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theobsessivesideblog · 3 months

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Hook Where it Hurts

Astarion finds himself Experiencing Emotions™ after a battle takes a turn for the worse.

Warnings: violence/injury, death, angst BUT happy ending I promise

—————————————————————

Your time in the Underdark had been relatively uneventful, all things considered. Sure there were Minotaurs, the occasional bulette, and exploding mushrooms, but there was something strangely beautiful about the alien landscape. The myconids were a friendly, if odd and slightly bloodthirsty bunch. Your conversation with Omeluum had proved enlightening, and trade with Blurg and Derryth had garnered you some useful items. Overall you couldn’t bring yourself to regret following Halsin’s advice to take the subterranean path to the Shadow-Cursed lands.

You set up camp at the Myconid colony, heading out at first light (or at least what you assumed was first light without the actual sun to confirm) to begin your trek towards the lake Sovereign Spaw had pointed you toward. An hour into your walk a glow appeared in the distance, lighting up the gloom of the cavernous landscape.

“I say, that can’t be… I do believe that may be a Sussur tree!” Gail exclaimed from behind you. “Powerful things, and rare, uniquely capable of completely nullifying magical forces, just fascinating!” he continued, eyes alight at the prospect of examining one up close.

“Sussur… that sounds familiar,” Karlach pondered.

“Ah! Right you are my fiery friend, there were instructions in the village about making a weapon with the bark! That would likely prove to be a powerful tool, we should certainly take a look.”

You gazed towards the tree, comparing its location with the heading you had gotten from Spaw. In all likelihood you would end up passing nearby, may as well go on purpose.

“Seems like it won’t be too much of a detour,” you announced, glancing around the group. “All in favor?”

“I’d never say no to a new kick-ass weapon,” Karlach grinned.

“That’s two for, Astarion?” you asked, looking over towards the rogue.

“I doubt our resident magician will shut up about it until we pay a visit, so fine. Let’s go traipsing through the monster-infested dark to look at the magic tree,” Astarion said with a dramatic eye roll.

“Anti-magic, technically, you see the—“ Gale’s chatter came to an abrupt halt as Astarion shot him a withering glance. “Right, yes, um. Shall we?”

———————

You had to admit, the Sussur tree was breathtaking. Far larger than you had initially realized, clearly ancient and powerful. You glanced over to see your companions’ reactions, breath catching as your eyes met Astarion’s. His pale skin was nearly pearlescent in the ethereal glow, the blue light making his red eyes darker than usual. He stared back, lips pulling into a smirk, and a shiver of desire ran down your spine as he began prowling towards you. You’d been playing this game of cat and mouse for days, taking turns taunting and tempting each other and you were curious to see who would break first.

A movement behind Astarion’s shoulder broke you out of your reverie, eyes catching on a monstrous creature slowly beginning to descend toward your troupe from the raised roots of the tree. Your face paled and you saw Astarion’s brow furrow in your periphery as he registered that he had lost your attention, turning to see what had distracted you. He stiffened as he caught sight of the beast, silently reaching to retrieve an arrow while you hissed quietly towards Gale and Karlach in an attempt to get their attention. Karlach looked your way and you subtly gestured towards the creature as it crept closer to the group, trying to hold back the urge to laugh as she reached out and smacked Gale’s arm, interrupting his lecture on the properties of the blossoms.

A few more wordless glances between the four of you had everyone subtly moving into position, preparing for what was sure to be a short battle. You glanced across the clearing, locking eyes with each of your companions before giving a tight nod as all of you attacked at once. The creature let out a shriek as it was barraged by both metal and magic, falling from its root bridge and hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch.

As the adrenaline faded from your system and you walked forward to observe the corpse you were nearly disappointed by how easily the beast had fallen. Not that you ever wanted to get your ass kicked but you had certainly expected that a monster with as many teeth and claws as this one would’ve put up a bit more of a fight. Karlach had turned away with a dissatisfied pout on her lips as she sheathed her weapon and Astarion had already started to wander off to investigate the rest of the cave as you gently nudged the cooling body on the ground with the tip of your boot. It was grotesque up close, a bird-like skeletal face filled with vicious teeth and enormous, razor-sharp hooks protruding from the end of each arm in place of hands. Beside you Gale was surveying the corpse with a strangely joyous expression.

“What a fascinating beast! We got quite lucky, they’re exceptional hunters, certainly wouldn’t want to run into one of these unprepared! They’re called Hook Horrors!” he announced gleefully to no one in particular.

“Did someone say something about whores?” Astarion called from across the cavern. Karlach snorted loudly as she and Gale began making their way over towards him and you rolled your eyes as your lips curled into a smile.

“Yes, Star, Gale has deeply insulted me,” you called back sarcastically. “You may need to come defend my honor! In fact, I–”

You cut off abruptly as a shriek pierced through the air, echoing off the hard rock. You all whipped toward the sound, weapons coming back to the ready as another hook horror climbed out from behind a patch of roots close to your three companions. As you watched it emerge you distractedly thought that it would be nice to go back to fighting above ground again. The way sound bounced around the rocks always made it sound like there was something behind you, and some paranoid instinct had you sending a cursory glance back over your shoulder to calm your nerves.

You froze in place, realizing your fears had been well founded as another hook horror silently emerged from around the corner of the cavern wall and leapt towards you. You barked out a startled curse and jumped back as it took a swing at you. The first horror may have fallen easily enough against the four of you, but your companions were locked in battle on the other side of the cavern and you were well aware that a one-on-one fight was one you wouldn’t win.

You kept your eyes locked on the creature as you began backing your way across the cave, hoping you could get within range of your party before it lost patience and struck. Based on the sounds the other monster was emitting it wouldn’t be a threat for much longer. You tightened your hold on your weapon, preparing to strike as you crept back another step, heart skipping as the rock you had stepped on shifted underneath your boot. You glanced down for a split second, trying to find your footing, a sense of dread filling you as you saw the hook horror jump into motion in your peripheral vision.

The hook drove into your side and you screamed. Pain the likes of which you’d never felt before tore through you as the hook horror yanked its arm across your abdomen, tearing through your stomach. You thought you heard someone shout, but they sounded a million miles away as you collapsed to your knees before the beast, your sight dimming around the edges. You vaguely registered a flash of blades and a wet thump as the hook horror’s head hit the ground before your vision was taken over by Astarion’s panicked visage. His hands gripped your face, feeling unnaturally warm against your cheeks as the world faded away.

“No no no, you can’t die, get UP damn you!” he shouted, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged cut across your midsection even as a small voice in the back of his mind told him it was too late. His shaking hands were covered in your blood but he had never found it less appealing, appetite long gone as he stared at your unnaturally pale face. “Please, my sweet, don’t do this to me,” he pleaded, vision clouding as his eyes filled with tears. He saw a red blur on his left as Karlach kneeled down beside him and he instinctively curled around you protectively, arms gently slipping around your back as he clutched your unmoving form against his chest.

“Astarion, we need–”

“Give me a healing potion. Now.” he ordered, voice dangerously low.

“It’s too late, Astarion. We need to get her body back–”

“Don’t say it like that,” he growled shakily. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself but choking on the scent of your blood in the air. “A resurrection scroll then,” he demanded, glaring in Gale’s direction.

“I… it won’t work. The tree–”

Astarion snarled out a curse and pressed his forehead against your frigid cheek, desperately trying to contain the sob attempting to claw its way out of him.

“We need to get her to camp, Astarion,” Karlach repeated gently, a small line of steam rising from where a tear had just rolled her cheek. “We need Shadowheart. I can carry–”

“No,” he murmured, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a trembling hand before adjusting one of his arms beneath your knees and standing with you cradled against him. “I’ve got her.”

———————

They were farther from camp than Astarion had realized, though perhaps it only felt that way because he had spent the entire walk staring at your lifeless face. He felt numb by the time they arrived, hardly hearing Karlach shout for Shadowheart as they passed the first of the tents. In the back of his mind he was aware that their other companions had gathered around them frantically asking questions, but the words didn’t register and he continued forward without acknowledging any of them. He walked to his tent in a trance, gingerly setting you down on his bedroll and kneeling at your side as his shaking hands tried to arrange your limp body into a more comfortable configuration.

“What in the hells happened?” Shadowheart snapped as Karlach pulled her roughly into the tent. He should answer, should try to explain, but he was frozen kneeling by your side, unable to pull his attention away from your unblinking eyes.

“She- she was-” Karlach bit back a sob, trying to catch her breath. “We got caught off guard. She was alone. She shouldn’t have been alone,” Karlach choked out, dissolving into tears. Shadowheart hurried to your side and knelt across from Astarion, immediately beginning to unfasten the straps on your armor and peeling the bloodied metal away from your skin.

“We need to get her cleaned up so I can see what I'm doing. Astarion, can you fetch me some water and clean washcloths?” she asked, continuing to remove your ruined clothing. When he remained unmoving she looked up to where he sat, his gaze unwaveringly focused on the brutal cut across your torso.

“Astarion,” she repeated softly, waiting as he slowly drug his gaze up to meet her eyes. “I swear to you I will do everything in my power to fix this, but I need your help.” She paused, waiting until Astarion gave a small nod of acknowledgement to rattle off the things she needed, her attention returning to your still form as Astarion rose and darted around his tent gathering what she had requested. He returned a heartbeat later, depositing the items at her side as she instructed him to wet a cloth and begin wiping away as much blood as he could.

She began chanting a prayer as he worked, hovering her hands over your sternum while he continued to gently clean your skin. Your blood had been a gift once, a delight. Now he shuddered as he attempted to ring out the bloodied rag in his hand, barely fighting the urge to retch as it dripped from his hands into the reddened bowl of water at his side.

A light sparked in Shadowheart’s hands, warm and radiant, and Astarion stopped his work, dropping the stained cloth and gently reaching out with trembling fingers to take hold of your hand. The light in her palms grew as she focused, directing its power towards you. A glowing beam split from the whole and snaked downwards, weaving through the jagged edges of your wound and drawing them together while the remainder of the light floated upward, hovering over your heart. She continued chanting, her eyes drifting closed in concentration as the glowing orb started to lower, dimming as it sunk through your skin and into your chest. The room grew silent as Shadowheart completed the incantation and lowered her hands, looking you over carefully.

“Did it… did it work?” Karlach whispered. “Is it supposed to take this long? Why isn’t she–”

Your chest rose as you gasped in air, the breath immediately turning to a cough at the uncomfortable stretch in your lungs. The air tasted of iron and magic and you frowned, trying to open your eyes to observe your surroundings but surprised to find your eyelids heavy and uncooperative. Cool fingers brushed against your face, smoothing away the furrow in your brow and you instinctively relaxed at the familiar touch.

“All is well, darling,” you heard Astarion whisper, voice sounding oddly constricted. “Rest now.”

You were still confused, still couldn't remember how you’d gotten here or what had happened. It felt as if something important had occurred, surely you shouldn’t sleep now. You heard the soft murmur of voices around you, a strained chuckle, a soft sniffle. You frowned again, struggling once more to open your eyes and earning an exasperated sigh from the vampire beside you.

“Please, pet,” he breathed, lips ghosting over your skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Just sleep.”

Your sense of unease fell away as Astarion began gently running his fingers through your hair. You felt him press another soft kiss against your forehead and relaxed into him, allowing yourself to drift off in his arms.

———————

The second Shadowheart had given the all clear Astarion had insisted everyone leave his tent. It was far too crowded and he wouldn’t have them waking you up when you were clearly in no condition to face their fussing. Even as he anchored himself in the sound of your steady heartbeat he still felt restless and off-balance, hands flitting over your sleeping form looking for something more to do.

He felt ridiculous. You were here in front of him, healed and whole, and that should be the end of it. So why in the hells were his hands still trembling as he ensured your blankets were tucked around you? Why did his chest ache uncomfortably every time he caught a leftover whiff of your blood in the air?

He huffed out a frustrated breath and sat on the ground beside you, staring at your sleeping face warily. This had never been part of his plan. He was never supposed to… care. Two centuries of distancing himself and building walls and somehow you had just waltzed right past his defenses and made yourself at home. He let out a defeated sigh and reached over, extracting your hand from the blankets to weave your fingers together with his. His gaze drifted to the steady rise and fall of your breathing and he found himself matching your pace, the tightly wound coil in his chest finally starting to loosen as you let out a soft snore.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he could deal with figuring out why that sound made him smile. Tomorrow he could obsess over how even just holding your hand made his whole body feel warmer. Tomorrow he could deal with the fact that in over 200 years of life he’d never before been as completely and utterly terrified as he had been today. For now, though, he would indulge. For tonight he would just let himself have this, whatever ‘this’ was. He closed his eyes and lifted your hand to his face, gently brushing his lips across your knuckles as he settled in to watch over you until morning.

———————

The passage of time in the Underdark still confused you. You woke to the same darkness you had fallen asleep in, groggily wondering what time it was and how long you had been in bed. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding. Had you been drinking? That would certainly explain why you couldn’t remember how you had gotten here. As unappealing as getting up sounded, you were parched and you couldn’t stay here forever. You hoisted yourself up and froze as pain suddenly lanced through you, your vision flickering and arms giving out as you whimpered and fell back toward your pillow only to be caught by a pair of cold, pale arms.

“I wouldn’t recommend moving just yet, darling,” Astarion said, looking down at you with a worried frown on his face as he lowered you gently back to the bedroll. “Shadowheart did as much as she could last night but it took a lot out of her to bring you back. You’re not going anywhere until she’s gotten a chance to check on you again.” He leaned across you, determinedly avoiding meeting your eyes as he made sure your pillow was adequately fluffed. You saw a slight tremor run through him and heard a catch in his breath before he stood abruptly and walked across the tent, silently pouring you a glass of water from the pitcher in the corner.

“Bring me… back?” you questioned. Astarion stilled, jaw clenching as you took him in. His normally flawlessly tousled hair was tangled as if he had been running his hands through it and streaks of blood threaded through the white locks. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked even paler than normal, nearly translucent in the dim light. Your eyes flitted down to his wrinkled, untucked shirt and then around the tent, catching on the blood-soaked pile of clothes and armor to the side of the entrance and the red-stained towels laying by a bowl of water next to the bedroll. A dim memory flashed through your mind: a tree, an ambush, excruciating pain, and then… nothing.

“Oh.” you whispered, exhaling shakily as you felt your chest constrict, breaths turning quick and shallow as the air seemed to thin. Astarion was by your side in an instant, one hand smoothing back your hair while the other cupped your cheek, his thumb gently wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“It’s alright, darling, just breathe. You’re safe now.” he murmured, continuing to stroke your hair as your breathing calmed. He let out a tremulous sigh and closed his eyes, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “It’s alright,” he repeated even more quietly, sounding almost as if he were talking to himself, pressing against you for a moment before inhaling sharply and pulling away.

“Shit, you’re in pain, aren’t you?” he said, looking you over with worried eyes and immediately moving to stand. “I’ll get Shadowheart, she said she’d come by when she woke but surely she’s had enough sleep by now and–”

“Wait, Star, I… can you just stay here with me for a moment?” you asked in a small voice. Warmth spread through him at your request and he obliged immediately, lowering himself to sit at your side and gently taking your hand in his. You sat in companionable silence for a moment, studying his profile as he stared at your interlaced fingers. Up close the bags beneath his eyes were even more pronounced and you frowned, gently extricating your hand from his to touch his cheek. He leaned into your palm and placed a kiss against the inside of your wrist, eyes drifting closed as he basked in the warmth of your touch.

“Have you rested at all, Astarion?” you questioned. “You look exhausted.”

He huffed a laugh and cracked open an eye to look at your face.

“I’m not sure you want to get into comparing looks right now, darling. You’re even paler than me at the moment,” he chuckled, eyes closing once again as he leaned further into your touch, a teasing grin spread across his face. “I assure you, however you may think I look, you look ten times worse.”

“Hm, that’s not too bad I suppose,” you smirked. “Ten times worse than you is still at least three times better than the average person.”

Astartion barked out a surprised laugh and opened his eyes to look at you again, something in them softening as he saw your gentle smile.

“Whoever would’ve thought math could be so romantic,” he murmured, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against your lips. He raised a hand to brush a stray hair off your forehead and his smile faded, brow furrowing as his gaze met yours with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please don’t scare me like that again, my dear,” he breathed. “I’m- I don’t-” he sighed in frustration at the mess of emotions in his chest, hardly able to remember the last time his words had failed him so completely.

“Don’t want to deal with this group of weirdos all by yourself?” you teased gently. He grinned back at you, gratitude in his eyes for not pushing him to collect his thoughts just yet.

“Precisely that,” he chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you said, smiling softly at him. “Also I wasn’t kidding before, you look like shit. You really should get some rest.”

“Hm,” Astarion hummed mischievously, narrowing his eyes. “I would, but you see someone went and bled all over my bedroll. Adept though I may be at washing out blood stains it’s a rather thick fabric, it will take a while to dry back out. I may need to stay with… someone… for a day or two. Or three. Maybe more,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively as you huffed out a laugh.

“You’re incorrigible,” you replied, grinning up at him and rolling your eyes. “I suppose it does seem that I’ve made rather a mess of your tent though…”

“You certainly have,” he murmured, shifting to hover over you, slowly kissing his way along your jaw.

“And it would only be fair to let you bunk with the cleanest person in camp…”

“Mmhmm…” he hummed, kissing closer and closer to your lips.

“And I’m sure Gale wouldn’t mind letting you crash with him–”

“Excuse me??” he crowed, pulling back indignantly as you burst out laughing below him. He scowled playfully and shook his head at you in feigned displeasure. “You wicked little thing,” he chuckled, leaning back down and finally pressing his lips to yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever it is,” you smirked, pulling him back to you for another kiss, “I'm sure I'll like it.”

#astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #bg3 #bg3 astarion

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fandom · 4 months

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New year, new Fandometrics!

The world bid farewell to 2023 and rang in 2024, welcoming the initial Steamboat Willie version of Mickey Mouse into the public domain in predictably interesting ways, including drawing comparisons between the original Mickey and Sonic the Hedgehog’s eye styles. Fans are halfway through the live-action Percy Jackson and the Olympians show, and the general consensus is “protect these children at all costs.” Kenna Jean Harris, the story lead of Luca and director of Ciao Alberto, confirmed that Luberto is canon, so congrats to those fish boys and everyone who ships them. The highly anticipated anime adaptation of beloved manga Dungeon Meshi has begun airing. And we’ve made some small changes to this year’s Fandometrics lists. This is Tumblr’s Week in Review.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Mickey Mouse

Artists on Tumblr

Dungeon Meshi

Palestine

Happy New Year

Baldur's Gate 3

Annabeth Chase | Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Good Omens

One Piece

Percabeth | Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Jujutsu Kaisen

Astarion | Baldur's Gate 3

Luca

Hannibal

Crowley | Good Omens

Jerusalem

Cats of Tumblr

Aziraphale | Good Omens

Sonic the Hedgehog

#week in review #01/08/2024 #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show

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killerpancakeburger · 4 months

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The wizard is dead

Pairing: Rolan x f!Reader/Tav ("She" is used to refer to the Reader twice)

Summary: You didn’t expect to end the party celebrating Ketheric's final death at the Last Light Inn making out with a certain wizard. And least of all you certainly weren't expecting to meet him again in Baldur's Gate...

Tags: Enemies to lovers speedrun, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, protective! Tav, insecure! Tav, Astarion ships it and never stfu.

Warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, canon violence and death, spoilers for Acts 2 and 3 obvsly.

A/N: Making Rolan blush as much as possible. If you too felt murderous upon seeing his bruises, this is the fic for you!

“...up. Get up. Urgh. Get the fuck up.”

An exasperated, familiar voice pierced progressively the depths of your sleep. Didn’t mean you wanted to wake up, though. You felt deliciously drowsy and ready to plunge right back into the pit of slumber.

You grumbled in protest in response to the voice and submerged your head with your pillow.

The voice emitted a grunt of aggravation following your shenanigans.

“I can’t believe Karlack put up with this every morning…”

Something suddenly started to shove you repeatedly at waist level, and you identified the something as a foot.

You rolled over to escape, in vain.

“Go away, Astarion”, you whined, muffled by your pillow.

“Oh! She talks!” commented the vampire sarcastically. “Maybe now she will deign to join us for breakfast!”

“Why are you even here?”, you lamented. “Where’s Karlach? I want Karlach.”

It was your morning ritual since your hellish friend recovered her ability to touch without burning. She’d wake you up with a bones-crushing hug, some physical affection welcomed by both of you. In comparison to her, Astarion was cold and sharp, bodily and verbally.

“I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, darling.”

He wasn’t making any effort to conceal the enjoyment in his voice, and a bad feeling arose within you, wondering what could amuse him so early in the morning. Suffice to say, Astarion was not a morning person.

Thankfully, he kept talking without needing to ask him to.

“So congratulations for shagging the wizard last night! It was the most entertaining spectacle of the party, no doubt.”

“Gale…?” You asked, filled with confusion. You enjoyed his company but neither of you ever showed interest of the romantic… or sexual… sort in the other.

“Ugh”, sighed exaggeratedly Astarion, like it was the dumbest thing he’s ever heard in two hundred years, “no, not Gale.” The name sounded like an insult. You could hear the spawn roll his eyes.

“The stuck-up tiefling! The wannabe apprentice! What was his name again…?”

All torpor is abruptly ejected from your body with the power of a cannonball. You sit up brutally, wound up like a bowstring.

“Rolan!?” The name erupted from your mouth way louder than you intended. Luckily, Astarion didn’t pay attention as he slammed his fist against his palm in satisfaction.

“Yes! That haughty little… Anyway! You two gave the Inn one hell of a show, making out in front of everybody. I have to thank you for that, really, it was getting sooo boring.”

He was looking at you with the content smile of a cat who caught the mouse. You stared back with incredulity, dumbfounded.

“You’re lying.”

“Why, darling, I would never”, he retorted smugly, putting a hand on his chest with pretended affliction, like he was wounded by your accusation.

You wanted to stand your ground and believe that he was lying, but something in his smugness, more assured than when he was deceiving people, told you that he wasn’t.

“The whole Inn saw you, so you could ask anyone for confirmation, really. They all cheered by the way. Obviously his siblings were the loudest of the bunch…”

You covered your ears in denial. Never again you would drink that much.

“You even managed to make him dance. Well, dragged him there, really. Details. He had two left feet, so that was… endearing.”

He pronounced “endearing” the same way he called you naive that one time, and you knew that he held himself back from using a more… colorful adjective.

“Shut up”, you pleaded with Astarion. “I don’t want to hear anything more.”

He chuckled with derision.

“Me shutting up won’t change reality, dear.”

“What are you guys doing?”

Karlach’s booming voice startled you. Astarion, on the contrary, greeted her appearance with a mischievous smile, seeing another occasion to poke fun at you.

“We were just remembering yesterday night and the boldness of our heartbreaker of a leader. It was fun, wasn’t it Karlach?”

“Oh yeah!” immediately agreed the tiefling, completely missing the horror on your face and your silent plea to not add to Astarion’s pestering. “You guys were really going at it. Didn’t see it coming but what matters is that you’re happy.”

A radiant and sincere smile was adorning her lips. You covered your blushing face in embarrassment, grunting in shame and frustration with yourself.

“Karlach, if I ever drink this much again, just knock me out.”

“I mean, if you’re sure… but there’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Everyone is very supportive of you both.” she added, unsure of why you looked so down.

“You don’t understand”, you whined.

As she was about to ask for explanations, the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your conversation. All three of you turned your gaze to Wyll, who had a tense smile - or grimace, you weren’t sure - on his face, and seemed like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Ahrem. Lae’zel wanted me to let you know that if you don’t show up in the next three seconds, she would add you to the menu.”

Suddenly all thoughts of yesterday evening were forgotten as you three scrambled towards the campfire.

⚡⚡⚡

As your little band resumed their journey towards Baldur’s Gate, you resolved to use that time to put order in your memories from last evening and in your relationship with Rolan.

Your memories were gradually resurfacing, hand in hand with a pounding headache.

Despite Astarion and Karlach’s statements, you still couldn’t believe that you kissed Rolan. Not that the idea repulsed you - far from it, actually. The man was pretty, and he was even prettier when he wasn’t busy yelling at you. However, the idea that he let you put your lips anywhere on him was laughable.

You proceeded to rewind all your memories with the self-assured wizard, trying to find the key to decipher what was an enigma to you.

Truth be told, you didn’t remember much from your first meeting in the Grove. Except for his shooting match with Lia, which was impossible to miss once inside the shelter, you remembered him vaguely as a pompous character whose every statement dripped with snobbishness and bravado, so much that it felt like he was trying to convince himself rather than his audience. Despite the airs he was giving himself, you caught him later during the tiefling party putting on a magic show simply to please his siblings, and the heartwarming display disconcerted you as much as it amused you.

The moment when you met him again in the Last Light Inn, on the other hand, was burned into your memory. He had once again caught your attention by his yelling. However, as you approached out of concern for the kids tending to the bar, the yelling quickly turned on you. You were ready to let it go - after all, if you weren’t in such a hurry to get rid of the parasite inside your head, you too would have drowned your sorrows in alcohol and lashed out at well-meaning strangers - until he accused you of being responsible for his siblings’ kidnapping by the cultists.

All your restraint snapped at those words, like a rubber band too stretched.

How did he dare? After everything you’ve done, after all the shit you’ve been through - and were still going through. You weren’t even expecting any thanks, you just wanted to be left alone. As if you malevolently sneaked inside Cal and Lia’s mind to trick them into doing your bidding. As if they weren’t both adults capable of making their own decisions.

A little voice in the back of your head whispered that he was blaming you because he was blaming himself, that rejecting the fault on someone else was the only way he found to contain the pain and guilt that were threatening to engulf him, but you ignored it. Understanding his reasons didn’t make you a doormat.

Karlach had to bodily restrain you as you were about to punch him in the face.

“Then stop whining and do something about it yourself, since I only make things worse.” you spat with as much venom you muster, leaving the Inn to find a training dummy to take out your vexation on. His shouts still reached you though.

“Oh, I will! I don’t need your help, and I don’t need your pity!”

You had almost forgotten the incident until you stumbled upon Rolan on your way to Moonrise, in the middle of the shadows. He was largely outnumbered and doomed to a certain death if your group didn’t happen to pass this way completely randomly.

Once the shadows were taken care of, you pinched the bridge of your nose in bewilderment. Did he have a deathwish or something?

“Gods damn it all. I can do nothing right - not a damn thing.”

His shoulders were shaking in frustration and anger. However, something in the tone of his voice made you feel quite different from the last time you met him. You weren’t irritated, no. You felt… sorrow. For him. Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of your emotions, keeping his eyes on the ground, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze.

He was more furious at himself than at you this time. There was also a dose of embarrassment in the mix, after failing to rescue his siblings on his own. This display of vulnerability was the antipodes of his usual self-assured behavior, to such an extent that you wondered if the shadows were making you hear things.

“Please tell me you weren’t looking for Moonrise”, escaped your mouth before you could stop it, realizing that he very probably wouldn’t be any happier to see you now than last time.

He snapped back immediately - of course he did.

“So what if I was? Cal and Lia could be there!”

You were about to retort that getting himself killed on the way there would help no one, Cal and Lia least of all, before the last thing you told him suddenly came back to you. A cold shiver ran down your back, as you wondered with horror if he was here because of your words. You never expected him to take your remark seriously. In the heat of the moment, you had wanted to hurt him, but you had never intended to send him to die alone in those cursed lands. Unease pooled in your stomach and a sharp pang of guilt twisted your heart. You gritted your teeth in frustration. Rolan kept ranting, oblivious to your inner turmoil, which was probably for the best.

“Instead I found myself cornered by shadow-fiends and in need of rescue. From you, of all bloody people.”

That last remark was meant as a jab at you, however it failed at riling you up. How could it have, when his voice trembled like he was about to shed tears? He was finally looking at you, and the heartfelt dejection painted on his features made you want to hold him in your arms more than anything else. You quickly pushed that urge aside, though - there was no doubt in your mind that your attempt at comfort would be unwelcome, to say the least. You probably wouldn’t like it either if the roles were reversed. You two weren’t close enough for this.

Nonetheless, you tried to bring him solace through your words, keeping your tone as neutral as possible:

“You were trying to help your family - you’re too hard on yourself.”

But your efforts seemed to have the opposite effect, as he retorted in an uncharastically acerbic tone:

“Or not hard enough.”

Both his words and his timber made a shiver of dread run through you. There was something terribly final in them, that made you reconsider your thoughts about him having a death wish.

But you were nothing to him, except an hindrance, and as he bid you farewell and walked away, you simply watched him, feeling bitterly powerless, wishing that he at least made it back safely to the Last Light Inn.

Following the defeat of Ketheric Thorm and the eradication of the shadow curse, Jaheira and the Harpers had organized a celebration at the Last Light Inn the night before your departure for Baldur’s Gate. The respite was welcome for your whole party. You really needed a break before taking up the arms against two more gods. Alcohol flew freely. Former prisoners were reuniting with their loved ones. Fighters numbed their wounds and the deceased’s sacrifice was honored.

As part of the acclaimed saviors, you were making your mandatory runs around the inn before you could slip away to a quiet and peaceful corner. It was during that errand that, once again, you walked in on Rolan and his siblings screaming at each other. You sighed, passing a hand over your tired face, somehow knowing that it would be up to you, once again, to play mediator.

You downed your drink and approached, waiting for your opportunity to interfere into the conversation. Noticing an opening, you slipped innocently, nose in your tankard:

“Rolan was in a bad state without the two of you.”

The swiftness at which the situation defused itself would have almost made you chuckle if it hadn’t been that serious. Hearing Rolan state that his struggle didn’t matter made you frown but you bit your tongue. Truly that man had serious insecurity issues under all that boasting. But just like in the shadows, it was none of your business.

Having played your role, you mumbled a “don’t mention it” to Cal who was thanking you, and took your leave. Or at least you had started to, until Rolan’s voice interrupted you.

“Wait.”

You turned around out of curiosity, an inquisitive eyebrow raised, not sure if you were the one being addressed. Rolan was staring at you right into your eyes, erasing your previous doubt. Gods, had his yellow gaze always been that hard to hold?

As soon as he saw he had your attention, he started talking. And what he had to say took you completely aback.

“I’ve lashed out at you, drunkenly and otherwise, and you helped anyway.”

You held back from clarifying that you saved him from the shadows because he happened to be in the way. And that you saved Cal and Lia because… they were in the way too. You were gonna release the Moontower’s prisoners anyway, that Rolan’s siblings had been part of them was just a coincidence. However this little speech seemed to cost Rolan, which was understandable, so you kept your mouth shut.

“You didn’t deserve that - I’m sorry. And thank you.”

You opened your eyes wide - receiving an apology wasn’t on your todo list today. Least of all from someone as proud as Rolan. Even more mind-bending, he gave you a genuine smile. You were so focused on his face that it didn’t occur to you to refuse the money he offered.

Later in the night, as you were still processing his unhoped for change of demeanor, and were a fair bit tipsy, you ended up passing him a new bottle of Arabellan Dry - who gave it to you? Who told you it was Rolan’s favorite’s wine? And that you should give it to him? You had no idea. Not noticing the wine at first, he teased you:

“I’ve thanked you once already. Don’t be greedy.”

Between his taunting words, his open smile, his beautiful eyes sparkling with mirth, and the realization that he was laughing with you, something inside you snapped. Suddenly you had butterflies in your stomach, weakness in your knees, and he looked like the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. You laughed heartily, before smiling frankly, noting that he looked - pleasantly? - surprised at your reaction, not expecting an audience that easy to entertain.

You remembered talking back to him, settling yourself in a spot nearby, sharing that bottle… But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember that pretended kiss. Did you actually manage to make him blush during the night or was it just the wine?

After reflecting over everything, you still felt as much - if not more - mortified. There was no way Rolan felt happy about making a spectacle of himself in front of so many people - and in front of his siblings, least of all. Those two must have had a field day deriding their eldest. As for the kiss, it must have been a result of the alcohol and the proximity. You didn’t get a lot of opportunities for… physical affection since the beginning of your tadpole adventure, and you could easily imagine that Rolan must not have been getting a lot of action either, between fleeing the Grove, dealing with the cultists, losing his siblings and enduring the shadow curse.

You could only imagine that after such a disaster, Rolan must be back to hating you.

You sighed deeply, to the point of attracting the questioning looks of some of your companions walking by your side, before shaking your head in resolve. It was just one, regrettable evening. As long as you didn’t run into Rolan again, you could put it behind you. And what were the chances of coming across him in Baldur’s Gate anyway?

⚡⚡⚡

High, apparently. Or at least high enough to make you eat your words.

Your merry band had just crossed the doors of some fancy magic shop that took up residence in a lavish tower. You were originally there to confront the man who had put a price on Aylin’s head. Whatever his intentions were with her, they couldn’t be good. Adding wizards’ characteristic hubris and what Ketheric Thorn previously inflicted to the Aasimar together, you quickly came to the conclusion that he sought to cage her and thereby attain immortality. Your purpose was therefore simple: explain in no uncertain terms to Ramazith’s tower’s new owner that he could - should - kiss goodbye his delusions of eternal life, and, if he proved to be too stubborn to be reasoned with, deal with him in such a way that he wouldn’t be an issue anymore for your winged friend.

However all Selune’s daughter-related considerations went out the window when you laid eyes upon the shopkeeper at the counter. Somehow the tiefling who had haunted your thoughts for weeks and made you recoil in embarrassment at night, when you were left alone with yourself, forced to cope with the memories of your last meeting, was standing right in front of you. Worse, he noticed you, and the natural blush of his infernal skin miserably failed to hide the vivid flush of his cheeks. Like his reflection in a mirror, you could distinctly feel your own face blaze fiercely.

It lasted a minute or an eternity, you had no idea, until you were brutally ejected from your trance at the view of the bruises covering his face. Rolan had been so severely pummeled that purple had become the prevailing color on his visage. Ice-cold, overpowering fury spread across your veins and possessed you to swiftly close the gap between the two of you.

Consumed by anger, you raised a hand to graze his tumefied skin.

“Who did this to you? I’ll fucking kill them.”

You felt a slight pang of remorse upon seeing him struggle to not back away from you after you charged at him like a ram. His tail had started to sway wildly at your approach.

However Rolan rapidly proceeded to regain his composure, as he always did. Coughing in his fist - maybe a desperate attempt to hide his still glowingly red cheeks, or simply a way to offer himself a moment to get a grip -, he answered you, way too nonchalantly for your taste.

“Nothing- ahrem… nothing for you to worry about.”

His reply stinged. Bitterly. After all that you’ve been through together, he still didn’t trust you. Or he was still resolutely convinced that he had to endure every tribulation alone - you sincerely doubted that Lia and Cal wouldn’t have thrown a fit upon his appearance.

You didn’t know which of those two possibilities hurt more.

The righteous wrath inside you disappeared, like extinguished by a bucket of icy water, replaced by a chilling insight - it was utterly useless to fight for him when he wouldn’t stand up for himself. And, more importantly, if he didn’t consider you close enough to him to ask your help, then it was time for you to move on.

“You suck at lying, you know that?” You felt obligated to point out.

As he was about to object, you continued.

“But you’re right. If you still don’t need my sanctimonious help, I’ll just go about my day. Sorry for the trouble.”

Immediately after spatting those words, you found your outburst childish, but you couldn’t take it back. You began to storm off, determined to fully focus on the wannabe-immortal wizard problem, but a clawed hand grabbing your forearm ended your departure.

“Wait-”

You whirled around, losing more and more patience.

“What.”

Rolan sighed, but not in a way that sounded like this was a chore to him. He sighed like one does to give themselves courage before overcoming adversity. The words had left his lips before he could even think them; before he could contemplate their effect on you. Being self-reliant and showing no weaknesses had become an automatic reflex forged by a life of survival. He couldn’t shrug it off overnight - but you were the first person who made him want to try.

He then compelled himself to look you straight in the eye.

“Don’t lea- I mean, I didn’t mean to…Urgh… Gods damn it… it’s Lorroakan.”

You stared back at him, split between the newfound joy of him confiding in you, and the confusion of hearing his confession.

“Lorrowho?” You asked, slightly tilting your head in puzzlement.

The name didn’t ring a bell for you, but according to your companions’ exasperated grunts in your back, it certainly did for them.

“The tower’s newest owner”, helpfully prompted Gale behind you. “So-called greatest wizard of the Sword Coast, aspiring to subjugate Dame Aylin, took our friend here as his apprentice?”

“Oooh! That guy!”, you exclaimed. “Well that’s perfect! We were going to kick his ass anyway!”

You could have announced to Rolan that you were planning to fight a dragon with your bare hands, he probably would have gazed at you the same way.

“By the way, Rolan, you can let go now”, you added with a pointed look towards his hand still squeezing your arm.

He let go like he got burned, cheeks reddening again, swore in hellish and apologized. You assured him it was fine.

“Can you share anything that would help us take down Lorra… Larro… whatever-his-name-his?”

The tiefling straightened up, clearly in his element.

“Mast- Lorroakan has four Myrmidons.”

He seemed about to carry on on the subject, but stopped in front of your confounded expression.

“Myrmiwhat?”

The apprentice wizard opened his mouth to start an informed lecture about the properties of Myrmidons, before closing it and pinching the bridge of his nose, frustrated by your ignorance.

“Nevermind, I can make this simple for you.”

Feeling insulted, you proceeded to join your hands and excessively flutter your eyelashes to mimic a swooning admirer.

“Why, thank you Master Rolan! You are ever so generous to us simpletons!”

The aforenamed choked a bit at that, but you were not sure if it was in reaction to your ridiculous antics or to being called “master”.

“As I was saying, Myrmidons are very powerful elementals. You shouldn’t underestimate them.”

You acquiesced with a nod of your head before turning to your Party.

“Let’s get going then.”

“Should we not fetch the Asimaar?” inquired Astarion, observing his nails with detachment. “Not that I particularly care, but with how strongly this concerns her, she may come after us if we keep her out of this.”

You replied without missing a beat, having already pondered the question.

“No, I want to spare her that.”

The Vampire Spawn let out one of those unhinged little laughs he had a knack for, blending contempt and incredulity.

“I must have misheard you - spare her? The cutthroat demigod who mercilessly crushes her enemies under her boot? That’s who you want to spare?”

You had expected that kind of reaction, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

“That’s not what I meant” you grunted, aggravated by the elf’s taunting. “Of course she can take care of herself. But just because she can, doesn’t mean she has to. Dealing with relentless creeps who get off on the idea of breaking you, body and spirit, it’s exhausting, speaking from experience. I couldn’t imagine doing it for centuries. We can provide her a brief respite. If she takes it the wrong way, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

Astarion shrugged, satisfied with your answer since it sheltered him from consequences. The others agreed with nods of the head.

Rolan gave you the directions to reach Lorroakan before adding, frowning:

“Be careful. He has a beastly temper.”

The recommendation made you snicker. Before the tiefling could take offense, you brought your face closer to his, lifting his chin with your index, a wolfish smile stretching your lips.

“I highly doubt that sorry excuse for a wizard is in any way a beast. But fear not, pretty boy, I’ll show you what beastly really means.”

Whistles and sniggers could be heard from behind you, demonstrating the maturity of your traveling companions. Meanwhile Rolan’s face somehow managed to turn even redder than when you both met again moments ago, and his attempts to come up with a rebuttal resulted only in stuttering.

Benevolently, you did not comment, careful to not overstep his boundaries too much, and changed the subject, rising an inquisitive eyebrow:

“Are you not coming with us?”

He cleared his throat to give himself a semblance of composure.

“I guess I should, if only to make sure you lot do not ravage the tower on your rampage.”

You smirked a little at his efforts to appear indifferent, but refrained from making any remark, content with his participation.

As you made your way towards your target, Astarion sneaked by your side, a mocking smile adorning his lips. You mentally braced yourself for the jibe that wouldn’t fail to come.

“I figured out why you didn’t want to bring Aylin on our little excursion, darling.”

“Oh really.” you replied with the most blasé tone you could muster.

Unfortunately, your lack of concern didn’t seem to deter your vampiric ally at all.

“You want to keep your prey for yourself. To be the one to slaughter the Master Wizard. You should have seen your face earlier when you threw a fit over Rolan’s bruises, I thought you were going to bite.”

“So what? Is that a problem?”

“Quite the opposite, really. I’m planning to revel in the show. Let’s hope for you that the little wizard is of the same mind, uh?”

You told him to mind his own business and he just laughed.

Your group crossed the magic portal, entering Lorroakan’s lavish office only to stumble upon the deplorable spectacle that was the supposed great wizard sadistically torturing his servant for his questionable experimentations. Thankfully, your noteworthy arrival put an end to the loathsome display as the red-haired wizard dismissed his domestic and his mechanical construction.

“I see no Nightsong. Surely you wouldn’t have entered my tower without the Nightsong in hand. Surely my worthless apprentice wouldn’t have allowed you to waste my time.”

That last remark made your blood boil as surely as it did earlier when you laid eyes upon Rolan’s contused face. You gritted your teeth, plastering on a fake smile, before giving the man a taste of his own scorn by ignoring him completely and ostensibly turning towards Rolan.

“Is that the pathetic excuse that serves as your mentor?”

The apprentice wizard spared a glance at Lorroakan who was suffocating with indignation before focusing on you.

“... Yes, he is.”

“Great! Would have been so awkward to kill the wrong guy!”

Bestowing your most bloodthirsty smile on your foe, you made a point to talk over his outraged diatribe.

“There’s only two things you should know, really. First : you will never get your hands on the Nightsong. Second : I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

Having said your piece, you unsheathed your weapon as the wizard invoked his Myrmidons, and the battle began.

⚡⚡⚡

Standing over Lorroakan’s battered body, you made sure that he was in too much pain to ramble again. Rolan came to stand beside you, the shock on his face telling you that he had a hard time believing what he was seeing.

You looked at him inquisitively.

“Wanna do the honors?”, you suggested, referring to the final blow.

As he remained motionless and speechless, you started to worry you had said the wrong thing, but suddenly his expression turned resolute and he nodded.

You distanced yourself from the two wizards, not fancying getting caught in a spell’s blast. Rolan uttered his incantation with force - detono.

With a mixture of astonishment and awe, you watched Lorroakan’s body get hurled across the room and through the nearest window in a cacophony of shattering glass. You leaned through the destroyed window to glimpse at the mangled corpse before turning to Rolan with a low whistle.

“So much for not ravaging the tower, uh-”

You found yourself unable to finish your clever quip as your favorite tiefling grabbed you by the collar and crushed his lips against yours. The motion was brutal and clumsy, to the point that you briefly wondered if he was trying to kiss you or punch you in the lips… with his lips.

Barely leaving you enough time to reciprocate the gesture, Rolan withdrew, a wild look in eyes, panting slightly. Did he forget to breathe during…?

“You-”

“This is all your fault!”

You gaped at him in uncomfortable silence, immobile, truly at a loss for words. What in the nine hells did you do this time, again?

One hand released your clothing as Rolan covered half his face with it in consternation.

“And to think I promised myself I wouldn’t lash out at you again… Do you see how I lose my composure in your presence? Every. Bloody. Time. It’s infuriating.” He sighed.

You crossed your arms, staring at his piercing yellow eyes.

“Riiight.”

He had at least the tact to appear marginally embarrassed under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Not a day has passed since Last Light Inn where you weren’t on my mind.” he admitted, albeit begrudgingly, rubbing his neck in bashfulness, and unable to meet your eyes.

Your eyes widened at the confession. This was a surprise, although a pleasant one.

“You… you don’t hate me for it?”

It was his turn to stare in astonishment.

“For what…?”

“You made a spectacle of yourself in front of the whole Inn because of me…”

“Please, I’m not tone-deaf enough to not acknowledge my own responsibility in this. We both had… a lot… to drink.”

“Oh… Well, in that case… I’ve been thinking about you too. Since the Inn.”

It was only fair to come clean too after he made the first move, which must have definitely cost him and his pride.

“Oh.”

There you were, two blushing idiots staring at their own feet in embarrassment, not knowing what to do with yourselves. That is, until you remembered what started all of this, and you raised your head so suddenly Rolan got startled.

“We need to heal your face.”

He chuckled openly at that, but instead of taking offense, seeing him happy spread warmth in your chest.

“You should heal yourself first, ô mighty hero. You’re in way worse shape than I am.”

You frowned and grabbed his face to inspect his bruises closer.

“Being injured is second-nature for me. I don’t think you can say the same. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He took hold of your hips in response. A derisive smile stretched his lips.

“What a poorly concealed way to get me to undress.”

“How dare you”, you protested, scandalized. “imply that my benevolence is anything but proper?”

“Maybe I wish it wasn’t.”

Before you could ask for clarification, he kissed you.

“Rolan…”

“Mmh…”

Again.

“I was serious about healing you…”

“Mh.”

And again.

You grabbed his robes and shoved him against the closest bookshelf in a drastic attempt to put some space between your bodies. The action didn’t seem to deter him at all, if anything it added fuel to the fire, as you could feel his claws even through your clothes. To make matters worse, you quickly realized that getting away was impossible with how tight his tail was coiled around your thigh.

All your worries disappeared however as a very familiar voice could be heard from somewhere on the floor underneath. Rolan definitely heard it too as he looked in its direction with a mixture of dread and annoyance.

You couldn’t discern entirely what Lia was saying, but the words “Rolan” and “Lorroakan” were definitely part of it.

You looked at Rolan with an unequivocal expression.

“We should go to them… and reassure them that you’re not dead or something.”

The new master of the tower threw his hands up in surrender, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, fine!”

“Also, we’re going to fall to our deaths in the stairs if you don’t keep your tail to yourself, Mister…”

Rolan dashed off in the direction of the stairs, grumbling about siblings and lack of privacy, not without grabbing your hand in passing.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 rolan #rolan x you #rolan x reader #rolan x tav #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #mine #rolan

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egooppidum · 5 months

Text

I found idle banters for Alfira while she is staying in the camp. They are currently inactive. Perhaps Alfira will stay for a few days until the Dark Urge awakens.

(Astarion's reaction depends on romance with player. Bawdy 'Endless Blade' I CAN'T BREATHE LOL. Alfira LOVES cats 😭 (Tara should have been in the camp not only in Gale's origin, there are other dialogues that confirm this). Volo just stop.)

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate iii #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #alfira

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petit-etoile · 5 months

Note

Astarion goes to the cat shelter to get a sibling for His Majesty, Tav is the worker who helps him out and it’s history from there

cat & mouse ( back & forth )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 2,505 content warnings: set in baldur's gate but i mention designer brands, other than that, nothing other tags: alternate universe - modern setting, pre-relationship, developing relationship, getting together, fluff, astarion is rich, gender neutral tav 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 be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘But you see, I travel for business and His Majesty holds grudges,’ Astarion explains. ‘If I leave him with a sitter, he’s a true terror. If I leave him alone, he eats my Brunello Cucinelli cashmere!’

‘Hello! Is there anything I can help you with?’

The man is currently kneeling down, humming to himself, while he looks between a bundle of elderly cats and his phone. You’re surprised. Normally people who come to the shelter are looking for kittens as presents, but the sight of him giving attention to anything but kittens makes you feel better about his intentions. He looks at you, startled by the sound of your voice. His phone clammers to the ground.

‘Oh my gods, I’m so sorry!’ you say frantically. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you!’

‘ — my gods, no, I mean it’s quite alright, heavens above,’ he breathes out. He drapes a hand over his heart dramatically. ‘Perhaps you should wear a bell around your ankle. You’re…horrifically quiet.’

He huffs out a sigh of relief before picking his phone back up. He stands up, knees creaking as he does so, and shows you his screen. Thankfully, it’s free of cracks.

‘I’m looking for a companion for His Majesty,’ the man explains.

The picture he shows you is an offensively hairless cat who seems to be somewhat older as well, though it’s hard to tell due to all his natural wrinkles. You’re not sure how it’s possible, but the cat seems to be judging you through the phone. You once heard Mr. Withers say that all pets take after their pet owners' looks, and when you glance at the man before you, you can kind of see it. He’s not hairless by any means but he certainly looks at you with an air of accidental arrogance, and that makes you nervous.

‘What a cute cat!’ you say instead.

‘His Majesty is rather adorable,’ the man agrees. ‘Oh gods, I just realized he isn’t even wearing a sweater in this photo… Please look away, he is indecently exposed!’

You laugh, covering your mouth and closing your eyes as instructed. You can hear him frantically scroll through his camera roll for a picture of His Majesty that would have all his hairlessness expertly covered.

The next photograph you’re allowed to see of His Majesty shows the sphynx cat in an adorable sweater which matches the sweater his owner is wearing. Seeing the two side by side confirms your earlier suspicions. They seem to belong together. Smug, but not as if it isn’t warranted, and proud, like their happiness is something they’ve earned. You hum, nodding.

‘But you see, I travel for business and His Majesty holds grudges,’ the man explains. ‘If I leave him with a sitter, he’s a true terror. If I leave him alone, he eats my Brunello Cucinelli cashmere!’

‘He definitely sounds like he needs a friend!’ you agree.

‘But he hates kids,’ the man stresses, sniffing delicately. ‘So I doubt kittens would fare any better. He bit my sister’s niece once.’

‘I see, I see,’ you say, trying not to laugh. ‘We have a few cats here that I think could be a good companion. Right here is Kira and she’s quite the refined lady. I think she likes to gossip.’

‘Oh my,’ the man says. ‘She would fit right in.’

‘But there’s also Myshka. He’s a bit more playful, but he has gorgeous eyes,’ you say.

You kneel down where the man was sitting before, gesturing between the two cats you pointed out. Kira frowns at you disapprovingly, and Myshka continues to chirp happily. The man gasps at the adorableness and wiggles his fingers in front of the kennels. Myshka shouts like you’ve never heard him shout and bounces, shoving his nose against the doors and sniffing aggressively. He’s perhaps the least ‘civilized’ cat you have at the entire shelter, but from the way the man’s eyes light up, you wouldn’t even know it. Part of you is thankful. Myshka deserved a good home.

‘Ugh, he’s perfect,’ the man says.

‘He isn’t as old as some of the other cats, but most people overlook him because he isn’t a kitten,’ you explain. You wiggle your fingers too and Myshka forgets about the man and starts yelling at you instead. ‘He’s a little odd but I’d take him home in a heartbeat if I could.’

‘Oh? You want him too?’

‘Yeah, but my home is a bit busy,’ you say with a shrug. ‘I have a cute dog named Scratch, who is a rescue, and I’m currently helping rehabilitate a baby owlbear.’

‘A baby owlbear!’

‘Yeah! Do you want to see some photos too?’

The man grins crookedly. He’s so handsome it makes your heart stutter. You look away from him and focus on fishing your phone out of your back pocket. You find your photo album titled ♡ family ♡. You show him Scratch first. He coos over the dog, pointing out how pretty his coat is. You purple shampoo it every once in a while so that it stays sparkling and shiny and white. Compared to what Scratch looked like before, he’s so happy now.

It only goes up from there when you show the man the picture of the baby owlbear. He’s so chubby it’s cute with big, hopeful eyes. You tell the man about how Jaheira had found him one night in the woods and how you were the first person she thought of to help rehabilitate him. That seems to earn you some recognition. He looks at you like he’s really taking in the look of you.

‘You may as well be an angel in disguise,’ he says approvingly. ‘Although… Jaheira… I think I know her.’

‘You might! She owns the rescue.’

‘I think I took on a case for her once,’ the man muses, rubbing at his chin. ‘Yes, that sounds more like it. If you know Jaheira, then you must be a phenomenal person.’

You laugh nervously. Now he’s just flattering you, you’re sure of it. Either way, you try to change the subject as quickly as possible before your nerves get the better of you.

‘Mm, yes, I think I’ll take this one,’ he says, referring to Myshka. ‘But no need to put him in one of those awful boxes. I have a Prada carrier in my car. If you’ll only give me a moment.’

Prada… Brunello Cucinelli… You almost wish you were Myshka instead!

Still, now that you watch him go in and out, everything starts to add up. He’s an expensive magistrate with expensive cat carriers and expensive cats… You stare agape as Astarion Ancunin walks back in with his bright red Prada bag and offers it to you. He smiles once you realize who he is. The awe must show on your face. Not that it matters, he’s here to get a cat and you happen to have been one of the only ones working today, but you still feel ridiculously honored. Without saying anything, you coax Myshka into the bag and show Astarion the way to the counter so that he can pay.

“We take cash…or credit…’ you say faintly. ‘Or checks…’

‘Cash will have to do,’ Astarion says with a shrug. ‘Anything for little Myshka. What a little baby!’

You don’t even know what to say half the time, busy trying to get the paperwork together and not stare. It seems like Astarion has hit all your weaknesses in one go. Attractive, loves animals, adopts and doesn’t shop, and goes out of his way to wear ugly matching sweaters with his cat. You ring him up as slowly as you can out of your own desire to stare at him more, and then once everything is signed and paid for, you reluctantly slide Myshka’s carrier forward. You don’t mean to pout. You can’t really help it.

‘You’ll tell Jaheira I stopped by, won’t you?’ Astarion asks casually. He’s running his fingers over the zipper of his carrier instead of picking his new cat up. ‘We used to get into trouble together back in the day.’

‘You know,’ you say conspiratorially, ‘we’re actually having a bonfire out at my place this weekend. It’s a little bit out of the city, but Jaheira will be there. She’s bringing kidney pie.’ You leave out the part where it’s supposed to be an employee’s only bonfire.

‘It does sound phenomenal,’ Astarion hums. ‘Give me the address. I’d love to drop by. You can leave your phone number too if you’d like.’

It goes without saying that for the next three days, you do nothing besides prepare for the bonfire, go to work, and text Astarion. He sends you updates about his new family — Myshka is freshly spoiled with a Louis Vuitton collar, His Majesty wears a new Gucci sweater that matches Astarion’s, and Astarion himself takes ridiculous selfies at bad angles while looking ridiculously attractive. It’s almost unfair.

Sometimes you send him pictures of Scratch chewing on his favorite toy, but mostly, Astarion seems to enjoy videos of the baby owlbear sitting in the silliest ways possible. You managed to get him to wear a hat one day and Astarion was so delighted by it he allegedly set it as his homescreen.

You’re the only one not surprised when Astarion shows up to your humble farm in his Mercedes-Benz. You might have forgotten to tell Jaheira about it. Everyone crowds around you instead of the bonfire trying to get a peek at the hot-shot magistrate, but if the attention was overwhelming, Astarion says nothing. He strolls in carrying a pot of something that Gale immediately begins fussing over. Now with empty hands, Astarion throws his arms around Jaheira and kisses her cheeks over and over. It’s lovely.

Astarion begins fussing over Scratch as though he were an old friend after that. Scratch has brought over his ball to play, and even though it’s covered in spit and roughly three years old, Astarion delights in playing fetch. You sneakily grab a plate of kidney pie to feed Scratch and sit on the ground so you can watch them play games. At one point, Scratch refuses to bring Astarion the ball and makes the elf chase him around the yard. When he’s done, Astarion sits next to you laughing and gasping for air.

He helps you feed Scratch the meaty bits from the pie, cooing all the while. ‘What a delightful beast!’ he says.

‘He really gave you a run for your money for a moment, didn’t he?’ you tease.

‘Well, he has two more legs than I do,’ Astarion snorts, sniffing delicately. ‘It’s only fair he wins.’

It makes you laugh more than it should, and you wipe the leftover pie crust and juices on your jeans before standing up. You’re surprised when Astarion does the same on his jeans, but he laughs at your expression and follows suit.

‘Do you — Do you want to see him?’ you ask.

‘See who — ’ Astarion’s eyes widen immediately. ‘The owlbear! The baby! Oh please, you must let me see him, darling. What a delight!’

‘I must warn you,’ you tell him, leaning forward like it’s a secret. ‘He may be asleep. And he’s extremely cuddly. Beware the claws.’

‘Beware the claws, yes, yes,’ Astarion repeats, waving his hand impatiently. ‘Let me see the little man!’

You lead Astarion away from the bonfire and everyone else to a quieter, fenced off part of your property. You had it passed down to you from your grandfather who wasn’t deceased as much as he was that much of a recluse who decided Baldur’s Gate was becoming too large. Inside, tucked into a cute little bed, was the baby owlbear who had picked up the habit of snoring from Scratch.

Everyone else liked the baby owlbear as well, but you weren’t expecting Astarion to gush at the sight of him. You lead him into the enclosure and very carefully sat next to the owlbear. As if trained to do so, he wakes up and blinks his large orange orbs at Astarion inquisitively.

‘Do you want to hold him?’ you ask.

Astarion almost quivers at the idea.

‘You have to be really careful!’ you tell him, probably for the hundredth time. ‘He’s just a baby so he can’t control his strength yet. He has big boy paws. They hurt if he smacks you in the face by accident.’

Astarion is the picture of serenity. He sits, cross legged, and waits for you to slowly coax the baby owlbear into his lap. He’s clearly delighted by the whole thing, visibly trembling, and watching the owlbear with the kind of reverence you only see at a temple. Astarion sits very patiently and gently pets the top of the owlbear’s head, and it only takes a minute or two for the baby to fall back asleep. Every snore is a hoot, and his feathers fluff out occasionally as he continues to make himself comfortable in Astarion’s lap.

‘This might be the best thing ever,’ Astarion tells you earnestly.

You aren’t quite sure what possesses you in the moment, but you straighten up a little bit and glance at him as coyly as you can manage. You put your hands in your lap and twirl your thumbs around one another nervously.

You say, ‘It really does seem like he likes you. Maybe — Maybe you could come by more often. If you want to.’

Astarion glances at you knowingly. ‘Oh, perhaps every once in a while,’ he says ‘Maybe I could teach him how to play fetch.’

‘Like Scratch taught you how to?’

‘I knew how to play!’ Astarion complains. ‘He wouldn’t give the ball back! And he’s so fast, it’s ridiculous. His Majesty would never treat me this way.’

‘I’d like to meet His Majesty too,’ you say casually.

Astarion’s eyes light up. Had they always been that shade of red? The light of the evening seems to make them glow… You try not to think about it too much, but you haven’t been very good at focusing lately. Astarion seems equally as interested in your eyes. He chases after them, intent on looking you in the face as you chat.

‘You’ll have to come over,’ he says encouragingly. ‘I cook a mean Lheshayl steak. It pairs nicely with a Silverymoon white wine.’

‘I don’t ever think I’ve had a Lheshayl anything,’ you say, and Astarion laughs. It isn’t a mean laugh. ‘Do I bring a dish to something like that?’

‘Oh no, darling, you don’t bring anything but your gorgeous self,’ Astarion says, nudging you with his elbow. ‘I wasn’t inviting you to get together with friends, you know. If I wanted that, I’d have it catered. I was asking you on a date — ’

‘A date?’ you repeated stupidly.

Astarion laughs again. It’s a whimsical, unpracticed sound that doesn’t go with his usual countenance but it sounds nice. It makes you want to make him laugh more. You’re not quite sure what you’ve done to warrant his attention, but the affection is nice… You nudge him back, fighting the smile, fighting the butterflies dancing dangerously in the pit of your stomach.

‘Okay,’ you say softly. ‘It’s a date.’

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#anonymous #my fic #ASTARION LOVES ANIMALS #source: me #anyway the socks i mentioned are like $600 USD #i just feel like Astarion Would

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atrueneutral · 2 months

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"It was an insult to be ignored for so long!" Haarlep has so much cat energy. I can honestly picture them pushing (breakable) stuff off tables in retaliation for being ignored for too long while also making eye contact with Raphael the entire time.

"... and the infernal quill snapped." WHY IS THAT SO HOT?!?!?

"What was to happen if Raphael’s confrontation included an equally flustered, moaning, orgasming little mouse!" Now I really want to read a follow up piece following Raphael's perspective as he is torn between raging lust and just rage when he finds the little mouse desperate and moaning (maybe she even entreats Raphael for help idk - then Haarlep could be all, 'See? Don't say I never do anything for you, brat.').

[PART I] It was because of Korrilla’s constant reconnaissance that Raphael knew where his little mouse and her companions were hiding out and licking their wounds.

It was an encampment just outside of Rivington, and Raphael walked into it as if he owned the land and each little makeshift tent that was built upon it.

The vampire spawn was the first to notice his arrival.

“What the devil are you doing here?” His question, which had come out more with surprise than anger, caused other nearby members of the party to turn, look and see who the devil in question was.

Raphael’s eyes darted to count heads; everyone seemed to be accounted for, either standing beside their personal tent or waiting around for the late night dinner that was cooking over the fire.

Everyone was there - except for their mischievous wretch of a leader…

“I’d also like to know why you’re here, Raphael,” Mizora's pet said, stepping up with his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

The wizard was scrutinizing him from the fire as he stirred what smelled to be a stew of some kind, and Zariel’s rogue soldier was glaring at him from a distance.

He would ignore the rest.

“Where is she?” Raphael demanded of the vampire spawn; of them all, he had established a rapport with Astarion - established trust.

“She’s in her tent,” Astarion replied, staring at him sideways. “Said she wasn’t feeling well…”

“And which hovel is hers?”

Astarion took too long to decide what he wanted to say or do.

“I can deduce the answer on my own, but your assistance would make my visit shorter,” Raphael drawled.

“What do you want with Tav?” Mizora’s pet asked.

It was then that a stifled cry sounded out from elsewhere in the camp, and Raphael glanced at the vampire spawn with rage prickling under his skin.

“She’s ill, you say?” he inquired, knowing full well what ailed their leader. Then, to Mizora's pet, “I have business with her regarding the contract she signed, and I advise that you do not try to stop me from discussing matters with my client.”

With that, Raphael brushed past them and headed towards the source of the cry.

The tent was uniquely her; the exterior of the shelter was overflowing with a hodgepodge collection of stolen items ranging from useless to expensive. The lantern that would illuminate her area had been extinguished, and the canvas flap of the entrance was closed, but he could hear movement and strangled moans coming from inside.

She was not sleeping, or ill, and blood flowed to his cock.

Raphael was grateful most of her companions had, by now, gathered around the fire - likely to speculate what ‘business’ called him to their camp. To confirm his hunch, he could feel the gaze of a multitude of eyes at his back.

Raphael stepped to the tent’s entrance and ripped open the flap of his mouse’s tent without warning or care.

It was only a second, but the second was long enough for him to get a glimpse of her arched, spread legs and the fingers that pumped into her sex before her other hand slid out from underneath her tunic to frantically throw the blanket of her bedroll over herself.

The heady expression on her flushed features was quickly replaced with dawning recognition, and his mouse’s eyes widened.

The scent of her arousal permeated the tent, and a tent was rapidly being built in his breeches.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she whispered, startled by his unexpected appearance.

“What were you doing in my House?” Raphael challenged in return.

He inhaled her aroma as subtly (and deeply) as he could.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Raphael’s head tilted and his eyes bored into hers - doubting her ignorance when the repercussions of her tryst with his incubus were presently on display.

“Fine! I-” Her concession was interrupted when she bit her lip and choked down a moan. He could discern subtle movement underneath the blanket as her eyelids fluttered closed. “I was there… I wanted, ah - to see your House in person…”

“Are you fucking yourself as we speak?”

Her eyes opened and the sensuous look she gave him sent another wave of heat to his groin.

“No - that, mm, would be rude of me,” was his mouse’s brazen and breathless response.

Raphael entered the tent, flap closing behind him, and he tore the blanket away to find that his mouse was, unarguably, continuing to fuck herself while he was talking to her.

“What is the matter with you?” she shouted as quietly as she could while simultaneously pulling her glistening fingers out from her sex and clamping her legs closed. “And get out of my tent!”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account!” he retorted. “There’s no need for modesty when I could return to my House of Hope this very instant and look upon every inch of your body - it’s mine now.”

Her back arched as she was hit with what must have been a wave of pleasure. “Mm, well, I wouldn’t have - ah! Played around with Haarlep had I known this would happen - fuck!”

At this rate, he needed release just as much as she.

“Put your fingers back into your pretty little cunt,” he demanded, his voice becoming a lustful and low purr.

“No!” she exclaimed, indignant.

Vexing creature!

“You will do as I say, or I will go back out and tell your party the specifics of your situation - unless they already know?”

His mouse scowled. She slowly parted her legs and put her fingers back into her pretty-little-soaking-wet-cunt.

Raphael’s rage and reasoning for confronting her became consumed by lustful hunger; he was hypnotized - enraptured by the sight before him; his little mouse pleasuring herself with fingers that rhythmically disappeared into her, her body writhing and squirming with pert, hardened nipples that were visible through the thin material of her tunic, her face - the way her lips parted and the way her eyes stared into his with want…

“Mm, you’re still in my tent, Raphael…” she stated huskily.

Her scent overwhelmed his nostrils - his blood, already naturally hot, was on fire with desire.

His mouse bit back another cry as her slick fingers moved to the sensitive bud of her clit.

“My companions are going to talk…” Her eyes glanced at his crotch and traced the taut line that pushed against fabric. “Maybe a few of them will think we’re fucking.”

She was twisting him around her finger…

“Yes, I suppose they will,” he murmured as he watched her bite her lip and moan.

And he would let her.

“Do you want to fuck me, Raphael?”

His answer was automatic.

“Yes.”

She moaned again, as if his confirmation was something she had needed to hear.

“Since signing the contract, I’ve imagined you fucking me while you wear the Crown of Karsus on your head…”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his fingers twitched while his cock yearned to ravage her.

Is that what she wanted? Did she want him to lose control? Did she want him to take her?

“Haarlep’s been teasing me for awhile,” his mouse said. “And I can’t seem to come by myself…”

His mouth was dry.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Little Mouse?”

“Yes,” was her automatic response. She looked delirious (delicious).

Raphael nearly came then and there.

Her fingers were back in her cunt.

“Beg me to fuck you, Little Mouse, and I may oblige.”

“Please, fuck me, Archdevil Supreme Raphael - end my agony.”

And he would! Nine Hells, the strength and willpower - the control it took to not throw himself upon her! But a change in setting was necessary. For all the times he envisioned this scenario, none of them included taking the object of his desire on her unwashed bedroll that lay in the dirt of her tent of stolen goods while her companions were lingering outside waiting for any excuse to attack.

“Get up,” he ordered huskily.

She frowned, blinking at him as she stilled her movements; her sex-addled mind did not comprehend his meaning.

“We are going to the Devil’s Den. Unless you would like me to take you in this hovel?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m sure it’s been a fantasy of your party's; to eat while hearing the bliss-filled, melodic sound of their leader coming undone by a devil.”

Realization lit up somewhere behind her eyes.

“No…”

“Come along, Little Mouse,” he said. His eyes lingered between her thighs before they traveled up her body to meet her needful gaze. “And I shall give you what you’ve long desired.”

What he’s long desired…

Not needing to be told twice, she stood on shaky legs whilst grabbing the breeches that had been cast aside and hastily put them on. She then found a piece of parchment from her pack, scribbled a note, and placed it upon her bedroll.

“I’ve let them know that you haven’t kidnapped me - that we’re…” In a single step, his mouse was before him. “‘Discussing business’ elsewhere...”

She snaked a hand around his neck and pulled his head down to meet hers.

They disappeared from the tent with a burst of fire and embers.

#off to the devil's den #yes there will be a part three #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #bg3 #raphael x tav fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 #answered #drabble

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vole-mon-amour · 6 months

Text

youtube

"pathetic. weak. barely a good boy at all." 😂

Not only Astarion is a cat himself, Astarion is also a cat person, confirmed many times.

His Majesty? Perfect. No notes.

Scratch? Meh.

😆

#astarion #bg3 #video #astarion (deragatory): DOG. 😐😡

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multific · 5 months

Text

Love in Oil Colours

Chapter 13: Nothing Could Break Us Apart (The End)

Astarion x Fem!Reader

Summary: You just wanted to see the paintings. To see what new exhibits there were. You never expected for a simple oil painting to reveal so much about you and your past.

Your life took a complete turn after your reunion with Astarion.

And yet somehow, it was still the same.

You lived in a secluded home, away from people where it was only the two of you and the forest.

It was different yet the same.

People didn’t come to bother you.

And you barely left your land.

The only time you did decide to visit Paris was right after Astarion gave you the prettiest ring and promised you, again, his eternal love.

You called him, Husband, after that.

It seemed like that finally during this era, you would be able to live the life you always wished for.

No more people yelling at you, no more people burning your home.

Just you and your husband.

Once again you found your love for drawing and painting.

You even painted a little something of your honeymoon. A nude as one would call it, of your beloved husband.

It was definitely one for your eyes only.

However unfortunately soon, your little art room will have to be reassigned.

You found out three days ago about the new life you were carrying.

A child.

A true proof of your love and the fruit of the hours of your love-making.

Now, you just needed to tell him somehow.

Even if you have lived centuries with Astarion, you had no idea how he felt about children or if he even wanted one.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“Your blood tastes different.” he commented that evening.

“In a bad way?”

“No. It’s just… It was always the same. Always sweet, but now… it’s somehow sweeter.”

“Sweeter?”

“Yes. I’m not sure how. Did you talk with the healer?”

“Yes, I went to the doctor.”

“Are you not sick?”

“No. I’m perfectly healthy for a pregnant woman.”

“Ah, good. Good- wait.” you slowly turned and looked at him, searching his eyes. “Are you lying? Tell me it is only a cruel joke.”

“It is no joke. The doctor confirmed. I’m with child.” his hand gripped yours as he couldn’t look away from your eyes, as if he was waiting for you to say it was all just a joke.

And when you never said anything, he hugged you.

“I’m happy.” he said and honestly, you didn’t need him to say anything else.

The happiness coming from him and his touches were enough.

More than enough.

You couldn’t wait to paint your child with him. You could only imagine him holding your child. You wanted to paint it already.

The End.

A/N: A HUGE thank you to everyone who supported this series!

The above photo is not mine! Credit goes to the owner!

Series Masterlist

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~Masterlist~

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DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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whatacaitastrophe · 2 months

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Everything Has Changed - Chapter 4

Previous Chapter

Chapter Song Inspiration: "After Midnight" - Dorothy

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood drinking.

Spotify Playlist: Here

Author Notes: Thank you all so much for reading, reblogging, liking, and commenting on this fic (and the first one)! If you are interested in supporting me in other ways, I have a Ko-Fi link. ya girl has bills to pay and a dog to feed, and every little bit helps <3

Chapter 4: Kerosene Eyes

“Szarlnaxi coven? I thought you’d all died out after the final confrontation with Isteval.” Astarion questioned in disbelief. He was well aware of the Szarlnaxi coven and their history, as Cazador had instructed Astarionan and his siblings to kill anyone associated with Voltan Szarlnaxi, an ousted count from Tethyr turned local crime lord, on sight. The Sharran worshippers began consuming the blood of Baldur’s Gate’s lowest citizens while still human, posing a threat to Cazador and his own coven, threatening to expose them. Astarion couldn’t confirm (Cazador never would have deigned to tell him), but he was fairly certain the reason the agents from Tethyr hunting Voltan Szarnaxi found him to begin with were aided by Cazador himself.

When Szarnaxi perished, his followers prayed to Shar as they consumed his blood. As a reward for their devotion, the Lady of Darkness turned them into vampires. Astarion and his siblings had been the ones to force the new coven of vampires out of Baldur’s Gate and retreat to what became their new homebase at Dragonspear Castle. Astarion hadn't heard anything about the Szarnaxi coven again until eight years ago, 1485 DR, when Cazador uncharacteristically declared they were having a celebration, because the coven finally met their end thanks to Sir Isteval, a paladin from Cormyr, who took them on twice in the same year and won both times. Of course, Cazador’s idea of a “celebration” was a night free of torture and cats for supper instead of the usual, but that had been good enough for Astarion and his siblings.

It was the only reason Astarion agreed to camp outside the gates of Dragonspear Castle to begin with: believing the greatest threat from the castle on the High Moor had gone extinct.

Once Astarion’s vision adjusted to the change in lighting, he got a good look at their visitor. Astarion recognized the vampire in front of him as one of the ones Cazador had ordered Astarion and his siblings to be removed from Baldur’s Gate after their numbers started growing. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but it didn’t matter.

“You thought that bastard from Cormyr managed to murder us all?” The other vampire sneered, releasing his hand from Fallon’s mouth to wrap an arm around her middle as his spell wore off. “Only the weak fell. The rest of us just knew where to hide until the dust settled.”

“So you’re a bunch of cowards, then. Duly noted.” Fallon quipped, and Astarion could have killed Fallon himself for goading a vampire with a blade to her neck, though he supposed it did remind him of their first meeting.

The vampire didn’t take kindly to her jab, either, and he expressed as much by pressing the blade against her throat just enough that Fallon whimpered in pain. Rage began to simmer in Astarion’s blood, and one look at Gale told him the other man felt the same way he did: this vampire was as good as dead the second Fallon was free from harm. Oh, how Astarion wished that he and Gale still shared a connection via their tadpoles– it made silently planning a coordinated attack so much easier.

“You’ve yet to answer my question, spawn of Cazador. What are you doing here?” their visitor demanded.

Astarion raised his free hand in a show of peace, but wasn’t foolish enough to let go of his dagger. “We’re just passing through,” Astarion replied, his voice much calmer than he felt. “Just three friends who stopped to make camp for the night on the road to Waterdeep from Baldur’s Gate.”

“Quite a trip to make on foot, especially this time of year. Why not use a portal?”

“I’m afraid that’s my fault,” Gale spoke up with an awkward wave. “Ordinary human here, portals upset the stomach. Now why don’t you release our friend and proper introductions can be made.”

When talking about journeying to Waterdeep, Fallon and Astarion had considered a portal spell. The trouble was that mages that not only knew how, but were strong enough to conjure one reliably few and far between. Gale had been the only person with that kind of magical prowess they knew, and they certainly couldn’t ask him before Mystra dropped him on their doorstep, completely stripped of his magical powers, and that was the end of that discussion. As far as excuses went, the one Gale gave the Szarlnaxi vampire was probably also true, albeit untested.

Their intruder’s body language relaxed only slightly, indicating he believed Gale’s story, but Astarion wouldn’t be lowering his defenses until there was no longer a blade pressed to his lover’s neck. “What’s in Waterdeep?” the vampire asked.

“I believe that answer also lies with me,” Gale continued. “I originally hail from Waterdeep and my– my mother passed away. My dear friends agreed to act as emotional support and accompany me as I travel there to sort through her affairs.”

Astarion had to hand it to Gale, the pain in the other man’s voice sounded genuine. If Gale learned to play an instrument, he would probably be a hell of a bard. The vampire looked to Astarion in confirmation, and he nodded silently. “You’re pretty far from home, spawn, does daddy know you’re out and about?” The other vampire asked.

“Gods, you ask a lot of questions,” Fallon sighed in annoyance. “Cazador is dead. We killed him ages ago. Are you satisfied?”

Astarion had to work overtime to keep his features as neutral as possible. If they survived this night, he really would consider killing Fallon himself. He knew from traveling with her in the past that in the face of danger that Fallon tended to abide by the code of “strike before you can be struck, and ask questions later,” and often ran headfirst into a battle without really thinking anything through; but this was a new level of recklessness, even for her. Especially without Shadowheart on standby to patch them up. He’d once told Fallon that the greatest threat to a vampire was not the sun, or a wooden stake, but another vampire; and she’d just handed this particular one all the ammunition he needed.

“Well, well, well, isn’t that interesting?” The rival vampire crooned, as he stared at Astarion. “You should have made sure to warn your consort about our history before wandering into our territory. Cazador was the only thing keeping you all alive.” With his free hand, the vampire reached up and yanked on Fallon’s hair, causing her to gasp in pain. Astarion’s rage came to a boil the moment the stranger pressed his face to Fallon’s neck, right above the old puncture wounds on Fallon’s neck from where Astarion usually bit her. “She smells so sweet, I can see why you picked this one. I think I’ll have a taste before I kill you all.”

Before he could open his mouth to take a bite, the sound of an arrow soaring through the air broke through the clearing, and found its mark in the vampire’s shoulder blade. He cried out in pain, lowering his blade from Fallon’s neck and staggering backward. The holding spell wore off, and Fallon quickly whirled around with her blade, decapitating her captor in one clean swing.

Immediately it became clear why the Szarlnaxi vampire was asking so many questions, and biding his time: he’d been the distraction. The second his head separated from his body, four other vampires appeared, previously hidden by an invisibility spell cast upon them by their now dead leader. Gale swore loudly, readying his sword as one of them launched at him, and Astarion could only pray his training with Fallon stuck. Astarion briefly looked around to see if their savior had shown themself, but before he could truly investigate he found himself dodging a fire bolt shot at him by the vampire closest to him. The flame singed his sleeve as it flew by, and Astarion ran at his attacker, dagger ready to strike.

The blade found its target, stabbing the rival vampire right in the side, and Astarion drove the blade in deep before dragging it across his gut, splitting him open as he cried out in pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other two vampires head for Fallon, one head on and the other coming at her from behind. “Fallon, behind you!” Astarion yelled, but their mystery savior seemed to already be on the case, for another arrow shot through the trees, this time piercing Fallon’s attacker in the back of the neck and going almost cleanly through, causing the vampire to collapse to his knees as he gargled and choked on his own blood.

There was no time to breathe a sigh of relief, though, because Astarion’s opponent may have been injured, but he wasn’t out. He had just enough energy it seemed to cast a Thunderwave spell that sent Astarion hurtling backwards, gasping for air as he landed flat on his back, eyes closed as he winced in pain. A shadow appeared over his figure, blocking him from the firelight of the campfire, and as Astarion rolled over to try and stand, he saw their boots first. They were smaller than any man’s, or even Fallon’s, and for when he looked up in confusion he was met with the golden eyes of a gray skinned tiefling, beaming at him.

“I suppose after this we’ll be even after all the times you saved my life, right?” She declared, extending him a hand, and Astarion’s expression changed from confusion, to elated surprise.

“Arabella?”

“Nice to see you again, Astarion. Let’s finish these bastards off, so we can have a proper reunion, yeah?”

The young tiefling tore off after the vampire who’d been assaulting Astarion, so Astarion picked up his dagger and ran to help Gale. He was doing fine keeping his own attacker at bay, and seemed to have avoided taking any major blows, but Gale also hadn’t managed to injure the vampire, either. “IGNIS!” Astarion shouted, aiming for the offending vampire, a pleased noise leaving his mouth when the bolt of fire hit its target. The vampire staggered, giving Gale a moment to swing his sword around and lacerate his arm.

“Is that Arabella?” Gale asked Astarion in surprise.

“Sure is.” Astarion answered proudly as he grabbed the back of the burning vampire’s neck with a wince, and drove his dagger into his shoulder before kicking him backwards onto the ground. The sounds of blades and spells slowly died as the last of the vampires fell to the ground, and Astarion looked around wildly for Fallon, praying she was still standing.

The elf was intact, and on her knees on the ground with Arabella, tears streaming from both of their eyes as they embraced tightly. Astarion started to walk towards the two of them, but Gale grabbed his arm gently and shook his head. “Give them a moment.” he said softly. Astarion glared at Gale, but did as he was told, annoyed with himself that Gale still knew Fallon so well as to know to give her this moment with their friend.

During her brief residency in their camp, Arabella and Fallon bonded in the way sisters do, and when the young tiefling left to strike out on her own and find her own way in the world, it broke Fallon’s heart. Astarion remembered the day Arabella left: just after they’d entered Rivington, the tiefling girl left in the night, leaving only a note behind, citing that a goodbye would have been too hard. They ran into her one other time, a few months later, but to Astarion’s knowledge, no one had heard from her since.

“Gods, look at you! You’re all grown up!” Fallon exclaimed, pulling back from Arabella, placing her bloody hands on the girl’s shoulders. It had only been two and a half years since they last saw Arabella, but she was definitely no longer the child they’d seen before. Astarion had assumed she was eleven or twelve when they met her, and a full fledged teenager stood before them now. Her hair was darker, more ginger than it used to be, and she had a turquoise, wavy tattoo covering her left eye and spiraling down her neck (it reminded Astarion slightly of Halsin’s), and she had a couple of piercings now as well. “What the hells are you doing out here?” Fallon asked her. She turned around to look at Gale and Astarion. “Look! Arabella is here!” Fallon wiped tears from her eyes, but when she raised her arm to wave them over, she visibly winced. It was at that moment Astarion realized the blood on Fallon’s hands were not just from the vampires who attacked her, but also her own. He could smell it now that he drew closer to her, and his eyes immediately fell to the source: her shirt had been torn open and a long, bleeding gash leaked blood across her abdomen.

“Shit.” He rushed over to Fallon and dropped to his knees beside her. “Where are the healing potions, darling, I’ll go grab one.” “Astarion, I’m fine.” Fallon argued. “You are not fine,” His nostrils flared. “We could have avoided this whole gods damned battle if you had just kept your mouth shut, and now you’re fucking bleeding out, don’t tell me you’re fine.” Fear filled his body as his temper rose, and he knew it was the only reason he lashed out at her. Though as far as Astarion was concerned, yelling at Fallon for starting a fight she couldn’t finish, and getting hurt in the process, felt like a pretty good reason to yell at her.

“Astarion, calm down. Yelling at her isn’t going to fix it,” Arabella scolded him and he stared at the young tiefling in shock for talking back to him. In fact, the way Arabella had spoken to him reminded him of Fallon. “Just give me a moment. I know a fair bit of healing magic now. Fallon, lay back for me, yeah?”

Astarion instinctively reached for Fallon, helping her ease herself onto her back. He may have been angry with her, but the sooner she was healed, the less guilty Astarion would feel for yelling at her in the first place. Gale must have noticed Fallon was injured at the same moment Astarion did, and as he appeared on Fallon’s other side with a healing potion in hand. “This should help.”

Fallon nodded in thanks, drinking the potion quickly and wincing as she tossed the bottle aside. “Gods, I’d forgotten how foul those things taste,” she looked over at Astarion and took his hand. “I’m sorry for starting a fight, my love.”

“You scared me, Fallon,” Astarion sighed, squeezing her hand as the healing glow from Arabella’s magic hovered over Fallon’s skin. “You can’t just go mouthing off to everyone who annoys you like you used to. It’s just the three of us now, and if it weren’t for Arabella, we’d probably all be dead.”

“Thank you, by the way, since I don’t think any of us have said it yet.” Gale chimed in, smiling softly at Arabella. “It truly is lovely to see you, and not just because you saved our hides. I’m inclined to echo Fallon’s question: what are you doing out here?”

“Oh, I’ve been tracking the Szarlnaxis for a while now,” The tiefling explained as casually as though she’d told them what she had for breakfast. “I’d heard a rumor they were keen to come back to Baldur’s Gate, and I think we’ve all seen enough without vampires running amuck unchecked, so I decided to go after them.”

“On your own?” Astarion asked in surprise.

“Well, yes. I’ve learned that I’m actually quite powerful– taking on enemies on my own isn’t exactly difficult these days.” She shrugged.

Astarion remembered the day they ran into her in the City Sewers, alone and surrounded by multiple dead bodies of men three times her size. At the time, she’d only been on her own for a few months at best, so Astarion had no doubt that the tiefling was not embellishing the extent of her powers two years later. Gale let out a low whistle. “That’s quite a bit of power, then. Do be careful with it, Arabella.”

The tiefling nodded in understanding. “I am, I promise. Sometimes I prefer shooting things with a bow and arrow more than magic anyhow.” “And I am certainly grateful for that.” Fallon laughed, wincing at the pain the action caused her. The wound across her abdomen was smaller now, and it was no longer bleeding. Arabella’s magic faded and dusted off her hands.

“That should set you right. Though you should probably just rest tomorrow. I’ll stay with you all until you move out of this territory, just in case. I’ve got my own tent and everything, so no need to double up somewhere on my account.”

The next hour or so was uneventful– Arabella quietly set up her tent while Astarion and Gale helped Fallon back to her tent and put her to bed, and soon after, Arabella bid them both goodnight as well. Astarion and Gale sat in silence around the fire for a long time, staring into the flames and completely lost in their own thoughts. So much so that when Gale finally spoke, Astarion jumped.

“I’ve been thinking– sorry–” He apologized when Astarion jumped. “But I’ve been thinking about this situation we find ourselves in…and though you and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, I think we can both agree that Fallon’s safety is both our priority.”

Astarion simply nodded in agreement, allowing Gale to continue. “I know you feed on her, but not every day, and on the days she doesn’t sate you, you hunt animals in the forest. Like you used to,” Astarion looked at Gale with interest. Was this going where he thought it was going? “I know in the past I’ve been…closed off to the idea of you biting me, but that was also as much for your sake as it was mine. When The Netherese Weave was lodged in my chest, I can’t imagine my blood would have tasted very good anyway…but now that it’s out and I’m well– normal again, I’d like to be of some other use than just cooking and washing the dishes. You may have guessed I volunteer for those duties not only because I don’t mind it, but also because I find myself feeling like a bit of a burden on this journey.”

“Gods, you can never say anything outright, can you? Spit it out, Gale.” Astarion sighed impatiently.

Gale huffed. “I was getting to it. We got lucky that Arabella showed up when she did. It won’t happen twice. Therefore, I would like to offer the use of my veins to you. I know you’re stronger when you feed on humans instead of animals, and the stronger you are, the easier it will be for us both to protect Fallon.”

Apparently this evening was just going to be full of surprises. Astarion stared at Gale. “Are– are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t. You can’t feed on her all the time, and I want to help. Honestly it kind of feels like it’s the least I can do.” Gale confirmed. “When was the last time you ate? You can even feed on me now, if you like.”

Astarion’s stomach gurgled at the thought. “It has been a day or two,” He mused, considering Gale’s offer. “Well, alright. If you’re sure.” Astarion stood up and moved to sit next to Gale, but stopped when the other man shifted so he was laying on his back. “Gale…what are you doing?” Astarion asked, amusement creeping onto his face.

“I–you have to bite my neck, don’t you? That’s where you always bit Fallon, even before the two of you were, erm, intimate. I figured it’d be easier on you if I lay down.” Gale explained nervously.

“Oh, you’re too adorable, sit up.” Astarion chuckled. “I can bite your arm, darling. That way you can hide it with your sleeve, if this is to remain our little secret.”

“Do– do you want it to be a secret?” Gale asked.

“I mean, I don’t care, but Fallon will probably be offended that we think she can’t look after herself and that she needs protecting, so…you tell me.” Astarion gave him a pointed look, almost daring Gale to disagree with him. They both knew Fallon well enough to know Astarion was right.

“Fair enough.” Gale conceded, rolling up his sleeve. “What do I do, just…tap your arm or something when I’m ready for you to stop?”

“That’s what Fallon does.”

“Well, alright. Get on with it then.” Gale sighed, offering Astarion his forearm.

“I promise to be gentle.” Astarion teased, delicately taking Gale’s forearm in his hands. He gave Gale one last look, one final chance to change his mind, and when Gale remained silent, Astarion leaned forward and bit down near the crook of Gale’s elbow, the only sound in camp was Gale’s sharp gasp of pain when Astarion’s teeth broke his skin.

A long time ago, Fallon and Astarion joked about what they thought the others in their camp would taste like. Fallon had declared that Lae’zel probably tasted like an exotic, imported liquor with a high alcohol content that packed a punch, and Shadowheart and Wyll probably tasted similar to the red wines they’d favored while traveling. Gale, though, Astarion had predicted that Gale would taste like a good brandy, perfectly aged with just the right amount of spice. It pleased him to confirm that his assumption was correct, and the tiniest noise of approval escaped the vampire’s mouth as he drank from Gale. Except, there was something else in Gale’s blood, too. Something Astarion hadn’t been expecting, and something he was certain Gale had no idea was there.

A minute or so later, Gale tapped Astarion’s knee and the vampire immediately released Gale’s arm from his mouth. Astarion licked the wound as he pulled away (he couldn’t help himself), and wiped his mouth as he looked at Gale curiously. “Well, how was I?” Gale asked. “Admittedly, I have been wondering what I taste like since I overheard that conversation with you and Fallon ages ago–” “Gale– didn’t Mystra take all of your magic?”

Gale stopped speaking for a moment and frowned. “She– she did. Though I don’t know why you would bring that up now, it seems rather cruel after what I’ve just done for you–”

“No, Gale, shut up. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I– I don’t think she did. There’s magic in your blood. I tasted it.”

Chapter List

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