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lavenderfluorite14 · 22 days

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 9: Derailed

Summary: The day is derailed even further, but that might be for the best.

Rating: 16+ for violence and gore. Kissing, making out.

Warnings: This chapter contains detailed descriptions of violence and gore, specifically arrow removal.

Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 8. Read from the beginning.

Morale plummets in the wake of Lae’Zel’s departure. The rest of the morning is spent in silence as everyone finishes preparing for the day ahead. Even Shadowheart’s smug superiority at finally ousting Lae’Zel fades to a grim determination. Already, the hole Lae’Zel has left feels palpable.

Astarion is sure Lae’Zel will be fine out there. She is a warrior through and through. But an additional prickle of fear ripples through him at the idea that the others may leave him too. He cannot do this alone, he needs every ally he can get.

He knew this was coming, he reminds himself. He knew Lae’Zel was always going to leave. It’s just happening earlier than expected. This is a good thing, actually. He has less competition now. And less opposition to the illithid powers. He cannot compromise that.

He had never really minded Lae’Zel’s condescension or rudeness, even when it was directed at him. Cazador had been much crueler. At least Lae'Zel was almost funny. And her passion for bloodshed had always been inspiring. He supposed he was just disappointed to see a strong ally leave over such a trifle.

Perhaps there was a tinge of worry for her as well.

At least he knows that Tav won’t leave. Certainly not with the promise of tonight hanging between them like luscious, unpicked fruit.

Tav, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion all trudge through the forest in silence, doggedly following the billowing smoke plume that Lae’Zel had spotted earlier. Along the way Tav and Shadowheart stop to forage, gathering berries, mushrooms, and eggs from bird nests. They even find a big, juicy honeycomb. All treats Astarion can’t truly enjoy.

“Are you sure about the tadpoles, Fangs?” Karlach asks him when they are finally alone. Tav and Shadowheart are far ahead at this point, digging up what appears to be a buried chest.

“Of course I am,” Astarion insists. The tadpole set him free. He has to follow this thread.

“Even if it means you’ll become a Mindflayer?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But what if it does?”

He briefly imagines the pain and horror of his bones turning into jelly, his handsome face sprouting tentacles, his personality and memories siphoned away to feed the gluttonous parasite. It’s too grotesque, too unimaginable to feel like a real possibility.

But he can imagine Cazador placing his favorite knife against the coals of a blazing fire, the searing heat guaranteeing that its blade will be horrifically painful. He can imagine Godey behind him with the pliers, laughing a deep, clacking chuckle.

“As I have said repeatedly, that is not going to happen.”

Karlach just sighs. “Well. If you’re sure, then.”

Silence resumes. The smoke cloud looms ever larger above them. Astarion thinks he hears a Worg howl.

“I’m just asking you to be careful. Your actions affect the rest of us too. If you begin to transform-"

“I won’t transform!” he yells at her. Up ahead, Tav and Shadowheart try to look busy. “I won’t let it get that far. The idea is to control the tadpole, not become it.”

“But we don’t know if that’s even possible,” she responds.

“But what if it is? We have to inv-” There’s something up ahead.

Tav’s message throbs through all their minds, rife with concern. Immediately everyone reaches for their weapons.

“Finally, some action,” Karlach growls, grabbing her sword.

“Finally, I agree with you,” Astarion replies, unsheathing his daggers.

Let’s carefully approach-

Karlach charges ahead, bursting through the underbrush. She streaks ahead of them through the forest, a comet made flesh. They all race to catch up to her, nimbly dodging rocks, branches, roots, and all manner of forest debris as they hurtle towards danger. Soon they begin to hear the clangs of swords, the twangs of bowstrings, and they feel the unmistakable thrum of the Weave. There’s fighting up ahead, in the town square of the abandoned village.

What remains of a band of goblin marauders have cornered something against a wall. Whatever it is has put up quite a fight: goblin carcasses litter the ground in pools of dark, sticky blood. Astarion reflexively licks his lips.

“Kill it!” a goblin booyahg cackles as she conjures a poisonous green cloud. She unleashes the magic on her target, which doubles over in a fit of hacking coughs. “Skva!” Lae’Zel barks between wheezes. A worg leaps at her, sinking its jaws into the hard muscle of her thigh. Lae’Zel snarls in pain, rapping its head with the pommel of her sword. The beast releases her, dazed, its jowls dripping blood. As Lae’Zel shifts into a new stance to compensate for her injured leg an arrow strikes her thigh, missing her plate by centimeters and embedding itself into her other leg. She screams in Githyanki, but somehow finds the force to keep standing. Multiple arrows have pierced her, jutting out of her flesh like pins in a horrifying pincushion. Blood drips from a cut on her brow, where a rock had struck her face, pooling in her eyes.

“Oi! Meatheads!” Tav roars, her mockery grabbing their attention. “The frog is ours! Back off, or you’ll be joining it!” one of the goblins yells. Lae’Zel uses the distraction to strike, knocking the nearest goblin prone.

All hells break loose. Karlach jumps into the fray, cleaving the worg in half with her sword. Astarion shimmies up a decaying roof, crouching low as he surveys the fight. He silently looses arrow after arrow, picking off goblins from his vantage point. There’s another booyahg perched on a nearby gable and Astarion quickly dispatches him with a clean shot to the neck, sending him plummeting to the stones below with a sickening thud. A goblin slashes at Lae’Zel but Tav grasps her with Hold Person, freezing her in place. Lae’Zel seizes the moment, chopping off her head with a clean sweep of her blade. The goblin band is no match for all of them, together.

“Lae’Zel! Are you alright?” Tav calls out to her as the last goblin falls.

Lae’Zel does not answer. She briefly wobbles for a moment, blinking blood out of her golden eyes. Then she swoons, hard. Karlach dives to catch her but Lae’Zel’s head strikes the cobblestones, knocking her out cold. Shadowheart rushes forward, her blue healing magic flickering at her fingertips. They all stand back as Shadowheart works to save Lae’Zel, watching as she feverishly casts her magic. They may hate each other, but that doesn’t mean that Shadowheart would let Lae’Zel die like this.

“Lae’Zel better live through this,” Karlach murmurs. She has given Shadowheart the most space, ever conscious of her burning engine.

“She’ll be fine, darling. She’s too tough to let a couple of goblins get to her,” Astarion hand-waves. She won’t die. She can’t die.

“Tav!” Shadowheart calls frantically over her shoulder. Tav rushes over, her hands starting to glow with her own lesser healing magic. The two begin working in tandem: Tav props Lae’Zel’s head up so Shadowheart can carefully pour a healing potion down her throat. Lae’Zel groans, her eyes flickering open in a haze of pain.

“Astarion!” Tav cries. Astarion dashes over, crouching at her side. “You have the best dexterity. We need you to help excise these arrows,” she explains. “I’ll walk you through it. Just do as I say, and everything will be fine,” Shadowheart assures him. “I can push this one through. But these two are pretty shallow, you will need to rip them out of her. I can’t finish healing her until they’ve been removed,” Shadowheart instructs.

“That will make it worse!” Astarion frets.

“Not with goblin arrows. They’re just simple metal spikes, they don’t have the fancy head. You’ll still need to be quick though, so they can heal her before she bleeds out,” Karlach explains. “Please Astarion, just do it,” Tav pleads.

Tav gently supports the arrow shaft, holding it still. The shaft wiggles, which is a good sign. It hasn’t struck bone. He surveys Lae’Zel’s thigh, making note of the two arrows he will need to remove in rapid succession. Delicately but firmly, he grasps the shaft near the root. Lae’Zel swears thickly but Tav quietly soothes her, casting Calm Emotions. Blood bubbles forth from her flesh as he quickly rips the arrow out. The urge to bite almost overwhelms him, but Tav swoops in with a rag to staunch the bleeding before he can lose himself. Lae’Zel writhes in pain but Shadowheart does her best to hold her down. Karlach hovers over them, burning too fiercely to safely help.

They repeat the grisly process, removing all the arrows from Lae’Zel’s body. Lae’Zel screams, she swears, she twists in pain, but she does not complain. The last one is too deep, so Shadowheart snaps the shaft and swiftly pushes the arrow through her thigh, forcing it out the other side. When the horrible work is done, Karlach passes Shadowheart a Greater Healing potion, which Lae’Zel gulps down. Shadowheart stands up, wiping the sweat from her brow. Tav stays crouched, casting Prestidigitation to clean the blood and viscera from Lae’Zel’s prone form. Lae’Zel tries to stand but Karlach moves over her. “Hold it, soldier. Your wounds are closed but you are not fit to move,” she says. Lae’Zel chks. “She’ll live, but she needs to rest.” Shadowheart declares. “And so do I. I’m almost completely out of magic now.” Tav swears under her breath.

“I could still accompany you to the goblin camp, but I’ll only have my cantrips,” Shadowheart adds. Tav stands slowly so as to not disturb Lae’Zel, then kicks angrily at a nearby tuft of grass. “As much as I’d like to kick some goblin butt, I’m not going into enemy territory without another healer,” Karlach insists.

“Nor I,” Tav agrees. “Not if there’s as many goblins as I suspect.” They all glance up at the billowing smoke cloud. Lae’Zel was right, the camp is just beyond the ridge.

“Well, at least this was fun,” Astarion says. Karlach wraps Lae’Zel in a blanket from her pack, then hoists her up into her arms, gently cradling her.

“Let’s get this one back to camp, yeah?” Karlach suggests.

“Put me down this instant,” Lae’Zel demands. She squirms indignantly. “I am Lae’Zel of K’liir, not some hatchling.”

“And right now you are recovering from some serious injuries,” Tav says. “We’re going back to camp so we can all re-coup.”

“You tell me if it gets too hot, ok?” Karlach says. Lae’Zel grunts.

“Were you anyone else I would strike you down for such disrespect,” she grumbles.

“Yeah, yeah, we can fight about it after you rest,” Karlach teases.

“As fierce as you are, darling, you shouldn’t run off like that. We were quite worried about you,” Astarion gently scolds her. Lae'Zel glowers at him but she does not rebuff his chastisement. Perhaps they really are growing on her after all.

As they walk, Lae'Zel eventually settles into Karlach's strong arms. If Astarion didn't know better, she almost seems content there.

Tav falls into step beside him. “Good job today,” she says. She gives his arm a quick, affectionate squeeze. The contact sends a jolt of something through him. He isn’t sure if it’s pleasant or not, but he does know that he loves the compliment.

“Why thank you, darling. What can I say, I’m quite skilled with my hands.”

Tav giggles at him. He leans in close to her, so the others won’t hear. “You’ll find out for yourself soon enough,” he promises. Tav playfully pushes him away, pantomiming annoyance, but once she’s done she shoots him a heated look that belies her true feelings. Astarion smirks back at her.

Tonight is the night.

There’s a dog waiting for them when they return. Apparently Wyll and Gale had found it wandering around the woods. It had not wanted to leave the body of its dead master, but Wyll had given it his scent anyway. According to the collar, the dog’s name was “Scratch.” Karlach and Shadowheart are delighted, but Astarion isn’t impressed. But he supposes he can live with the dog, so long as it doesn’t slobber all over his pillow.

Somehow, Wyll and Gale had also found the time to trek back to the Grove, trade for more potions and alchemy supplies, forage for food, and discover an owlbear cave. They had certainly been busy bees while they were gone.

They all help pitch Lae’Zel’s tent, then Karlach lays Lae’Zel down gently in her bedroll, where she quickly falls asleep. They all mostly agree: if Lae’Zel wants to rejoin their group then she is welcome to stay. Shadowheart loudly objects, but she is overruled by Tav, Wyll, and Karlach. Everyone is welcome here so long as they are willing to cooperate with the group.

Astarion knew he had bet correctly on Tav.

They all take turns checking on Lae’Zel, even Astarion. When at last she stirs, Gale hands her a bowl of stew and Tav flits into her tent to talk. They all quietly gather nearby to eavesdrop, Gale included this time.

Lae’Zel doesn’t apologize. She is still adamantly against using the tadpole, but she does agree to stay. Astarion intuitively understands that this is Githyanki for “thank you for saving my life.” Tav concedes that they are taking an enormous risk and agrees that if they begin to transform, Lae’Zel should kill them. Lae’Zel swears that she will see it so. Astarion frowns to himself. Even though he is confident that they can eventually control the tadpole, he still doesn’t appreciate that Tav has essentially forfeited their lives. But this seems to be an acceptable enough compromise for now.

Tav gives them all a knowing look as she exits Lae’Zel’s tent. No one tries to hide the fact that they were listening in.

The sun is already beginning to set, so Astarion settles in and begins his grooming regimen. Tav will be expecting him soon.

“Astarion! Can I trouble you for some help chopping these vegetables?” Gale calls to him from the makeshift kitchen he has staged by the fire.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit busy, my dear,” he calls over. Astarion doesn’t have nail scissors or clippers, but he’s skilled enough with a knife to make do.

“Very well, then I shall come to you,” Gale announces, laying down his own knife and making his way over. As Gale approaches, Astarion wonders what he has done to deserve this.

“I’d like to speak to you in private, if I may. About this morning,” Gale says. Astarion raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know we had more to say to each other,” Astarion says icily. “You already made your point quite clearly.”

“I actually don’t think I have,” Gale says. Oh good, more lecturing.

“I spoke in anger and in haste this morning, and I wanted to offer my apologies. Although we have only known each other briefly, I meant what I said. I would stand at your side again, tadpole or no.”

“What?” Astarion says flatly.

“I spoke in anger and in haste-"

“I heard you!” Astarion snaps.

“It occurred to me that you and I are not so different, in our ways,” Gale continues. “To be at the beck and call of a supernatural hunger has been challenging, even for a wizard of my acclaim.”

“That has certainly been true in my own experience,” Astarion offers slowly.

"I know we didn’t meet under the best of circumstances and we have all been relatively slow to confide in one another. But now that we have a tad more trust and understanding, I hope that we can move forward towards curing our mutual infection,” Gale says.

“Do we have more trust in each other?” Astarion cuts in, ignoring Gale's mention of the parasite. “Because right now it seems as though the one waxing poetic about trust is keeping a pretty important secret from all of us.”

Gale sighs. “You are right, Astarion. I am asking a lot of all of you. But I assure you, now is not the right time. I promise that when the time is right, I will tell you everything,” Gale pledges.

Astarion looks him up and down, warily. “I suppose I understand better than most the need to keep a secret until the right time,” Astarion concedes.

“You’ve got to get the timing just right, I’m afraid.” Gale sighs again. “And as powerful as I am, I can't say I've been at my level best this past week. This whole adventure has been rather exhausting, if I’m being honest.”

“I quite agree,” Astarion replies.

“If also a bit invigorating,” Gale continues, conspiratorially. Astarion’s lips twitch.

“I quite agree,” Astarion smirks.

“So! Shall we put this spat behind us?” Gale offers his hand for a gentlemanly shake.

Astarion eyes Gale’s outstretched hand. He briefly considers asking the wizard about his intentions with Tav. But his brief glimpse inside Gale’s tent lends credence to Astarion’s hunch that nothing of significance is going on between them. Wyll and Shadowheart are wrong.

Besides, they have almost no chemistry. If Tav would have rather bunked in Gale’s tent, she would be in Gale’s tent. Instead she’s promised herself to him.

“I suppose I can forgive you,” Astarion says, clasping Gale’s hand in his and giving it a firm shake. “Your words are…appreciated.”

“And is there anything that you would like to say to me?” Gale says hopefully. Astarion pauses. The cheek of this wizard.

“I suppose I can also make an effort to be more forthcoming in the future. Within reason. I do have an image to maintain, after all.”

“I can content myself with ‘an effort’ so long as it is a genuine one,” Gale chides him. “Although I hope I prove a worthy confidant,” he adds, smiling.

As Gale retreats towards Shadowheart’s tent, ostensibly on his apology tour, Astarion admits that Gale can be charming, on occasion.

It occurs to Astarion that he hasn’t received a genuine apology like that in decades.

Freshly bathed, trimmed, and coiffed, Astarion swaggers over to Tav’s tent, tapping on the flap by way of greeting. Tav beckons him in.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, my darling,” he asks, sliding inside. Although, he wouldn’t have cared even if he was disturbing her.

“Not at all,” she reassures him. Tav sits on a stool, applying mascara to her eyelashes with the help of a hand mirror.

“We finally have a quiet evening,” he observes lightly, coming around beside her.

“As quiet as it can be around here, anyway,” she retorts. She screws the tube of mascara shut, slipping it into a little pouch. She then produces a small tin of salve, which she opens with a small click.

“A perfect night for two souls who would like to take some time to themselves,” he hints flirtatiously. “If you catch my meaning.”

“Hm, I don’t think I do,” Tav replies, swiping a fat dollop over her lips.

“No?” Astarion questions, his tone playfully patronizing.

“No,” she teases, rubbing the balm between her lips. “You’ll have to be more explicit,” she says, the challenge clear in her voice. Her lips look so pretty and glossy, a tempting target.

“Well then, since you apparently need it spelled out for you-“ Astarion leans down and kisses her, ruining the immaculate shine of her lips with a single press of his own. He lingers against her, enjoying the cloying scent of lavender and honey, the soft pillow of her lips against his own. It must be a beeswax of some kind. Tav opens her mouth to deepen the kiss, but Astarion pulls away.

“Not here,” he says, stopping her in her tracks. “There’s a clearing just over the hill. Once the others have gone to sleep, come find me there. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I will,” she promises. Already she’s rosy-cheeked and breathless.

He’s going to positively wreck her. ~ Chapter 10: Want❤️‍🔥

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #the night shift #a taste of plums #Shadowheart #Karlach #lae'zel #gale dekarios #bg3 scratch #astarion fic #astarion longfic #bg3 longfic #bg3 re-telling

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bhaalbabebardlock · 2 months

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Writing Masterpost

I have a lot of ~feelings~ about having to shift my pinned post from my long fic after almost three months. I'm shocked that I've started writing other things, but here we are. 🫣✨

The OCs of My Stories

~If it isn't a one shot, it has its own masterpost in addition to being listed here~

Daisies | Wasteland

Nature's Gifts | Hand That Feeds

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Messages | AO3

Writer's Discord | Dead Dove Discord

All BG3 related writing, summaries, and links below the cut!

Longfics

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Daisies On My Nightstand (AO3)

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(I stopped regularly updating chapters here since the fic has gotten so long, but there's background information/pictures of Ilara and some chapters were posted here originally!)

This is my longfic! It is so long. It is my baby. It is now longer than return of the king somehow. It has too many tropes, it has a slow burn romance, it has dark romance. There is Raphael and Gortash and Astarion and Shadowheart and. A lot. I mean a lot. I update chapters daily on a semi regular/consistent schedule. Please please be mindful of tags and chapter notes!

Summary:

The story of a Bhaal-Spawn who only ever wanted to be free.

Ilara would do anything for the people she loves, having never been freely allowed to do so before- including killing her past, denouncing her God, and damning 7,000 souls. Can she save herself, let alone anyone else?

--story has finished first half, see below for second half--

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The Wasteland Crown (AO3)

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Ilara started out wanting her own freedom, and continuously sacrificed it to save the people she cares for- somehow always fumbling everything in the process.

Was it worth it?

Can she save any of them still?

Can she even save herself?

-- the second and final half of the story about a Bhaal-spawn who is only trying to figure out what freedom, choices, power, and love even mean.--

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Nature's Gifts on AO3

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Self indulgent filthy smut that was supposed to be a one shot and now isn't. Tadpole smut and something going on with both Astarion and Gale and the weird little druid they're hanging out with. 😌

Unlike my other long fic, this is unlikely to be updated DAILY but will be updated often.

Major tags (others on AO3): m/f, m/f/m, inappropriate use of tadpoles, smut that grew feelings and plot

Summary:

If you're all stuck with these tadpoles anyway, is there really any harm in seeing what they can do?

She let her mind wander, finding herself aggravated more than anything when those thoughts turned to Astarion, to the way his lips had brushed against her ear. She let out an agitated breath as she thought of how he felt laying on top of her, his mouth against her pulse a few nights ago. The way she felt him trying to still his hips against hers, it was just a taste after all. It was just one bite. It's not like any clothes came off. And it certainly hasn't happened again.

But what if it did?

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Tandem on AO3

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A series of one shots told in no specific order about my evil durge, Lili(th) and her sole companion, Astarion. Some will be fluff, some will be smut, some will just be unhinged probably. This won't update often but they'll be around 💕

Major tags (more to be added): blood drinking, canon typical violence, eventually there will be more.

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The Hand That Feeds

Summary: After throwing the Karsus Crown into the Chionthar at the risk of losing her sanity, Lili has only Astarion to keep her grounded. Until she's kidnapped by someone that she held hands with, once, months ago.

Important tags: toxic Gale, creepy/yandere gale, god!Gale, asc!astarion, kidnapping, non-con, forced love

AO3 Link | Masterpost

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✨One Shots✨ (all nsfw)

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Ruin

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Full story on AO3

One shot, single chapter; 3,859 Words. Reader x Astarion;

Important tags: major character death warning, sad smut, explicit, F/M

Summary:

Five years after walking away from The Vampire Ascendant and everything he offered to you, you've returned to stop him from wreaking havoc on Baldur's Gate. That turns out to be harder than you think.

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The End

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Full Story on AO3

One shot, single chapter; 3,118 words

Tags: major character death warning, smut, F/F

Summary:

Second person Shadowheart POV.

After taking her place as Bhaal's chosen, your lover decided at the last moment to destroy the crown and give up her claim. You have one last night together.

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Weakness

One shot (so far, I might add more eventually); 1,286 words. Was done for a prompt, the prompt is revealed at the end.

Summary:

Astarion POV, first person.

Tav has come to find you in Baldur's Gate after disappearing years ago. Why?

"That would be showing a weakness, a vulnerability that I can longer afford. If it was ever something I could have afforded to begin with. Arguably, it hadn't been. She wormed her way between the cracks of my defenses, not even realizing what she was doing until it was too late. Until I was too far gone to stop her. "

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#fanfic #bg3 fanfic #masterpost #fanfic masterpost #my writing #bg3 fic #astarion smut #durgetash #gortash #astarion #bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 longfic #baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate 3

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tieflingsfingers · 17 days

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Fic Masterlist

Started this campaign re-write as an exercise of getting back into fiction writing. Currently a longfic, but I'm sure I'll venture out eventually. Lots of character development and study.

The adventures of Thomasin, Astarion, Wyll, and Karlach. A slow burn Astarion romance, but also the whole gang has their own part of the journey to Baldur's Gate. Follows a 45 year old half-drow bard, her unintentional search for found family, and being forced to confront past loss.

Ao3 Account Link

Chapter 1: Fall From Her Grace (prologue intro, to be written)

Chapter 2: Exquisite Corpse

(vauge horror/humor/seed planting of fluff) First bloodletting encounter re-written, two elves absolutely fumbling.

Chapter 3: Foraging for Ripened Fruit

(18+ soft dom Astar, complicated feelings, fling in the forest) Astarion catches up with Thomasin while she forages for food, reminds her of the bet she lost.

Chapter 4: Tarnished Feathers for Eilistraee

(angst/comfort, rewrite of Mirkon/harpy side-quest, OC lore on past traumas, child loss, and unsavory partners) The gang fails to save a tiefling boy from harpies. Astarion realizes he isn't sure if he knows how to console Thomasin.

Chapter 5: The Feminine Barbaric

(humor/mild fluff, headcanon side event in grove) Thomasin encourages Alfira to put on show to lift spirits of the grove. Wyll and Karlach roast Astarion. Remira and Aradin prove how petty they can get.

Chapter 6: Counterfeit Evereskan Jewel

(the gang hangs out, interpersonal conflict, mirror scene re-write, OC lore on unsafe homesteads, past friends, and moral values) The gang finds themselves in a Zhent hideout, Astarion lashes out over his reflection being gone, Wyll and Karlach learn about the little blue tiefling that could.

Chapter 7: Unwoven and Triple Knotted

(18+ soft dom Astar, mirror scene re-write, bickering, conflict resolution over previous chapter) Thomasin tries to be Astarion's mirror, teaches him about the ribbon around her neck, and the two navigate the muddy waters that is intimacy. Two hands muffling echoes in a cave are better than one.

Chapter 8: Karlach and the Great Pumpkin

(humor/fluff in the name of Karlach's inner child, re-write of goblin/owlbear maze side quest) Karlach plans a way to rescue the owlbear cub. Astarion ventures off to thin out the herd. Wyll and Thomasin put on their stoic faces for the goblins.

Chapter 9: Dried, Pressed, and Powdered

(rewrite of Gandrel and Astar's encounter in act 1. violence, anxious folks, light humor) The gang takes a different route from the goblin camp and runs into Gandrel. Thomasin tries to diffuse the situation by feigning feminine ignorance, but knows Astarion has his own ideas.

Chapter 10: Studies of a Dead Language

(navigating feelings and past traumas. angst/comfort after Gandrel altercation. minor bloodletting)

Astarion distances himself at camp while Wyll and Karlach spend the night settling in. When Thomasin checks on him, she realizes how dysregulated and dissociative he's become.

Chapter 11-20: Currenly being written/already mapped out

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spacesunderstairs · 5 months

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Under the Sussur Tree

Read Under the Sussur Tree on AO3

Summary: In a sleepy village on the Savage Frontier, a reclusive drow woman spends her days teaching a farmer's son how to play the flute. But when a nautiloid appears in the sky, the quiet life she's built for herself is thrown into chaos. Alone and infected with a mindflayer parasite, she is determined to find her student before she turns: even if that means she must forge alliances with the strange group of survivors she finds along the way.

Genre: Adventure / Drama / Slow Burn Romance (Astarion x Tav). Contains spoilers for Act 1 of Baldur's Gate 3, though isn't a 100% exact retelling.

Rating: Mature

I don't normally do a lot of self promotion stuff (I much prefer to use tumblr for finding fanart + shitposting) but decided I'd throw this up here in case anyone is interested. Whev if not, I am cringe and I am free.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate fic #baldurs gate fanfic #under the sussur tree #bg3 longfic #baldurs gate 3 longfic #fic: under the sussur tree #astarion x tav #astarion x oc

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nyda-the-tav · 1 month

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Latest Sleep Deprivation is posted!

Chapter 50: Swan's Song

Shit is going down. Things are tense!! Let us know what you think 💕 What was your favourite part? We live for your comments.

Sleep Deprivation is a named good!Tav x Gortash porn with plot fic. Lots of struggles for our evil tyrant as he clings to his spiteful Banite ways.

A blend of emotions and humour! (and smut)

Here's a link to chapter 1 if you're a new reader. Mind the tags! It's explicit 🔞 and comments on old chapters make our day.

#BG3 fic: Sleep Deprivation #tavtash #tavtash fic #gortav #tav: ophelia #tav oc #enver gortash #bg3 #gortash #gortash fic #bg3 smut #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #storm sorcerer #elf tav #bg3 longfic

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teamdilf · 4 months

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The next chapter of A Boy with a Sweet Smile and Silver Blue Eyes is now up!

Jan leaves school and heads to Baldur's Gate through the former shadow-cursed lands, and finds himself kidnapped and held in the House of Healing.

More time goes by and he still receives nothing more than sips of water. Days chained to the bed; not even freed to relieve himself or to stand up. While he cannot tell the time in this room, he’s figured out that the cultists work on a 12 hour rotation, so he knows when a full day has gone by when the first set of guards returns to relieve the second set. Based on this calculation, he estimates three more days have passed.

“You’re such a sick boy,” one of the masked captors coos. “We’ll heal you.”

To a Sharran, “healing” apparently means “doling out a miserable death”.

“I decline. Politely,” he says through gritted teeth. The woman back hands him so hard his vision goes black and he hits his head against the side railing of his bed. His last thought before falling asleep is that he hopes the knock to the head has broken his brain and that he won’t wake up.

#astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion x oc #oc x astarion #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #j's fics #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #Petra Silverscale #Jan Silverscale #bg3 longfic

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tcfactory · 7 months

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As fun as it is when people write the Emperor as someone who has his shit together and functions as An Excellent Specimen of a Mindflayer, this alien mastermind who can act like a mentor for illiThav, I have a fondness for the Emperor as like

this absolute wreck of a person.

Mindflayers are supposed to stay with their colony for like 20+ years to learn All The Things Mindflayer and we know Ansur stole him away long before that (I think he said 12 or 13 years). And then put him through what was meant to be cult deprogramming, but probably was just an unfortunate mixture of torture (mental isolation and I can see a measure of starvation added to it) and instilling every insecurity known to man. Guilting the squid not to act squiddy wasn't very effective on the long run, but it sure must have been traumatizing - might even be the reason why the Emperor made such a decisive cut between his old and new identity. We don't know how long Ansur tried before he gave up, but probably quite a few years, dragon sounded like the stubborn sort.

So we have 1. possibly not fully socialized/introduced to the culture in its fullest and 2. some years of being forced to act as close to his old human personality as possible to placate Ansur. 3. continued social isolation where he only interacts with humanoid races, often indirectly at that.

So I like the idea that as the result of all of that he's not really pretending when we meet him properly, he's Just Like That. Not the part about being on top of things, gods know people wrote stories about how he talked his way out of all sorts of nonsense with pure bullshit, he could probably sell beachfront property in the Hells if he tried. Just, his personality and mannerisms as an ungodly mixture halfway between illithid and human, he's just the weirdest squid. Not human anymore, no, but acting and thinking overall too human compared to other mindflayers and he might not even be fully aware of it because he's been isolated from his kind for the last several hundred years. Even post-Absolute he might not know how weird he is, I somehow can't see the elderbrain reintegrating him into the colony when he's clearly defective. Say thank you to Gortash for being curious about his business rival or the Emperor would be past tense.

Anyway, I really like Weird Squid Emperor and I want to put him in a room with Omeluum so nerd squid can take notes and be amazed at this trashfire of an illithid, I think that would be a cool scene actually.

#baldur's gate 3 #balduran #the emperor #bg3 #sorry about the random rant this squid moved into my brain and refuses to leave #it's a problem I'm writing a longfic about it

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sky-kiss · 6 months

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A/N: Blatant Asmodeus propaganda. After betraying Raphael in the HoH to save Baldur's Gate, they steal his corpse back from Meph and entreat Asmodeus. Also. A Dracula gif. To push my agenda.

Raph x GN!Tav: A Pact Struck, A Contract Sealed

Ages have passed, and empires have risen and fallen since a mortal last attempted to bind his Aspect. Asmodeus feels a tickling in the back of his psyche, barely a drag at his near-infinite energy. His awareness fragments and then shifts, searching for the source of the petition. The words come second, the feelings first.

Desperation. Pain. A soul-deep grief. Physical hurt, too, but it's a stinging afterthought. The Lord of the Nine Hells cocks his head to the side, eyes closed. They are petitioning his avatar. They whisper in the darkness. A chill winter breeze howls around them, bowing the branches of dead trees. How fitting, he thinks, that this little creature should surround itself with such things. They wear death like a shroud.

He is not in the habit of entertaining such low-hanging fruit…but there is a touch of something in their desperation, a sweetness Asmodeus has not sampled in many years. It amuses him. And he is not above indulging his amusement—the Archdevil motions with his right hand, passing a fraction of his awareness to the Aspect. The darkness of his throne room fades in favor of a moonlit night—the sickly sweet tang of blood colors the air.

Ah, and there is his petitioner. They sit with their back pressed to an ancient white birch, skin badly frostbitten. Cania's stink lingers across their skin, brimstone and hellfire marrying together. They curl around their prize, clutching a badly mangled figure to their chest. Asmodeus hums, kneeling. Its wings are broken. So many bones shattered.

"Tell me, child." His voice is low and pleasant in the chill air, a warmth chasing along the baritone. "Do you know whose name you have called? The attention you would court?"

They nod, grip tightening on their prince. Tears cut through the mess of dirt on their skin. Crying, he thinks, and what a charming little oddity. Who shed tears for a devil? How curious. How delightful. "Lord Asmodeus, Prince of the Darkness. Lord of Lies."

"Indeed, I am. Pretty titles, aren't they?"

"I thought…" they catch themselves. Asmodeus notes the tremor in their right hand and the way they struggle to stay upright. His presence is overpowering at the best of times; the wounded little creature is fighting valiantly not to succumb to darkness, mind breaking under the weight of his Aspect's attention.

"My apologies, little one. It has been some since I treated with your kind. Allow me." He reaches out with one clawed hand, tapping his nail to the center of their forehead. The ward will protect them from the worst of it. They blink at him. "Continue, please."

Their right hand tightens in the corpse's dark hair. "My Lord, I had hoped to make a deal with you. I know…I am beneath your attention…"

"Most are. The benefit of being a god, I suppose. But it has never stopped me in the past."

Despite themself, they smile. Shuffling, the adventurer turns their burden outwards. Though badly burned, cheekbones shattered, he recognizes the features—so much of the father in the son, an agony to both parties. Mephistopheles' boy stares blankly forward—a hollow shell of himself, a waste of potential.

It pains the Prince to see so promising a resource wasted.

"I made a mistake. I…" they swallow. "There was something that had to be done. And it came at a cost. Raphael…”

"The boy is known to me, child. If I may?" They hesitate. Asmodeus forces his temper down, the air around them heating. He is a god and not in the habit of being denied. But the Hero of Baldur's Gate relents, shifting their burden into his arms. The Lord of the Ninth cups his hand over the pretender-king's mouth, his forehead. Asmodeus shuts his eyes. "Such a waste."

"Can you help him?"

"Do you doubt me, little one?" They shift back, dropping their eyes at the sharpness of his tone—a warning, barely veiled. "Mephistopheles has devoured that which he gave—the infernal. The mortal soul…is uncontested. Lost somewhere in Avernus. It could be located…for a price."

"Anything."

Asmodeus chuckles. He is not ignorant of the sudden rush of color in the little creature's cheeks or how the sound makes them avert their eyes. This guise is pleasant, after all, tall and angular and dark. The wind catches in the blackness of his hair, the long strands falling well below his shoulders. "How dearly naive. I've half a mind to take advantage of such generosity." They shiver under the force of his stare, reality undoubtedly going dark around the edges. He hums. "But…the alternative could prove a more pleasurable distraction still."

The Lord of the Ninth stands, holding out his hand. The hero, Tav, sets their palm in his. He helps them to their feet, settling his other hand on their shoulders. So close, he can feel the weight of their exhaustion and desperation rolling off them, an ambrosia. The depth of their affection for the boy-king. Interesting and useful. Asmodeus touches their cheek.

"I will treat with you, little one, and more fairly than I ought. Your dear one's potential: a few more centuries, a stern hand, and Raphael might have made a powerful piece on the board. His sire is…" Asmodeus tapped his chin. "Increasingly irrelevant. Immutable and tiresome."

Tav stares up at him, such a little thing. And there is potential there, too, the ability to warp and mold this boy-king into something suitable to his grand design. He touches their cheek with a claw. "I will give the means to locate Raphael's soul. In retrieving it, you will prove your worth and dedication. I have no use for the faint of heart. Is this clear?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Clever pet, very clever." He smiles, chucking them under the chin. "You bring the boy to my court in Nessus, where he shall be given the means to decide his fate. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

What an amusing twist of fate. He bends, collecting the Prince's mangled body in his arms. Tav looks ready to protest, to fight for their dear one (and again, how delightful; Asmodeus cannot help but feel charmed), only to remember what precisely stands before them: a god in truth, the Lord of all the Nine Hells. Asmodeus smiles at them, bowing his head. "I shall keep him for you, little one. You have my oath. Collect his soul, and we will meet again."

He leaves them without another word, a touch of the dramatic, a hint of mystery to whet their palette. Asmodeus inspects the corpse in his arm.

Sweet Prince, broken and bloodied.

Asmodeus will make him whole again.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #d & d asmodeus #asmodeus #my writing #bg3 fanfiction #longfic #by tumblr standards #Tav: i sacrificed my loved for the greater good #Asmodeus: Cool story fam would you like to go on a quest to get him back? We stan some love. Like. For my own gain but.#raphael x durge #Gonna fight the desire to make this a whole ass story lol

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halsinsnaturepocket · 1 month

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Astarion girlies, would it be a reach to write him having a bit of Claustrophobia?

I feel like after he spent a year trapped barely alive in a coffin, he'd have just a touch of claustrophobia or a fear of being in any sort of small confined space.

I've been thinking a lot about how in an early version of the game you originally had to roll persuasion to get Astarion out of the pod because he was afraid of the sun....and the possibility of him being just....out of his mind terrified when you find him ((much like when you find a feral cat in a dangerous situation and you have to calm them down to take care of them))

i just think its interesting to entertain the idea of him waking up from the nautilod crash in a pod alone freaking out bc he has to choose between being burned alive by the sun ((bc he doesnt know it wont hurt him yet)) or feeling the crushing walls of a mindflayer pod crushing around him and then he breaks out, realizes the sun isn't hurting him, and sees Tav and freaks the hell out and attacks them because he's just Confused and Scared

#is this anything?#im gunna write it anyway #bg3 #astarion #astarion headcanons #carm rambles #shut up carm #carms longfic writing process #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #astarion analysis

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lumienyx · 6 months

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Why did your Tav fall?

@spacebarbarianweird thank you for the tag💙 the words just seem to never end when I write about my Tav's Feelings™️ so here goes

Tav has never quite fallen that far in love with anyone before. His one true love has always been sorcery. Adventures. Freedom. His friends. And so, the experiences with the few lovers he's had over his life seemed like nothing compared to what he feels for Astarion.

It starts as idle curiosity. The pale, sharp-tongued elf who calls himself Astarion is the first of Tav's companions to hint at possibly controlling their tadpoles instead of extracting and destroying them on the spot. Tav is ever one to experiment—and so the way Astarion's mind works is what he immediately loves about him.

Always the one with a creative witty comeback, always coming up with cunning ways to solve a problem, disarm a trap, break into the most guarded of places. Half the group is mortified at the idea of grabbing the Necromancy of Thay, yet Astarion encourages Tav to take it. And then gets so engrossed and excited by its possibilities once Tav decides to give it to him instead of keeping it; he was never one for death spells anyway.

The both of them make quite the team.

Yet for all of Astarion's boldness and confidence, Tav senses the fear. Not just through their Illithid connection, but in the little things Astarion lets slip. When Astarion's hands shake barely perceptibly and his eyes stare at places planes away. When he clenches his fists so hard the nails break skin which mends itself lightning-fast with vampiric regeneration... but Tav notices.

Astarion tells him more too, eventually. But their connection is what gives the most insight. The vision he gets when they first meet, the glimpse that night Astarion tries to drink his blood, the accidental connections since—and those on purpose, as they learn and trust each other enough to use their mind-link for tactical communications on the battlefield. Every time Tav touches upon Astarion's mind there's fear, raw and ugly and ever-present, scratching away at his chest and making it so hard to breathe even as he reminds himself that I don't need to breathe I don't need to I don't need—

Tav wants to protect him.

Even as he sees though Astarion's pretty words and the poetics he uses to manipulate Tav into trusting him, he goes along with it headfirst, unsure of what he's hoping for but hoping for something. Even if it's just to be with Astarion for the time-being. Just to help, in what little way Tav can, just with his company, with his words, with his care.

Tav promises to help him defeat Cazador. Whatever it takes. He will bask in the moment he can Disintegrate that crooked smirk from Cazador's face that keeps haunting Astarion's meditations. He will relish how Astarion kills him, makes him hurt for all the pain of two centuries twofold.

Tav needs to protect him, at some point, it simply crosses the bounds of a simple desire to protect anyone he calls friend.

Tav wants him safe, wants him happy. Wants to find more and more reasons to keep Astarion smiling with that beautiful, sun-bright smile that lights up his eyes. Eyes that stare past Tav less and less as time goes on—and begin to look more directly at him, seeing him.

And Tav sees Astarion in turn.

Sees that brilliant mind, the mischief, the love he has for pure, unadulterated fun. The lust for freedom, power, adventure. The quiet longing for companionship and the silent need to uncover his full potential.

It's at the point when Tav figures out he can use the tadpole to project the image of Astarion's face to him that their minds connect stronger, deeper than they've ever had before.

Such deafening emotion flows from Astarion then, overwhelming Tav, drowning him. Confusion, shock, relief, joy, elation, hope—it all crashes down on both of them and ends up in a passionate kiss that leaves Astarion giddy and Tav weak in the knees.

Tav thinks then, how much he loves this, this kiss, this closeness. Loves being with Astarion and maybe loves—

Tav razes the thought right there on the spot. Too soon, too foolish, not true—how could he ever even tell if he's never even felt that before?

But that's when Tav falls and keeps falling inevitably deeper into that blissful abyss of a novel emotion. He doesn't dare hope Astarion ends there in love with him—but, miraculously, he does.

No pressure tags if you want to write about why your Tav fell for Astarion (or any other companion/character!):

@ellekhen @tallymonster @satanicspinosaurus @astariondisapproves @astarions-fangs @thedreamlessnights @justporo @tigers-pat and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in💙

#astarion x tav #astarion x male tav #bg3 astarion #write your tav #sorry this is so long i have lots of feelings #just like Tav lksjaklfjsd #lowkey spoiling my longfic lol #but maybe no one who reads it will read this so it's okay #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3

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lavenderfluorite14 · 4 months

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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Summary: Free from his master’s vampiric thrall for the first time in 200 years, Astarion’s mind, body, and heart war with each other over how to seize and solidify his precious, and precarious, newfound freedom. Luckily, Tav’s there to help. Or perhaps ruin all his carefully laid plans. Multi-chapter longfic.

Rating: 18+, Explicit Content, Porn with a lot of plot and a lot of feelings ❤️‍🔥

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angstarion, Astarion Character Study and everything that entails, PTSD, Descriptive Explorations of Emotional and Sexual Trauma, Manipulators to Lovers, Vampire Sex, Blood Kink, Blood Drinking, Grinding, Unresolved Sexual Tension. Tav is CIS female and a bard. Full tag list on AO3.

A/N: As a veteran vampire fucker, Astarion really is something special. Will be updating every two weeks. This will be messy in the best way possible.

Read on AO3 Chapter 2❤️‍🔥. Chapter 3❤️‍🔥. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7❤️‍🔥. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10❤️‍🔥.

❤️‍🔥=Smut

Chapter 1: Bite

Somehow, Astarion was watching the sun set. This simple moment, which the rest of his companions almost certainly took for granted, was a miracle to him. He had resigned himself to endless night a century ago, yet now here he was basking in a sunset like it was nothing. He stared at the fading sun until he couldn’t anymore, until his retinas burned and the last languid finger of light finally dipped below the horizon, abandoning Faerûn to a soft, somber twilight. Each precious, fleeting day was a gift and Astarion intended to feast on each one down to the marrow.

Somehow, Cazador Szarr had once again failed to find him. For 200 years his master had ruled Astarion’s waking moments with an iron fist. And then a small, wriggling little worm had miraculously interrupted Cazador’s vampiric hold on him. Imagine, a vampire lord losing to a worm. Astarion could die, again, of laughter. Yet even here, two weeks out from The Gate, Astarion felt his Master’s phantom eyes on him. He didn’t understand it but Astarion wasn’t a fool: he knew his time was limited. It was only a matter of whether the Mindflayers or Cazador would catch up to him first. Neither option was particularly good but the choice was easy, if he had one: he’d do anything, absolutely anything, to keep from returning to the Szarr Palace.

As the camp settled in for the night Astarion pantomimed preparing for bed, a routine he knew he was fumbling clumsily through. The night had been for hunting, seducing, fucking, killing. It had never been for relaxing. For reading. For chatting idly with people he wasn’t planning on stabbing in the back. For now at least. He knew they’d have no qualms about stabbing him, should they discover his condition. Even so, he had meditated more these last few nights than he had in decades. It cleared his mind a little, but it did nothing to calm the dread he carried in his bones. Nor did it assuage his gnawing hunger.

So far, none of his companions appeared to have figured out Astarion’s little secret. He watched each one of them carefully, scouring their faces, voices, and bodies for the smallest micro-expressions of suspicion. Karlach, Hell’s Above, didn’t seem to have much going on upstairs, a genuine blessing. Lae’Zel was too focused on reaching her blasted crèche to spare him a second glance, thank the gods. She could easily skewer him if she felt like it. Shadowheart was too busy guarding her own secrets to pry into his, although she could be oddly perceptive at times. Gale only stopped talking when he had his nose in a book, but he was still the resident wizard and needed to be watched should his, alleged, considerable intellect decide to return to him. The fact that Wyll hadn’t noticed was in itself suspicious, but perhaps the famous Blade of Frontiers wasn’t half the monster hunter he thought he was. Maybe Astarion could survive this after all.

And then there was Tav. Responsible, pretty, annoying, Tav. She had become the de facto leader of this ragtag tragedy, which was perfectly fine with Astarion. He did his best work from the shadows anyway. Tav spent her days settling their squabbles and running after every single irrelevant quest they were given like a dog after a ball. She was clearly too distracted, and too tired he often saw, to notice that he was more than he let on. Perfect.

Astarion wasn’t used to going unnoticed. He had accidentally drawn Cazador’s ire numerous times by simply existing. He had tried to fade into the background countless times, but Cazador’s cruel eye was always drawn to him. “Go on boy, do the only thing you’re good for.”

Well, he wasn’t completely unnoticed. He felt the way Tav’s eyes roved over him when she thought he wasn’t looking, felt her pulse hammering in her throat when they spoke to each other. She didn’t say anything and neither did he, but it was nice to know that he was still alluring even when disgustingly unwashed.

Astarion had the patience of a centuries old predator. Despite the ache behind his fangs, he waited until he could pick out the gentle snores of each one of his companions, not moving until Lae’Zel had made her 15th loop around their camp’s perimeter, which was more than enough time for her to lose herself in the banality of the night’s watch. He’d have to be quick, but he knew what he was hunting for: he had picked up on the heartbeat of a boar hours ago. It wasn’t a sound per se, but more of a pulse he felt in his gut. He honed in on its tantalizing rhythm, allowing himself to be drawn down through the forest and up back onto the road where the beast snuffled for food along the path. Easy.

His muscles tensed. His mind went blank. He slid through the night and tackled the boar, ripping into its neck with a savage bite. The boar thrashed against him but Astarion bit down harder, tearing into the beast’s jugular with a bloody squelch. It collapsed under him and Astarion brutally pinned it to the ground. He gulped down mouthfuls of blood so big that they hurt his throat as he swallowed. As he drank, he could feel the boar’s jerks become weaker and weaker, until its death throes were merely twitches. When there was no more blood, Astarion released his jaw and rolled away, gasping in the dirt as a wave of nausea engulfed him. He thought he was going to be sick. It was the most blood he had drunk in one sitting in 200 years and it sat heavy and bloating in his stomach. He was full. Satisfied? No. But he was full.

But even the fresh spoils of victory grow bland. His palate wasn’t made for beasts. He wanted something finer, something richer. Still, a boar was leagues better than a rat. But he knew, had known for some time, that his body needed more than animal blood to be truly nourished. It needed the blood of thinking creatures.

What would happen if he grew too weak, too feeble to fight? Would this merry band of would-be heroes leave him behind, alone in the wilderness for Cazador to find, if he couldn’t keep up? He would never go back. He’d die first.

You could do it, you know, a dark inner voice whispered to him. Why don’t you have a taste of your new friends?

No. He forced that impulse down. He was a vampire spawn, but he was not a monster. Were they frustrating? Deeply. But these indifferent strangers had been kinder to him than anyone had been in centuries, kinder than anyone who had actually known him. He would not risk whatever precarious piece of safety he had for a quick meal. He’d blow his cover. They’d hate him. They’d kill him. It was the only course of action that made sense once he was discovered. Which was only a matter of time.

Despite everything, his master’s old orders still echoed dully in his mind: Thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures. He didn’t know if he could bite them, even if he wanted to. Cazador had forbidden it.

Astarion slipped back into his bedroll unnoticed, mission complete. He wasn’t tired, was too wired from the hunt and from the day’s fighting to truly rest, but he knew he needed to meditate if he was going to be of any use tomorrow. If he was going to continue fooling them into thinking he wasn’t a monster hiding in their midst. Rolling onto his side, he caught sight of Tav fast asleep in her tent, the flap carelessly unlatched. Tav, who had readily forgiven him after he had threatened to slit her throat. Tav, who looked but never touched. Tav, whose opinion and guidance seemed to matter the most to everyone in camp. Astarion sunk into deep reverie.

“It’s dead, my friend. Are you really going to gawk at every piece of carrion you find?”

Astarion could flay himself. He hadn’t bothered to hide his kill from the other night because who seriously cared, there were dead beasts all over the forest, and of course Tav had quite literally stumbled over its exsanguinated remains. Crouching down to examine his kill, she pored over the corpse with thorough precision. He was dead. He was so dead unless he did something.

“Darling,” Astarion began, positioning himself right behind Tav, unsure what he was going to do but moving just to move. At the same moment Tav stood up and took a step backward, crashing into him. For a moment their bodies were completely flush, her back against his chest, her peachy bottom cushioned against his groin. Astarion reflexively reached out to place his hands on her hips, but Tav jolted forward and out of his grasp.

“Sorry!” She gasped, flushing a delicious rosy shade. She pointedly averted her eyes.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Astarion purred. Tav dared a glance up at him and he flashed her an easy smirk. “Are you completely satisfied?” He asked, layering the question thick with innuendo. “There are much better things we could be doing. Shall we go now?”

Somehow, Tav turned even redder. “It’s definitely odd, but a dead pig isn’t the weirdest thing we’ve seen so far,” she conceded.

“No, it’s not. It doesn’t even place in the Top 50 on this little adventure,” Astarion quipped. Tav laughed at that, a quick mirthful giggle. “I’m sorry, everyone. Let’s keep moving.” Tav hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Astarion for the briefest of moments, but she quickly continued onward, surging forward towards the head of the group. Astarion breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She had apparently noticed nothing.What a cute, malleable little idiot. ~~

The idea had occurred to him before, that second night underneath the stars. Back when he had thought that their little adventure might actually be over soon. Which had meant that Cazador’s punishments would be imminent. He had wondered aloud if their adventure may actually end the next day and Tav had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, “It doesn’t have to, we could keep traveling together.” Such a sweet gesture had stirred something in him. The others hadn’t seemed keen on him, nor on each other for that matter. But Tav was kind. Giving. She was already giving him safety by letting him travel with her. What else would she give him, if he played his cards right?

Would she let him drink from her? He was ravenous. He imagined her soft and pliant underneath him, arching her neck, begging for his bite. Astarion was dizzy at the thought of such submission to him, such power over her. He tried to imagine what she would taste like but his brain couldn’t supply an answer. If Cazador had forbidden it then humanoid blood must be delicious.

But why would she help him? No one offered help for free, especially not to a vampire spawn. Even kind, giving Tav also benefited from their traveling arrangement. And his safety in this little arrangement was only tenuous at best. If he didn’t want to be staked on sight, he’d have to sweeten the deal somehow.

He knew how, but something inside of him had hesitated that night. Now, he could kick himself. How many times had he seduced and in turn allowed himself to be seduced? He was a professional, this should mean nothing to him by now. At least Tav was pretty. Flustering her had been both useful and fun. He had certainly done worse. And after today, he was beginning to suspect that Tav may actually like him, just a little.

But still. He was free for the first time in centuries. Did he really want to spend his precious moments of freedom on his back again? Was this really all he was good for?

He just needed some time to think, he would figure this out.~~

Unfortunately, the rest of his cohort were not as amenable as Tav. Today Tav had chosen himself, Lae’Zel, and Shadowheart to explore the nearby forest, which made for a particularly sullen group. Unnerved by his close call yesterday, Astarion realized that he had to acquire more allies….make friends, as it were. Gods. He hadn’t made a real, genuine friend in centuries. The last time he had tried hung heavily in his heart.

Astarion knew that he was profoundly unlikeable. He had been told so many times. There was only one good thing about him, one thing he was good at and only one thing anyone wanted from him, so naturally he would lead with that. He was already working Tav. Lae’Zel was powerful and would make an excellent ally, but Astarion decided to let her come to him. She seemed the type who liked to do the conquering. Gale was a strong option but he was still pining over his goddess and Wyll would probably want to get married first. As appealing as they both were, he needed allies now. And Karlach was literally untouchable, which derailed the entire plan. That left the mysterious Shadowheart.

Drifting to the back of the group, he began poring over the many lines he had used throughout the decades to charm and flatter his targets. Shadowheart acted cold, but Astarion could tell that she was hiding some softness underneath it all. Perhaps he could coax it out of her with the right words, if he indicated that he saw the real her beneath the facade. Adopting a pensive air, Astarion smoothly sidled up her.

“Shadowheart. Such a dark name for such a delicate flower,” he said softly. He tilted his head to a thoughtful angle, trying to catch her eye with his sad, smoldering gaze. Shadowheart shot him an icy glare.

“I heard you practicing that back there. Next time, keep your pick-up lines to yourself.”

Ahead of them, Tav choked on a laugh. “Better you than I,” Lae’Zel scoffed. “If he had tried that on me, I would have ripped his tongue from his mouth.” Astarion audibly gulped and drifted far away from his hostile companions. Tav shot him a sympathetic glance. “Yeesh, tough crowd,” she said. Astarion snorted. “Some people have no taste,” he said. Tav laughed, but Astarion still kept his hands to himself for the rest of the day.

He knew it would happen, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon.

“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.”

Cazador was here. Cazador had found him and by the gods, Cazador knew all of Astarion’s new transgressions.

“I’m sorry, Master! I was kidnapped, I had no choice!” Astarion whipped around, crying out into the darkness. The darkness said:

“Second. Thou shalt obey me in all things.”

Which he hadn’t done. He had flagrantly disobeyed. Who would obey such cruel demands unless they were forced to?

“Third. Thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.”

He hadn’t meant to, he had been abducted! He didn’t choose any of this! But Astarion knew that Cazador didn’t care about that. “Please, not again,” he begged, knowing that it didn’t matter what he said.

“Fourth. Thou shalt know that thou art mine, you pathetic little worm.”

Astarion jolted awake, tossing off his bedroll with a shout. The campfire burned steadily, casting off the shadows of night. The deep supernatural darkness of his dreams was gone. His companions lay by the fire and in their tents, somehow still asleep despite his pitiful cry.

Cazador wasn’t here. Cazador was back in Baldur’s Gate and he was in the middle of the wilderness. He wasn’t going to be flayed. Yet. But it was only a matter of time. Cazador would be furious that Asatrion had somehow slipped off of his tight little leash. And worse, Cazador would be jealous when he discovered that Astarion could walk in the sun and he could not.

It dawned on Astarion: he can walk in the sun. He can cross streams. He can enter houses without permission. The tadpole had disrupted so much of his biology already. Perhaps it had fully broken Cazador’s hold. Maybe he could disobey completely. In every way.

He had gone to bed hungry that night. The boar had been too close a call for comfort. And he hadn’t been able to secure additional protection. Astarion had starved for centuries, he thought he could keep himself in check. But the promise of feeding on what he truly craved finally made his hunger unbearable.

He scanned the camp, taking in his companions sleeping forms. So relaxed. So unsuspecting. Who would have the honor of being his first thinking meal? Almost immediately his eyes found Tav, who was curled up by the fire. The flames flickered over her fine features, her beautiful skin. Shadows danced down the length of her neck, disappearing into the valley of her breasts, their round tops peaking shyly out from her loose camp shirt. He had never seen her so accidentally exposed, so vulnerable before. He had to taste her. She would be delicious, he just knew it. His body was moving of its own accord, drawn to her. Bending down beside her, Astarion ghosted his face across her neck, instinctively finding the intoxicating pulse of her heart beat. He bared his fangs, running his tongue behind them. He would be quick, gentle. He only needed a taste, just needed a moment of her warmth. She was so-

“What are you doing?”

Astarion recoiled sharply as Tav sat up, suddenly awake. He swore audibly and withdrew, retreating back to the shadows. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he gasped. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.” Tav stared back at him, surprise and horror dawning slowly across her face. Astarion thought he saw the beginnings of disgust. “I just, I just needed-“ He had no idea what to say. There was no way out, he was caught. “Blood.” His admission hung strangely in the air between them. Then Tav began to put the pieces together, at last.

“You…are you a vampire?” She asked, incredulous.

“Not entirely. I’m a vampire spawn. But I only feed on beasts! Deer, kobolds-“

“Boars,” Tav supplied.

“…boars too.”

“I knew you were acting strangely yesterday,”

“I’ve just been so weak, so slow. If I had a bit of blood, I could think clearer, fight better.”

There’s a pulsing behind his eye and then Astarion’s mind is yanked backwards to the first time that Cazador had compelled him to eat a rat. He hadn’t wanted to, had begged Cazador not to make him do this, but while his mind resisted his body had obeyed Cazador’s sadistic order. And yet, he had been so hungry that he couldn’t be fully sure what he had done in vampiric thrall and what he had done for sheer survival. He had eaten many rats since then, but that first one had been particularly humiliating. And now Tav knew.

“You didn’t eat them by choice. You ate them because he made you.”

“Yes,” Astarion admitted bitterly. “I ate whatever vermin I was so generously allowed to eat. You’ll eat anything if you are hungry enough.” Tav’s eyes softened and Astarion saw pity shining in her gaze. His lip curled.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” She said.

“Would you have said yes?” He countered. “At best I thought you would say no. At worst, I thought you would drive a stake through my ribs.”

“I wouldn’t have done that, you’re my-“

“I’m your what, your friend?” Astarion sneered. “Vampire spawn have no friends. We’re created by monsters and the world sees us as monsters. Don’t patronize me, darling.” Astarion spat. Tav turned away, trying to hide her hurt in the flames of the campfire. Astarion regretted his outburst almost immediately. Pushing her away now could be fatal.

“And yet despite all that, I needed you to trust me.” He took a tentative step toward Tav, pitching his voice lower to a soft, seductive rumble. “And you can trust me. I swear it.”

“Strangely I do, I do trust you.” Tav’s voice was barely a breath, a whisper above the crackles of the flames. “I only meant that you’ve had numerous chances to kill me since the first attempt and you haven’t. You’ve even saved me a few times.” Astarion continued advancing.

“I’m glad, truly.” He said.

“And we still need each other.” Tav said this softly, sadly, as if she didn’t want to say it.

“We do indeed,” he agreed. “So, do you think you could trust me just a little bit further? In the spirit of needing each other?”

They were so close now. Tav turned towards him, the question in her gaze. He reached out and tucked a stray tendril of her hair behind her ear. “I only need a taste.” He allowed his finger tips to stray down the column of her neck. “I swear.” His mouth hovered over hers. Tav visibly shuddered underneath his ghostly touch. “Not a drop more than you need.” She said. So tough. So generous. “Of course, not one drop more.” He leaned in, his mouth above the shell of her ear. “Shall we make ourselves comfortable?” She nodded. Placing his hand on her hips, Astarion gently guided Tav downward onto her bedroll where he settled next to her, curling against her side.

“Will it hurt?” She asked. Her eyes were wide, her pupils yawning caverns. Astarion doubted that he looked any better. “I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he promised. He would try. He would try for her.

“I’m ready.” Tav bared her neck and closed her eyes, turning her face away. This was really happening.

Sliding his body over hers, Astarion lowered himself on top of her. Their bodies slotted together, her breasts pressing up into his chest, his pelvis settling down against her own. Astarion’s hand cradled her neck tenderly, cupping her chin in his lithe fingers. And then he struck, sinking his fangs quickly and precisely into her flesh.

Fresh lifeblood flooded over his tongue in hot, sweet spurts. She wasn’t delicious, she was exquisite. He pressed his lips fervently against her neck, desperate for more of her. His tongue lapped along her throat, seeking every rivulet of blood that escaped his lips. Tav’s gentle fingers came up to trace circles against his scalp and card between his curls. A warm shiver traveled down his spine and he groaned into her neck as he swallowed her down. Astarion mindlessly ground himself against her center and he realized with a surprise that he was hard.

“Astarion,” Tav gasped, her body arching up to meet his. His hand moved to her waist and began to slip underneath her camp shirt, gliding along her exposed flesh. He took a deep pull of blood from her, the deepest one yet.

“Wait, Astarion,” Tav’s voice was growing faint. A weak hand began to press against his shoulder and he immediately grasped it and forced it back down, harshly caging her in. He couldn’t stop. He would never let her go.

“Stop, please Astarion!” He heard how weak Tav’s voice sounded now and it finally broke the spell. He released her throat with a bloody gasp, forcing his body off of her.

Tav rolled over, clutching the ruin of her neck. She looked disheveled, debauched. A feast in every way. Astarion stood abruptly, reeling.

“That was amazing,” he whispered reverently. He was filled with an unfamiliar feeling. He felt light, strong. Brimming with energy. Astarion caught a trickle of her blood as it slid down his lips with a disbelieving finger. He licked it off with a slow thick swipe of his tongue, greedy for more of her. His desire for her was beginning to scare him.

“As delicious as you were, I need to find something more filling.” He spun on his heel but stopped himself from fleeing. He needed to leave before he seriously hurt her, but he didn’t like the thought of her crumpled and alone, used and then discarded. Like he had often been. She had placed her life in his hands for his comfort. He couldn’t ever remember receiving such a kindness before. He turned back to face her, still sprawled and heaving on her bedroll.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.” And then he was gone, striding confidently into the night.

He didn’t think he could hate Cazador more than he already did. But to finally savor such nourishing blood from a beautiful, willing source did not soothe him. It did not bring him relief to finally feel strong and healthy, to finally pierce the mental fog that had clouded his mind for as long as he could remember. Drinking from an oasis after subsisting on spoonfuls of fetid blood for centuries did not bring him peace, but only deepened the darkest pit of his rage.

Chapter 2: Gift

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