#the astarion shrine is up next

[cock-cage-of-mensis]

Pissing all by yourself, handsome?

#bg3 #astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 meme #astarion meme #got all the necessities for the new house #the astarion shrine is up next #best Christmas gift of this year by far

[pursuitseternal]

“Knowledge is a dangerous weapon:” Bookworm!Tav, Vampiric Spawn Powers, and Breeding—“Bites” Update 📚

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4.6K of banter and breeding

Based on an anonymous prompt

(HBD @lipstickghoulie )

Summary: You have always loved your books and a challenge, when your Vampire Rogue learns his starvation has kept him from his full powers, you take him up on his challenge to teach him the skills that are his due. As you draw closer together, he finds that one bit of information you have failed to teach him… how to make a dhampire

CW: light mocking of Astarion’s ditziness, Spawn Spidercrawl, catching powers and feelings, flirty touching, creepy silent vampire moves, Breeding talk, no babies just breeding, Mating Press™️

Ao3 link | Series link | Masterlist

📚✨📚✨📚✨📚✨📚✨📚✨📚✨📚✨📚

You always knew he was… dumb. Thick headed. Unobservant.

Okay, at times the comments from his thick, rosy lips were just plain stupid. “That lever… must do something…” That was a wonderful moment, one that earned him your eyes rolling so far back in your skull they hurt. “We have some words and some… circles…. Wonder what they do….” Another example of his unparalleled intelligence.

Not to mention the countless times he failed to remember any of the major gods and their shrines as you passed through crypts and defiled chapels.

For as handsome as he was, for as sultry and seductive as you found him, he was… smoothed-brained. But as your journey forced you closer together, you couldn’t help but think some of it may be merely pretense, he was a magistrate after all. He was abused and tortured for centuries, surely that does things to one’s mind. And he was always reading. Every day, every night at camp, his beautiful aquiline nose stuck in a book, crimson eyes devouring the words at a breakneck speed.

One to even rival your own thirst for knowledge.

Maybe it was that you allowed the poor Spawn a chance to drink living, thinking blood for once. Your own. Maybe that was what began to take his little, stupid moments and turn them into something endearing.

Not that he was gracious when you corrected his ignorance. Every time, he gave that adorable, grumpy harumph and then defended his comments, or… since he started feeding from you, he’d just look at your neck still freshly marked and lick his lips. That really shut you up. Set you on fire.

But it wasn’t until you needed him to reach that last little chest up on the crumbling ledge inside some dank cavern that you realized his ignorance wasn’t wholly pretend.

Astarion, vampire spawn, didn’t know just what he should be capable of. He looked positively befuddled when you told him to just climb the brick wall. His sass had been sharp, “I’m not some spider, darling.”

“But you can spider climb, you dolt,” you had laughed imitating his tone, trying to call his bluff on skills he should have, at least according to what you had read in your book. A Spawn should scale such a wall with immense ease.

He just narrowed his crimson eyes at you, a snarl on his lips as he shook his head. “I have never performed such an act, darling, nor have any of my brothers and sisters, those of us Cazador kept for his bidding. Better check your precious facts in your precious tomes before you throw your assumptions on my prowess… dear.”

You still shiver at that night. Back at camp. When you ignored the way he bristled as you approached him in front of his tent. He had sneered at you, readying his next acerbic quip for you… Until you sat so close beside him, settling the heavy book in his lap. Leaning in, you point to the page. Traits and Strengths of the Vampiric Spawn.

You felt him cease breathing, his left hand clutching at the edge of the book growing even whiter. “Astarion,” you breathed. Leaning in more, you looked into his eyes, his gaze scanning the words so quickly on the aged vellum. And then he shoved you by your cheek out of his sightline. He needed to finish this.

“Why, I should be positively remarkable, assuming your book is correct,” he sighed, as if he saw a vision, a dream fulfilled. One where he was powerful.

You nodded as his crimson eyes flashed at you, wide with wonder. “You mentioned Cazador never let you feed enough, and not from thinking creatures.” He nodded, skeptical even as his eyes fixated on your lips. “Well, what you did not know was that denying you a sufficient diet meant also restricting you from your full powers, even as a Spawn, Astarion. You should be able to climb up walls and ceilings, move swifter, lift boulders too much for even Karlach to manage. You should be able to heal almost instantaneously, without potion or feeding.”

“And now?” he replied, that little tremor of hope in his voice unmistakable as his hand traced over the page of your book.

“Well, it’s a difficult deduction, since you have our unwelcome illithid parasite. But now that you are feeding regularly, even from thinking creatures, you should find the effects more than just making you feel… happy,” you rambled on. Even as you kept talking, his eyes glued their gaze to your neck, your lips. If you weren’t mistaken, they even dipped down the v-shaped cut of your tunic.

“So… the more I drink from thinking creatures, the stronger and more powerful I will be?” he murmured, a slight grit in his throat as his eyes definitely darted down your bosom now.

“Y-yes,” you rejoined, sliding back just a touch.

And he slid that touch closer, and then some.

“You’ll help me, won’t you, darling? You’ll help me learn these skills? Give me all I require to access my full potential….” His eyes looked wet, the ruby irises glowing in the flickering firelight. “Please?” he adds with that smirk and that single arching brow of his made you stomach flutter and heart thump so hard in your chest.

“I…” you started, but he only seemed to lean ever closer.

“You know, when I was a Magistrate, back in the City, I would have craved someone with intelligence like yours. We would have been rivals, colleagues…” his eyes dip once more shamelessly up and down your seated body. “Perhaps lovers even,” he breathed. “I always surrounded myself with those of highest intellect, darling. Intelligence is so… undervalued by many, and knowledge is a dangerous weapon, but I see you, my darling. Won’t you please come to my aid now?”

“We… we can try,” you had whispered, barely able to the let the words from your lips with how you seemed to seize under the intensity of his stare.

“Wonderful,” he purred, catching your cheek, your chin in his cool palm. “I just hope we don’t have to wait too long…”

You squirmed as his thumb began to brush beneath your lip.

“…to put my new strengths to the test I mean, of course.” He smirked that little bit more twistedly. More seductively. And you knew he heard your heart beating in your artery, your blood rushing under his touch in your veins to pool lower. It was his nature, and you knew more of it than he did.

“Of course…” you breathed. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Then it’s settled,” his voice was thick in his throat, you relished the way his other arm stole around you, clutching at you back to bring you all the closer under his heady spell of charm and seduction. “All that’s left is to seal our new arrangement somehow…”

He pushed that heavy book off his lap, sliding to bring you into completely flushed against him. You’re sure your pulse was raging so loudly, it’s deafened his pointed and twitching ears. That chilled, corpse-cold touch under your chin tilts you up just… so…

You melted, closing that distance between your lips. Every logical thought dispersed in the wind of your desire, that panting breath that passed from your lungs into his.

That’s how this all began, and where it had brought you to this moment, where he clings to the ceiling of a massive cavern filled with both the stink of Gnolls and the vile creatures themselves. Dagger gripped in between his glinting fangs. He readies himself with a look of pure and dark excitement. He loves this. He misses this when it’s just you all back in the quiet of camp, where he tests his ever growing strength and climbing abilities, where he drinks from you every night before he hunts in the dark.

Where he slowly makes you more and more aware of your awakening body the more he touches you and caresses and kisses you. Always every night. Always between your increasingly intellectual discussions about vampiric powers and the moment he sinks his fangs into your skin to feed. He always leaves you after dark, his own belly sated, while you… you grow all the hungrier. Needier. You want more debate, more analysis, more of his body covering yours as he drinks you down.

But not anything more. Not yet. Even as you knew he was edging closer to asking you for sex. Even if he didn’t know all the… implications. After all, knowledge was a dangerous weapon.

You shake your head to free yourself from the longing thoughts of past nights and burning expectations of the night to come. You give him the signal, watching him release with flawless precision, dagger in hand now, as he falls from his spider-perch.

The Gnolls never see you coming, not before your endearingly ferocious Vampire Spawn lands with preternatural grace on their heads and vivisects them before you even reach their location.

He pants as you get at least one good shot from your bow, right for the last twitching body on the ground.

It’s not until you smile, satisfied, you notice that Astarion’s pale skin is riddled with scratches and tears from the beasts’ claws. He holds out his arms, rolling up his sleeves and smiling. Enjoying the sight of his vampiric body healing before his eyes. That crimson gaze practically glows as he looks at you over the carnage. “See something you like, my sweet?” he purrs, arching that brow, just for you, as if the others in your party aren’t even there.

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, turning to find the coveted chest of supplies, that Zhentarim sigil on it is no deterrent to you. Not when your Vampire Spawn can charm anyone to do anything now. “We better head back to camp,” you kneel before the strong chest, trying your hand to pick the iron lock.

“Tch,” his voice brushes your ear, physically tickling the small stray hairs that make you gasp. “You know I’m far more skilled with my fingers, especially when it comes to slipping inside…” You shudder to feel him crouching right behind you, his thighs pressed against your ass, his waist brushing your lower back. “…Slipping inside chests, locks, that sort of thing,” he adds louder, just to appease your unease. That dexterous touch has only grown all the smoother and stronger and sneakier now that he has fed well for a while.

He is so sneaky in fact, only one of his hands actually works the lock pick for a moment, the other quickly skates up your leg, tracing the inner seam of your buckskin breeches almost to the peak of your thigh. He laughs in your ear as you muffle a noise under your own palm.

“Soldiers, you really need four hands to pick one lock? Haven't you gotten better, Fangs, now that our fearless leader has let you suck on her and tutor you in being a Spawn?” Karlach chortles, her feet swaying side to side in that perpetual motion dance she seems to do.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Astarion throws the barb over his shoulder, letting you bury your face to hide the tweaks of ecstasy at the corners of your eyes as his fingers keep moving higher… higher. “Some silent performance only you get to savor, it seems?”

“If I didn't know better…” Gale’s pedantic voice draws closer.

“There now,” Astarion crows like the proudest rooster of them all, his hand quickly leaving the edge of your mound to twist that pick and pop the lock just as Gale peers from behind. “Look at all this loot,” he groans and stands, satisfied as he folds his arms over his chest. “Good thing you have a strong, well-fed Vampire to bring it back with us. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

He smirks down at you, hand extended to help you to your feet. Back to the rest, he flashes you that fang-toothed smirk that he knows sets your pulse galloping out of control. Pulling you up, he has to steady you in your legs, near boneless as they are with just that tease of pleasure. “Calm yourself darling, you're making my undead heart hurt sympathetically from all that… excitement,” he rasps right into your ear once you’re on your feet before him, releasing you in favor of bags of treasure and potions and loot to stuff in his pack.

Your mind is racing as your trod back towards your little camp well off the Risen Road for good measure. Thoughts scramble, worries peak their heads up, and you can’t stop thinking about the rest of what you have learned reading about vampires. Necessary research for you, particularly since Astarion has seemingly added flirtation and seduction into your witty repartee this last tenday. So far, you’ve managed to keep his wandering eyes from those pages when he glances through your tomes. He seems to prefer every little dip of your skin where he can see it at any rate. So far, you’ve managed to keep his hands in places on your body that are not too dangerous, yours on his as well.

But something inside you knows that tide is shifting. He wants to offer you more in exchange for more… and… well, if it doesn’t just make your body thrum with life in ways no books had and no previous interests had either.

He has beaten you back to camp, haphazardly tossed the loot for the rest of you to sort out in the center of camp. You know he’s waiting in his tent, now that the sun has begun to trek lower and lower. It’s time for your research, for your indulgence of his strength, and… whatever else might happen.

His tent is dimly lit as you enter, a mess of blankets and pillows, some fine and some in tatters. Stacks of books in the corners have replaced the blood bank bottles you first found here to clutter his space.

But no Astarion.

You tilt your head confused, settling down on one pillow, more or less intact, reaching for an apple he keeps in his stash of food just for you. Just to replenish you between his own feedings. As you bite into the hard skin, as the juice fills your mouth, you reach for a book, some ancient law book he found in the ruins of that village. Must make him think of his old life.

The pages are old and soft in your fingers, your eyes absentmindedly skimming the long words and complex sentences as you chew.

Peaceful. Until you realize it’s far too quiet.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, that feeling of being watched creeping up your spine. Turning, mid bite, you peer into the shadowed corner of his tent behind you.

Two glowing red eyes stare at you from the dark, just a hint of glinting teeth as he smiles and drinks in your fear and surprise. He laughs to hear you hiss as you jump in your seat. “There you are,” he croons from his darkened corner. “I’ve been waiting.”

“F-f-for what?” you force a smile and force your breath to steady all at once. He slides closer, settling down right beside you, and you notice your worn book in his hand, the smile on his face is sultry.

And predatory.

And for a moment, you regret teaching him as much as you have about his untapped powers.

“When were you going to tell me about your little bit of… research… on the side?” his voice is chilling, his brow arching as he flips the book open right to the back.

Right where you had been trying so hard to prevent his eyes from skimming, his ambitious brain from devouring the knowledge.

Your body is hot and rigid, and you know from the way his pointy ears twitch, he hears your pulse. You know from the way that his nostrils flare that he smells your arousal, the slick that dampens your underthings just to be this close to him again after his little stunt today.

“If my observations are correct… and they usually are…” he purrs, even though the stack of evidence to the contrary is vast. But you bite your tongue as he continues, your heart leaping at the topic he is about to breach. “You sound and smell eager to discuss this topic if dhampires, my darling.”

You swallow, watching so heated and frozen as he slides so gracefully to place the weight of that tome in your own lap, his fingers removing the half-eaten apple from your fingers to toss to the side. Then he brings their sticky, juicy tips to his mouth to suck them clean.

You moan, unbidden, at the wet and vigor with which his tongue cleans every crevice of those digits.

“Now, I’d hate to be left wondering just why my intelligent, little darling would withhold such a vital… potent… part of my unrevealed powers as a vampire?” he sets your hand back on your thigh, a little extra brush of his fingers, returning to trace that seam inside your breaches as he had before. “Is she… curious? Afraid? Is this why she has been just so hesitant during our…” he grips your chin, turning your head with commanding force until there is nowhere else to look but his deep crimson eyes, “…late night trysts?”

“It’s not something one just… brings up, Astarion,” you try to flatten your tone, even as that one hand still traces up and around your thigh. “It’s just not… done…”

Something about his eyes softens, “It would be important to discuss, you know, for there is more that I would like to share with you than just witty banter and blood…” his tone dips low into a rumble. “It’s not something I would have known, not a concern I would have shared until I knew of it…”

“There’s more to it than you might know,” you squeak as his fingers press into that slot between your legs. “Now that you’re well-fed, you’ll feel actual….”

You swallow the word. His touch presses hard enough into your folds through your breaches to make them soaked. And you, wanton you, you give a breath and a buck of your hips to keep his fingers there.

“Pleasure,” he smirks, eyes scanning your face as your force your eyes back open, halfway at least. “Yes, I gathered as much. The more I feed, the more I come alive… alive enough to perhaps even bestow a new life…” he squints a grin at you, your mouth slack as he draws that touch just as hard again, “…perhaps one day.”

You arch your body, trying to slip closer. Your secret is out, your anxious thoughts over clandestine information dispersed in the air. And so, the next words from your mouth just build on all that you had been swallowing down.

“Yes, perhaps one day…” you sigh, leaning back on your hands to try to give him full access to your cunt. “Perhaps one day, we could test out those powers together.” Your voice shakes with excitement, it’s pressed with the sincerity you feel for him.

“Oh, my love,” he smirks and reaches both arms around your waist. That newfound strength pulls you flush into his lap, until your molten, silk-soaked center presses against where he’s hardening. “You always know what to say… Seems like quite the power that will take much preparation and proper timing…” He brings your fingers back to his lips as he kisses them softly. “I’d have to feed on more than just a bear and more than just sips from my little treat, sweet as you are…”

You nod, once or twice, before losing yourself in the bliss of his tongue on the tingling inner skin of your wrist. Barely more than a lap before his fangs pierce your skin and suck you down. Your very essence, your living blood pools in his belly, you feel it coursing in his veins. It fills him and hardens him beneath your hips in an instant.

“Well, practice makes perfect you know,” he croons, bloodied lips barely hovering off your own. “I can tell from your scent you are not… in season…. And I have only had the single little taste.”

You pant, writhing at the scratch of your clothing, you long to rip it off and toss it where your book has long since been abandoned. “Sounds right to me,” you hiss, arms tucking around his neck to lower those arrogant stupidly handsome lips to your mouth.

Astarion’s throat rumbles with a growl, the taste of your blood fresh in his mouth as he rolls you on your back. Primal. Feral. He’s your powerful vampire, blood in his body, lust in his brain. And you want to put it all to the test—your own little experiment to match his enthusiastic desire for you. His touch is lightening fast and strong, pulling off your clothing, swift and sure and careful until every inch of your bodies are bare.

Strength hums in his muscles, even as his hands gently caress your cheek, your neck still sore from all his feeding. His body presses you into the pile of blankets that cover his plank of a bed. His hips grind your belly, your thighs are pulled almost against your chest until you’re spread wide open for him. But for every jolt of his cock as it prods above you and drips his early cum on to your belly, his kisses on your lips are sweet, gentle. A silent movement of gratitude for all your willing aid. Those fingers drag their slightly warmed touch around your breast, kneading it tenderly. With every arch of your back, you can almost catch the base of his cock inside your folds.

And you shake. You quiver. You’d had a few lovers, mostly boring and few and far between. But never has your body burned for anyone like it does for him.

As if his vampire touch is calling your blood to pool beneath it. Not one traditional strength, but with Astarion, you aren’t totally sure he doesn’t have some unnatural ability to command your body. To make your blood pound and sing just for him.

“What a good girl,” he rasps, a grind of his hips to send that cock near your navel, over your skin. “I can feel your heat for me from here. Just waiting to be fucked full.” His mouth descends quickly but carefully, only taking a single nipple in his lips. Sucking hard, he pops off with a loud wet noise.

Almost as loud as your moan.

“So ready, aren’t you?” His question weighs you down, your eyes half shut to savor the way he drags back with that length, sliding it in just an inch or so into your aching sex. “I’m waiting…” he growls, and you sob as he pulls even that little bit of his tip back out.

“Yes, hells below, yes,” you pant, hands flying to claw into his ass. Pulling him towards your throbbing core.

That blunted tip prods just barely inside you again. “You want me to fill you?” he rasps.

You nod, your teeth biting your lip hard enough to bleed.

“You want me to fill your belly like you let me fill mine with your sweet blood?” he grips his arms around your shoulders, pressing harder into, cock sliding in another little bit. “Fuck you so many times, my cum will drip from you for days?”

“Yes, Astarion…” you breathe, his mouth devouring your words, ready to swallow your cry as he does, finally, fill you.

You feel the gravity of his body crushing you, his legs braced with every tendon taught as he snaps his hips into. It’s so deep, so driving the way he fucks. And every thrust slaps your flesh and smacks his balls against your ass, but you love it. His breath dampens your collarbone, arms wrapped so tightly around you, you can do nothing but hold on for dear life. Your thighs burn from how they’re bent into your stomach almost, your folds leaking with arousal, and the drag of his cock touches every part of your walls and slams against your channel’s end.

He licks your shoulder, wet tongue lapping up to the artery in your neck. Where it pulses and dances in time with his beat inside you. Flushed and boiling, speared on his length, you pant, suffocated deliciously until you burst. Your visions swimming and muscles contorting in his press, you scream for him. You can hear your arousal, your slick, coating his thighs as his thrusts only increase with speed.

Lifting his head, he sweeps a hand down your sweat-drenched belly, palm bracing just below your navel. His push is relentless, hard and gradual enough you feel it behind your belly, how he gives you resistance from outside against that constant ramming of his cock at your deepest point. It’s enough to throw you into another coil of bliss instantly. “Good girl, so wet and dirty and waiting to be filled…'' he finally speaks through his panting. And he pushes on your belly once more, grunting with each fuck as he comes undone.

As he thrusts and spills his seed, prodding the full length of him to the deepest point yet. You can feel it almost sticking through your skin as he pulses. As he spills, burst after burst, he still rams that end of your cunt.

Beads of sweat drip from his forehead as he looks down your body, and how your skin is wet and flushed and marked from where he gripped you so fiercely.

He smiles and licks his lips. You try to clamber out, but his hand only comes to rest on your shoulder. “Ah ah,” he tutts his tongue at you, slipping out, only to take two of his fingers to play in your mix of cum, slipping it back inside you over and over again. “You’ll need to practice too, and you’ll need to rest to keep all of me inside of you.”

You shudder, a smile wide on your mouth, aroused and embraced, half hidden behind the back of your hand as you cover your face.

“Tch,” he chides you, pulling that hand from your face, “none of that, my darling. I’ll watch every bit of your blush darken your cheek until you’re ready to go again.”

“Again?” you choke. Your hips already feeling stretched and sore, you lay them flat and try to ease the aches.

“Oh yes,” he purrs, “you’ll have to build your strength the old fashioned way, my treat. Now,” he gives your ass a little smack on the side as he lifts it, “on your knees, darling…”

You finally take a breath, freed from his wiry, heavy frame. One cool hand settles between your shoulder blades to have you rest your head on his bedding. But that other hand pulls your hips up, slipping through your juices and teasing your clit until you buck back against his belly. You breathe contentedly, savoring the way his fingers caress you, worship you.

You close your eyes, wriggle your hips, already craving that stretching fullness inside you. A future with him at your side during the day as your strong, well fed vampire… and on your back and knees and belly and any way he would want you during the long nights with your virile lover.

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[whathebeep]

Domestic Life with the companions: Astarion

So like, how I imagine things would be once you and your partner(s) settle down, ofc depending. If folks like this I'll certainly make this a series!

I imagine you two spend a long while adventuring before settling. I like to imagine (whether you declared it to him or not), the goal was always to find a means to get him safely in the sun again. I imagine it took YEARS of travelling to try and find it, but eventually you do come across it. Not a cure by any means, but a ring lost in an abandoned vampire crypt that took you ages to learn about, and ages more to find. And he slips it on his finger and it gives him the means to not only step in the sun, but it also hides his vampiric features, if he so wishes. (I like to think it will make him look as he did before he was changed).

When you make your way back towards Baldur's Gate, you make a point to visit old friends along the way. Visit the now thriving town and nearby Selunite temple, restored to it's glory over the years, thanks to Isobel and Aylin. Shadowheart lives in the small town, I'd like to imagine, having settled there upon her finishing adventuring. She's of course, pleased to see you both and host you, sharing glasses of wine and some good stories and gossip. You two stay for a week or so, taking care to take in the sights, visiting the grove, the old crash site, hell, even Auntie Ethel's former house that had been taken over by some of the druids. You're surprised to discover that even the forge in the underdark has some new occupants, some of the spawn that were freed by Astarion; they have started up a mining operation, and are making quite a good living, the ore they find making good weapons to be made in the forge. From them you learn more settled in the underground near Halsin's community, and would certainly be worth a visit.

Next comes the former shadowlands and Halsin's community; by now so many of the kids he brought along and raised in the orphanage are much older now, either teens or young adults. Halsin, as you can imagine, probably beams at the sight of you two, especially Astarion in the sun, and most certainly drops whatever he's doing and runs over, picking up and hugging you both. He's happy to host you at his home, ThanieI's former place of residence. The building is a lot larger now, but still a homely stone cottage look to it, moss growing up the side and a sizeable willow growing to the side. I imagine you two stay there a few weeks, as there is a lot to see if what has changed, and Halsin is more than eager to show you both around. Everything has been restored and repurposed; Surprisingly, Moonrise has become a school, last light restored to a fully working inn, the inn near moonrise repurposed as the orphanage, the hospital back in working order- hell, even the former Sharan temple in the underdark has been inhabited by a large portion of the spawn and the community there is thriving. Hell they've even constructed a proper entry and exit point that doesn't require them walking through the graveyard, and instead leaves out of that old Shar shrine under the statue in town. (Of course, all Shar symbology has been removed). The area is lively and it's nice to relax, take in the clean air and admire how the land has healed, and the community has thrived.

When you have to leave, Halsin asks you to write once you're back in Baldur's Gate, and promises you a place there, if you ever tire of the city.

Astarion almost seems sad when you two leave.

It doesn't take long for you two to return to the city. When you do, you stay in a room at the elf song while you try and sort out an apartment or home, but within the first day back you're off to see Wyll and Karlach; both back in the gate after a few years in the hells. Her engine repaired to the highest degree, they've settled down together in a home of their very own, and it's of no surprise when there's three kids scrambling about. The two of you had been gone for nearly a decade exploring, I'd like to imagine; so it's of no surprise that they've got three kids, all half tiefling half human, the oldest being five, and the other two being 3 year old twins. Wyll and Karlach both have jobs, Karlach having taken to working at the forge with Dammon, and Wyll working as a private investigator, occasionally writing for the Baldur's Mouth Gazette too.

Seeing them settled like that, Astarion, when you two are relaxing in your room at the elf song, drinking some wine, tries to laugh about it. "Could you imagine settling down like that? Hah!" He says it in a mocking tone, but after nearly eleven years together, give or take, it's easy to see the way he frowns into his wine glass when he looks the other way.

A few weeks after returning to the gate, you receive a letter: Gale is going to be coming through town, and he'd love to visit the two of you. Coincidentally enough, he's moving to Halsin's community, to teach at the school, and will be in town for a day or two and would want to visit.

Upon his visit, the whole group in town get together for dinner and drinks together, Grandpa Ulder having taken the kids for the night. Gale has become quite the accomplished teacher, and has even written more than a handful of academic papers. His move was inspired by wanting to learn more about he other fields of magic, and also to help teach the youth of tomorrow about it too.

There's laughter and jokes and fun stories all around, and eventually Gale asks how the house hunt goes for you and Astarion. The city is ever expanding of course, but there isn't quite anything that the two of you feel confident about quite yet; and there's well wishes on that, and eventually everyone departs for the night.

That night Astarion suggests it, moving there as well. Having a house built on the edge of town, maybe by the water, or up on a hill. It's then that he admits that even though Baldur's Gate had always been home, there's far too many bad memories; and that he'd like making new memories somewhere else.

It takes maybe 3 months before the house is completed. The two of you had travelled back, and stayed in last light until construction was completed. Plans had to be drawn up with what the two of you wanted, a location scouted out, and then of course the process of building it. Stone and wood, two floors, and just up a hill from the water.

Within a year of living there, the house is truly a home. Astarion was enjoying a lot of his free time reading, to the point that a second bookcase had to be commissioned. He took up a job working as a bartender at the last light inn, and a few times a week the two of you meet up with Halsin and Gale to chat, have drinks, discuss things; and whenever it calls for, the two of you pick up your weapons to travel again, albeit a lot more short term.

What more could you ask for?

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x tav #bg3 rambles #beepwrites #whathebeep #bg3 ramble

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Never Gonna Give You Up

Next Part in Willingly Unwilling (Can't believe we're already at 9 🤯)

Summary: Gale wants to forget Mystra but can't. Astarion helps.

It’s stupid and he should leave. He should not be sitting here in the tabernacle with Mystra’s shrine in front of him. He is admittedly a little drunk. Astarion may have collected and burned everything in the palace that reminded him of Cazador and his siblings but he left the wine cellar intact. And it’s very good wine. Gale finished the first and is working his way through a second bottle. 

The floor is cold and hard and his back hurts from leaning against the stone bench behind him. His neck hurts from the angle he’s held it in for so long. Peering up at Mystra’s statue. He missed her and he shouldn’t. He should be mad at her. He should be forgetting her. 

She’d tossed him aside. She’d left him with a hole in his chest that no matter how much magic he gave, he sacrificed, it just took and took and took. She made her forgiveness contingent on blowing himself up. He had the crown of Karsus within his grasp. All he had to do was reach out and take it. But then she’d dangled the cure right in front of him. 

“Bring me the Crown of Karsus and I will heal you Gale. I will restore you to your rightful place as an archmage. As my chosen.” 

And what did he do? Caved like the doe eyed schoolboy he’d been all those years ago. 

And she’d cured him alright. He had all the magic and power at his fingertips and then some. The only evidence of his folly, of his mistake, the evidence that something had been mildly wrong with him was the scared reminder on his chest. 

He drank more wine. He needed to leave. He needed to get up and leave and forget her but he can’t. She’s taken up too much space in his head. In his heart. And he shouldn’t be thinking these things knowing that he would come after him. 

Because it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when. Not after the earlier conversation they’d had. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re so against the idea,” Astarion watched Gale brush his hair in the mirror. “One little bite. One little drink and eternity is yours.” 

“I never said I wasn’t against it,” Gale replied. 

“Are you scared?” Astarion sat up. “Because it’ll only hurt for a bit. I’ll make it as painless as I can. I never want to hurt you, you know that.” 

“I do. I know, and it’s not, it isn’t out of fear,” Gale shook his head. He didn’t know what it was. He set the brush aside and started to pull his hair back. His fingers brushed his ear and his hand stilled. 

It was empty. It was still an odd feeling. It’d been less of a request and more of a demand from Astarion. He caught his gaze in the mirror and looked away just as quickly. 

“Surely you are not still beholden to your former goddess?” Astarion asked as he walked over to him. “The ex-lover who asked you to kill yourself for her. Who dangled a cure for that bomb in your chest in order for you to hand over a crown that by all rights, could and should have been yours? Are you?” 

He put one hand on Gale’s shoulder the other coming around his front, fingers stroking his cheek. A few inches over and those delicate fingers would be around his throat. It’s funny how much Gale would prefer that. 

“Of course not,” Gale reached up and put his hand over Astarion’s. “Why would I when I have you?” 

“Always so predictable.” 

Gale straightened and swallowed the mouthful of wine he’d been drinking. He didn’t have to turn around, or look over his shoulder, but he did. Astarion is standing near the doors with his arms crossed over his chest. 

It must have started raining because his hair’s wet and plastered to his forehead. Even with the dim lighting of the candles he can make out the man’s expression. He’s not angry like Gale would have expected. But he is upset. He’s hurt. 

“I thought we’d moved past this running away and getting drunk,” Astarion walked over. “If it’s not the Elfsong, or the Blushing Mermaid, it’s here.” He looked around. “The shrine belonging to your ex lover.” 

“...I’m not getting drunk…” is the point Gale makes. “I’m drinking…but not getting drunk.” 

That doesn’t make it better but it doesn't make it worse. 

“Do you still love her?” Astarion asked. 

“Of course not,” Gale answered. “I told you. I don’t love her anymore.” 

“Then why the fuck are you here?” Astarion stood in front of him. “Why do I have to find you here in front of her? Staring at her like some lovesick puppy?”

The rain is louder now. Thunder breaks up the sound every so often. Astarion is looking down on Gale and Gale is looking up at him. And his eyes are wet. From tears? From the rain? 

“I…” Gale doesn’t have an answer for him. Because he doesn’t want to be Astarion’s spawn? Not now. Not yet. But it isn’t as if he really belongs to Mystra anymore now does he? But if he becomes a spawn. Astarion’s spawn it’s the same thing. No longer beholden to a mistress but to a master. 

When Astarion touches him, his fingers are cold but gente. His eyes are soft. “Poor thing. You say the words but struggle to believe them yourself. She really has you in a chokehold doesn’t she? That’s why you came here isn’t it?”

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#gale of waterdeep #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale x astarion #bloodweave #gale dekarios #fanfic #unhealthy relationship #toxic old man yaoi #manipulative relationship #gale and astarion have sex infront of mystra's shrine #angsty #sex as a coping mechanism

[coreene]

Lorelei explores their campsite and finds a place to have a little fun on her own. Astarion finds her and decides he wants to be a part of it.

tags: voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

We were camping in an old ruin this time around. There were remnants of stone walls all around us. Another clue that we were getting closer to the city. I wanted to explore the area little bit after dinner. There was a small ruin nearby that seemed intact for the most part.

I made my way to it. It was big enough to hold maybe ten people inside. A simple design with a rectangular floor plan; all four of its walls were still standing. It had small arched windows with stained glass, although only one of the windows was still standing. It looked like the others were cracked and disappeared long ago.

I walked inside through the door opening. The door was missing and the surrounding stone bricks of the entry way were the only part of the structure that was broken down. Inside there were stone furniture. A small table by the wall, which looked like an altar. A library next to it with a few benches scattered around. There was also a lavish looking chair with armrests right across it. As intricate the stonework was, the furniture did not look comfortable. It was possibly a shrine; for which deity I could not tell.

I looked around the small room hoping for scrolls. There was nothing but that was a slim chance anyway. I sat down on the altar, looking outside through the only window with the intact glass; trying to figure out the scene. The place was not old enough to be dedicated to one of the forgotten gods but my religion knowledge was embarrassing. Maybe I could bring Shadowheart over here to figure out what it was.

The other windows allowed the full moonlight to enter the room. It was a bright and clear sky tonight. A rather beautiful sight. I listened in the silence a little bit. I could faintly hear the chatter and the laughter coming from the camp fire. Everyone was in high spirits, leaving the cursed lands and being so close to the city was giving us a hopeful outlook on our future.

I told them I was going to look around a little and I should've probably went back now. But then a thought creeped up to the front of my mind. I hadn’t caught a moment alone in a long time and it has been even longer since the last time I had a wet dream. While I was happy with how the things were between Astarion and I, I could use a little release now.

I still had some hesitation but I could already feel the throb in my clit. When was I going to catch a moment to do this again? I only needed a few minutes, and I would be back in no time.

I got comfortable on the altar, leaning back against the wall. I unlaced my trousers with one hand and slipped my fingers under my panties. I sighed when I felt the touch of my own fingers on my now fully swollen clit. It felt like it had been so long since I was touched.

"Fuck," I gasped at the sensation as I started to draw circles with my fingers.

My breathing was picking up now. I could feel my juices poling between my legs. I closed my eyes, leaning behind completely as I alternated between circling my clit and dipping my hands lower to gather my arousal. I needed to be a little more wet before I could slip my fingers inside.

"My my, what do we have here?"

I opened my eyes and pulled my hands out of my pants with a gasp. There Astarion was, leaning against the half-collapsed wall looking at me with hungry eyes, wearing a smirk.

"Astarion!" I breathed, relieved that it was him and not somebody else. Still the shock had left my heart pounding in my ears.

"Please, don't stop on my account, my love," he spoke in a deep sultry tone.

I blinked a few times, trying to understand what he was saying. "Oh? Does that mean you would like to watch?" I asked with a flirtatious smile, tilting my head.

"Mm-hm," he hummed walking in between my legs. “As long as that’s something you’d want.”

“Yes,” I breathed, feeling the wetness between my legs grow.

“Good.” He grabbed my chin and tilted my face upwards as he leaned down. He gave me an open-mouthed kiss; darting his tongue in and out, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, grazing my lip with his teeth.

I was left breathless when he pulled back. All I could do as I took deep breaths was watch him settle on the chair. He placed his hands on the arm rests, opening his legs slightly. I bit my lip as my eyes trailed from what was between his legs to his crimson eyes.

“Comfortable?” I asked with a slight smirk, still breathing heavily.

“Very… now, go on,” he purred as he leaned back, licking his lips.

My hands went back to my pants timidly. I was suddenly very aware of his burning gaze and it was sending blood up to my face. I was feeling a lot warmer than before.

I gasped again when I felt the touch of my fingers on my swollen clit. I looked back at him when I found a comfortable rhythm. My breath got caught in my throat as I saw his soft expression filled with want.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered deeply.

It was too godsdamned hot in here now. I pulled my hand out of my pants and pushed the hem of my shirt up and out, throwing it to the ground - not taking my eyes off of him. He was smiling now.

"Would you like to tell me what you're thinking?" I asked him with a breathy voice as I unhooked my bra and threw it down.

He watched the piece of clothing touch the floor and then his eyes trailed back up to my face.

"I'd be happy to," his gaze fell down to my chest and then back up to my face. "I was just thinking how much I wanted to suck on your nipples and watch them grow hard."

I groaned as his words sent a wave of arousal to my clit.

"Then I would like to push those pants off of you as I teased your skin."

"Mm, you mean like this?" I said getting up before sliding my hands down my stomach and under the waist band of my pants. I pushed the trousers down along with my panties, slowly, giving him a full show.

"Yes," he swallowed "just like that."

I stepped out of the last piece of clothing on my body as I stood bare in front of him. Watching him intently, as his eyes travelled up; lingering on my thighs and chest before settling back on my face.

"Would you like to know what I'm thinking?" I asked with a mischievous smile, noticing him straining in his pants now.

"Gods, yes," he breathed with half lidded eyes.

"I was thinking how much I would like to just kneel right here, in front of you now," I leaned back on the altar, looking into his eyes. "Stroke your aching dick through your pants, pushing up your shirt and giving kisses to your stomach."

"Fuck," he groaned "keep going."

"And then I would free your magnificent cock, lick it from base to tip before I wrapped my lips around it. Do you want to know what I would do after?" I said opening my legs as my fingers found their way back to my clit. I was so wet now.

"Yes, Lore, please," he whispered, eyes focused on what my hand was doing.

"I would bring your hand to my hair because I want you to have all the control, push and pull my head just the way you like it."

"Gods, you're gonna make me come untouched," he let out a soft laugh.

"Now, that's a thought… I'd love to see happen," I gave him a smirk.

"You tease," he said with a chuckle but I could hear the strain in his voice.

I leaned back to the wall completely. I opened my legs more as my hand started to move faster. I dipped down feeling my slick; I was wet enough for my fingers now. He got up from the chair and walked right next to me. I was holding my breath; wondering what he was going to do next.

"Keep going," he whispered and I did as he said.

He placed his hands around my waist, the difference in temperature making me jump slightly as he let out a slight chuckle. He brought his lips to my ears before he spoke. "Would you like to know what I'm thinking now?"

"Gods, yes," I breathed, feeling his fingers teasing my skin. Every little movement he made sent another jolt of arousal through my body.

"There are no gods here, say my name," he said in a deeper voice.

"Astarion," I moaned and started to draw bigger, lazier circles so I wouldn't come so soon.

"Good girl," he placed his other hand to my face.

"Ah, fuck," his words were sending wave after wave of pleasure through my body. "I'm going to come."

"Not before you push those fingers in," he said brushing back a strand of my hair.

"But I can't come with just them alone," I whined as the tips of my fingers stroke my entrance up and down, gathering slick.

"It's alright. That just means we have more time for this." He said as he looked down, leaning his head onto mine.

The fact that he was watching me so intently was doing things to me. Maybe I would be able to come with my fingers alone, who knows?

My fingers teased my entrance a few more times before one of them slid inside. I was so tight; I could feel it move inside my walls.

"How does that feel?" He whispered as he left a kiss to my sweat covered cheek.

"Good," I said as I started to pump my finger in and out.

"Can you push another finger inside?" He asked with his hand on my waist, stroking my skin lovingly.

"Yes," I breathed and pushed my second finger in with the other. Once I was comfortable with the stretch, I slowly started to move my fingers in and out again.

"You've been so good, you deserve a little reward," he said tilting my head to him with his fingers as he leaned down and captured my lips.

I moaned into his mouth, prompting a chuckle from him. Suddenly it didn't feel all that impossible to come on my fingers. I found the perfect angle to stimulate my clit with each stroke. I arched my back into his body as his hand on my head moved to my back, pulling me flush with him. I could feel how hard he was in his pants. Gods, I wanted him inside me. I missed his dick so much.

"Astarion," I moaned the movement of my hands growing erratic "I'm going to come." We were both breathing heavily now. He removed his hand from my waist as I faintly heard the shuffle of his pants.

I closed my eyes at the sensation of my fingers and the feeling of his lips, lavishing me with kisses. His lips moved on from my open mouth to my jaw and to my neck. I was moaning louder and louder with each touch. I faintly registered him pulling his cock free. He pulled his body back, only a little, to give himself room to stroke himself. I wanted to touch him so badly.

"Come for me, my love," he whispered, lips right next to my ear. He gave a sloppy kiss to my ear as he breathed out.

It was enough. Everything; his breath, his proximity, my fingers working in and out – it was more than enough for me to reach my climax. He held me tight as my body convulsed uncontrollably in pleasure. I could feel the clenching of my own walls around my fingers. They were begging to milk his cock.

I was still dizzy with my high but I wanted to see him. He was stroking himself faster now.

"Do you want to come on my body?" I whispered.

"Yes," he spoke with desperation, eyes closed shut.

"Come on my tits, paint them white with your seed. I want to taste you so badly." I spoke as I pulled my fingers out. They were slick with my arousal.

He opened his eyes, looking down on me. I brought my hand to my nipples, pinching and rubbing. They were glistening with my wetness now. He groaned, his strokes getting erratic. He was close. He captured my lips again as a moan escaped his mouth and I felt him spurt his come on my nipples.

"Lorelei," he moaned between our kisses as he continued to shoot his seed, covering my breasts in creamy cum.

He leaned his forehead onto mine when he finished, pulling me into a deep kiss.

"I love you so much," he said when he pulled back, breathing heavily.

"I love you too," I whispered as I felt my eyes burning. I was so happy. I looked up at him, looking down on me. Realising what he was doing, I leaned back on my hands, raising my chest so he could admire his work.

"Gods you look beautiful," he said with twinkles in his eyes. He was loving this.

I moved a finger to my breasts, gathering some of his spend and bringing it down to my wet pussy lips, mixing them. I lifted my finger, now covered in both his cum and mine, back to my lips. I looked into his eyes as I sucked my fingers like it was the most delicious thing in the world.

"You are a temptress," he said with a chuckle.

"I know," I laughed with him.

I was sweaty and covered in cum. While I loved the way I looked at the moment I was acutely aware of the cold night air, now that I wasn't running so hot anymore. I felt my nipples harden painfully as a shiver past me.

"We need to get you cleaned up." He tucked himself in and went back to the entryway.

"Hmm, there are still some people around the fire." He said looking out. He came back to my side, picking up a handkerchief from his pocket. “This’ll have to do for now.”

I watched him as he gently cleaned up the last of his spend. He then looked at me with a smirk. “Or maybe we can ask Gale for a little prestidigitation spell?”

I shook my head side to side with a smile. “You offered to let them watch this morning. Now you want me to go over there with your cum on my chest for a spell… is there something you want to tell me?”

He let out a loud laugh as he pulled back. “I just enjoy showing you off, my dear.”

I chuckled and jumped down from the table, finding my underpants and trousers. I pulled them up with one motion and moved onto hooking my bra. “We should probably get back. Before one of them decides to look for us.” I said as I put on my tunic.

“Let’s go,” he held my hand, interlocking our fingers and we walked out of the entry way. I hugged his arm and leaned onto him as we made our way back to the fire.

from chapter 39 of Lorelei's Journal

#Astarion x Tav #tavstarion #Astarion x Female Tav #Astarion #BG3 Astarion #Astarion Ancunin #Baldur's Gate 3 Astarion #Bg3 #Bg3 Spoilers #Astarion Fanfic #Astarion Fic #Astarion Smut

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

The Promise of Eternity (Part 7)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of  Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 1390 

Imagine Series

Side Notes: 

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3.  Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

The cream sand felt warm under my bare feet as I walked along the coast of the emerald sea. Sand shifted and swallowed my small feet as I stepped lightly across the long stretch of the empty beach. Small impressions of my footsteps were the only clue to my presence interrupting the otherwise serene landscape. At the end of the beach, where sand fully met the water, there was a cluster of bushes that stood unkept and free of the gardener’s touch. Beyond those bushes was a small rock cave, hidden and safe from prying eyes. Once I was hidden away from the sun’s rays and the world, I dropped concentration on the invisibilty spell I had cast whilst I was walking in the castle. I followed the short tunnel to an open area in the cave, where I finally felt safe from anyone and everyone. I let out a sigh of pure relief as the items I had left in the cave still appeared untouched. The small clearing in the cave had small candles of various colors standing about the room; some of the candles were more used than others, but they were all currently unlit. Soft velvet pillows were still laid about on the floor, and a small table with a little shrine to Mystra stood shyly in front of the western wall. I lit some of the candles before I set my satchel down next to a velvet pillow in the center of the cave. Taking a seat on the pillow, I crossed my legs and closed my eyes.

One of things I had learned once I left the Underdark was that wizards needed to be of clear mind and body when using or performing certain spells. While I thought I was in the best mental state I could be in, something in the back of my mind was nagging at me that I needed to figure something really important out before I could properly perform the spell. I clasped my hands together as I took a deep breath. I stilled my mind and found myself staring at my reflection in a large mirror that occupied the length of the large open room. I stared at the ruby-red eyes that I had not seen truly reflected back at me for over two centuries, and I studied them. They seemed to have dulled either from a lack of sleep or a lack of compassion from those dearest to her. My (TAV’s hair color) hadn’t grown since I became a vampire spawn and my face hardly looked a day over two hundred years old. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve sought me.” My reflection spoke with a somber tone. “I was beginning to think you had forgotten how to reach me.” I felt my lips pull downwards into a frown.

“I do apologize. I had not needed to clear my mind in a while.” The sad tone to my voice made my reflection frown.

“You may not have felt the need to clear your mind, but you have needed my console on a most pressing matter.” I felt my eyebrow lift on its own accord. “You have been ignoring this matter for far too long.” Her words brought confusion into my mind. “Do not tell me that you have given up any and all hope for Astarion?” 

“It is hard to hold onto hope for someone to change their pattern of behavior that they’ve decided to use for a hundred years.” My eyes rolled in their socket at my mirror-self. “I am losing hope that something will change with him, yes.” The drow’s head in the mirror shook itself in disappointment at me. 

“Think about something for a moment, will you, (TAV’s name)? When did Astarion’s behavior change?” I pondered the question I was asked as I thought about the night where everything changed between Astation and myself.

It had been during a spring rain storm when our butler, Ilvisar, knocked on our bedchamber door in the late hours of the evening. He informed Astarion of a drenched visitor standing on our doorstep, but Astarion had waved a dismissive hand towards the elf butler. Ilvisar had informed us that the visitor was adamant about speaking with the lord of the house. Reluctantly, Astarion and I followed the butler to the front door, where a blonde tiefling stood with her back facing us and water dripping onto the hardwood floors. I remember Astarion opening his mouth to say something, but when she made eye contact with him, all he said was, “What is a gorgeous creature like you doing out in the rain?” From that moment forward, wherever Astarion went she followed. My eyebrows furrowed again as I recalled the events from that fateful night. 

“How long has it been since the tiefling has come into your life?” A perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose on the drow in the mirror’s face.

“She’s been in our life for…” My next words came out of my mouth slowly. “...at least a century.” Something about that statement felt off. Tieflings live, age, and mature at the same rate as humans, and have a life expectancy of at least a century, while some can live up to a hundred fifty years of age. However, the tiefling has shown no signs of aging since the day she arrived.

“It’s quite a curiosity that she hasn’t seemed to age at all in the last century.” The drow in the mirror studied my face as I let her statement simmer in my mind. “She still has a beating heart and breathes oxygen in her lungs.”

“Curious indeed. She is certainly not a spawn nor a vampire.” I admitted aloud, but I thought about something else. “Astarion has come to see me twice in the past couple of days.”

“Indeed he has. Tell me, during those visits, have you seen a glimmer of your lover in his eyes?” The reflection cocked her head to the side in a questioning way. “Have you not seen how he looks at you whenever the tiefling is not present?” Her last question brought my attention back to her as brief moments where Astarion smiled at me or seemed to notice my presence occurred whenever the tiefling wasn’t around, but those moments were few and far between for the tiefling hardly left the vampire’s side. The drow in the mirror was right, something was off about the tiefling. A knowing smile came upon the drow’s face in the reflection.

“She’s not a tiefling.” I spoke aloud, and the reflection slowly clapped her hands.

“Finally, you used your brain cells.” The reflection said with relief evident in her voice. “Now, you need to figure out what she actually is, and how she is managing to control our little star. If you figure that out, we may be able to get him back.” I gave the reflection a nod before I closed my eyes again. When I opened my eyes, I was back in the rock cave staring at the small stone statue of Mystra. Looking around the small cave, I had an idea.

I found a small rock and etched the circle and symbols from the book into the ground. Next, I found four pillar candles to place in each of the four corners. I grabbed the only red candle in the room and sat it in the middle of the circle. Following the steps written in the midnight blue book, I took a seat in the center of the circle and lit the final candle. Closing my eyes, I visualized outside of the house the night of the tiefling’s arrival and recited the chant. I felt a gush of heavy wind swirl around me before I felt myself hovering in the air.

I was floating above the ground in the pouring rain during the late evening hours. Looking to my right, I found the entrance of our castle standing proudly in the darkness. My favorite flowers were standing strongly in the flowerbeds by the steps to the front door--a sight I hadn’t seen in the century since the tiefling’s arrival. My eyes widened with excitement as I realized that the spell had finally worked, and I was about to get some answers about the mysterious tiefling living as an imposter in my house.

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #ascended astarion #the promise of eternity

[timeforelfnonsense]

Read Sunshine & Starlight on Ao3 Read the previous chapter on Tumblr Pairing: Dafni (F!Tav) x Astarion Rating: M (Later Chapters will contain explicit content) TWs: depiction of mild anxiety Tags: Cubby elf oc, Cleric!Tav, fluff Elvish Translations: N'Tel'Que'Tethira - City Elves

Dafni sat cross-legged beside the fire, elbow-deep in her heavy canvas pack, plucking out anything of use she could find amidst the collection of random objects that had taken up a semi-permanent residence there over the years. Her mother had always said that her organizational skills left much to be desired. She could picture her golden brown eyes as they rolled in response to Dafni's insistence that she was simply well prepared. 

 Dafni yelped, her finger finding the sharp edge of a knife. She pulled her hand free of her pack, examining the tiny laceration. A bit of blood had welled up at the tip of her finger. She popped the finger in her mouth, gently sucking on the wound. Her face scrunched in displeasure as the smell of iron stung her nose. Frustrated, Dafni grabbed her pack, dumping its contents into a heap atop her bedroll. 

She immediately pulled out her father's compass, her crinkled map of the Sword Coast, and the offending knife, sorting them into the 'useful' pile along with a few other adventuring essentials she'd found mixed in with her clutter.

She separated her clothing next. One by one, Dafni tossed each article to the side save for a single length of translucent azure cloth. She pressed the peplos to her nose, drawing in the sweetness of elven laurel and fertile soil. It had been over a year since she last returned to her village, but the smell of home still clung to her vestments. 

Her chest ached at the thought of home. If she had just been able to content herself living among the wood elves— If she had never left the Feywild in the first place, Dafni might have avoided the dire situation she'd found herself in altogether. 

She signed, kicking out her crossed legs and flogging to her back. 

There was no use dwelling on the what-ifs.  A part of her would always belong to Gwynneth and the kaleidoscopic splendor of the Feywild. Still, the world was wide, and Dafni had been born with a voracious sense of curiosity that would never have allowed her to content herself with living the neat, simple life her mother had planned for her. 

True, Bauldr's Gate had taken some getting used to at first, but life in the city was already shaping up to be an excellent adventure. Twin Songs was a colorful hodgepodge of architectural influences. Temples and shrines to more gods than she could have imagined lined each street. Some people might have called the mishmash of aesthetics as garish, but to Dafni, there was strange loveliness in so many dissimilar things coming together to make something entirely unique.  

She'd found a townhouse there, just beyond Wyrm's Crossing. A white brick building with dark wooden archways. It was covered in crawling vines and star-shaped blossoms. The front garden was overgrown, but she could still identify a few familiar herbs among the chaos. A bergamot tree grew near the edge of the waist-high lattice fence, its branches bowing with the weight of unplucked fruit. When she spotted the crooked 'for rent' sign in the window, Dafni knew she'd found her new home. 

The townhouse belonged to a family of elvish nobles from the Upper City who had long since left for their country estate. However, their retainer had assured her they wouldn't have an issue with her using the lower floor of the property as a clinic so long as she could afford the rent. 

Business had been slow initially, but she'd gained a measure of favor among the city's elven refugees. Dafni's mouth tipped downward, her thoughts drifting to the trembling woman who'd come to her door in the wee hours of the morning. 

There had been an outbreak of fever spreading amongst the elven refugees of Rivington. Dafni had held her shaking hands as she described the illness: fever, chills, a flushed appearance, excessive perspiration. The Sylvan Sweats, she was sure of it. 

A nasty disease is left to run its course but treatable with the right combination of herbs and magic. She kept her shelves well stocked, but she'd need something more challenging to come by than the willow bark and elderflower she'd sent the woman home with to ease her people's symptoms.

Naralis Blessing. That had been her purpose in setting out for the Cloak Wood. The flowers were rare in the material plane, only growing in places where the veil between it and the Feywild was particularly thin. Even if she hadn't found them growing naturally, the conditions of the forest were perfect for her to conjure some up herself.

Dafni's fingertips brushed against the delicate skin just below her eye. Yesterday, she'd been on a mission to help her people, and now she was the one in desperate need of a healer.  

Gale had spared no detail when explaining the gory details of ceremorphosis. Disorientation, hallucination, headaches, bleeding orifices. They should have been hip-deep in misery by now. 

Yet, she and her new friends remained miraculously untentacled. 

He and Shadowheart were suspicious of the lack of skull-splitting horror, but Dafni was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Gods willing, their luck would continue and she'd have a cure and be on her way back to the Rivington elves before they even had time to wonder what was keeping her. 

Dafni's eyes fluttered shut, and thoughtful reflection began to bleed into half-formed reverie. She might have drifted off completely had she not heard the sound of Astarion's voice. 

"Pardon me ah— Daffodil, was it?"

"Dafni," she corrected with a snort.  

"Right. My Apologies. I'm not usually one to forget the name of a beautiful woman. A side effect of our little hitchhikers, perhaps."

She waved her hands before herself, a flush forming across her cheeks. "No harm done. Was there something you needed?" 

Astarion pushed aside the pile of clothes Dafni had left out on her bedroll before sitting beside her. Her flush grew impossibly hotter as his pale hand brushed against a pair of her candy colored panties. 

He glanced up at her, wearing a close-lipped smile. "Oh, nothing in particular. I just wanted to see how you were faring before we turn in for the evening. I'm happy to take the first watch if you'd like. I'll be awake for a while anyway. This is all new to me. Trudging around the wilderness all day and curling up in the dirt to rest is a little… novel," his expression soured for a moment before shifting back to indifference, "but I doubt I'll be getting much rest until we can procure some more comfortable accommodations." 

Dafni brought her palm to her mouth to stifle her giggle. It was terribly impolite to laugh at the discomfort of others, but the idea of an elf turning their nose up at nature was, as Astarion had put it, a little novel to her.

"I'm sorry!" she said as she bit back another peel of laughter, "I hope I haven't offered you it's just where I come from, N'Tel'Que'Tethira are particularly unheard of. Hearing an elf so dissatisfied with a night beneath the stars was a bit of a shock." 

"Oh, no offense taken." Astarion offered her a dismissive wave of his hand. "I take it you aren't baldurian then?" 

"Actually, I am! Only recently, though. I'm from the Moonshaes, originally." 

Astarion gave a thoughtful hum. "What brought you to the city then?" 

"Wanderlust, mostly," Dafni explained, "I lived with a clan of wood elves before coming to the city. We traveled all over the Isle of Gwynneth. I loved it but I was just… ready for a change." 

"Wood elves? How charming." he flashed her a dazzling grin, adding, "Although, I hardly think it was fair of them to keep such a lovely creature all to themselves in the wilderness." 

Dafni was beginning to wonder if Astarion took some sort of sadistic pleasure in making her blush. Gods, all it took was a few honeyed words and Dafni had found herself reduced to jelly. In her fluster, she had forgotten to mind her glamour, allowing a cluster of pale yellow and peachy pink flowers to blossom among her loose curls.  

 "Was there anything I could do to help you feel more comfortable?" Dafni blurted out, desperate to shift his attention away from the garden spring to life in her hair, "I—I could brew you an herbal tea to help you relax, maybe? Or, umm, I could share my bedroll. Not like that, of course! Not that I don't think you are handsome. You are very handsome. I mean, obviously. I just mean I could let you use it so you'll be more…comfortable."

Dafni groaned, burying her face in her palms. She jumped at the feeling of an icy hand wrapping around her wrist. Astarion tugged her hands away from her face. When Dafni finally mustered the courage to face him, she was met with the first genuine smile she'd seen grace his perfect lips all day.

"Oh no, darling, tea isn't really my drink. As for the bedroll, well, maybe another time." 

Dafni yanked her wrist free of Astarion's loose grip, "You are a ruthless tease! Has anyone told you that before?" 

"Alright, no more teasing for tonight; you have my word," Astarion said with a low chuckle; his fingertips brushed against her temple as he plucked a yellow flower from behind her pointed ear. He rolled the stem between his index and forefinger, glancing at her through his dark lashes. He brought the blossom to his nose, drawing in a deep breath. "You know, I think I might like you, Daffodil . The two of us are going to have a lot of fun together."

#astarion #dafni of gwynneth #bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tavstarion #elf writes #sunshine & starlight #astarion fic #astarion x f!tav

[undermounts]

bite the hand - chapter 4: false idol of mine

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

chapter preview:

The following evening, there is a devil in their campsite.

And it isn’t Karlach.

Read it on Ao3

The next morning, Astarion’s tribunal ends without bloodshed, much to Irileth’s immense relief.

It comes a little close once (Lae’zel unsheathing her greatsword, she holds it like an executioner’s axe—‘Bloodsucker!’) but cooler heads prevail. Namely Wyll’s, of all people.

“At ease everyone,” he says placatingly. “There is no need to spill blood on peaceful ground.”

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you some sort of monster hunter?” Gale interjects, frowning. “I feel as though I am experiencing a disconnect between that title and what is taking place here.”

“Monster,” Lae’zel clarifies. “So, hunt. Our course of action seems quite clear to me.”

“Vampire he may be, but Astarion is no beast,” Wyll explains. “He’s just a spawn. I’m more concerned about his former master.”

“Just a spawn?” Astarion echoes, miffed. But he bites his tongue when Lae’zel’s reaffirms her grip on her sword. “Of course. There are, as they say, bigger fish to fry. I will happily point you in the right direction. A gesture of goodwill, Wyll. ”

Oh, dear gods, Irileth thinks, vexed. Astarion truly is dedicated to his own demise.

“I didn’t say you were harmless,” Wyll retorts and it is clear from his tone that he doesn’t mean that as the compliment Astarion surely thinks it is. “I am only saying being a spawn does not automatically equate to being completely evil. Many are turned without their consent.”

Astarion sneers. “My, my, aren’t you well informed.”

“If you are evil,” Wyll continues, “you can rest assured knowing that I will not let you roam free. For now, consider this your probation. You’d best behave yourself.”

On and on it goes until Astarion is left alone, thoroughly scrutinized but ultimately unstaked. And for all of the threats he received, he looks remarkably unbothered. Smug even. Across the clearing, he meets Irileth’s gaze and smirks.

She’s moving toward him before she’s even realized. Damn it.

“That went quite well, don’t you think?” Astarion says glibly as she approaches. He gestures to himself. “No wooden stakes in my heart. Today is shaping up to be a splendid day.”

“You are certainly in a good mood,” Irileth replies, giving him a once over. Again, looking at him now in the full light of day, the change in him is subtle but considerable. He stands taller, prouder, and not (only) in the arrogant, preening way he did before, when he still pretended to be a noble. He is confident. Secure.  

“Why wouldn’t I be? I feel incredible. Powerful. Ready to take on the world!” He grins, laughing lightly, and closes his eyes.  His words become more hushed as he continues on, voice full of so much wonder. “I’ve imagined it so many times, but I never thought…I never thought it would feel like this. That I could feel like this.”

“Blood really has this sort of effect on you?”

“Yours does, certainly,” Astarion teases, and his gaze is lidded when he looks at her. “Animals, beasts… not nearly so much.”

“It’s no wonder Cazador forbid us from drinking it.” Astarion suddenly looks away and his fingers fumble with the metal fastenings of his new gloves. His resentment is made clear in the tense lines around his mouth and the deep furrow of his brow. “Why waste perfectly good blood on a bunch of slaves?”

Cazador. Master.

Irileth saw glimpses of the vampire lord through Astarion’s mind last night, though she never got a full look. Oil slick hair, grey skin, and glowing red eyes. She can hear his voice, though there are no distinguishable words, only an aura of malice.

(Gods help the wretch if she ever finds him; she will crack his chest wide open and construct a shrine with his ribs.)

“But I’m not his slave anymore,” he says fiercely, more to himself than her. “I’m free. Conveniently lost. And I’m never going back. Now,” he adds, looking at her, “you all know what I am. Which means I can fight with everything at my disposal—fangs included.”

His smile is all teeth and challenge, which reminds Irileth of the question that has been floating about her head ever since she awoke that morning. “How often do you need it? Blood from people.”

“Mmm, hard to say, really,” he hums, shooting for nonchalant as he examines his cuticles. “Depends on what we do. If we’re just traveling, engaging in some light fighting from time to time?” A shrug. “Then a little nibble every now and then will do just fine. Perhaps when a ripe neck presents itself in a fight?” 

Irileth raises a brow. “And if we’re pushing it?”

Astarion’s eyes are intent on hers. His voice drops to a low tenor, purring, “Then I’ll take anything and everything I can get.”

How quickly his moods change! It is nearly dizzying, but despite herself, Irileth feels her insides turn molten. Her brain positively lights up with the fresh memory of him pressed into her back, teeth in her neck. How Astarion groaned when he first pierced her skin, mouth full with the taste of her.

Astarion smiles like they are indulging in the same memory. Then, he reaches out and brushes Irileth’s hair off of her shoulder with a feather light touch. Just when she thinks he is going to caress her neck and the tender marks that still sit there, his fingers alight on the buckle of her armor, adjusting the strap. 

With truly—cursedly—impeccable timing, Wyll calls out from the edge of camp where he and Lae’zel stand ready to depart. Irileth must be unwittingly glaring at Astarion because he laughs lowly as he pulls away, all melted sugar and rich smoke. 

“Let’s go hunt a devil, darling,” he purrs with his trademark, sinful smirk. “I think it’s high time for you to see just what you’ve done to me, too.”

A little blood, it seems, goes a long way.

With ease, they tear through the gnolls and bloated hyenas that roam in pockets around the Risen Road. Irileth sees now that before Astarion had supped of her blood, he wasn’t even close to reaching his full potential. Being well fed has made him stronger. Faster, too. Better.

He doesn’t fight like she does. Dancing through the thick of it; she waffles between striking where she is most needed and appearing where she is least expected. Prior to last night, Astarion mostly kept to the edges of a fight, but now he dips in and out of the fray—unseen arrow, hidden knife. 

It delights Irileth every time his arrow pierces the throat of a beast in her radius, or whenever he drops down from his vantage point, a dark blur limned in silver, and drives his daggers into the back of her immediate foe, priming her death blow. 

Lae’zel and Wyll are terrors in their own right. Lae’zel’s unflagging stamina and devastating swings complement Wyll’s concentrated blasts of magic to wheedle the gnolls down. But the two rogues working in tandem are the pressure point upon which the hordes break.

The whole thing is glorious, if not a little repulsive (hyenas whimper-writhing, distended bellies bulging, bursting!) and provides some very fascinating insight into the other uses of their illithid stowaways. When they find the gnoll pack leader, the tadpole twitches, pulses, and Irileth forces her way into her mind without hesitation. She sees the creature’s insatiable hunger, her spoiled devotion to the Voice. 

(A bloodied handprint smeared across a slab of stone, it melts into a skull. They yearn to eat the world whole, but the Voice is unrelenting, all encompassing. Absolute.)

Poor, loathsome creature. It would be kinder for Irileth to just kill it, kill it like she has killed all the rest. But the urge within gnashes its teeth. 

If you are so hungry, Irileth coaxes into the pack leader’s mind, forcing it to turn its attention to its remaining fellow gnoll hunters, to see them from a new, bloodier perspective. Then feast.

The following evening, there is a devil in their campsite.

And it isn’t Karlach.

Wyll is bound to Mizora, a gods damned devil, member of the Archdevil Zariel’s inner circle. Selfishly, Irileth feels betrayed. She had hoped… He is supposed to be a hero. Pride of the Gate. The Blade of Frontiers.  

And now? Now, Irileth doesn’t know.

Serves her right, she supposes, for being so naive as to fall for his chivalrous and heroic persona. A facade, she thinks bitterly—all of it. Astarion would tell her that she is the worst kind of fool—the hopeful kind—for actually believing that once Wyll completed his hunt and was freed of his duty, he would transform into some sort of knight in shining armor, just like in his stories, and put everything to rights. In the end, she is just as responsible for her own disappointment, for believing that Wyll—that anyone else—could save her.

This is quickly becoming a trend, it seems: her being repeatedly tricked by her companions into seeing one thing while reality is quite another.

After Mizora vanished in a blazing puff of fire and smoke, Wyll retreated from the heart of camp to sulk alone by the river. Irileth studies his unfamiliar silhouette, the new horns that curl back from his head.

“Poor guy,” Karlach sighs, kicking the dirt. “Mizora’s a nasty one. There is literally no one in all of Avernus more unpleasant than her. Except Zariel. Fucking devils man.”

At least one good thing came out of all of this, Irileth reminds herself. Karlach’s presence burns beside her, heat rolling off of the barbarian in waves. Irileth maintains what she thinks might be a safe distance, eyeing the flames that lick off of Karlach’s red skin. They’ve all seen first hand today just how hot Karlach can burn, and she has no intention of feeling it as well (even though a part of her fantasizes about it, craves it).

Irileth and the others watched from the road as the toll house smoldered to ruins. The sound of wood snapping and glass shattering echoed from within, and above it all, there was Karlach whooping and hollering in all of her frenzied rage.

“I’m free! Free! AhaHAHAHAHAHA! And I’m NEVER. GOING. BACK! ”

“You’re taking all of this in stride,” Irileth replies now, picking at the side of her thumb. It eases some part of her, to have something to do with her hands. Due to her personal commitment to keep her blades sheathed at camp, she has resorted to this: clawing up her own skin like an undisciplined child.

“It’s hard not to,” Karlach answers, and, evidently also not one to keep still, she bounces from side to side on the balls of her feet. “Don’t mean to monologue, but you’ve got no idea what it’s like, soldier, to finally be free of the Avernus after ten. Long. Years! ” She laughs triumphantly again. “And Wyll! Gods, I’ve gotta be honest—I’m reeling. He barely knows me, and still! He chose my life over his. Been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me.”

Irileth raises her brows. “You don’t think he’ll go back on his decision? Go back to hunting you to get back into Mizora’s favor?”

“Nah. No way.” Karlach waves her hand dismissively. “I’ve spent years dealing with cambions and their ilk. I know how to identify a liar and a swindler. Wyll is a good man. When he was chasing me through Avernus, I thought he was just another sad merc. How wrong I was.”

That gives Irileth pause. They have drastically different interpretations of tonight’s revelations, it seems. Maybe—no. Amiable as Karlach is, Irileth doesn’t want her opinions to be swayed so easily. This is her weakness, she has come to realize: her dependence on her companions’ insight and information to fill in the yawning chasm of her memory. But how to avoid it, when her cratered brain is filled with so many holes?

“So… You wanna give Wyll a pep talk, or should I?” Karlach asks, picking at bits of ash that are speckled around her broken horn, caught in her hair. Then, she drops her hands, swinging her arms around. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your inner dialogue or whatever. You were staring at him for a while, though.”

Irileth shakes her head, rubbing her eyes. Hells, is she tired today. Irileth, in fact, does not want to give Wyll a pep talk. What Irileth wants is to crawl into her tent, and sleep for an age. But wounds fester and Wyll is practically bleeding shame everywhere.

“I’ll talk to Wyll,” she decides wearily. As for that pep talk? She’ll see. 

“Oh, and Karlach?” Irileth halts in her tracks, turning around.

“What’s up?”

“We’ll find you a mechanic as soon as possible,” Irileth promises her. “We’re going to fix your heart and get you home.”

Karlach’s grin is even brighter than her flames. “I appreciate you, you know that? Gods, I would smooch that little face of yours if I didn’t think I’d melt it off! First Wyll, and now you—this is the best day ever.”

Irileth smiles at Karlach’s back as she goes bounding over to where the rest of their party sits around the campfire, chatting and eating their rations. It’s only been a handful of hours, but everyone adores Karlach, Irileth included. There is such a light about Karlach, and Irileth cannot help but be drawn in by it; why anyone would try so hard to subject her to so much darkness is beyond Irileth.

“Karlach, my fiery friend!” Astarion looks up when Karlach joins the circle, and his fangs glint in the low light as he exclaims, “Settle a debate for Lae’zel and I, will you? In your opinion, what is the best way to kill a devil? I’m thinking it’s beheading.”

How adorable. The camaraderie that has sprouted up amongst her companions is so sweet it makes her sick. Irileth hurriedly turns away from the others and her smile melts from her lips, vision rimming with red.

Beheading, she muses. A quick death. Too quick. As she makes for the river, Irileth can’t help but wonder: would Karlach’s head still burn if severed from her body?

“Oh. Irileth. You startled me.” Wyll’s head snaps up when she approaches his spot on the riverbank. Illuminated by the light of the full moon, their reflections warp and ripple in the swift moving water—hers pale and ghoulish, his dark and distorted. Wyll gestures to the fallen tree behind him. “You’re welcome to sit, though I’m afraid I will make foul company tonight.”

“Foul company. Is that because you’re in a pact with a fiend?” Irileth asks bluntly as she ignores his offer and stands above him with her arms folded. She’s being unfair, she knows that. But it still smarts, the darkness she feels that she has been left in, without a guiding light.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” Wyll laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head. “I was referring to my presently poor attitude, but that too.”

Irileth is angry with him and she doesn’t quite know why. Or rather, she does know why, but not how to articulate it. Wyll doesn’t know the sadistic thoughts that churn in her vile little head. After all, Irileth has tried in vain not to let her sickness show, fearing what her companions might do to her (and what she might do to them in return) if they saw her true, darkest self. How to tell him—that she is mad at him for failing to rescue her before he even knew to try? 

Instead, she draws up something one of their companions (Gale, she thinks) said after Mizora disappeared and Wyll retreated to isolation, tail tucked between his legs in shame. “If there’s a devil at the other end of your leash, she was bound to come around sooner or later.”

Wyll only winces and nods despondently, contemplating his strange reflection before him.

“You should have mentioned your pact, Wyll,” Irileth adds, but the rebuke falls flat on her own ears. 

(She thinks of Astarion, unbidden: ‘I spent two centuries at someone else’s mercy.’ He needs someone to blame; this too, cannot also be his fault. ‘You can see why I didn’t trust you at first.’ )

They all have their reasons for keeping secrets, she supposes.

“Did it hurt?” Irileth asks when Wyll still does not rise to her bait, gesturing toward his new appearance. Sharp ridges of scar tissue-like flesh cut across his cheekbones and down his neck, looking for all the world as if someone had snatched Wyll up and carved a crude set of gills into his skin. Even his remaining good eye has been changed to something demonic: inky black scleras that encroach upon a ring of brightest red.

“When Mizora sent me through the Hells? Yes. More than anything I have ever felt before,” Wyll says bitterly, lips twisting with disgust as picks up a stone along the shore and rubs it between his fingers. “But now? The only thing my appearance harms now is my pride. A petty punishment from my petty patron.” His mouth suddenly forms a snarl. “Gods damn her!”

Irileth is silent as Wyll lobs the stone into the river, scattering his warbled reflection into tiny shimmering droplets. He whirls on her, teeth bared with disgust and pain. “Look at me! I did what was right, and Mizora punished me for it. When I made my pact, we had an agreement: I would be hunting devils and demons, traitors and hypocrites! Heartless evils—not Zariel’s victims, not innocent tieflings.”

Then, evidently exhausted by his outburst, Wyll sags forward like a puppet cut from his strings, resting his arms on his knees.

“You must think me a sham. And you would be right.” The moonlight glints off the ridges of his curled horns as Wyll hangs his head dejectedly. “It’s Mizora who grants me my power, but even that is a shadow of what it once was, now that we’ve been tadpoled. By the Helm, what have I become?”

Irileth feels a pang of sympathy (Soft-hearted whelp! She should cut that thing out—quick! Before it cleanses her foul and festering rot!) and her resolve against Wyll defrosts. He looks so miserable, like a wounded dog.

“Why did you make the pact with Mizora?” Irileth questions, because for some reason, it is important to her, to know how the Blade really came to be, and how much of him is real. 

She wants to know how badly she misunderstood him.

“Because I had to,” Wyll states firmly, clutching his hand to his chest. “I told you before—of the time I realized the Coast needed a defender. The realm is too big for one man alone; what is a lone rapier to a horde of goblins? A band of cultists? I needed to be more. Someone who could actually help.”

“I understand that, but was there truly no one else you could have bargained with?” Irileth grapples blindly for any information she knows about warlocks and pacts, though of course, she comes up nearly empty handed. “A different being. The archfey?”

“It’s not that simple, and I’m afraid I cannot do much to clarify.” Will sighs wearily although his expression remains kind, if not a touch wry. “Literally. I am forbidden by my pact to tell you the details of how it came to be. Just know that my deal with Mizora was not sought prior, nor was it expected. If there is anything to be learned from my sorry tale it is that devils only come when there are no other options, and not a moment before.”

“So, what? Mizora forced you into your deal?” She wants him to say yes.

“I only wish I could be as blameless as you think I am. But no.” Wyll unsheathes his rapier and holds it up, the sharp blade like quicksilver beneath the moon. Irileth catches his reflection in it, his new devil-marked eye. “Mizora may have forced my hand, but I still decided to make the pact. Because someone had to. Everything I have done since has been for the good of the people. And so I cannot regret it, not even now.”

Wyll turns away from his reflection, closing his eyes. “No matter what kind of horror she has made me into.”

Slowly, over the course of Wyll’s confession, Irileth’s anger deflated; now, it abandons her entirely. Hells. 

When they first met, Irileth had thought him unflappable. Unchangeable. She’d looked upon the Blade of Frontiers, saw his easy confidence and warm smile, and thought that this was a man who not only knew no shame, but also never had reason to know. She’d never considered him to be capable of holding such regret nor so much self-loathing. 

No, she hadn’t been that kind. She didn’t want him to be more than what she thought he was. 

Now, Irileth lowers herself to sit beside Wyll and lightly touches her hand to his shoulder. Wyll looks up in surprise.

“You’re still you, Wyll,” Irileth tells him, although a part of her recognizes she is convincing herself as much as him. “Horns or no, you’re still you.”

She wants to believe in the Blade of Frontiers. She wants to believe that some things can still be saved, even if she isn’t one of them.

Wyll stares at her, a bit starry eyed. Then he smiles sadly and puts his hand over hers. “I’ve let you down, Irileth. I know that.” He sighs heavily, then releases her to put his hand over his heart once more. “But I promise, I will make it up to you. You have my word.”

Irileth withdraws, a protest on her lips. She is at once flattered and… disquieted by his vow. He should not be beholden to her, no one should—it is too much pressure, to be the person someone looks to for approval and guidance.

Irileth squirms. She really had been unfair to Wyll from the start.

Fortunately—or maybe, unfortunately—Irileth is spared from responding. Something snaps in the brush behind them, and in an instant, both Wyll and Irileth are on their feet. Wyll, having already drawn his blade, steps forward, placing himself between camp and their unseen interloper.

Irileth is unarmed, but she knows—oh she knows that her hands require no daggers to reap death. (Open palm and fingers splayed, all the better to feel the sternum crack.)

“Show yourself!” Wyll demands, and (bless him, he still thinks she needs protecting) gestures for Irileth to stand back. “I’ll not suffer any sneaks or thieves tonight.”

His rapier begins to shimmer with green fiendish power and eldritch energy swarms around his clenched fist, ready to fire.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Someone—a familiar voice—shouts, and a woman stumbles forward out of the shadowed forest. A jumble of color, pale blue and purple, like the leaves of an autumncrocus flower. “It’s me!”

Alfira.

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x durge #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #durge #bg3 fic #baldur's gate

[justiceshot]

Alright, fuck it. Let's try our hand at this.

Tiberius, my #bg3 Tav. He is an Oath of Ancients paladin and a Tiefling. His companion quest would be called "The Lost and Found".

At the beginning of Act 1, this man is practically illiterate. His armor is ill fitting on him and despite his clear devotion to nature and life he seems very uncomfortable travelling through the wilds anywhere that isn't the main roads. Tiberius learns pretty quickly that his illithid parasite imbues him with a lot of basic knowledge on how to read various languages and uses it to his advantage to educate himself, pouring through every tossed aside tome or scrap of parchment he can find.

He feels woefully inadequate among a group of companions who all basically 'Lost' much of their power to their parasites. He's among well trained soldiers, clerics -- HELLS, the Blade of Frontiers even! And here's Tiberius in his armor he's not bulked into yet, barely literate. It's Mizora who outs Tiberius to his companions when she shows up to punish Wyll after Karlach joins their party. She titters behind her hand before waving it in front of her face and asking, "My, my! And such Company you keep, pet. The stink of Elturel's slums are on this one."

Tiberius - who named himself after storybook heroes. Who grew up without so much as a loaf of bread to his name and stole to get by with other kids his age. Who was turned away from apprenticeships and had no money for education. Who fled into the woods when Elturel fell.

It was a mountain spirit who granted Tiberius sanctuary in a long-forgotten shrine no longer visited for worship save by a scant few local druids. Who listened when Tiberius admitted he did not want to grow into a criminal but he knew nothing else. Tiberius recovered from malnutrition and his injuries in the little forgotten shrine. He dedicated his life to protecting this place and the life within it. It was then he took on the mantle of the Ancients and became a bby paladin. Only to get spirited away by the Illithid.

As a Companion, you'd first find him staring up at one of a few different signposts put up at crossroads around the Druid's Grove and the High roads, depending on where in the Act you find him. He's squinting up at the signage and then down at a map in his hands. If you talk to him, he mentions that he's trying to get back Home and asks where they are as if the sign means nothing to him.

He's generally pleasant to talk to but if you try to pickpocket him you'll find it's a pretty steep check to do so and more than likely he'll gently take your wrist and give you a sad, disappointed look. He asks if you're struggling, or just a cut-throat. His free hand strays to his sword as he asks.

Manage to not get into a fight with him and the next time you see him will be staring sadly down at a group of dead adventurers. He says he must bring justice to the goblins or gnolls that caused this death and will be amenable to joining your party once it is done.

"Travelling in groups is safer, and I've done enough getting lost for all of us, I'd wager," Tiberius offers you with a toothy self-conscious smile.

Tiberius prefers to set up his Very Modest tent wherever there's trees or near water but in towns he's as likely to hole up by sheds or other small unused structures. He can often be seen on hand and knee trying to copy words from the books you pick up onto parchment in shaky script when he thinks no one's watching or fishing if you're near a water source.

The paladin gains approval mainly by helping those in need or being respectful to flora and fauna but surprisingly he also admires deception checks on those who get in the party's way or sneaking around to avoid an unnecessary fight. He'll bicker with Lae'Zel, Shadowheart, and Astarion from time to time about their more harsh opinions but would rather win an argument through wit than to come to shouting or blows.

To trigger his personal quest you need to find his empty Illithid pod and search the wreckage. You'll find signs of a struggle and tracks leading away toward the swamp where Auntie Ethel's home is. Defeating the Hag and going into her back room if you scan the floor you'll find a discarded knife. It doesn't look like anything special and in fact is even worse damage wise than a basic dagger. Tiberius though will ask you if he can have it.

He cradles it like a second or two before smiling sadly and tucking it away. Later, at camp, he'll have a dialogue option available. Pick it and you'll find yourself on the shore taking a seat next to Tiberius in his meager patchwork camp clothing fishing away the evening. He thanks you for finding his knife.

"It's about the only thing I own," The paladin admits with another chuckle. If you ask him about his past he'll admit to having a hard time keeping up sometimes when you discuss journals or notes you find. That he's never been inside a proper temple. That he grew up a thief in the slums of Elturel. He's not stupid, Tiberius is quick to say in his own defense. Just uneducated. You can pull out a book and teach him how to write his own name, the fishing rod stuck into the sand and temporarily forgotten.

Tiberius is delighted to be able to read and write it, then asks for yours. He'll scratch that out in the sand too and then grin with a full faced beam of a smile and tell you he owes you a drink for this. The rod pulls, and you both whip around to see something pull the line. Together you reel in a large fish and topple back into the sand in a pile. You stare into each other's eyes for a second too long before Tiberius laughs and moves to get up. An apology is on his lips. He holds out a hand to help you up after.

Call him an oaf to lose approval, take his hand to be friendly, or yank him back down on top of you for a quick smooch if going for a romance route.

His personal quest will involve learning what happened to the gang he used to run with growing up, and will culminate in having to stop them in Balder's Gate where it's discovered they've aligned themselves with the cultists.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #tiberius #tav lore