alas, a statistical improbability.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Gale tucked back an errant honey-blonde strand, attempting to smooth her now disheveled hair. “I think we might have to resign ourselves to being the talk of the camp, at least until the next insanity is thrown our way.”

She dramatically hid her face back in his shoulder, as if he’d pronounced the world was ending. “I am never leaving this tent again.”

[ancunincurator]

Astarion musings #2

Adding on to a point I made in this post about Astarion planning to turn you when he ascends ever since he learned about the ritual's power...

Just to be clear, I don't think for one second Astarion plans to make you his spawn, not before he ascends. As power hungry as he is, that hunger comes from fear of being a pawn in someone else's chess game and needing to become king to keep from getting so easily kocked off the board. But he doesn't see you as a player looking to use him for your own gains. In fact, as stated by Durge's funky little butler, you're the only person in the world he isn't afraid of. But I believe he is afraid of losing you, in more ways than one, and so he plans to stop that from happening. And while his #1 goal is to ascend for his own sake, we know that he cares deeply about your safety too.

"I'm also worried about me, But somehow, I seem to be worried about you more." (He says this to Durge btw)

As manipulative as he is in Act 3, driven by proximity to Cazador and prospective freedom I assume, I think he fully intends to share his ascendant powers with you as equals so you can take on the world together. Forever. (Because forever sounds nice in the moment, but in 1000 years? We all know he hasn't thought that far ahead). This is before he knows the true cost, of course. When there's enough gaps in knowledge of the ritual to fill them in with fantasies.

You won't be a spawn, it will be different, you'll see it clearly when the time comes.

And even if we ignore his fear about losing the one thing that's brought him comfort in 200 years, there's also the fact he is the most insecure about not sleeping with you. About having nothing to offer other than "New burdens to carry". So what could be a better prospect than providing your lover with eternity and unfathomable new powers? Which is why I actually love that we have to persuade him not to ascend. He doesn't believe he is enough, but even with this new potential right there in his grasp, you tell him the same thing you always have:

That he is and always has been.

It's so important to portray how different life can be just by having the right people around to show you a new way. He's drowning in shame, fear, the potential of power. But you can be the hand reaching down to pull him back toward the surface to take his first breath of true freedom. It's also why I love that he doesn't drink from Cazador to become a true vampire (assuming he doesn't need Cazador's permission). Because it shows he's ready to accept who he is and isn't striving to be anything more.

Because of all this, more than anything ascended Astarion just makes me sad. I mean, I enjoy digging into the darkness of it. The potential of that storyline is so juicy and I love a monstrous vampire. But my fragile little human emotions get hurt when I see it. Ascension is a twisted wish. That desire to share power to keep a loved one safe becomes covetous. He could share it with you, but why create a competitor? While spawn and ascendant both fear losing you, spawn fears losing someone he loves, someone he's learning to live again with. Ascendant fears losing you because he's on a winning streak, it would sting his pride terribly if you were to leave. He didn't learn anything, he's still afraid. And while you're the only one he can trust, it's not unwavering. You'll belong to him or you're not worth the risk. Ascended Astarion literally says, if you refuse to become his spawn and break up with him, that you didn't become part of his conquest. As if you're something to beat into submission, subdue and take ownership of.

And I know ascended Astarion isn't some stranger who wears Astarion's face. He's what happens when you stop trying to be better, to be more than the hurt and the terrible things that happened to you. It's accepting the world view that's been beaten into you: that power is freedom, and freedom is doing whatever the hell you want without fear or consequence. And if you're not strong enough to take that power for yourself? Well, then perhaps you deserve to suffer, darling. It's a far easier way to cope with trauma than the alternative, to try and claw back any semblance of the world view that was beaten out of you, or create a new one for yourself. It's a path I've walked, am still walking, and I stumble all the time.

And as a side note, in regards to what Neil said about spawn wearing a mask... We all do. Sometimes it's to project who we want to be, or who we're trying our hardest to be. Sometimes it's to hide how bitter and wounded we feel. But better to wear a mask and try, to work towards a day when you won't need it anymore, then to throw it away because you've given into your worst self and the world can kneel or rot.

So yeah... I think Astarion always intended to turn you. But not always in the worst way. First it was out of love, then out of possession. But both times out of fear.

[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."

[nerdallwritey]

✨ writing interview tag game!!! ✨

Gonna go ahead and thank @busy-baker and @khywren for tagging me :) I'm very late to filling this out, but I wanted to really dedicate some attention to it!

I'm a yapper, I apologize in advance.

When did you start writing?

I started writing when I was in elementary school, I think. I know my fourth grade yearbook said I wanted to be an author when I grew up, and that's only KIND OF changed, I still want to write for a living, but for TV instead of novels (though I'm not opposed to that, should I ever have the right idea for one). I remember going to my friend's house after school all that time and using her mom's laptop to open a blank Word doc and just start writing. We wrote tons of stuff that we never finished, but I'd give ANYTHING to read some of it again, if only for a laugh. The only story I remember was about four teens being stranded on an island - we called it "Castaway." No clue what became of that, but our main characters were always based on ourselves 😂 I didn't start writing fanfiction until 2022 and only started posting this past June!

Are there different themes or genres that you enjoy reading than what you write?

Hmm, that's a good question. I typically stick with what I like - romance, fantasy, silly - but it's fun to throw nonfiction in there every once in a while. Not sure how well I'd do at writing non-fiction without embellishing or getting narrative (even though I like reading those kinds of books as well). But yeah, usually I like to stick with what I know and enjoy most! It's also the best way to learn and improve; by reading a ton within the genre you love to write.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don't......think so? I've always been told by English teachers and professors that I have a very strong voice in my writing, which I always interpreted as being unique. As corny as it sounds, I'm not trying to sound like anyone but myself. At the end of the day, I'm writing for my own enjoyment and am happy you guys found me along the way!

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I don't have a dedicated writing space, but I often find myself writing either on my couch or in bed. Weirdly (or not that weirdly, considering most of us have day jobs) I write the best at night and I have to be alone so that I'm not distracted. Usually I'll find a song and play that on repeat while I'm writing (For Cheeks All Flushed, it was Resolve (Dark) from Fire Emblem Fates, and for Awfully Fond of You it was Climactic Return from Danganronpa 2). The music typically has nothing to do with the vibe of what I'm writing, I just need some sort of constant noise that won't distract me, hence why it's usually video game music with no words.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

That's tough. The first idea I published on tumblr was the result of me making myself laugh when I was trying to fall asleep (If EYE were being propositioned by Astarion, my ass would probably be like "wait, what? Me? ME?! Why?"), but the others I've posted have come from just seeing where my brain takes me as I'm writing, known as the "flying by the seat of your pants" method. I have a pretty good sense of these characters by now so I think I know what they'd be up to at this point. Outside of fanfiction, it's really tough - I'll start with a small idea and then keep sitting on it until it's something I think I can write down. I'm definitely more of a planner when it comes to stuff outside of fics 😅 I guess my short answer is: No idea. It just happens. Someone please help me.

are there any recurring themes in your writing? do they surprise you?

OHHH this is gonna say a lot about me, but something I've noticed in my original scripts and even my first fic is that most of the time, my main character is deeply lonely (I'M FINE GUYS, I'm surrounded by friends and loved ones but I have Some Trauma there). It doesn't really surprise me, considering I know WHY I've felt those things, but it's still like.......yikes. Lol. Also humor. Gotta laugh it off, right? RIGHT?

what is your reason for writing?

To be honest, it's a good outlet for me. I went to school for screenwriting and my goal has always been to make people laugh and bring them joy - It's always been that way. I think if I weren't able to get my thoughts and feelings out on paper every once in a while, I might explode. It's also just fun and I like doing it! Piggybacking off of what Khy said in their post, BG3 has been a HUGE outlet for me creatively. The game is full and beautiful and complex, but there are still gaps that I want to fill in and roads I want to explore. What would happen if the player were given THIS option? How would this character react to THIS situation? It's been a blast and I've never felt this way in a fandom before. It's awesome!

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

ANY comment makes my day. The fact that you took the time to read and put thoughts together to let me know how you felt about it is HUGE! It's such a good confidence boost (I second guess myself A LOT) and it always lifts my mood no matter where I am. I always love when people agree with my interpretation of Astarion's idiot tendencies 😂

how do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Hopefully as someone approachable. I'm a big dumb dummy and I love to chat/fan girl. If I can be someone to brighten their day with something silly that I wrote, that's all I need :)

what do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Definitely my banter. I've always been a fan of quick snappy quips and have experience in sketch writing/performing improv, so it comes very easily for me when I need it to. I make myself laugh with it, so it's always really nice to hear that others like it too.

how do you feel about your own writing?

I really started writing as a way of entertaining myself, so the fact that it's able to entertain others is GREAT, but I am very self conscious about it at the same time. I know my interpretation of Astarion is goofier than most, I know I rely heavily on dialogue rather than scene descriptions and inner monologues, and I get very in my head about those things. My stuff has found its proper audience and I'm very grateful for that, but there's always the nagging thought of "this could be better," or "they wouldn't say this," etc etc. That's something I'll likely always struggle with. BUT! I always have fun when I'm writing and hopefully that comes through. I've become less of a perfectionist after posting my first fic, that's for sure.

when you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Aside from requests, where I'm trying very hard to make sure I get whatever it is right for the person who requested it, I'm usually writing for myself. I'm definitely writing what I think will be enjoyable, but it's usually what I personally would like to read. That's what I've been taught! Write what you know and write what you want to read! I'm so unbelievably grateful that you guys find it entertaining as well. My fave thing to do is slip inside jokes in for myself/my beta (calling Astarion "ass," turning to someone and saying "did you know those people?" after talking to a group of people you know very well, etc etc).

No pressure tagging: @maladaptive-menace, and @arzen9 (I know you're not a fic writer, but still!) - I think everyone else I know has been tagged 😅

[tabitha42]

The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 21

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

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Gale had never been a morning person, and he was especially not a morning person when nursing the world’s worst hangover. 

By the time he finally emerged from his tent the camp was a buzz of activity. The tieflings were helping clear up after the party and Wyll was cooking breakfast at the campfire. 

“Ah, there you are,” Wyll greeted him, taking some cooked meat and putting it on a plate. “Thought you’d never wake up.” 

Gale blearily walked over and sat next to him, rubbing his eyes. Gradually his mind started to piece itself back together as he ate. 

“Where are the others?” he asked, finally realising he couldn’t see any of their other companions around. 

“The ladies decided to go bathe in the spring just down river, which I thought might be a good idea for us, too. Might even help wake you up.” 

Gale nodded slowly. 

“And Astarion?”

“I have no idea. Off doing… Astarion things.” 

Astarion still hadn’t returned from his Astarion things by the time they’d finished breakfast, so they headed to the spring without him. They bought a towel each, a fresh change of clothes as well as a handful of dirty clothes to wash while they were there. They found a spot far from where they knew the girls likely were and got undressed. 

Wyll had been absolutely right - the water certainly did wake him up. 

“Gods, nothing like a shock of cold water to really stimulate one’s senses,” Gale commented with a wince as he stepped into the brisk water. Wyll was already waist deep, much more used to this sort of living than Gale was. 

“Feeling a bit better?” he asked with a chuckle as Gale waded in to join him. 

“Better is… not the word I’d use,” he admitted. “I swear this was warmer last time I bathed.” “It’s that morning air. Crisp and fresh.” 

“Mmm…” Gale murmured, unable to have quite the same enthusiasm for it that Wyll did. Still, he decided to try to focus on the one positive of all this. “You seem to be in better spirits than yesterday.” 

“Ah, yes. Well. I’ll admit, for most of the party, I felt rather… out of place. As much as Karlach was right and the tieflings did accept me, I still didn’t feel myself. When she went to dance I took the opportunity to excuse myself. But I should have known Karlach wouldn’t leave it at that. She came and found me. When I refused to return to the party, she refused to leave me. We spent a long time just talking. About all sorts - our adventures, our childhoods, our hopes for the future. Then we heard Alfira playing her new song. It was distant and muffled, but we could hear it. She knew I love to dance, so she offered to dance with me. Not a full dance, of course, but as much as we could without touching. I’ll admit - it worked. By the end of it I finally found myself smiling. And I daresay, had I been able to touch her, the night might have ended up in more than just a dance.” 

Gale chuckled softly, glad to see Wyll starting to feel like himself again. He could relate. 

“Amazing what having the right person around can do for you, isn’t it?” he mused, taking some soap out of his bag and starting to wash himself. 

“It truly is. I used to curse the name Karlach, now I could sing it from the rooftops. The only thing I curse now is Zariel and what she did to her. That damnable infernal engine… I am honestly amazed at how she keeps so positive all the time. But she is sure Dammon will be able to cure her. And, well, she has made it quite clear what she wants when that time finally comes.” 

Gale chuckled, amused by the smirk on Wyll’s lips. 

“I won’t ask for details,” he joked. 

“Heh, if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’m ready for all she’s got planned. But still… I wish we could do something. A hug, a stolen kiss under the stars… but it will make it all the sweeter when our time finally comes.” 

Gale had to admit, that was a nice way to think about it. He hoped they would all find the cures they needed, and all have their time finally come. 

“Anyway, enough about me,” Wyll decided after a moment. “What about you? Did Saff finally convince you to dance?” 

“Ah… yes, she did. To the same song as you, in fact,” he said, a smile playing on his lips from the memories of the night. “Oh? And how’d it go?” he asked with an excited smirk. He clearly was expecting more than what actually happened between them. 

“Well… we were dancing, and it was lovely, and then… I was a lot more drunk than I thought I was, and fell over.” 

Wyll burst out laughing. 

“Oh gods, Gale. Don’t tell me you let that be the end of it, though? I’m sure she didn’t hold it against you.” 

“You’re right, she didn’t. But…” he trailed off and looked away slightly. Wyll looked at him, at first in curiosity, then in concern when he saw the pained look on Gale’s face.

“Gale? Are you alright?” he asked, growing worried for his friend. Gale had been hesitant to tell anyone just yet… but he knew he could trust Wyll with this. 

“I… haven’t told her this yet. But the truth is… you and I are in much the same boat.” Wyll frowned, deeply confused. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to figure it out. Gale sighed deeply. 

“This,” he said, tapping the circle on his chest. “It isn’t just magic it reacts to. It reacts to me. To… my emotions.” 

Gradually Wyll’s eyes started to widen in realisation. 

“I hadn’t been sure about it at first,” Gale continued. “But I’m sure of it now. Whenever the two of us are close… it flares up. Everyone thought I fell last night because of alcohol. It wasn’t. It was this.” 

There was a moment of quiet as Wyll looked at him sadly, realising how much his condition truly affects him.

“Well well, look at you two. Cockblocked by the universe.” 

The two of them nearly jumped out of their skins as Astarion seemed to appear out of nowhere next to them. 

“A truly tragic tale,” he continued casually. 

“Where did you come from??” Gale gasped, equal parts surprised and annoyed. 

“Oh, I had been getting some food earlier. After how busy last night was I didn’t get a chance to get a proper meal. Then when I got back I heard you two had come down here, so I thought I’d join you.” 

Gale and Wyll glanced at each other, then back at Astarion, who was now looking at them with a smirk on his lips. 

“I had a wonderful night by the way, if anyone’s interested.” 

“Did you?” Wyll asked, curious now. “Who with?” 

“Oh…” Astarion started, looking at them playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Further downstream, the girls were enjoying a much warmer bath, courtesy of Karlach. 

“Ahh, this is the life!” Karlach declared happily, stretching her arms and leaning back against a rock. While the others were busy washing or cleaning their clothes, she was relaxing as if on a spa day. 

“You really enjoy bathing in rivers that much?” Shadowheart asked. She couldn’t say she shared the same love for it. 

“Yes! Never got the chance in the Hells. The rivers there were all boiling and stank of sulphur. But this… cool, clean water… I’d forgotten how good it felt!” 

Saff smiled to herself. It was so nice to see Karlach enjoying herself so much. Shadowheart shrugged slightly and went back to what she was doing, til she spoke again shortly later. 

“So, did you find Wyll last night after you went off looking for him?” 

“Yes! He didn’t want to come back to the party, but we still had a good time together,” she said with a big smile, reminiscing. Shadowheart narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked at Karlach. 

“Had anyone else said that I would assume you’d slept together, but with you I know that can’t be the case…” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me! I can’t wait til I can get this thing fixed. Then I have so many plans.” 

Now Shadowheart’s interest was really piqued. 

“Oh? Do we get to hear them?” she asked curiously, but Karlach only laughed. 

“No, those are for Wyll’s ears only. I’ll only tell you the first one - I want to share a dance with him.” 

Shadowheart looked marginally disappointed, while Saff looked more interested now.

“That’s so romantic,” she said softly, finding it sweet that that was one of the first things Karlach wanted to do. 

“Well, I hope he’s a better dancer than a certain other male companion of ours,” Shadowheart teased. Karlach lifted her head now and looked curiously at Saff, who looked slightly annoyed at Shadowheart. 

“Gale’s a perfectly good dancer!” she said defensively. 

“He fell over.” 

“He... was drunk,” she tried to argue in Gale’s defence, though didn’t do very well. Karlach started laughing, and finally even Lae’zel, who had previously been ignoring the conversation, joined in. 

“He fell over??” she asked, looking a bit disgusted. “Ch’k, any man who fell over while trying to court me would quickly learn of his failure.” 

“He wasn’t-... it wasn’t like that…” Saff stuttered, though all three of them gave her a disbelieving look. 

“Wasn’t it?” Shadowheart challenged. Saff didn’t answer, and just looked down to focus on the clothes she was washing. “You know, I’m surprised it’s taken you two this long. You’re both clearly interested in each other. So act on it.” 

Saff sighed, realising there was no point trying to pretend there wasn’t anything between them anymore.

“We are acting on it,” she insisted, trying to hide the slight blush on her cheeks. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Half a dance is acting on it?” She said, a criticism more than a question. “Yes! It’s only been a few days!” Saff said defensively. “Plenty of time,” Lae’zel declared. Saff was beginning to feel a bit ganged up on. 

“Well, I want to take things slow, ok?” she said, hoping that would be explanation enough.

“Why?” Lae’zel asked. Saff might have got annoyed, but it didn’t sound like a tease like it would have done from Shadowheart - it was a genuine question.

“Well… sometimes if you take things too fast, that can ruin the relationship. I don’t want that.” 

“Why would it ruin the relationship?” she pressed. Her genuinely questioning tone reminded the others just how alien she really was to their world. 

“Because… you might end up in a relationship with someone you don’t really know yet. And they could turn out to not be the person you thought they were.” 

“Not the person you thought they were? Like someone in disguise?”

“No- no…” Saff said quickly, to the amusement of Shadowheart and Karlach. “I don’t mean literally, I mean, you might have this idea of them in your mind, of what they’re like. But then the more you get to know them, you realise they’re not like that at all, and that you’ve not actually fallen for them, but you’ve fallen for this idea you had of them that isn’t actually real.”

Lae’zel nodded slowly, beginning to understand. 

“Do you fear this is the case with Gale?” 

“Well, no… but I want to be sure,” she explained. It looked like Lae’zel was finally getting it, until she spoke again. 

“I still don’t see why this has to delay sex.” 

Saff despaired and buried her head in her hands. The other two laughed and Karlach finally sat up to give her input. 

“Some people don’t like having sex with someone unless they love them,” she said simply. Lae’zel looked almost disgusted by the suggestion.

“How ridiculous. You would miss out on so much of one of life’s greatest pleasures.” 

“I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with Lae’zel,” Shadowheart said, to Lae’zel’s surprise. “Short-term amusements are much better.” 

“Well, you guys can stick with your short-term amusements, I know what I want,” Saff said firmly. 

“Good for you, Saff,” Karlach said proudly. “You take as much time as you need, and don’t let these two tell you otherwise,” she said, gesturing to Lae’zel and Shadowheart. 

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. 

“How can you be sure you’re not wasting your time? You do not even know if he’s interested if you don’t make your desires clear,” she questioned. 

“Well… that’s all part of taking your time about it, to be sure you know they feel the same way. But I’m sure he’s interested. There’s been lots of times when we’ve been really close, way closer than just friends would.” 

“And those times have never led to anything?” 

“No. Usually either we get interrupted, or… he changes the subject or something, cause like I said, we’re taking it slow.” 

Lae’zel gave her a look. 

“How do you know he’s not changing the subject because he’s not interested?” she challenged. 

“Wha- I… I’m sure that’s not the case,” Saff said, though sounding rather more uncertain than before. It never took much to sow the seed of doubt in her mind. 

“You should strike while the iron is hot,” Lae’zel insisted. “Make sure he knows your desires, before he loses interest!” 

“I don’t think he’s going to lose interest,” Karlach started, “but I guess there’s no harm in making sure he knows how you feel.” 

“Karlach’s right. Plus, a small gesture to keep him on his toes can always be fun,” Shadowheart agreed. 

“You think? Like… what?” Saff asked, a bit unsure what she could do. 

“Pin him down and ravish him until he is so overcome by arousal he cannot refuse you your desires!” Lae’zel declared.

The others went silent, looking at her in shock. 

“...I was going to suggest a picnic,” Karlach said after a long moment. “But… I suppose that works, too.” 

“I’ll bear the picnic idea in mind,” Saff decided.

[neofeliis]

Death's Eyes

Pairing: F!DurgexAstarion

Summary: Death walked side by side with Astarion every day as a vampire spawn, it was only a matter of time before he met the child of murder. In the worlds both of them are confined to, it's not unlikely the two would find each other more than once in the underbelly of the city. What was unlikely, was just how far those coincidental meetings would go.

Note: I have NOT been able to get this out of my head. I love a good "We knew each other before and then SURPRISE amnesia" trope. Enjoy!

Read on Ao3 here

----

Blood covered every inch of the young tiefling the first time he saw her.  The first fingers of dawn crawled across the damp cobbles of the city streets, placing an impenetrable line between him and the dizzying elixir that was like to go to waste.  All the sense in the world told him it was past time to retreat back to the palace for the day, but harsh as the lower city could be it was not every day something this brutal made it to the light of day.

By all accounts, she looked like a child, standing stock still outside a house somehow quieter than death.  With a sight like this, someone somewhere should have been fussing over whatever scene she had stepped out of.  Most of all the youngling, who should have been screaming, sobbing.  Afraid of whatever had dressed her in crimson.

But not a sound escaped the girl, and not a single tear fell from her wide, unfocused eyes.  Shock, he mused, pushing his luck with every second he remained on the spot.  That was the logical conclusion, yet something in the scene scratched at his mind.  Something, other.  Her hands did not shake, her tail did not writhe.  Everything he knew of tieflings told him their tails were oversized mood rings, and hers hung limp on the stones behind her.

Astarion was perilously close to losing all darkness when her eyes flicked up, meeting his like she had known exactly where to look. The cold that twinged just beneath his skin and prickled his flesh rooted him to the spot a moment longer than he should dare. Hunger. Ravenous, greedy hunger festered there. 

Those eyes, dark enough to not betray their color, would not soon leave the elf’s memories. Not an ounce of panic worked its way onto her features, and he wondered if she was looking right through him. Instead her mouth moved to speak into the fading dark, but the sound barely carried over the breeze that swept between them.  What she had actually said would flit in and out of his memories in the weeks to come as he recalled the scent that assaulted him with that wind, but he was never quite sure if he heard her right.

“Father says I'm not allowed to like them..I liked them.”

*

The smell of bloodbath visited Astarion a few more times over the years, but he would not seek it out again as he had that one night.  The pressure to bring back warm bodies for his master had only increased, and he’d had his share of stealing children.  He needed living souls, and if he knew what was good for him he would steer clear of the stink of death.

Still, he kept an ear out for the rumors that followed. A string of sporadic murders uncharacteristically brutal in nature kept the underbelly of the city on edge. The more there were, the more color the rumors took on. A serial killer, a demon, a Bhaalist insurgence.

He did everything in his power to not roll his eyes listening to his latest target, a half elf woman, prattle on about her own theories. She was shifty, unable to hold his stare, and his charms along with the alcohol were not working as easily as they usually did. Whatever this is, is making my job a lot more difficult, he thought bitterly, trying to school his glare into something cool and indifferent.

“--but so many of them are families,” she continued, having barely stopped since he made the mistake of asking what she thought. “I heard from my brother, who heard from his friend Cyllo that many of them were people who were known to take in strays off the street. That this was what they got for bein’ bleedin’ hearts. But my brother says he bets it's some baby-faced halfling from the Bhaalist underground pretending to be a street urchin.”

Astarion could only stare, and she took his silence as an invitation to keep talking. 

He went home empty handed that night, and took lashings in excess for it. 

*

It would be some time before he saw the tiefling girl again.  She was somewhere in her teens, by his best estimate, when he found those eyes once more in the dark. Prowling these alleys was second nature, and anyone with sense knew not to be caught alone in the way she was, sitting without a visible concern against the wall. Nearly everything about her had changed enough to make recognition near impossible for someone whose only job was to pile innumerable bodies in the palace foyer.  But the eyes had it; that was all Astarion needed to see to remember the red child outside the quiet, dark home all those years ago.

Blood ran in swathes over her arms, like paint strokes he thought, coating her hands entirely.  A few splashes kissed on her face, but the rest of her was notably cleaner than the first time. It seemed she had grown out of the wide-eyed shock that held her in her youth, and it had instead morphed into mirthless exhaustion, and something familiar he couldn't place. She looked as though sleep had not found her in weeks.  Hunger? Maybe? Or was it mania?

This time, the moon hung high and bright in the night sky, and dawn was a long ways off.  This time, he could take her, if he wanted.  The shadows sat darker on nights like these, and the elf settled into the comfort of cover as his hungry stare found its way again to her fresh accessories.  What design of misfortune is yours to be such close friends already with bloodshed, little one?

Again, her eyes found his with sharp precision. His muscles locked, only because he was certain he’d been hidden entirely.  He glared, cursing his own carelessness, and considered again making her his target for the evening.  For several long, twisting moments, hunger clouded his thoughts.  The blood was right there, blood he could accidentally have for himself before bringing her home. An absentminded cleaning of his fingers after touching her hands. Master need not ever know, it could be something just for him.

Astarion took a single step forward, and without the tiefling moving a muscle, a deep sense of foreboding fell over him like ice water.  In an instant the murderous hunger vacated his body and with a single curl of her lip seemed to wrap itself around her instead.  Like a loyal pet.  His mind shifted to acute, cold clarity and he blanched a step. When recalling why he went after different prey that night, he would remember the shadows around her shifting as though alive, and swearing he heard a goading voice speaking somewhere near her. 

*

Forcing down the rats never seemed to get easier.  Once, after a year of starvation, he was convinced they would taste divine, but the disappointment for that came and went quickly.  The best he could manage were fresh caught on the streets when Cazador was merciful enough to rescind his “you only eat what I give you” rule for a night or two.  When it came down to the carcasses that were provided, and the one he could catch himself, the difference was marginal.  But all he had in life was what he could eke out in the margins.

Blood and viscera dripped from his chin, his body hunched like a feral creature over the drained animal in his hands, when the smell of death not of his making crept into the filthy alley.  Death was no stranger, not on these streets, but this blend felt far more familiar than it should.

The hair on the back of Astarion’s neck prickled, and a snarl rumbled reflexively in his throat. Someone was coming, and by the sounds of it, keeping quiet was a natural skill.  Not good enough to hide entirely from him, but better than the common folk.

Woe be upon anyone who interrupted him here when desperate hunger burned the back of his throat. It was never enough, they were never enough. Rats were sewer water, never filling, never curbing the burn, the ache. Nothing, nothing ever soothed the ache.  

He waited for the steps to come just a bit closer before he whirled, spitting mad, with a dagger at the ready in his fist.  If he sliced them violently enough, maybe he could cover his face, his lips…

The hooded figure did not blanch, and made no move to draw a weapon. Instead they paused at the crossing of the alleyways several feet away, clearly moving in their own direction before the snarling of a wild animal halted them.  An inconvenience.

Long horns curved out through cut holes in their hood, and a lithe tail swished once as the hooded figure turned slowly.  Astarion’s blood cooled as their eyes met his, and though he could see no other features of their face, the eyes of murder were indisputable.  Thrice now, Astarion had found death in this unknown tiefling, even if tonight no blood stained her person; the stink of it still followed her.  A constant companion, it seemed.

There was a moment where she stared at him, then slowly tilted her head in recognition.  In the following seconds she moved faster than he could predict and in a blur of dark cloth she was upon him. The rogue found his bearings in the final split second, just as his back impacted the wall with a grunt. When stillness fell again, both had respective knives to their throats. 

Astarion, here, found himself the closest he had yet been to the eyes of murder. He was more than familiar with the city’s worst, sitting under the thumb of one.  There are those who adopt power, who learn to be cruel, how to take a life. But never in his life had he seen what looked like, felt like, innate nature. 

With a hiss he tightened his grip on his dagger, and in perfect rhythm both pressed just a fraction more against flesh, just shy of drawing blood. He was certain he was the image of indignant frustration, but in her eyes there was the quickest flash of unrestrained glee. Then every second after that passed bloodlessly, he saw it. Hunger. 

Astarion blinked as though staring into a mirror for the first time.  Never enough, never ending, the constant ache of starvation. The burn, the need. Roiling in her stare like a wild beast that thinned the air between them.  With a twitch of her lips, she pushed the tiniest bit closer into his unyielding grip, and a thin red line bloomed where it made contact with her flesh.  A single, warm drip ran down her skin, settling and pooling into the hollow of her neck. 

The panic rose faster than he could control it off of his face, and there was nothing that could be done about his traitorous eyes fixing on the forbidden sustenance. Too close, it’s too close, he thought, his mouth going painfully dry.

The tiefling’s face was not that of someone looking at their only natural predator. Instead, she looked expectant, waiting for him to take his chance.  In that moment, he realized that she knew what he was.  But as much as he wanted it, as close at it was, as easy as it would have been to do something about her idiotic bluff, his master’s command rang like a death bell though every fiber of his being, and he remained frozen. 

The woman gave him one final dip of her chin, a final dare, with nothing in response.  Then, it was gone, and a mask of cool disinterest settled onto her hood-darkened face.

“Disappointing,” she said casually, eyes fixated on the blade edge poised against his flesh. It was the first time Astarion had heard her voice clearly, and could barely see the angled lines of her adult face under the hood.  “What a pretty corpse you’d be, were you not a slave to another,” she continued, a voice of smooth velvet, “Someday, when you become your own blood-artist, I will kill you. Fortunately for you I'm indebted to another tonight, so our dance will have to wait.”

Before he could retort, before he could move to defend himself, the shadows around her whirled, and she and her dagger were gone.  When he fled the alley, he left behind his bloodied dagger, finding himself in need of a new one entirely.

Astarion would not see death in the form of the tiefling woman again in the streets of Baldur’s Gate, and the whispers of slaughter and murder-plots would grow ever quieter. He wondered now and again if she had met her own end, but something in his heart told him she was far from done with this world. That, and the scent of walking bloodshed that never quite seemed to stop following him. 

*

A plan, he needed a plan.  In an unknown land, beneath the warmth of the sun, with a splitting headache from the creature within.   He needed to come up with something fast. But plans came easy to Astarion, and it seemed that for once in his life he was in a position to follow them through however he wanted. The rules had changed. The sun warmed his skin, his will felt like his own. 

When footsteps and two talking figures began to make their way up the path, the plan quickly took shape.  A quick lie, a turned back, and like breathing his knife found its way to the unsuspecting tiefling’s throat.  The threats to their companion rolled off his tongue like the master he was, feeling fully in control of the situation.  This was his path to information, to finding out just what had happened on that ship, and perhaps securing some gullible help towards whatever laid before him now.  It was a seamless plan in what would be a long line of easy manipulations to get him where he needed to be.

Until he looked back at his squirming hostage–a female tiefling–and met their eyes.

Wide, bewildered, and unmistakably familiar.  The smell of death wasn’t just the nautiloid, it was the woman in his grasp.  Dulled, but there if he really focused.

She sensed his surprise, the falter in his grip, and took her chance to roll away from him to safety.  In this moment, he let her.  

Both jumped to their feet, poised in a standoff, and Astarion took this opportunity to study her face in new, vivid, sunlit detail. She had been just a few years younger when he saw her features last under the shadow of a heavy hood.  The tone of her skin, the color of her hair, the curve of her horns, all of them pointed to the woman he had seen in the street, who had held a blade to his throat just like he'd done now.

The eyes.  The color was the same, the way his heart seized when he saw them, the same. But the way she looked at him, the way they widened and studied him with careful assessment, that was markedly different.  The darkness that had been festering there even as a child seemed to be all but gone.  He recalled her final words to him the last time they crossed paths a few short years ago, but by the way she was looking at him she did not seem to remember them herself.  After two brief meetings in passing, she had remembered him the night she threatened him, but here in the light of day not a shred of familiarity was there. 

He wondered, initially, if it was a trick. But even when she was a child he felt that oppressive feeling of woe that surrounded her. Here, now it was quiet. 

Which meant, she had no idea who he was, or that she meant to kill him. 

As Astarion smiled sweetly and sketched a bow of introduction, he felt the thrill of the upper hand, of an even better plan unfolding.

*

The elf rarely took his eyes off of her, Tav, she had introduced herself as.  Memory loss was always a convenient excuse, which she had said plainly enough when pushed in conversation. But it remained to be seen how true it was.  Sooner or later, she was going to slip up.  Her gaze would cast ice into his veins again and he would know on the spot that she was just as much a  liar as he was.  

But, he watched her be, kind.  He watched her choose, actively, to help others, and then leave without so much as using their trust against them.  He watched their companions, most of all the insufferably pathetic wizard, fall into reckless comfortability with her.  Tav nurtured it at every turn, she held the line in battle, and came quickly to their aid.  She opened their camp to an entire stranger, and an insufferable bard no less.

What game are you playing? he mused from his bedroll, watching her bed down for the night.  

Astarion’s breath hitched when her eyes flicked to his, and deja vu wracked every part of his body.  There you are, show it to me.  Show me what a liar you are, he goaded, a small smirk curling on his lips.

But just as quickly as Tav had found his stare, she looked away, her hands fumbling with the rest of her bedding.  He blinked, completely puzzled.  The darkness wasn’t there, foreboding did not lie down to rest around his heart.  She looked flustered, in the same way he was so very good at making his targets feel.  

For a night, he fell asleep doubting that she was faking her convenient memory loss.  He drifted out of consciousness with the sweet taste of I know something she doesn’t on his tongue, and how that would serve him.  

And then they awoke to the corpse of the brutalized bard in the middle of their camp, and the waves of death stink rolling off of her were unmistakable. There you are, he thought with gleeful satisfaction.  The body, the apprehensive party, and only Astarion knew with almost certainty who could have done it.  He could have exposed her right there, outed her little game, but the temptation of watching her sweat through it was too great.  Because what greater upper hand than a secret that could oust her from the only hope she had at ridding herself of her parasite?  

He had to admit, he was impressed at how quickly Tav had cleaned herself when he had never known her to care before.  He was even more impressed at how easily she talked herself into innocence.  Good, so the secret remains ours then, he thought.

“It’s time to start talking,” he cooed at her when the others had left earshot.  What good was blackmail if someone didn’t know you had it?  And what was more satisfying than the look of someone who was caught in a snare?  She’d gotten the upper hand on him once before, toyed with him when he was a lesser man and made sure he knew it.  The look of frustration on her face that those tables had turned would be sweeter than anything he’d been afforded in recent decades.

But disappointment seemed loathe to take its claws out of Astarion.  Because instead of baring her teeth like a trapped animal, genuine fear bloomed on her features.  Sweat beaded on her brow and her entire posture slumped.  He didn’t know if a tiefling her color could look green, but whatever shade she turned was about as close as she could get to it.  Her words came out in a stammering, pathetic jumble of ‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ and ‘I don’t know what happened,’ and then finally a shred of something useful: ‘Please don’t tell the others.’

A slow, sinister grin spread on his face.  It may not have been what he was hoping for, but this? This he could work with.  

“Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a sympathetic tilt of his head, the charm coming like second nature.  “Your secret is safe with me.”

[themuse-if]

Another 20 (or so) Questions with Everly/Everette Thompson

Interviewer: Welcome to another installment of our character interviews, where we dive deep into the lives and minds of our favorite cast members of The Muse. Today, we have Everly/Everette Thompson with us, our resident multi-faceted thespian . Everly/Everette, thank you for joining us. Could you start by telling us what made you want to pursue not only acting, but dancing and singing as well?

Everly/Everette: Hey! I'm super happy to be here today, thank you for having me. Honestly I grew up spending most of my summers with Gran Gran, she lives in Florida. We would spend most of the day at the beach, and then she would teach me how to knit while TCM (Turner Classic Movies) played in the background. So many classic Hollywood films were musicals and I fell in love with all of the razzle dazzle. Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Leslie Caron, Ginger Rogers they were all so captivating in their time, and I'd love to captivate others in the same way.

Interviewer: So classic Hollywood is your main inspiration, and I'm guessing that also led to your love of the stage. Describe your art in your own words.

Everly/Everette: Once I realized my love for the dramatic arts I knew that I wanted to do it all. Both on stage and on screen, I knew that I wanted to live many lives and tell thought provoking stories time and time again. Getting fully immersed in a new character, and knowing that an audience can see, feel, and hear what I'm trying to express through them is such an overwhelming feeling.

Interviewer: How do you want to be seen by others?

Everly/Everette: If were talking about how I want to be seen as a person rather than as an actor, then the answer is that people can perceive me however they please. People are always going to have their own opinions and make assumptions. I can't really control how people view me, all I can do is be true to myself.

Interviewer: True it's easy for people to make quick assumptions about you when you're in the spotlight. And how do you want your art to be seen by others?

Everly/Everette: I want people to be as immersed in my roles as I am. When they see me perform I want them to forget that it's me and only see the character that I am portraying.

Interviewer: What trait do you value most in a friend?

Everly/Everette: I really value the support of my friends. I may put up a strong front, but it's hard to constantly be in the spotlight. People make a lot of assumptions without really getting to know you. So having friends who trust and understand me despite what others may say is really valuable to me.

Interviewer: What is your latest obsession?

Everly/Everette: I think most people know this about me already, but I'm really into DnD. So recently I've been playing Baldur's Gate 3. It's so unbelievably good! And yes Astarion is my favorite...but Karlach is a close second.

Interviewer: I think Astarion is everyone's favorite! Alright next question, describe your ideal best friend.

Everly/Everette: Someone who shares my passion for the arts and understands the dedication required to succeed. Someone who is supportive, honest, and always up for a spontaneous adventure.

Interviewer: And what about your ideal partner?

Everly/Everette: I think that my ideal partner is really similar to my ideal best friend. The biggest difference would be that I want them to only have eyes for me. I don't mean that they can't perceive other people as attractive I just always want feel like their number 1.

Interviewer: That makes perfect sense. What was your first kiss like?

Everly/Everette: I was really ambitious my freshman year and I auditioned for the lead in our spring musical, Grease. I got the part and my co-star was pissed since they were a senior and really wanted to do the role opposite their partner. As you can imagine this made baby freshman me really nervous, so I begged my best friend Cleo to help me practice the kissing scenes. In my head I thought that maybe if I was a good kisser then maybe my co-star could at least tolerate me. *shrugs*

Interviewer: So did it work? Did your newfound kissing skills help you get closer with your fellow actor?

Everly/Everette: *self deprecating grin* Well........ sort of....... *chuckles to themself* So the thing is I could tell that they definitely started to get more into rehearsing with me kissing scenes or otherwise. The thing is as soon as we were done rehearsing or performing they would become super cold towards me. I don't think they were even capable of warming up to me, but hey the show must go on.

Interviewer: Indeed it must. Well Everly/Everette, have you ever been in love? Off the stage of course. *cheeky grin*

Everly/Everette: I mean I've dated here and there throughout high school, but I don't know, I can't say that I was in love. I have yet to feel that same rush that I feel on stage playing out a scene of love, with someone in reality. And I know that love isn't supposed to feel like something fictional, it should feel real, tangible. Like something that I just have to hold onto because once it slips through my fingers who knows when I'll be able to grasp it again.

Interviewer: *gets wide eyed and then holds back a chuckle* Um...uh are you sure you've never been in love? I just can't imagine having thought about it so deeply if you've never felt it. Could you tell me when was your last relationship, and why did it end?

Everly/Everette: *hides their cheeks from blushing* Ah uh sorry. *chuckles* Yeah I have a habit of being overly introspective. I just think about emotions and abstractions like love and hate, happiness and sadness, so often that it's hard to really define those things in day to day life. And as for my last relationship, well it ended pretty recently. So I was cast as the lead in my final high school spring musical which was Heathers. Long story short my co-star asked me out opening night, and I felt like I sort of had to say yes. Honestly I didn't really see them as anything more than a friend and fellow actor, but I was scared that the performance would tank if I turned them down. After going to prom with them I decided that I had to end it before graduation, I felt really horrible stringing them along. I couldn't be honest with them and say that I was never into them from the start, so I just said that since we were going to schools on different coasts it would be better if we went back to being friends.

Interviewer: Wow that's a lot to unpack. I guess that probably put a bit of a damper on the end of your senior year. Lets move to a lighter topic. What’s your ideal Friday night?

Everly/Everette: If I don't have any plans to hang out with friends, then I'll usually just have a chill night in with the twins. They're in middle school so they're old enough to stay home alone or go hang out with friends, but I still like spending time with them. Plus it gives my parents a chance for a night out. We'll just order pizza and stay up late watching movies and playing video games.

Interviewer: That's really sweet I'm sure they'll miss your Friday night hangouts. What’s the last song you listened to?

Everly/Everette: "Body Language" by Helena Deland.

Interviewer: How do you behave in a relationship?

Everly/Everette: I'm honestly not 100% sure... Since I basically faked my last one... I don't know I think that maybe I'm just a little possessive. Not in a controlling way I just want to spend all of my time with my my partner. But that's normal...right...if you really like someone?

Interviewer: Well I guess that would depend on how it makes your partner feel. Speaking of people you really like, do you approach those you’re interested in or let them come to you?

Everly/Everette: That depends. If the person is someone who likes to take charge then I'll just make my feeling obvious, and they can come to me. If they're a bit more reserved then I'll just take my time showing how I feel and I'll approach them more, the more they show interest in me.

Interviewer: That's a very thoughtful approach. What is your biggest pet peeve?

Everly/Everette: *immediately gets heated* People who tell others to "tone it down." Like what the fuck does that mean? If you can't handle someone with a more expressive personality then just fuck off. Why should I have to tone it down to make someone else more comfortable. If they don't like it, then they can leave, no one is forcing them to stick around.

Interviewer: *cheeky grin* Sounds like your talking from experience. I bet there is definitely a story there, but moving on. What do you notice first about a person?

Everly/Everette: Their eyes, or their gaze more precisely. The way someone just watches the world when they don't think anyone is watching is really interesting.

Interviewer: That's an interesting one, I haven't heard a take like that before. Alright last question, what did you dream about last night?

Everly/Everette: I honestly don't know. I can only recall little snippets. A vivid sunset, me dancing with someone I don't know to a song I've never heard, and streams of people. I uh...don't remember any context those are the only points that stuck with me.

Interviewer: Sounds like even your dreams are cinematic. Well that's all the time we have for today. Thank you so much for coming in and sharing more of your story with us!

[cactusnymph]

Will you write more Astarion/Karlach/Wyll for the Touches Ask Game? What about #42 for hand-holding ("dragging the other with them, holding their hand")?

"I'm going to fucking melt", Karlach groans, desperately trying to fan herself with one of Astarion's books but the relief it brings is minimal. Gods, she needs some ice cold ale or maybe she needs Astarion to lie on top of her like a living cooling pad.

She doubts that he would indulge her.

"One might think that you'd be less affected by heat than the rest of us", Wyll muses. His beautiful dark skin is gleaming with sweat and Karlach tries very hard not to let her mind wander too much because. That is not on the table at the moment.

"I know right? Fuck Zariel for giving me this stupid engine and it doesn't even make me immune to fucking heat", she says and protests when Astarion pulls the book out of her hand.

"That's expensive, darling", he says, entirely unimpressed by her suffering.

"I'm priceless", she sniffs and Wyll laughs while Astarion raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow at her. There is a twitch in the corner of his mouth though that suggests that he's almost smiling. Karlach loves following the laughter lines on his face when he thinks she's not looking. Or well. Even when he knows she's looking, really.

"Maybe we should just go and take a swim", Wyll suggests and Karlach wants to kiss him.

"Holy fuck, you're a genius", she breathes and goes to hug him. Fuck, they're both so sweaty.

"Oh good. Does that mean I'll get some reading time now?", Astarion asks but Karlach will hear nothing of it.

"No, you're coming with", she proclaims and Astarion blinks at her.

"Uh—", he starts but Karlach is already on the move, grabbing his slender hand with hers and then Wyll with her other hand as she pulls the both of them towards the lake near their camp. How in the nine hells didn't she think of this sooner?

"Skinny dipping", she shouts full of joy and excitement, entirely ignoring Astarion's complains and Wyll's gentle protests about getting naked. It's not like she'll force anyone to undress but fuck, she is going to be so fucking naked. The sun can suck her dick.

When they reach the lake Karlach lets go of her boys' hands and rips off her pants first, then her bra and finally her underwear before turning around to face Wyll and Astarion. Wyll's eyes are very wide and fixed on her face with a look that makes Karlach chuckle.

Fuck, he's so endearing when he's trying to be a perfect gentleman.

Astarion meanwhile has no qualms about looking at her but he still looks as if he's ready to murder her.

"Come on, it'll be fun!", she promises.

"It most certainly will not be", Astarion sniffs. "I'm a vampire, in case you forgot. I can't swim."

Karlach blinks and turns her head to look up at the sun high at the sky before lowering her gaze again only to catch Wyll staring at her tits which makes her feel a rush of delight and excitement. She points up at the scorching summer sun in the sky.

"You sure that swimming is off the table, Fangs? It's pretty sunny and you're totally fine", she says. Astarion huffs.

"Maybe I don't want to tempt fate too much", he says with a dismissive gesture but his eyes wander over Karlach's body as if her being naked is more tempting to him than he lets on.

"Pretty please?", she says and does her best of a puppy eye expression. Maybe this doesn't work as well while she has her tits and dick out, but Wyll at least seems to want to indulge. Karlach tries very hard not to stare when his muscular torso is exposed, revealing the two horizontal scars on his chest and that pretty trail of hair leading into his pants that she keeps staring at while he's wearing his camp clothes.

She can be normal. She can be totally chill about this. And she has to jump into the cold water immediately before her dick gets too excited.

"Last one in the water loses!", she shouts and turns around to run into the water before taking a dive headfirst. Cool silence meets her underneath the surface and man. Yet another awesome thing on this wonderful world. In Avernus she would never have been able to take a swim in a cool lake on a summer day.

When she breaks through the surface she throws her head back and beams, looking to see if Wyll has already followed her. And indeed, his head is floating close by, a soft smile on his face while he watches her.

"That was a pretty great idea", he says and looks pleased with himself. Karlach laughs and splashes him with water before turning her head to look for Astarion who is still standing on the shore of the lake, looking down at his nails as if nothing concerns him.

Patience, Karlach. Patience.

Fuck, she's so bad at patience.

To distract herself from the desperate need to throw Astarion over her shoulder and drag him into the lake she reaches for Wyll, discovering that he is indeed entirely naked.

More patience. Alright. No big deal.

At least she can kiss him so she does, pulling Wyll close while her toes dig into the soft sand on the bottom of the lake. Wyll sighs against her lips and Karlach wishes someone would give her a gold star for not getting a boner right now. She hugs him tight, feeling his naked legs wrap around her waist.

Yup. She can be normal. She can be totally not horny about this.

"Well now you're just both being terribly rude", Astarion complains and Karlach pulls back to look at him over Wyll's shoulder.

"Come in, Fangs", she urges. Astarion huffs.

"I value my life and have no interest in wasting it on a glorified bath that doesn't even have bubbles in it", Astarion says but Karlach is pretty good at reading him by now and she gets that he's scared.

"Be right back", she says to Wyll and kisses him again before detaching from him and walking back onto the shore and towards Astarion who eyes her suspiciously. He doesn't protest when Karlach pulls his white shirt over his head and he allows her to open his pants. She revels in the flush on his cheeks and his stubborn crossing of arms in front of his naked, white chest.

He's much more slender than Wyll and way less hairy and gods, so, so fucking pale in the bright sunlight. Karlach finds him so beautiful she would love nothing more than to fuck him right here by the lake.

But.

Not now.

Now she takes his hand and pulls him towards the water slowly, watches as he stares down at his feet as they touch the surface for the first time. His breath hitches and he blinks before taking another step. He's up to his ankles now.

"See?", she says softly and smiles at him. "I got you."

Astarion glares at her but there's no heat behind it. Wyll joins them and takes his other hand.

"If you let me drown I'll come back to haunt you forever", Astarion warns as he wades in deeper while holding onto both of their hands like a lifeline.

"You're too hot to let you drown", Karlach jokes to give him an opportunity to deflect his fear with flirting and snark like he usually does.

"So true, darling. I'd be a waste of a perfectly handsome vampire", Astarion answers. When he's up to his waist he stops, looking out over the surface as if he's deep in thought and overwhelmed by all the things he can do now that the tadpole has freed him from his former master. Karlach can relate.

"You are so brave", Wyll says softly and presses a kiss to Astarion's temple for which he's immediately splashed with water again. Karlach laughs and allows herself to float on the cool water surface, never letting go of Astarion's hand.

feel free to send me more of these <3

[starryjuicebox]

Beloved (5) - Sorry

Summary: Astarion demands answers.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Tav

Word Count: 371 words

Masterlist | Ao3 Link | Next Chapter

“Halsin…” she whispered, the name sounding like a prayer. 

Astarion clenched his fist, trying to quell the angry inferno raging inside. How dare he show up uninvited? Did the servant not make it clear enough that he was unwelcome? 

With a flick of his wrist, the curtains shut once more. His consort’s gaze flickered to him in alarm and confusion. “Astarion-” 

“Shall we go deal with him together? Should I remind dear Halsin that you belong to me? Perhaps the very last thing he will ever see will be you, on your knees in front of me.” He crooned, lifting her chin to look into her eyes. 

Finally, there was emotion showing, a spark of her old self. She was still there. He would get her back. She would be wholly his again. 

Stella’s eyes widened in panic. “No! I’m sure he’ll just…leave on his own. We needn’t go through the trouble. Why don’t we just stay in our room together?” she reached out to gently touch his cheek with a trembling hand. “We can begin planning the next soiree-” 

Her desperation to protect the other druid made Astarion want to go through with his idea even more, and he interrupted her pleas. “Come, let us go greet him. He’ll be pleased to see you, after all. He's quite elderly now, isn’t he? Although…not as old as I’d expected, considering it’s been centuries.” That was rather strange. He thought back to a conversation they’d had with Jaheira so many years ago, about the strange Druidic ritual in her basement. 

His lover’s gaze shifted away from him, and he frowned. She was hiding something from him. 

Unacceptable. 

He leaned into her cool touch. “Darling, what aren’t you telling me?” 

“The…Rite of the Timeless Body. Halsin completed it.” the words seemed to pain her, as she looked anywhere but at him. 

Astarion released her chin. “What for, I wonder?” he mused aloud. “Wasn’t he satisfied with living out the rest of his days in Thaniel’s realm?” 

She continued to refuse to meet his eyes, and he noticed her lip trembling ever so slightly.

“So, you know the answer, then.” 

“I’m sorry,” Stella whispered, burying her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry, Starry.”