#I have so many thoughts about tieflings and their body language | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaermorhenatnight · 3 months

Text

Light in the shadows

Rolan smut, NSFW, minors don't interact, please

Huge thanks to @commander-krios for proofreading and for all of the comments, suggestions and corrections! You’re amazing!

Rolan x fem!reader smut, Reader is one of the tiefling refugees from Elturel, afab, she/her. No y/n used. She's been friends with our favorite tiefling bachelor and decides to make her move during the tiefling party that they should have after act II. Tav appears and is gn (they/them)

CW | spoilers for acts I and II with mentions of violence, cursing, p in v, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, spells used for sex (including detect thoughts – consensually), Rolan's POV for a moment, biting and hickeys, tail play, Rolan is insecure about his body at first, dom Rolan, dirty talk, edging, Karlach x Shadowheart makes an appearance because I love them

Word count | 5,5k

Note: I tried to keep the spells as correct as possible (including components, duration and spell slots) because I am fun like that. If I messed something up about that please let me know! English is my second language so any tips and corrections about my writing are more than welcome!

Enjoy!

It was a nightmare. All of it. If not for blood pouring down your temple, sharp pain in your side and pounding in your head, you could pretend it was all a bad dream, that you would soon wake up from. Saying the shadow-cursed land was unwelcoming would be an understatement, but the attack... The screams. Zevlor, the calm, brave, strong Zevlor, just froze. Cal, Lia, and many others were dragged away. Others were bleeding out in the dirt. Some of you tried to fight, Rolan yelled to fall back, protecting the kids with everything he had. If not for his well-aimed spells, and the fight Cal and Lia put up keeping the cultists busy, none of you would have made it to the unexpected sanctuary of Last Light Inn.

Rolan took care of your wounds as best as he could. Despite your protests, he convinced the lovely cleric, Isobel, the woman responsible for the safety of the Inn, to come downstairs and lend some of her magic to help with your head injury.

Even though he went to great lengths to ensure your comfort, you could see all of his thoughts were preoccupied with his siblings' kidnapping and his perceived guilt in their capture. He was drinking himself numb, screaming at the kids who were just trying their best to show gratitude for all he'd done. He even lashed out at Tav when they offered help. Luckily for all of you, Tav not only brought Cal and Lia back safe and sound, but they also found, saved, and sent back to the Inn a slightly tipsy Rolan, who had disappeared to rescue his family on his own without accepting any help.

He did apologize to Tav afterward and thanked them for saving his ass, but gods, you and his family had to force it out of him with threats of violence.

You weren't that close before. You were good friends with Lia back in Elturel. It’s how you met him the first time. You liked him. He was fun to be around, although you would never feed his ego by telling him that, or risk being mercilessly made fun of by Lia, by sharing it with her. He was smart and funny, even if a little snarky and grumpy. You thought it was only natural that the difficulty and stress of your current situation brought you closer together. It didn't mean anything. Although you couldn’t help noticing him not being that attentive towards anyone else after all of you got to safety and could tend to your wounds. But you didn't want to give yourself hope. You couldn't. Life was difficult enough without getting your heart broken if you let yourself believe he might feel about you how you feel about him.

Right?

After what you heard was a terrifying and exhausting battle, the curse devouring this land was finally lifted. The sky started clearing up. A small party sounded like a pleasant idea, not unlike the gathering you held at Tav's camp after they helped you back at the grove.

And now you sit here, wine bottle in hand, watching with glee as everyone laughs and dances, celebrating the victory and honoring the fallen. Tav told you the truth about Zevlor. You can't find it in you to be angry at him. Honestly, you are just happy he survived and escaped.

Cal and Lia are on the other side of the room laughing, bothering Rolan about something. He lets out a frustrated groan, but the music of Alfira’s lute and the noise of conversation around them drown out what they are saying. You just look at them, smiling, happy to see them safe, happy to see Rolan relaxing in his own way, with his family by his side.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Come on, she's been pining for you for so long. And she's not subtle about it either. How can you not see it?” Lia is a little too loud for Rolan's comfort but everyone around them doesn't seem to notice anyway, in the haze of celebration. “I mean, I know I'm pretty great, but she wasn't coming to visit so often just to see me.”

“That’s a lovely tale, but I would appreciate it if you stopped spinning it. You are seeing things that are not there.”

“Gods, you are the dumbest smart person I know.”

“Are you also gonna pretend,” Cal chimes in, “your tail doesn't sweep the floor like you're a godsdamned kitten when she's talking to you?”

Rolan groans, hiding his face in his hands, trying to feign annoyance, while his cheeks and ears burn.

The truth is he couldn't believe you'd ever even look at him. In his eyes, you were a strong warrior, someone who he had once seen kill two people with one swing of a sword. Powerful, strong, courageous. And he's just a scrawny wizard who keeps getting his ass kicked. While he appreciates his siblings' attempts to support him, the amount of faith they are putting in his chances is ridiculously unrealistic.

He's going to try, one day, when he might have a chance. But he's not going to delude himself that he has it now.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“Unless you are casting a sending spell, I don't think he's gonna be able to read your mind.” Tav sits next to you and nudges your shoulder, pointing at Rolan with a quick nod. “I’m sure Cal and Lia, as happy as they are to be reunited with him, won't mind if you steal your boyfriend for an hour or two for some… relaxation… upstairs.”

What?

“What?”

“Hey, I know there's not much privacy on the road and this might be your last night under a solid roof for some time. I imagine it must be hard for couples to spend quality time together in such circumstances.” They don't sound like they're teasing. In fact, Tav sounds painfully sincere and supportive.

‘Couples’.

‘Boyfriend’?

“I— I'm not… I mean… We…” You trip over your own words, not sure what to say. “We are not a couple.”

“Oh.” The surprise on their face is confusing you. Why would they think you are a couple? Were you that obvious with your crush that they just assumed this level of openly shown adoration must mean an established relationship? That would mean Rolan must see it too. What if he starts pushing you away, displeased with your feelings for him? “Well, apologies for assuming.” They rub the back of their neck, clearly embarrassed. “I just saw how attentive he was… and the way Cal and Lia were talking about you… Sorry, didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It's alright, no apology needed.”

You sit in silence for a moment but it keeps bugging you.

“What did Cal and Lia say?”

“Well, how happy they are that Rolan and you ‘found each other’ and how ‘less unbearable’ he is when you're around… Like I said, I didn't know they meant friendship and it was rude of me to assume.”

Oh.

“I see,” you say and turn to look around the room. No matter how hard you try you can't not think about it. You would think the two of you were a couple if you heard them speak like that. It spreads warmth in your chest knowing Rolan's siblings see your influence on him that way. Your thoughts might be too obvious in your expression because Tav nudges you again.

“You wouldn't mind that though, huh?”

Your skin is naturally red. Usually, it’s hard to see blush on your face, but now you are convinced a blind person would notice.

“Don't be embarrassed. There’s enough darkness in the world to be negative about, some love here and there is what truly makes everything worth it.” They smile at you with encouragement. “And… he has been staring at you throughout our entire conversation.”

You look up and the moment Rolan's eyes meet yours he looks away, his face slightly darker.

“I know it's not my business and far be it from me to mingle in your love life… but it's rare to have a moment of peace like this. Go talk to him, enjoy the celebrations.” They get up and wander off to talk to other people. After all, they're the hero of the hour everyone wants a piece of. Again.

And…they're right. You probably won't try to make a move, but you can't let your confused heart stop you from spending time with your friends. Especially after all you've been through. As soon as you walk up, Lia puts her arm around you and hugs you.

“I thought you were gonna sulk there alone forever! Is your head acting up again?” she points at the almost-healed wound on your temple.

“Oh no, I can barely feel it.”

You smile. It's nice. Cal is leaning against the wall, wine bottle in hand. Lia is holding you with her arm around your shoulders.

You start with small talk, but in your current situation, weather and gossip don't really hold up. But as soon as Lia mentions the upcoming threat of the Absolute army, Cal steps in.

“We can discuss it tomorrow. And the day after that. Today, let's talk about nice things. Like Rolan finally getting that big boy job in Baldur's Gate.”

Up until now, you tried not to pay too much attention to Rolan, being very self-aware of your gestures, but now you can do it unsuspiciously. There is something in the way he is leaning against the table, in his relaxed posture, in the lazy smile, that is making you melt a little.

“Oh yes, it almost makes me want to treat you with more respect,” Lia laughs, poking Rolan in the ribs with her finger. “The Great Wizard Rolan of Elturel!”

“Ha… ha… love the respect.” Rolan rolls his eyes and straightens his robe where she wrinkled it slightly. You can't help but follow his hands’ movement with your eyes, wishing to feel them on your skin.

What is wrong with you? You are trying to have a conversation and your mind just wanders off into territories you would prefer not to explore in a room full of people.

“I did say ‘almost’.”

Your eyes meet Rolan's again. He smiles, almost shyly, and his cheeks darken. You fight the urge to look away. Maybe thanks to Tav's encouragement, maybe because of the wine, you hold his gaze and return the smile.

“Well, look at that,” Cal says loudly and hurriedly finishes the wine in his bottle. It takes him a few chugs, too many to be fully comfortable. “My wine is finished. Lia, wanna go get some more?” He gives his sister a look that you cannot fully decipher before they both walk away, leaving you and Rolan alone. You move to stand next to him, taking Cal’s place by the wall.

“It's good to see you feeling better,” he says, shifting ever so slightly like he's trying to stand closer to you.

“I could say the same thing about you.” You catch yourself moving closer. “You were a wreck without these two.”

“They're… they're family.” He looks down, his fingers clench on the edge of the table, and his brow furrows. Even after everything, he still blames himself.

“I know.” You give his hand a sympathetic squeeze and his entire body tenses. Oh shit. Did you overstep a boundary? “Sorry,” you mumble, panic taking over your body as you move your hand away, trying to take a step back, but Rolan reaches out to you quickly and takes your hand in his.

“No! No, it's… thank you.”

He doesn't let go. You are only holding hands but it feels more intimate than anything you've ever done with anyone. Gods, you want him. You want to be close, to hug him, kiss him. You want to let him know how much you care, how dear he is to you. And if not now, then when? If he doesn't reciprocate, so be it. You are adults. Your friendship can survive a moment of embarrassment.

You take a step towards him, put your free hand on his chest, and press a kiss against his lips. You brace yourself for rejection as you start to pull away, but he doesn't let you. He puts his hand on your cheek and pulls you back in.

Kissing him feels right. Like his lips were made to be on yours. Like his hands belonged on the curves of your waist.

You are careful at first. Just relishing in the softness of the gesture. But when he parts his lips and you feel the warm flash of his tongue on your bottom lip, you are gone. Your hands find the front of his robes to pull him even closer. For a moment, you forget where you are but a heavy arm falling on your shoulder painfully reminds you.

“You two should get a room.”

You turn, letting go of Rolan in panic, but when you see the smiling, heavily intoxicated face of Karlach, you relax. “Get it? Cause we're in an Inn!” She laughs joyfully, swaying on her feet, and then wanders off, not even trying to walk in a straight line.

“Ugh, they are going to be so obnoxious about being right.” Rolan rubs the bridge of his nose.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, Cal and Lia were trying to convince me… uh— that you…” he pauses and all of his confidence leaves him. But you are starting to understand and it makes your hearts flutter.

“I like you, if that's what you're getting at.” You spare him the embarrassment. “I really like you, Rolan.”

“Well, I gathered that.” He smirks and touches his mouth. “Do you… want to go upstairs?” He glances at Karlach who is now wrapping her arms around Shadowheart. “To ‘get a room’?”

You laugh and grab his hand.

“Sure, I'd love to.”

He pulls you behind him towards the stairs. “Have fun!” Lia says to you as you pass her by, and Rolan cringes, avoiding her gaze.

As soon as you leave everyone's line of sight, Rolan turns and takes your face in his hands.

“If I had known…” He is so gentle, fingers barely grazing your skin. His eyes wander around your face, drinking you in. “I wanted to wait until we got to Baldur's Gate and I became a wizard's apprentice and… when I'd finally be somebody… I would ask if you'd allow me to court you.”

“Rolan, what are you talking about?” You place your hands on his. “You don't need validation from some stuck-up jerk in his stupid tower to be somebody.”

“Actually, the Ramazith Tower is quite impress—”

“I adore you,” you interrupt. “You. Not what you can do or what you can become.”

You feel dizzy. He's so close.

He kisses you again. Slowly. Purposefully. His tail wraps around your leg and pulls you even closer. You whimper as the tip, you're not sure if it's accidental or not, strokes the inside of your thigh. Rolan pauses for a split second before repeating the motion, this time definitely on purpose.

“Fuck— Rolan… I'm sure there's an empty room here somewhere,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “I— Someone will hear us.”

“Well, if you can't stay quiet…” You can almost hear his smug smile before you feel his tail loosening its grip, getting more freedom of movement to climb up your leg and grind against your cunt.

You press your face into his chest in a desperate attempt to muffle a moan that is forced from your throat. He steadies you with a firm grip on your waist but doesn't stop.

You can't talk, you can't think, you can barely breathe. He has you wrapped around his finger and he hasn't even taken your clothes off yet. Every stroke brings you closer to release and makes it harder not to cry out in pleasure. You muster all of your self-control to grab his tail and move it away from you.

“Let’s find a room,” you say, voice hoarse. “So I can get you out of these robes and make you see stars.”

He swallows hard and tugs on your arm to lead you to a door in the corner. The door seems stuck at first, but one strong push gets it open. The room is not in the best state, most of the furniture is broken and scattered across the floor. The bed, except for dust and a few broken pieces of wood on top, is holding together pretty well though. A quick spell and a flick of his wrist from Rolan cleans the sheets enough for them to be almost presentable and even smell like lavender and vanilla. Flames appear on the candles that are still left on the walls.

“There are some advantages to bedding a wizard,” he says with a confident smile.

“I can't wait to learn what the others are.”

He places one hand on your cheek, pulling you into another kiss, and the other hand travels down until it stops between your legs. Him palming you through your leggings is enough to make you whimper. When he starts moving, his fingers circling your clit, your knees buckle underneath you and if Rolan didn't catch you, wrapping his arm around your waist and anchoring you against his chest, you might have fallen.

Even through the fabric, with movement restricted by both of your bodies pressing against each other, he brings you achingly close to release.

“Rolan… I— Gods…” Your breath is reduced to huffs and whimpers. He eagerly muffles them with a kiss so hungry and sloppy, it's all tongue and teeth clashing.

“Let go,” he whispers, breaking the kiss and letting you come up for air. “I've waited so long to see you come undone in my arms.”

As aroused as you are, the dry friction of the fabric becomes a little uncomfortable. You can't think of anything other than how much you want to get rid of all the clothing that separates you from Rolan right now.

“Take off your clothes then,” you say, shifting a little to move away from his touch. “And fuck me into tomorrow.”

You think you see his jaw tense up a little, but can't be certain in the dim light.

He leads you towards the bed and sits next to you, helping you get rid of your clothes, but when you gently tug on the hem of his robe he nudges your hand away.

“What's wrong?” This time you are sure something is bothering him.

“It's nothing,” he assures you, but his posture and tone of voice betray him.

“If you don't want to do this, you don't have to… I mean, obviously, you don't have to, but… I mean— I don't want you to feel pressured.”

“It's not that. I… really want this with you. I promise I will make you feel good.” He looks down and whispers to himself. “I just don't want you to see me.”

You know there's a lot of insecurities under Rolan's confident facade. He acts arrogant to hide how unsure of his abilities he is. He worries that Cal and Lia not being his blood means they don't see him as real family. He doesn't believe he is worth something in your eyes, or anyone else’s, until he proves himself in the city.

Despite all of that, you would never assume he felt insecure about his body. You always thought he would consider any focus on the physical appearance beneath him.

“Rolan... why?”

“I'm not exactly the… physical-prowess type. I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed with what you see.”

“I could never be disappointed with you. With anything about you.” You tangle your fingers with his and place a kiss on the back of his hand. “You can read me.”

“What?”

“Detect my thoughts. At any point, you can look into my mind. No need to warn me or even ask. Just look.”

You are scared. Scared that your feelings are going to overwhelm him, that they would be more than he is in for. But he needs to see for himself the way you feel about him.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Rolan stares at you for a moment, wrestling with his thoughts, before leading your hand toward the clasp at the front of his robe.

With shaking fingers, you help him out of his robes and then the shirt underneath. You want to memorize every inch of his skin you uncover. You want to kiss every part of him. Feel every part of him. You slide off the bed and settle between his legs. He watches you wide-eyed as you unbutton his pants and pull his cock out.

You start slowly, licking the tip before moving up and down the shaft. Rolan lets out a ragged breath, clutching at the sheets. When you suck the tip into your mouth, he whimpers softly. But it's not enough. For you anyway. You want to feel him hit the back of your throat. Choke on him until tears stream down your cheeks. You want him to completely ruin you.

Your hands wander, stroking his thighs and then his stomach. Tracing the infernal ridges, you relish in the softness of his flesh as you dip your head down until your nose brushes his navel. Your throat contracts around his cock and gods, you love the sounds that he makes.

When you pull away briefly, only to dive right back onto his cock, Rolan shifts slightly and you hear shuffling of fabric where his discarded robe lies next to him, as he pulls a piece of copper from a pocket. Then he whispers words of a spell and you feel tingling in your head. You look up. Rolan's eyes are set on yours.

You allow him in your mind. Let him see everything. All the lust and yearning. How you try so hard to burn the view in front of you into your memory forever. The view of his chest raising with heavy breaths as you continue to suck his cock; Muscles in his forearms flexing under prominent veins; His soft stomach you want to lick and kiss and leave bite marks on. He was scared of undressing because his body is not built like a brick house but gods, and now also Rolan, know it's not what you want, not what you need. Every single part of his body sends shivers of lust through you. You want him, need him, in every way possible.

You drag your tongue against the side of his cock. You can feel his presence in your head fading as his focus falters and then completely disappears when you suck in your cheeks and take his whole length again. Tears form in the corners of your eyes in reaction to the gag.

Rolan caresses your cheek, pulling you away and wiping your tears with his thumb.

“I— Wow.” He helps you up and pulls onto his lap. He's holding you close, one hand gently scratching your back and the other gripping your thigh, his face awestruck as he stares into your eyes.

You hoped hearing your thoughts would put Rolan's mind at ease, but it did so much more than that. You can see a sudden surge of confidence that you didn't expect, even in him. He roughly grabs you and pushes you down on the bed, caging you with his arms.

“I am going to make you beg for me.” His voice is almost a growl in his throat. He lowers himself and without any further hesitation, dives down your body, his tongue pressing flat against your clit.

It's so much better than anything you imagined, and you imagined a lot. Every lick, every flick of his tongue sends a burning hot jolt of pleasure from your cunt through your entire body to the tips of your fingers and toes. You dig your nails into the sheets, trying to ground yourself. You buck your hips, begging for more friction, more pleasure, more.

You feel the tingling in your mind again and let him in immediately.

The coil in your stomach is getting tighter and tighter and you can feel that if he keeps going like that it will soon snap. That's when he stops. Raises his head and looks at you, smug and a little mischievous. He knows what he did.

“Rolan, what the fuck?”

“You need to be patient. I will take care of you, I promise. But I want to take my time.” Before you respond, his head is back between your legs. The spell connecting you fades, but he doesn't need it anymore to know when you are close. He listened to the change in the pitch of your moans. The slight difference in the way your body tenses. And he's always been a quick learner.

The buildup is even faster this time, and again, he brings you painfully close to release before stopping.

“You're mean,” you whimper, tears now streaming down your face.

“A little.” He chuckles but goes back to work immediately after he sees your muscles relax a bit. His grip on your thighs is unyielding, holding you in place so he can devour you.

You can feel your orgasm approaching again and you don't think you can take the teasing anymore. You reach down and grab Rolan's horn, holding to it like a lifeline. “Rolan, please… I can't— Let me finish… Please…” Your legs are shaking, your body burns. You feel like you're going to die if he pulls away now.

He doesn't. When he can see how close you are, this time he just looks up to watch as you cum on his tongue, keeping the pressure and tempo going as you ride out your orgasm. He only stops when you push him away, high in the afterglow.

“Hells, Rolan…”

“Told you I was gonna make you beg.”

“You fucking asshole,” you laugh, grabbing his hand and urging him to lie next to you. He complies, clumsily kicking his shoes and trousers off, cleaning his face that's still dripping with your slick with a quick spell. His cock is now digging into your thigh and he's littering your neck and shoulders with kisses. Gentle at first, then harder, with more teeth, leaving marks. You expected this possessiveness from him yet it still surprises you a little. He pulls your leg to rest around his hip. His tongue is soothing the bites and bruises he has left on your skin.

“Do you want to continue?” He raises his head and bucks his hips involuntarily, grinding against you.

“Fuck yes.”

You turn to him fully, wrapping your arm around him and pulling him closer. His lips, kiss bruised, are back on yours. You flip him on his back, straddling him, his cock between your folds, the tip hitting your clit as you start rocking your hips.

His grip on your thighs is strong, desperate. He guides your movement, pressing his head back into the pillow.

“Ride me,” he pleads, his nails digging deeper into the flesh of your legs. And how can you refuse, when he's asking so nicely?

You shift to press the tip of his cock against your entrance and then sit down taking him in one swift motion. He thoroughly prepared you with his mouth but the stretch still steals the breath from your lungs.

“Hells,” you sigh, stilling for a moment to adjust to him.

He whispers your name with a reverence usually reserved only for the gods. Then he whispers something else. A spell. And you feel a gentle pressure of the mage hand at your clit. You start rocking your hips and his cock starts pressing deliciously against all the right spots inside of you. He has to recast the mage hand every other minute but he does it without any delay, the moment it would disappear, it appears again, as if he's counting the seconds to make sure your pleasure never falters.

“Rolan, you fill me so well.” You don't even think about it, the words just spill from your mouth. But they don't go unnoticed. You can see Rolan's eyes darken as something changes in him. He grabs you roughly again and rolls over to be on top of you. The slow rolling of your hips is replaced by his thrusts. The first two are restrained, but then he picks up the pace. He steadies himself on his elbows, chest pressed against yours, breathing heavily in the crook of your neck.

“Say it again,” he groans into your ear. His voice is low, lustful. A demanding hunger, that mirrors your own.

“You make me feel so good— Gods…” Your sentence is cut short by a moan Rolan pulls from you, his mage hand steadily circling your clit. “I never want to stop doing this. You fuck me so well, Rolan.”

The sounds he is making are animalistic. His movement becomes erratic and soon you can feel him twitching, spilling into you. The warmth of his seed fills you and the sweet honey of his incomprehensible praises tickles your neck. The mage hand seems to flicker for a moment as Rolan's climax overwhelms him, but he quickly gets his bearings and the steady pressure on your clit is back. His cock is slowly softening as he pulls out, shifting to kneel between your thighs. You can feel his seed spilling out of you as your muscles contract and relax, grieving the loss of his cock. Rolan looks between your legs like he's hypnotized for a moment. Droplets of sweat are glistening on his chest, his hair is in disarray. He is so fucking handsome.

When you feel Rolan's fingers circle your entrance and then, carefully minding his claws, sink into you, the tension inside comes close to snapping again. Your back arches as you're inching closer and closer to release and then when it overflows you, your vision blurs, your whole body tenses and soon you are gently pushing Rolan's hand away, overstimulated.

As he pulls his fingers out, he casts a spell and you feel his seed disappear and your thighs and his fingers are clean and dry again. It puts your mind at ease, not having to worry about any surprises in a few months.

“I don't think I could ever get tired of that view.” Rolan cocks his head slightly, his gaze caressing your body. His tail wraps around your calf.

“Well, I could never get tired of presenting it to you.” You let out a breathless laugh, collecting yourself. You sit up and place a quick kiss on his lips. It feels almost out of place, the gentleness of it, after what you just did. Slowly both of you start putting your clothes on between the kisses and you want to ask if he would like to stay here or go back downstairs, but you don't get that chance.

The door opens with a thump as it hits the wall and two people stumble inside not even noticing you at first, their limbs tangled, their lips joined. You wouldn't even recognize them if not for blue flames engulfing the tall figure of Karlach accompanied by Shadowheart. Good for her. You see a flash when Dancing Lights is cast.

“Oh shit, sorry.” Karlach laughs, when she finally notices you, one arm around Shadowheart, the other rubbing the back of her neck. You can hear Rolan behind you struggling to put his robe over his shirt and trousers faster.

“Don't worry, we were just checking out.” You can't help but laugh. Normally the situation would be mortifyingly embarrassing but right now your heart feels so light you can't find it in yourself to be anything other than joyful. You grab Rolan's hand as he finishes tightening the last clasp on his robe, and pull him towards the door, grabbing your jacket from the floor on your way out. “Have fun!” You manage to say before the door shuts behind you. The muffled noises you hear from inside the room tell you they definitely were planning on having fun even without your encouragement.

“Well,” Rolan clears his throat, trying to regain the scraps of his dignity. “That's a less-than-ideal ending to our evening. But I'm sure there are many more evenings to come.” It's not a statement, not really. It's a question. And even though he's smiling, you can see a hint of panic and insecurity in his eyes. You grab his hand. It feels so nice to be able to do that.

“Of course. You are not getting rid of me that easily.”

His smile of relief could melt even the coldest heart of stone.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x reader #baldur's gate rolan #smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut

274 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 3 months

Text

Camp scene with Lae'zel was sweet enough as far as it goes:

"It is not in a githyanki's nature to say 'thank you'. Our language doesn't even have a phrase for it. Chraith'kan zharn is the closest equivalent I know - 'May your enemies know agony.' But after releasing me from Orin's grip, there is only one proper response: Thank you. Sincerely."

"You're welcome."

"Ah, hm. Well. Good then. Let's carry on."

It was kind of cute - she approved and got a little bit flustered and awkward about it. But - realistically, the game can't offer me an actual scene that matches my specific Hector headcanons.

And I think there's a far more interesting way this reunion could play out. >:)

-----

There's a flicker of some magic dispelled as Hector unlocks the chains binding her to the altar; in a flash, Lae'zel's eyes are open and she is up off the stone, rocketing backwards away from him and the others. Gauging the situation in a quick sweep of her eyes, she comes up with a sword off the body of one of the dead cultists and has it up in both hands, warding off an attack that does not come.

Hector goes utterly still, both hands spread at his sides.

Silence. She stares at him with a baffled, hunted look; the point of the sword trembles minutely, then steadies as she redoubles her grip. "Hector?" she rasps.

He nods slowly. "It's me. It's all right--"

Even barely conscious, she moves like lightning - a sudden dart forward this time. He's weakened from the fight with Orin and not expecting the blow, which cuffs the hilt of the sword across his jaw with an impact that makes his ears ring. Her free hand grabs him by the collar and pulls him in a throw he's almost certain she learned from watching him fight; the momentum flips him up and over her hip and lands him in her place on the altar.

She kneels over him, the blade at his throat, her eyes full of blind rage and tortured pain.

"Is it not enough?" she snarls. "Is it not enough that you have tormented me, all these days, that you now appear before me wearing his face? Do you think me such a fool?" The cold metal presses over his jugular. "It is you who are foolish, Orin, to open my chains and think I would stay my hand on a mere pretense."

"Stop--" he hears Karlach shout.

"Stay back, doppelganger," Lae'zel barks without looking up. "One further step and I shall sever your queen's head from her body." She leans forward; Hector can feel the heat of her breath on his cheek as she hisses in his face.

"Cease your blaspheming of my friend's image, shka'keth. I would see your true eyes before I open your throat."

"Lae'zel--" he gasps out. "It's me! Orin's dead! It's me-- I promise you--"

She freezes. Her head draws back; the pressure of the blade eases just slightly. "So many days I have waited," she mutters. "I swore to myself I would not be weak when the moment came..."

"It's me." Hector's eyes flick wildly around the room as he grasps for some way to prove it. "You-- we met on the nautiloid. You thought I was a thrall. We escaped, we crashed... we found you in a cage with the tieflings... Shadowheart didn't let you forget it for weeks..." His breath catches on a slight, hysterical laugh without any humor. "The creche... you took me there, we saw through Vlaakith's lies together... we traveled in the shadows and you told me of the light of the Astral Sea..."

He feels, to his shame, that his voice is starting to shake, to crack-- the battle exhausted all his control and he barely has the strength to think, and seeing her staring at him with such fury, after all he has done to try and reach her, feels like a last brutal blow struck by Orin from beyond the veil.

"Ch'mar zal'a Orpheus," he mutters shakily, parroting the words he has heard her mutter in camp. "You opened your mind to me when you made your choice to turn away from Vlaakith... you trusted me then, please trust me now..."

She draws a sharp breath in; her eyes narrow. His words are breaking through the haze, bit by bit, a little of the mad rage starting to fade. Her head jerks and he feels the familiar prod of the tadpole connection in his mind, his parasite squirming in answer to hers. For the first time he can recall, he is desperately grateful for that connection, for the proof it offers.

Images begin to flash between them, a thousand upon a thousand memories of their shared struggle. He groans, his eyes rolling back in his head. "You almost broke my jaw, that night in camp, and said perhaps our pain would bleed out of our wounds..." he whispers. "It hasn't yet, but I have hope... put the blade down, Lae'zel, please... it's me..."

She draws back. The sword slips from her fingers, clattering onto the stone next to the altar.

"Kaincha..." she mutters. "You speak truth..."

He sits up slowly, rubbing involuntarily at his neck where the blade pressed. "Have I ever lied to you?" he asks softly.

Her shoulders are rigid, her whole body taut, and he can see that every bit of her strength is going into preventing her from trembling. "She came in so many faces. Every one familiar. Every one a mockery. I came to doubt my own eyes..."

"It's all right," he answers gently. "It's done with now."

He's dimly aware that Karlach has come up next to him, that one of her hands is resting on his shoulder, that she is bent forward on the balls of her feet in a protective aspect, ready to strike should Lae'zel show any further sign of violence. But the fight has gone out of the githyanki warrior now; with the moment of adrenaline gone, she looks beaten and exhausted. Ashamed.

He considers a moment, then deliberately pitches his voice a little slower - a sharper snap, like those he heard from the githyanki at Y'llek.

"The way out is clear," he tells her firmly. "Go back to camp. Rest. We'll talk when I return."

She blinks - and he sees a flash of something like relief through her eyes at having an order to follow. "Yes," she agrees with a crisp nod, standing at once. "I will wait there." She turns, looks around the bloody atrium as if fully registering it for the first time.

A slight pause, and then she adds, "I should offer my gratitude. But there are no words with which I was trained to express it. You came through fire for me, and I answered you with a blade."

"Thank you is enough," Hector says; a slight smile tugs at his lips.

She snorts softly. "Hm. Thank you, then," she mutters. "It is... insufficient, as is much in your barbaric tongue. But it will do for now."

Without another word, she stalks up the gore-slicked stairs towards the sewers.

They all watch her go, and then Hector groans softly and lets himself fall back to lie on the altar again, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. Karlach's face drifts into view as she leans over him.

"Same old Lae'zel, eh?" she says dryly. "Gods, I'd give her a thrashing for threatening you like that, if I wasn't so glad to see her."

"She was afraid," Hector says absently. "And I don't blame her for it."

Jaheira sits down on the edge of the altar with a weary sigh. "There are none of us, I think, who have not done something foolish in the name of fear." A smile flickers across her face. "That said, had she injured you, we would have made her feel it."

He shakes his head. "It's all right," he says firmly. "The Chosen are dead, finally, and we've stood against all their machinations; the last thing we need is to start tearing ourselves apart now. She's back with us. That's enough."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #drabble #lae'zel #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 drabble #orin the red #bg3 tav #long post #i'm pretty proud of this one actually :D #and once again i really really wish I could draw to render this moment effectively

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neofeliis · 6 months

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I Want to Live

Summary: After the events of Moonrise, the party gets the briefest of reprieves at Wyrm's Rock, and with the lull after the chaos, Tav's past starts to catch up with her.

Pairing: Fem!Tiefling!Tav x Astarion

Notes: Spoilers for the Dark Urge. I was pretty dissatisfied that we never really address, or even have any reactions to meeting Kressa Bonedaughter and the pretty horrifying things she reveals to us. Realistically, Astarion most of all should have had some reaction to this, but with such a big reveal there definitely needed to be some consequences to this. This is a very rambly way of trying to remedy that. Enjoy

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Astarion had barely finished his trance when he sensed he was not the only one awake. Usually his eyes were the first to open in camp, needing so much less rest than the others, and he had those newborn hours to watch the sun rise. To take in every second without having to think, to be perceived in any way by their group.

In the chaos of this new life, it was a surprisingly welcome peace. The dark of night was so familiar, a quiet but cold companion. That transition, however, of the late morning hours into the colors of dawn, was something he had yet to get used to. It still set him into the briefest of moments of unease, feeling as though he needed to take cover. Those instincts were not easily rewritten, and it brought the feelings of relief anew.

He had each morning, alone, to process these feelings. But he could hardly be surprised that someone couldn’t sleep and was already awake. The party was at the precipice of something so much bigger than themselves, barely a day’s travel from Baldur’s Gate. What everything seemed to begin culminating to felt precariously paused when they made camp at Wyrm’s Rock.

Home.

Home was so close to so many of them, and with the events of Moonrise so fresh still, it was a wonder they found any rest at all. Maybe it was the comfort of almost familiarity, or just the relief of an unshadowed camp.

With a languid stretch, the vampire turned over in his bedroll and rested his chin in the crook of his elbow, blinking the last remnants of sleep from his eyes and adjusting to the dark.

At the edge of camp, sitting where he knew there was quite the view of the city, was Tav. Seemed about right, sleep evaded her so much more than the rest. They all had demons, but she had them in spades and they were always quite determined to make sure she looked as unrested as possible come morning. That, or trying to tear out his throat in the night. There wasn’t much in between.

He wondered if they were calling to her again, but even from behind she looked strangely calm.

Astarion narrowed his eyes, trying to focus, and realized that he was only half right. She wasn’t tense, rabid, or anything of the like. The urges had a certain trademark on her body language, which he'd found himself understanding with utmost clarity of late.

He might have found himself warming to that thought if concern hadn't overshadowed it. The slouch in her shoulders was one he knew well, the height she held her head, the disheveled hair she didn’t bother to control. Something haunted her, just not her urges this time. With a long inhale, he tilted his head to the side slightly, catching small movements now that he was looking closer.

Tav’s hands traced up her arms, pausing here and there, trailing up to her neck, reaching back over her shoulder, and feeling back as far as she could reach. A strange sense of deja vu washed over him, watching her fingers trace over spots that he remembered quite clearly on her. It had taken quite a bit to school his surprise the first time he’d bedded her and seen the innumerable scars all over her body. Ugly, jagged, and drawn in ways that he recalled at the time made him uneasy. Not because they marred her appearance, she was a vision all the same, but because Astarion understood cruelty with unwanted fluency. And he knew pain delivered with glee when he saw it.

There were battle scars, and there was a torturer’s composition. Both precise cuts and those that looked like they had been torn open, and curiously enough, a great deal of scars that looked like stitches.

But Tav never spoke of them, and he would later learn that she couldn’t; there was no story in her mind to call back upon. She never even acknowledged them.

Not until they found themselves in the Mindflayer colony. When they stood in front of that vile woman, Kressa. Astarion’s eyes narrowed, thinking back on the encounter.

It started innocent enough, talking to Tav like she was a long lost friend, someone they might have even cared about somehow. Astarion almost believed that, had he not clocked the confused apprehension on Tav’s face: the tiefling had no recollection of who this was. Astarion felt the suspicion build within him the more Kressa told them about Tav, about finding her, about her infection in this very chamber, and then about stitching her back up. Presumably helping her. But something was off, wrong here, and by the flex in Tav’s jaw she sensed it too, even if she couldn’t put a pin on it.

Astarion, however, knew this tone well. The possessive, hungry way Kressa looked at Tav, the way her hands twitched…he knew without doubt that this woman had something to do with Tav’s recorded agony.

And then, then Kressa spoke without abandon. Wrapped up in her excitement, tinged with madness, every detail fell unfiltered from her lips. Shamelessly detailing all of her delights in ownership over Tav’s body. ‘Special one.’ ‘Mine.’

Astarion remembered how much he wanted to rip the woman's throat out. With every depraved detail that she revealed, he felt the rage bubble. A hot, delirious sort of anger that anyone, let alone someone so within reach, would have intentionally done what had evidently been done to Tav. She’s insane! She’s just like Cazador…

“Acting as if free will is yours again…” Kressa spoke like Tav was a simple object, an experiment upon which to tinker, poke, prod, dissect. She delivered every detail in the tone of absolute reverie and an air of excitement like she had reclaimed a favorite plaything. Like she expected that the tiefling was hers once and was again now. The thought of that, of Tav falling into those clutches again… A slave, and a master.

You do not get to hurt her anymore.

But this wasn't his catharsis to take, Tav was owed that victory for herself. Astarion knew that better than anyone. And take it she did. The snap might as well have been audible, and Kressa was not permitted to finish speaking before the tiefling was upon her. Good.

Still, he delighted in every bit of blood they let from Kressa, intentionally pulling his later blows so that Tav alone would land the killing blow. Tav stood over her body, chest heaving, her flexed hands dripping with blood. He wanted to approach her, to say anything, but the faraway look in her eyes told him he would get nothing from her here.

Everything after that point happened so quickly, each moment dwarfing the last, that this was the first quiet moment since. There had not been more than a second to think, to speak about what any of them had seen or heard, until this night.

While the others slept, Astarion watched Tav fumble over the story of her past. He watched her stare at her hands finally, turning them over as if seeing those scars anew. Seeing the splits over her knuckles where she had fought her way out of that pod.

'Humor me.' The air of levity in her voice, when she asked him to sniff the blood in the broken pod, was wholly unconvincing; something stirred in her when she saw that place and she couldn't hide it from him.

Tav went still as death when he confirmed the blood was hers, stopped breathing even. She moved closer imperceptibly, staring up on the cage from which her own two hands had fought out of. They'd named, suddenly, the scars on her hands. She raged against the confines of that pod until she burst forth, covered in her own blood, only to land into another cage altogether.

Alone.

Now, Astarion couldn't stop picturing the woman inflicting each scar he could make out on Tav's body in the waning moonlight. Kressa so clearly enjoyed every second, and sealed each one back up just to make more. Had the tiefling been awake every time? Was there any consciousness left in her to scream? Or had she found that familiar distant place to shut herself away just to survive? Bit down on the pain and bore it because what other option existed?

Alone.

He watched her clench those hands into fists, he watched her back curl forward and her hands move up into her hair. The weight of her past became so apparent, a trauma she didn’t even know she possessed threatened to crush her on the spot. Tav might not have known who handed her broken body to Kressa to break even further, but she knew now the pain she suffered at her hands. And for what? What was any of this for?

In her chest, that ugly beast raged, roaring for revenge, and she had exacted it so swiftly that it felt hollow. She’d not known a single thing about this part of her life until that moment, and it was gone as soon as she had found it. The memories of that time came every time she closed her eyes, hazy and ephemeral, but each time a different scar burned, as if calling to her: ‘here, this is how she made this one, it was her favorite, you were her favorite, violating you was her favorite,’

You were special.

Bile rose at the back of her throat, right at the moment that she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Tav jumped so violently she nearly choked, looking up to see an unphased Astarion. There was a glimmer of surprise on his face, and she realized then that her cheeks were wet.

Tav couldn’t bear to look at him, and instead returned to staring at her hands. Hands that had drawn enough blood that surely Kressa was her punishment. The images of Alfira flashed through her mind, and she grimaced, knowing that there had been many Alfira's. Enough for her to have deserved what she was dealt.

"I can't, close my eyes. Without seeing her," she said, flexing and unflexing her hands. "I don't even know her and she's all I see. Cutting and stitching, pulling at me. Owning me." Tav grimaced, an almost-snarl had she not felt so beaten. "I didn't even know she existed before yesterday and now she's all I see," she repeated.

Astarion sighed deeply, rolling tension out of his shoulders, before he sat down next to her. They were so, so alike in ways that it was frightening at times. A mirror in which he could finally see himself. Words did not come right away, as comfort was something he was barely learning to receive let alone give. But he found himself thinking of what she might say to him during the innumerable times he felt just the same, and realizing he could do none of it justice.

"I'm realizing, now, that she might be my punishment," Tav started, and Astarion tensed, "she must be. What other reason…"

He found his words now, waving his hand dismissively, "None of that, no one has that right." Red eyes regarded her carefully, and she slowly lifted hers to meet him. Something unreadable was in there, something cold, apprehensive.

"It's justice, Astarion," she replied, voice low. It was uncharacteristic. "You saw what I did to the ba–to Alfira. In my fucking sleep. Something in me was capable of that when I wasn't even in control. It was only a matter of time, anyone would have that right."

Astarion narrowed his eyes, turning now to face her a little more. "Come off it, I led a thousand souls to their deaths for Cazador. I had no more choice in that than you do with these urges. And I'm free of that; you will be free of this," the sudden passion in his voice stilled her for a moment, "I was not lying to you when I said we would do this together."

Tav held his gaze in quiet surprise. He had not been so frank with her like this before, and the determination in his voice was at first exciting. Then…then it soured. That ugly, hungry monster inside her rose from the bottom of her belly, crawling its way upwards. It opened its maw, and swallowed those words whole into its black black soul. Not for you, it seemed to say. You don't get these pretty words, these lying words.

The shift on her face was obvious enough to put Astarion on edge. He steeled himself, seeing her eyes darken, hard lines forming themselves on her brow. All the softness he had grown so fond of melted away from her features, taking on a familiar look. He had seen her like this once before, on the night she had lost herself to her urges. "Do you even know what I am?" The voice that rumbled out of her chest was and was not her own.

In a flash, the tiefling overtook and pinned Astarion into the dirt by his neck, driving out the breath from his lungs. Both hands found their way around his throat with a grip that was nowhere near as tight as it could have been. Astarion made no move to stop or resist her, partially because he could still breathe, but mostly because the conflict on her face was palpable. Tav's hands shook violently around his throat, sweat beading on her forehead. He knew already this was not her, but unlike last time, she was fighting against it with what seemed like everything she had in her.

"My dreams whisper murder, like it's an art. A calling," Tav hissed out between her teeth. Slowly, the tiefling lowered her face closer to his, nearly baring her teeth at him. He only held her stare with a calm mirror of intensity. "I cannot be free of this," she sneered in his face, "No matter how much I want to."

There was a beat, and then, "But you do want to."

He might as well have struck her. A single heartbeat boomed in her ears and she stilled, her grip faltering on his neck. A momentary lapse, before a snarl ripped past her teeth and her grip tightened infinitesmally. "You think what I want matters? The luxury of desire was stolen from me long ago, and it's exactly what I deserve."

Astarion sneered, reaching up to grab hold of her forearms. "What do you want, Tav?" he pushed, narrowing his eyes. "You may not think you deserve your desires but they are there; name them." His words were a lead into the dark, something he was steadfastly trying to get her to take hold of. Take it. Just reach out and take it, he seemed to plead with her.

Just like that, the light returned to her eyes and she nearly fell off of him. Shame settled onto her face as she looked down at her scarred hands. Hands she'd wrapped around the neck of the person she cared for the most.

With another sigh, Astarion hauled himself back up and it was his turn to get into her space. With his thumb and forefinger, he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. With his other hand, he grasped both of hers. The elf tilted his head slightly, looking at her from beneath his lashes. "Are you giving up?" he asked, his voice dropping into an almost whisper. "Or do you want to live?"

Tav nearly crumpled, her eyes watering again. Something deep in her stirred, something even more unfamiliar than her urges. "More," her voice cracked, and she stopped herself.

She thought suddenly of the hopscotch etched in the stones of the goblin village, and the quiet, soft emotion it evoked. Still so unsure of her urges then, she had waved it off as nothing. Certainly nothing so childish had ever been something she could be a part of.

But as the days passed, the kindness came easier than the bloodthirst. The easy laughter with her companions in between the chaos, the nights by the fire and the drinks and stories shared. These softer things flowed with a natural ease that she almost felt ashamed to experience. Surely that kind of person couldn't exist in her. Not after all she had done.

Still, she found herself becoming greedy. It felt so, so nice to pretend. What if, what if she laughed a little more. Enjoyed their company a little more. Loved a little more? All of these things that felt like her true nature and like a lie in equal terrifying measure.

But even so…let it be a lie. It wouldn't be the first time she had been untruthful, least of all to herself.

"More than anything," she finished, watching a satisfied smile spread on her love's face. "I want to be myself, whoever that is. I want," she paused, "I want to live!"

"Then we face forward," he resolved. An intensity blazed in his eyes as he leaned closer, "We are more, than what anyone made us to be. We decide. No one else," he continued, "I see you for who you are. Your darkness does not frighten me, darling, and it will not claim you. We will save you."

She felt her chest crack, and the roiling beast within go quiet. Her shoulders dropped, and she reached up to grab hold of his forearm.

"This isn't your problem, you know."

He scoffed, "Cheeky, using my words against me."

#bg3 #the dark urge #durge x astarion #astarion #baldurs gate 3

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jynxeddraca · 1 month

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Tiefling head canons

Because I'm in a mood and thinking about tieflings makes me happy. Some of these I've thought up independently, some I've seen elsewhere online and can't recall where but I've just folded into my head canons.

Totally got this idea from another person's post but I fully embrace that some tieflings can purr. In those that can it ranges from a noise that's high in the throat or very deep in the chest. I like the idea some can do it at almost a subsonic frequency so there's not any noise but their whole chest/body still vibrates.

Tieflings have dark-vision - therefore they have that cat eye glow in low light/the dark. No I will not accept feedback at this time.

I am always a fan of them having other senses sharper than humans. Not like 'I can smell your blood through your skin from across the room and hear a cricket fart' kind of thing - but definitely pick up on things a human is nearly sure to miss.

Not a fan of tieflings going into a true heat/rut where they go totally 'must fuck now' but them getting a random heightened burst of pheromones now and then after they've been with a partner for a while - especially if there's been a lot of biting involved. Basically it's the tiefling equivalent of women who get really super frisky right around the time they ovulate.

A very common home remedy among tieflings is a mixture of broth, oil, and sulfur - and every family has it's own ratios. In that same vein a common hangover cure is broth, charcoal, and oil.

Diets are the epitome of 'opportunistic'. They prefer meat heavy diets, especially rare/raw red meats, while also enjoy the gristle, bone marrow, and blood. They can eat anything a human could, and quite a bit humans can't. This includes rocks, bones, some things that are mildly toxic/poisonous, and foods that have have gone off with minimal to no ill effects.

Because of previous point - food poisoning is extremely rare for them to get.

Tail body language is just as much apart of conversations as hand gestures and while much of it is similar to cats - meanings can get complicated.

I see horn grabbing/pulling a lot in posts but I don't feel a lot of tieflings as being super comfortable with it if the other person isn't also a tiefling.

Honestly, I see a lot of tieflings being wary about non-tieflings trying to get with them because it seems to me a lot of people in world would either demonize or fetishize their "infernal traits".

That being said, they're also not opposed to relationships outside of other tieflings and some tieflings will happily use people's curiosity/fetishization to their advantage and work at brothels.

If a tiefling has one or both parents who aren't tieflings, then they can take on traits from the non-tiefling parent (ex. one parent is an elf, tiefling kid has a lifespan more akin to a half-elf). They, and their kids, are also more likely to have a kid that does not look like tiefling if they have a baby with another non-teifling.

I fully think that a solid 1/3 of all "surprise" tiefling babies are not because a parent made an infernal pact, but because both parents somewhere in their lineage have a tiefling ancestor and they just don't know.

You've heard of tieflings being raised by humans? Well I think, because of the last two points, the reverse happens as well and you can get what appears to be a fully human/elf child birthed and raised by a tiefling.

Tieflings totally have a higher normal body temp. Probably around the 100F-105F range.

Regardless of how big or small their horns are, their skulls are still thicker for weight distribution. Many tieflings can, and will, headbutt someone in a fight. Even if a horn doesn't hit you - the blow is likely to break a bone in your face and they will not even be fazed.

Headaches and neck/shoulder tension is really, really common both because of the added weight of the horns when they're adults and when the horn itself is first growing in as a kid.

I imagine most tieflings have horns that are primarily made up of a keratin sheath around a much smaller horn bone (like how cow or goat horn are). Because of this they don't have lots of feeling in their horns and some tieflings might pierce their horns in places for decoration.

Some tieflings that have antlers also shed their antlers just like deer do. I will not be taking feedback at this time.

The pattern and shape of ridges on their skin is unique to every tiefling - but most of them tend to appear and follow bones closer to the surface (ribs, hips, knees, elbows, etc)

#tiefling #tieflings #DND #headcanon #BG3 #I do not claim any of these are consistent with 5e canon #I just play here

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kudzuoath · 6 months

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Further Research Required

Temperance explains an embarrassing aspect of tiefling body language to Gale. He immediately decides the topic requires further study of the hands on variety.

*This is smut. If you know me, no you don't. In fact, if you happen to know me, this post is blank. Shoo.

“What does it mean when your tail lifts up into an ‘s’ shape like this? I have been meaning to ask but it slipped my mind until now, what with everything we’ve had to handle just lately.”

And then Gale demonstrably ran a finger down the length of her tail. Startling her nearly out of her skin – not to mention the pleasant daydream that had stolen her concentration. It also made her squeak.

Temperance wasn’t the type to squeak. And yet there really wasn’t any other word for the sound that escaped her throat.

She looked over her shoulder at Gale, face about as red as Karlach was normally. He had his chin in one hand in his ‘thinking’ pose and was looking at her behind with his head tilted and rather more academic curiosity than she thought appropriate.

“Gale,” she half growled.

He looked up at her – then blinked. “Are you alright? You’re looking a touch over warm…”

Human, she reminded herself. He’s human.

His fingertips were still brushing over the skin of her tail. It had her heart beating too fast in her chest. She knew he wouldn’t have touched her at all if they weren’t in a relationship. No matter how curious. Even so he probably thought it no more sensitive than an arm, or a leg.

“When my tail does that it’s – uh…” Mortification. She hadn’t felt embarrassment this keen since she’d been a teenager and Eldrey started poking fun at her for her ‘fuck me’ tail every time the older tiefling pulled her into a hug. Nothing on or under Toril could get her to call it a ‘fuck me’ tail to Gale. She stumbled over her words. “It, um, indicates – attraction and, uh, desire. So.”

“Oh?” A beat. Then he blushed. “Oh! Yes, that would…” and then the wizard trailed off, eyes going a little distant. Surely remembering the many times her damned tail had made just such a motion while she was talking to him.

Temperance had never quite managed to control that sort of body language. It came from growing up without any older tieflings to model from or to teach her. Even Eldrey only knew what it meant because someone else had told her.

“This is certainly information worth knowing,” he went on. His voice dropping to a caressing tone. One that made her mouth go dry and the end of her tail – the traitorous appendage – wrap around his wrist. There was a gleam in his eye too, curiosity no longer merely academic.

“Gale,” she repeated. Incredible embarrassment warming her through. But not just embarrassment, oh no. There was a thrill of desire low in her belly that only went hotter and tighter at his tone and heavy-lidded expression. “Stop it.”

“I would like to point out, Temper, that it’s you wrapped around me. All I’ve done is make an… observation.” His smile as he said this had more than a touch of mischief in it. “Though I think this new knowledge requires further study on both our parts, yes? I can assure you I am as avid and thorough a student as I am a teacher.”

And then he twisted his captive wrist and curled each finger, one by one around her tail, sending a zing of pure heat directly between her legs.

“For example, you seem to be rather sensitive here… are you?” Still that soft, beckoning voice. The one that sent chills down her spine.

“I think… you’re clever enough to realize the – the answer to that question.”

Gale’s hand caressed along the sensitive skin near the base of her tail, seemingly fascinated by the way she gasped and arched into his touch.

“Is this an area of study you’re keen to explore?” he asked, pausing for a moment. Checking in. Something that only made her love him more.

“Yes,” she said, breathless. “Please?”

This was all the invitation he needed. Gale hooked the hand not currently held captive around her middle and tugged her back against his chest. “Now, might I have the use of both of my hands for this, love?”

It took a little concentration, but she unspooled her tail from his arm. It was still high, and even fully clothed and backed up against him she felt ridiculously on display. Which was sort of the point, really.

“Very good,” he praised. “Now lay back a little for me – most excellent, just like that –”

The back of her head rested on his shoulders, and her legs were on their side of his. A sort of backwards straddling, with one of Gale’s hands carding through her hair and the other splayed somewhat possessively across her lower stomach. Once he was certain she was stable, his hand moved from her belly to the hem of the long, split-thigh tunic she wore about camp.

“May I?”

Her heartbeat spiked again, and she squirmed. Terribly aware of how damp her underwear were. She had been entertaining a rather… explicit fantasy when Gale started all of this.

“You may.”

He hitched up the ‘skirt’ of her tunic and slipped his hand between her thighs, cupping her covered sex in an almost gentle movement.

“Why, you’re nearly soaked through, love. What ever were you thinking about? Not alchemy, I’d wager.” Those clever fingers of his dragged across the seam of her pussy almost lazily, causing the fabric to stick and creating just the slightest bit of extra friction. “Perhaps that novel Wyll was reciting earlier today?”

Temperance closed her eyes and whined. Sensitive. Needy. Not certain if she craved a firmer touch or more of this terrible teasing. She could feel his cock hardening against her backside, proving his own growing need. Something that compelled her to wrap her tail around his waist and pull tight. As if he could be any closer.

“I was thinking about you,” she admitted. Allowing herself to relax against him even as her thighs trembled and her hips lifted to press his hand more firmly against her. “Your, mm, your hands, actually.”

Gale’s breath hitched, and she turned her head slightly to catch sight of his expression. Something raw, and needful, and – fond. He saw her looking and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. “Just my hands?” he murmured against her skin.

She let out a breathless laugh that turned into a moan as he pushed aside her underwear and slipped one finger between her lower lips. Just barely brushing over her clit on the first pass. “Your, ah, your voice. The night we spent together, in the stars. It’s… It’s terribly distracting.”

A second finger joined the first. The heel of his hand pressed down on her as he rocked them deeper inside her with such precise, careful movements.

“I do try to be memorable,” he laughed, crooking his fingers inside her and making her gasp. “Would that I had as many hands here as I could have there.”

She closed her eyes, humming in pleasure at his touch. At how very closely he held her. Close enough she could feel his heart beating against her back. Chills raced up and down her skin at the way he held her open and set her on display.

“You’re quite the sight,” he murmured into her hair.

Gale worked his fingers in as deep as they would go and stopped moving. He simply held her against him. Bending his head and pressing kisses full of tongue and teeth down the column of her neck that made her clench around his fingers and rock against them.

The possessive way he held her had her tightening her tail around him, and her hands fisting in the fabric of his trousers. As much a mutual claiming as she could manage in their current position.

“Now,” he said softly. “Research.”

Gale shifted so he could kiss the back of her neck, slowly leaning forward until she was on her hands and knees with her damned tail standing practically at attention when he managed to slip its grasp. She groaned when he pulled his fingers from her, trying to follow his hand as it pulled away.

“Ah, ah, I need you to stay still for me, love.”

If she’d felt on display before… Her face went so hot she thought she might catch something on fire. “As… as you like.”

“Very good.” There was a smile in his voice, and the praise made her shiver.

Gale flipped up the ‘skirt’ of her tunic and tugged her underwear down to her knees. Then he paused, looking her over with a pleased hum that had her pressing her thighs together and squirming. Something she realized just put on more of a show for him. But then, she wanted to. Even if she’d much rather he go back to touching her the way he had been.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to touch me?” she huffed, flicking her tail at him.

He cast a spell that made her skin prickle with awareness, then reached out and caught her tail. One hand gripping at the notch just under its narrowest point, the other right below it and sliding up, up, until he reached the place where it met her spine. He lifted the appendage and kissed the underside at the very base. A place she hadn’t even realized would make her gasp. And when he licked her there her arms went out from under her and she half collapsed onto the carpet.

“Gale!” it came out strangled and far louder than she wanted it to considering they were in his tiny bloody tent right next to a godsdamned vampire –

Gale stroked his thumb through her folds and caught on her clit. He pressed down on it until her hips jerked and he pulled another noise out of her. Her pussy clenched around absolutely nothing and all she could think about was his lips and his tongue as they explored the ridges of her tail, and the two fingers he pumped into her.

It was so, so good. But not enough. Left her balanced right on the edge.

“Stop teasing me –”

“Have you noticed how you tighten around my hand each time I put my tongue to your tail?” he asked. Almost casually, if not for the breathless note in his voice. And the hint of smugness.

“I, mmff– fuck!” His teeth, scraping lightly over her. “Gale please, I need you inside me –”

“Well – if you’re saying please.”

There was a rustling sound and then his cock was pressing against her entrance. Her tail draped over one shoulder in a loose curl when he let go for a moment. Gale parted her lower lips and dragged the head of his cock up and down through the folds of her sex. Making her shiver and lift one hand to muffle the next too-loud moan at the sensation.

“Please,” she said through her fingers, voice cracking.

“You need only ask and I will happily provide,” he said softly.

He pushed inside her, then. So slow despite how he’d prepared her with his fingers, despite the fact that she was so wet she could feel it on her thighs. Decadent man. He took his time, sliding in and out of her, going a little deeper each time. Dragging out the stretch and the burn until at long last he was fully seated inside her.

“Good?” he asked, breathless, both hands on her hips. “I can take you to such heights if you let me.”

“I,” she had to fight for words. She felt too full, too sensitized. He was all around her again, just like in the stars. “I want you to. Gale, show me.”

“Then hold tight, love,” he said.

He tightened his hold on her hips and started to move. Slow at first, but moment by moment increasing the tempo. Gale was not a small man, but the angle as he covered her body with his and wrapped his arms around her made him feel bigger. Each thrust had her pushing back against him, chasing the pleasure. Wanting more, because she was so, so close.

“Don’t stop, please, I just need –”

One hand dropped down low so his talented fingers could play with her clit. Intensifying absolutely everything. Making each thrust feel like a match strike. Every muscle and nerve ending went molten and began to sing. So did she, crying his name out and coming with such intensity it made her vision spark.

Then her entirely insane wizard murmured a word of arcane power that hummed through her body like she was a tuning fork. And there was another set of hands on her. Or rather, another set of Gale’s hands, pushing her up while the ones at her waist pulled.

She found herself back in the position she’d started in, only this time seated on Gale’s cock with her probably ruined underwear around her knees. Flushed and flinching from the too-intense shocks of pleasure every time he moved inside her. His projection was kneeling in front of her, and leaned forward to kiss her throat with cool lips that sparked slightly against her skin. It was like being kissed by a stormcloud. Electric. It made her body hum. The projection smiled at her with eyes darkened by desire, clever hands undoing the belt at her waist and then… waiting.

“Gale?” she gasped, skin erupting in goosebumps.

“Do you think I would be content to watch you fall apart only once?” He said, rocking up into her again, something that made both of them moan. “The night is young. We’ve so much to explore together. Until the very moment you wish to stop.”

Temperance sighed when the projection pulled her tunic down over her shoulders and bared her breasts. It leaned forward and tongued at one of her nipples, a move that had her snatching at the real man behind her. The projection was relentless. And she quickly realized it didn’t need to breathe.

Then it moved from her breasts down her stomach, trailing its tongue over each hard ridge of her infernal heritage. And Gale continued to fuck his cock into her. Pulsing inside of her, hot and heavy. Just on the edge of too much.

An edge she was shoved over with a hoarse shout when the projection began to kiss her pussy. It’s tongue against her clit. That lighting-in-a-bottle sensation tearing through her. Too much! Too sensitive. She pressed back against Gale, one hand clinging to his shirtsleeve, the other to the mirror before her. Caught between them both as they brought her to the edge again, and again.

Until something snapped. A ripple of magic letting go as a spell broke, and Gale swore softly under his breath. The projection – apparently not the spell he lost – sat up and kissed her again. Swallowing her cries in its mouth as Gale’s hips stuttered against her. Harder now, without rhythm.

He buried his head in her neck and clung to her as he came in a sudden, hot burst. And when he did, there was another snap and the projection vanished. Leaving the two of them to gasp and tremble alone in his tent, still lit by the blue flickers of light in his chest.

For several moments they just sat together and caught their breath. Until Gale’s creaky knees began to protest a little too loudly and they had to part. Temperance couldn’t help but whimper when he slipped out of her, knees knocking together and tail snapping down to protect from any further touching. She could feel her pulse between her legs still, and wasn’t entirely sure that, if she were asked to in that moment, that she could stand.

Gale pulled her into his arms again and held her close. Careful to avoid the parts of her still singing and over-sensitive.

“Quite a mess I’ve made of you,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

Temperance swatted at him with her tail, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. “Vengeance will be mine,” she mumbled. Still shivering a little.

“Vengeance? Really?” His tone was caught between laughter and softness. “Surely I deserve a reward more than a punishment? Did I not satisfy you?”

“Oh, you did.” Temperance nuzzled into the velvet texture of his camp shirt, eyes drifting shut at the way he was running one hand through her hair. Curiously, he seemed to know to avoid her horns. They weren’t always sensitive, but just now….

“Then perhaps it’s the broken promise of ‘all night’ you object to? Used to be I could keep three spells going much longer than that,” he sighed – sounding genuinely annoyed at that last bit. Because of course he would be.

“Three?” she tilted her head to look up at him.

“Silence, endurance, and our extra guest,” he said.

Temperance forced herself to sit back up so she could find his lips and kiss them. Soft and chaste. “I love you.”

He looked at her like she’d been the one to place the stars in the sky, lightly running his hand up and down her spine now. “You are everything to me.”

She pressed their foreheads together and watched him close his eyes. One day soon, she was going to show him that he was everything to her, too.

But first…

“Please cast prestidigitation before we both pass out.”

#gale #gale/tav #gale bg3 #bg3 #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #despite this post i'm firmly in the 'gale is a switch' camp #im posting this and fleeing #nsft #how does one tag these #i dont know #ao3 is so much easier #not sure this one Works but oh well

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 2 months

Note

I RAN . I SPRINTED.

SCORPIO X GALE AND WASHING THE OTHER'S BODY

POSH YOU’RE SPOILING ME SO GD HARD ILYSFM 😭😭💍💍

Gale x M!Durge OC / NSFW

Massive TW’s: Dead dove do not eat. References to and implications of: self-mutilation, self-harm, misogynistic language, cannibalism, amputation torture and imprisonment, vomit, rape. It’s all contained within the { } brackets used to represent Dark Urge thoughts, for ease of skipping.

If loving Gale of Waterdeep could overwrite the hideous violence of Scorpio’s every waking and unwaking thought, his mind would remain as tranquil as unbroken water to the moment of the universe’s last breath.

{Beat it, break it, bend back those pretty fingers until they snap--TEAR OUT THE TONGUE AND SWALLOW IT BLOODY, CARRY ALWAYS ITS SAD-FUCK LOVE-WORDS, AND SHIT THEM OUT.}

Love can do many things, but it cannot heal something as horrifically broken as that—try as it might.

What he can do is wash the man’s body after he was denied his fatal destiny, saved with another bout of begging. Scorpio’s mouth always felt wounded, lacerated, packed with salt—but he’d swallow the blood that came with speaking if it meant he would not watch Gale destroy his only life in the gut of Moonrise.

Gale is manic with possibility, drunk on dreams of Karsus’s horrid crown. He rambles, stammers, and trips over his words. Scorpio doesn't have enough energy left in him to combat the ideas, not yet. In the Last Light, he draws a bath for the man, and draws the man to the bath, urging him into the water to ride out the last shadow-cursed night of these lands, knowing soon they will need a new name.

"Tip your head back for me, love," Scorpio urges him, pressing his deft fingers into the taut muscles at the back of Gale's neck, rubbing them deep and firm--{fulcrum lies between the vertebrae, such an easy snap for well-muscled hands; can keep it living, can make it a doll for fucking and feasting, a banquet of tower-tender-flesh}.

Gale is still going on and on about Karsus--extolling his might, bemoaning his mighty failures--and he listens almost unconsciously to Scorpio's cue, sinking back. As soon as the steaming water hits his neck, the muscles that Scorpio rubs to just before the point of pain, he shudders and groans, "Oh. Wow, that's--that's something else, isn't it?"

His eyes, warm and sweet and deep-dark as a spaniel's, clear, and Scorpio chuckles at the man's sudden presentness. Wonders, truly, if Gale's eyes searching the room is a sign that he's got not a fucking clue how he arrived to this particular moment, and that he'd checked out the moment he'd acquiesced to Scorpio, once again, begging for his life.

{It obsesses over the silver-spark, magic cunt of a goddess that loves to die. It does not love you! It will NEVER love you! Chop the arms, chop the legs, consume the meat before it. It will never leave you, you won't let it. It will always be exactly where you left it, and the sweet-cunt goddess will never look at it again.}

"Miles away, weren't you?" the golden tiefling hums instead, bowing his head to press his lips to Gale's temple after a moment-long flinch of suppressing the deafening voice of the Urge.

But he is only suppressing himself, isn't he? Trying to fight himself into silence, because Scorpio is barely a tattered ideal, a concept he must come close to losing with every blow that lands upon him. He is the Dark Urge, and it is the only thing he's carried since his awakening.

“Mmm. I was,” his lover chuckles, and it slips into a sigh, soft as mink fur, exhausted as a dying sun. “Come to think of it, I can’t tell you how long I’ve felt miles away. It’s strange—hah—but I feel so close to understanding—to knowing exactly what I must to. It’s…as if I can reach out my hand, and feel it just beyond my fingertips.” To illustrate his point, that’s exactly what he does, outstretching his elegant hand, water rolling down his arm, his eyes gone faraway once more.

{It is a waste of man-flesh. Pathetic, desperate, dreaming. It soaks in failure until the skin sloughs away, and it will not step away from its fetid pool.}

Somehow, that molar-gritted whisper is more upsetting than all the others. Scorpio squeezes his eyes shut, fighting it, but he feels his fingertips pressed perfectly into the points needed to break Gale’s neck with the least amount of effort while leaving him living, and his mouth floods with saliva for want of red meat.

He snaps his hands away completely, folding them in his lap, head cracking as far from Gale as he can force it. Pops ring up his neck as the joints are forced past stiff stagnation, pain radiating down his trapezius muscles, becoming caught between his shoulder blades.

“Scorpio?” comes Gale’s voice, as if dazed from idle imaginings, “Are you—?”

“M’fine. I love you. Please,” the Dark Urge grunts, heart pounding rich, vile blood, chest heaving with a more worthy, certainly more dead stranger’s air (did he kill them, what did he do to them?), “don’t go after that fuckin’ crown. Least don’t talk ‘bout it tonight. My brain is burning and scarabs run under my skin, leaving tracts of infection, I should like to tunnel it out, strip the dermis down to the nerve, tan it to foul leather, suck down the ichor of the vat and vomit the piss of my stomach bile.”

Gale’s eyes widen and his entire body draws up and back, alarmed, disgusted, and Scorpio’s old ghosts want him to mutilate himself—open his old wounds, draw out the cancerous blood. There was a wound he kept tucked under his ribs, a little hidden punishment, one that he’d dredge the scabs and clots out of with his claws, until he’d cut through the muscle and into his guts, and another at the delicate crease of his thigh and pelvis, always aching infected, darkened with again-and-again-and-again abuse, his fingers can still find it, he doesn’t have to look—

“Scorpio.” Gale’s voice is firm, and his hand on Scorpio’s wrist is tender, drawing Scorpio away from attacking his own body. “That was a bit gruesome, now wasn’t it? But I understand the point you were trying to make, and I acknowledge it wholeheartedly!”

Gale’s tone is a put-on joviality, a layer of crackling clown paint over a weeping, would-be martyr. For a skin-splitting moment, Scorpio is disgusted by the man he loves. Scorpio is disgusted, and disillusioned, and disturbed—by his weakness, his softness, his ability to bullshit and play-act and make nice, lacking the bloodlust and resolve to slit throats for his cause.

A name echoes in his head, one that looks like golden talons, and it is gone again.

Then Scorpio is simply tired. “Sorry. I.” He turns his head, shame and fear of himself twisting his stomach into bleeding knots. “Sorry.”

“It’s been a long day,” Gale soothes him. He snorts, a wry, bemused smirk pulling his lips. “I’d rather wager it’s been a long life.”

“I love you,” Scorpio responds, the only words he can scrape up in his pathetic, awful hands. “I want to wash your hair.”

“And I love you,” Gale presses, the smirk softening into a crescent smile. “I would love that. Then, perhaps I’ll trick you into the tub, hm? You could do with a good scrub. I’ll have that gorgeous face spick and span in no time, and you’ll only further your position as the most beautiful man in the Inn.”

Scorpio can’t bring himself to meet Gale’s eyes as his hands slip away, reaching for a shampoo bar, working up a lather. Gale does not look away from him, his eyes a war of worry and distant thoughts. If there are any kinder gods in the realms, Scorpio hopes that they will give Gale the mercy of not being the one to kill him when the time comes that the golden tiefling can no longer fight his nature.

He hopes that Gale will not see him in such a sorry state.

#holler holler get $#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x durge #gale x oc #baldur's gate 3 #my work #oc: Scorpio #Scorpio x gale

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anchirayce · 6 months

Text

To Behold the Golden Sun Ch. 2

This takes place after the events of BG3. Basically, a smol adventure about Tav and Astarion arriving at Tav's childhood city to search for a way to have Astarion walk in the sun again! Drama ensues!

Rating: T - Sexual themes, strong language

Warnings/Tags: Tiefling racism, alcohol use (responsible, suggestion of misuse), suggestion of non-con, suggestion of child abuse, typical canon violence, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn(I mean it, it's slow), Astarion might be ooc, but hopefully not!

Tav couldn't always run away from his past. He knew this from the moment he started to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again. He wanted to stay away, but spurred by another failure, a memory of eld came to him. A whisper of something said, something promising. Hopefully, this little spark of hope was what he and Astarion were looking for.

Chapter One: Here

“Hm, cosy.” Astarion said, observing the empty space. The room was currently being used as storage. Filled with extra barrels of grain and other preservatives left to age in jars.

I removed my armour and settled. “This was Kavek’s room.” I said to him, scooting the bed out from the desk.

“May I ask, who Kavek was?” I brushed the dust off and laid down our furs and bedrolls.

“He was my best friend. We got into so much trouble.” I laughed lightly as Astarion removed his chainmail.

“Did he force you to play hero to his wild side?” Astarion teased lightly.

“No, no.” I smiled fondly. “He was the one who got me out of trouble.”

“You? But you’re mister-goody-two-shoes.”

“Oh, I was indeed not. The Hollow caused me to get into so many fights, I had to teach myself healing magic to keep Kavek and I alive. The church eventually noticed and trained me to be a cleric.”

“The Hollow…?” Astarion’s prodding was gentle. And I nodded, leaning forward.

“I hope you don’t see it, Astarion. I pray to Selune that we can just avoid it…”

“What is it?”

I tried to gather the words, “it’s an underground cavern. Where a small village of feral tieflings are forced to breed, and be raised to be used as sacrifice. Basically a cattle farm…”

“And you were born there?” I nodded.

“I managed to get out by hiding on a supply wagon. It was by the grace of the moonmaiden that no one found me that night. I was brought to the surface and managed to run away before I was found. It was so overwhelming. I--” I swallowed back memories. “I thought I was going to die that winter. I was so cold, and hungry. I think I was in the gutter for a week before Kavek found me.”

“He saved you?” I grinned, painfully remembering how he died.

“Gods, I loved him so much, and I miss him even more." A smile managed to break through my heavy mood. "He was sweet on a girl, her name was Lin. She was pregnant with his child when the Warden discovered me. The church fought for me, kept me in sanctuary on the grounds, and Kavek stayed with me that night. So they attacked Lin instead.”

“Gods…” Astarion gasped. I nodded.

“We found her body not far from the church. I have never heard such a wail of agony before. I hope to the Gods that I never will again.” I sniffed loudly. “I turned myself over that day. And then I was forced back into The Hollow, forced to…” A rough gag emerged and I covered it. Tasting the tart wine at the back of my throat. “I was forced to be with women who would just lay there in these chairs. I was forced to share my talent for healing. On people who were basically dead.” Astarion leaned on my shoulder, placing his cold hand on my forearm.

“I was there for a whole year, then Kavek and Rowen came for me.” I laughed sardonically. “Kavek was beyond furious, I swore he was trying not to kill me himself. When we left the city all he did was scream at me. It made me feel alive again.” I closed my eyes against Astarion’s gentle touch. “Rowen stayed because she was a guard, but Kavek and I ran. For weeks, until we made it to Baldur's Gate. Then we were abducted.”

“How did he die?” I took a long inhale.

“Dragons managed to explode the part of the nautiloid where his pod was located. I couldn’t save him…” He burned to death. The fire made him claw at the tempered glass. But he just baked.

“He seemed like a good man.” His words brought me back.

I nodded and adjusted my head so I could breathe in Astarion’s scent of perfume. “You would have hated him.” I mumbled through his wispy and ticklish locks. His hair had grown but still was beautiful.

My love tutted, “I grew to like you. And that complex you took from Kavek.”

“I’m so very glad you did.” Astarion pulled me onto the bed, I sat up to remove my shirt; the fabric was too much on my skin.

"Can I hold you, love?" He asked and opened his arms. I wanted nothing more and crawled onto his chest. Trying to be mindful of my horns as I nestled against him and wrapped my tail around his ankle, taking care to not extend it too far for fear of pain. I slipped a hand past the hem and rested it on his skin. He hummed and removed his shirt entirely so I could rest against his coolness.

It took a long while for me to find my words. But when I did I spoke softly. “I think getting closure for myself is impossible. I have no memory of someone to blame, and so why focus on it?” My love was quiet, he probably searched for a reason for my rambling thought.

“I…” Astarion inhaled, “I think I understand. I suppose, I feel like you deserve the same closure I was able to obtain.”

“I don’t really need it. I’m just glad to be here with you.”

We stayed like this for hours. Astarion eventually waved a mage's hand and brought his pack and books over to him. I opened my eyes and relished his soft touch that traced my whole arm and back.

“Thank you…” I said against the easing silence of the chill.

“Hm?”

“For listening.”

He huffed a sarcastic scoff. “Don’t expect me to do it again. I have to look out for myself, you know.” I chuckled lightly and sighed as I kissed his neck.

"Read to me?" I asked. He leaned a kiss against my forehead as he adjusted and cleared his throat. The lines from his chest soothed me, his melodic voice was deep and calm. Even if the poems were lost on me, I felt comfortably safe. Slowly blinking until I fell asleep.

A knock sounded against the door. I sat up and moved Astarion from my chest. “Good morning.” I greeted.

“Likewise, Tavalin. I’m going to head out. I just wanted to let you know, you are welcome to anything in my home. My room is off limits in case you two want to get, um--”

“Astarion and I won't have sex.” I said and leaned against the doorframe. “Real quick though. Do you have any extra water? We have a shit ton of laundry to do.”

“Yes, in the back there’s a well and river not far off.”

“Thank you, Rowen.”

She nodded curtly and I returned to the room to stretch. I crawled onto the hardwood bed and brushed strands of Astarion’s hair from his beautiful face. He seemed to be asleep instead of meditating, but woke from my touch.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I whispered, he hummed and drew close, wrapping his arms around my chest.

“It’s fine. I’ll just bite you tonight, when you’re sleeping. As revenge.”

“Please, we both know you don’t have the heart to wake me.” I remarked, “I’m going to go do laundry. Do you want me to wash anything else?”

“The clothes on my back.”

“Then strip.” I said and kissed his temple before detaching myself from his grip to gather our large pile of clothes. I tied them up and snuck a few glances of Astarion before I left.

“Darling. There’s no need to sneak. Your gaze is all I want.” He twirled.

I chuckled. “Hmm, do you now?" He grinned and pulled on my nightshirt that I hardly wore.

How lucky Rowen was to have a well spout. Even if it was shared with a back courtyard. I could hear the small river she spoke of as well. I took my time, washing the wood smoke soaked clothes and our armour. Afterwards I waded into the river to rinse myself with the new soap. I returned to the house and found Astarion sitting at the table and offering me a cup of fragrance so alluring that I could drink its scent for days.

“Thank you for making me tea, my love.” I took a long gulp of the rare cinnamon soaked warmth.

“Thank you for doing laundry.” He replied, he sat with his back to the hearth.

It was honestly nice to have such a few lazy days to ourselves. But not knowing what to do was kind of driving me insane. It was something I'm still trying to become used to. There was always something with my companions, or to do around camp. But with the two of us there was hardly anything.

"Tav. Darling, you have that look." Astarion warned glancing up from his book.

I groaned, "I know...I'm so bored!"

"Go check if my clothes are dry, dear." He offered.

"They probably won't be." I sighed and stood. I returned with most of them still damp. But threw them by the fire so Astarion didn't have to suffer the chill.

"Give me your knife." I said as I sat on the floor.

"What are you getting up to?" He asked, not denying my request. I took to carving my talons back. I struggled with my right hand and with a small tut Astarion took over.

"Why cut them back?" He asked.

"I don't want to claw you."

"You've never clawed me." He scoffed. I raised my brow.

"On purpose." He rolled his eyes and finished up by throwing the shavings into the fire. By noon his clothes were finished. And just in time for Rowen too. Who came back an hour later to a warm pot of stew.

"You made me food?" She gasped.

"You've been so helpful to us. It's the least we can do." I grinned.

"I've allowed you to spend the night?" She laughed.

"You've given us shelter from the sun. Free of charge. You've allowed us to use your fire and wood. And you're helping us obtain something that might not even exist."

"Tav doesn't know how to say you're welcome plainly. It becomes a problem." Astarion teased, continuing to fold and organise our laundry.

"I can tell." I smiled as I closed the lid. We sat at the table and I helped Astarion finish up.

"Where do we start?" I began.

"I think the church." Rowen sighed. "I know, I don't like parading you around either. But there are rumours the priest knows a back passage into the Library."

"Father Garret?" I gasped. "How?"

"I don't know. That's why we're going to ask him."

"Can we at least do it tonight?" I asked. "I want Astarion by my side."

"That should be fine. And probably easier since mostly everyone will know who you are."

"Am I really that obvious?" I scoffed.

"To me. Yes."

"Well, I guess we'll see how much trouble we can get into."

For the rest of the day I helped Rowen around the house. While Astarion repaired and tatted anything worn. Around dusk we gathered up our gear and set out. Astarion kept close to me, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The church was quiet and smelled of soothing incense even from outside. It brought back so many good memories. We let Rowen go to the door and who answered was Father Garret, a high-elf cleric, he taught me everything I knew.

"Rowen! What brings you here tonight? Are you in need of healing?"

"No, but we need help. Can me and my friends come in? We need to talk…"

"Certainly, all are welcome in the Home of Selune." We followed Father Garret to a private room. I wanted to take my scarf and hood off to escape the heat but I rather not blatantly reveal everything either.

"Please. Everyone make yourselves comfortable." He offered and turned.

I inhaled sharply, trying to gather enough courage to speak with him. "Settle down, Tavalin. Make yourselves comfortable first and then we will discuss everything."

I slowly began to remove my winter gear. While Astarion removed only his cloak, trying to hide beneath his scarf. A cup of tea was set in front of us. I took a small sniff and found it to be laced with kluathgrass. I signalled to Astarion to not drink it.

"Tavalin, you don't have to the drink tea. I know you will speak true." Father Garret stated, taking my cup. "Why did you return?" He asked as he turned.

"I--we need help."

"With what? I will help you anyway I can, my child."

"It's complicated…but promise me you'll not harm Astarion."

"Why?"

I caught his gaze and reassuringly, he placed a hand on my thigh. "If it allows us one step closer." He added.

"Astarion is a vampire spawn. We are looking to cure him in the best case scenario. But otherwise, a way to walk in the sun is good too."

"Fascinating!" Father Garret gasped, coming to his feet. "May I study your features?"

"I suppose?" My love leaned into me.

He sat at a respectful distance, Astarion wasbunsure what to make of it as he removed his scarf. But once I sat behind him and held him, he seemed to relax, somewhat.

"I am uncomfortable not knowing what your intentions are." He cleared his throat.

"I simply wish to see a vampire up close."

"Are you going to ask me to bite you?" I prickled at the memory of that drow.

"Oh by Selune’s blessed light! No!" Father Garret laughed, embarrassed by the prospect. "And by how Tavalin is holding you, I doubt he would agree to allow you to bite an old man like me." I didn't realise I was glaring. And laughed awkwardly.

"I-I suppose there's no harm?" Astarion sat up, my hand moved to his thigh as I studied Father Garret. He instructed Astarion to open his mouth and show him his fangs.

"Tell me, how often do you feed?"

"Every day. I drink from animals."

"How often on humans?" Father Garret glanced at me.

"Look, Father Garret. We need your help, and having to re-explain every detail ever is starting to become exhausting. And we're limited on time." I interrupted.

"Very well. A cure for vampirism." He turned and settled in his seat.

"There might be such a thing in the vault. Maybe another lead in the libraries…no. Too obvious." He mumbled.

"The vault? At the Lord's mansion?" He nodded. I shook my head in disbelief. "How are we going to get in?"

"The Winter Ball."

"A ball?" Astarion gasped delightfully, I couldn't help but grin.

"We can sneak in and find the vaults and pray to Selune that nothing goes awry." Astarion snorted, muttering about my sour luck and penance for trouble.

"How do you know what we need will be there?" I asked.

"I don't, not entirely. But there is an auction for every ball. If the dice is thrown in our favour; then there might be a chance it's already there…" He paused. "Astarion, do you know how old you are?"

"I am unsure." He said.

"An amulet of darkness might be the best. If we’re lucky, we might be able to find a Wish spell."

"What does this amulet do?" The countless false leads came to my mind. Astarion laced his cold fingers through mine.

“It shrouds the user in a cloak of darkness. I don’t know the details, I know it exists. And it might be there.”

"It is worth a try, Tav." My love’s hope was less fragile than mine.

“Of course it is.” I agreed and leaned to his ear. “I’m not giving up on you Astarion.” He kissed my cheek.

"Excellent." Father Garret smiled. "I shall provide you two with something to wear. And we shall discuss plans at a later date. If you need to rest here, you may. We have plenty of space and dark rooms."

"That would be nice, I hate to leech off of Rowen."

"Company's nice. But my home isn't the safest and sometimes I have buddies over." She said through a yawn.

Father Garret stood and we followed him out. Saying our farewells to Rowen as we trailed behind him. He led us down into the basement. I knew this place, they were private rooms. Quiet, hardly used. Safe…

"Gods." I sighed, finally stripping off my armour and just melting against the soft bed. "A ball."

"Not excited darling?"

"Not entirely. It's really not my scene."

"Ah, well, maybe I can teach you?" I grinned. “Obviously I cannot cram you with decades of knowledge, but I could show you how to dance.” He returned my now smile with a clever grin.

"I would like that." He pulled me to my feet and he positioned my hands. My tail swished nervously, pain pokes through my spine as he told me what to do. I was quick to catch on and soon Astarion moved on to the more in depth turns of ballroom dancing.

I swooned with the distraction. His humming was clear and concise and I yearned to learn the tune so I could add to it. But for now I leaned against him and we stopped with a simple embrace.

"Tav, could you tell me more about this place?"

"It's ruled by one man, I have never seen him but Father Garret has told me that he takes multiple wives. None of which have been seen again. Beside the first lady, who always hosts the balls." Astarion hummed with concern. Adjusting his grip to rest on my hips.

"Apparently he hoards treasure worse than Lorroakan. But every year he throws a grand ball that people all over the Sword Coast attends and no one is seen leaving…"

"Who's allowed to attend?" I pulled away and looked at him sadly.

"Humans, Elves, Dwarves. The pure races…" I cupped his cheek and he leaned into it.

"Pure races." Astarion spat, "not inviting gnomes; that's understandable. But the other races? Why?" I shrugged.

"Tieflings are devilish in nature. And I'm guessing the other races aren't elegant enough."

"You are the most elegant man I've ever met. Aside from myself." I chuckled and suddenly dipped Astarion.

"You've rubbed off on me." He laughed as I brought him up and twirled him.

"My, my Tav! Careful now or I'll be swept off my feet again!" He was breathlessly smiling, I loved how his fangs glanced through. I kissed him and leaned my forehead against his.

"I'll try to sneak into the party with you, I won't leave you alone."

"What am I going to do without my personal butler? I perish the thought." Astarion tutted.

"My Lord and Liege, I am a humble cleric and servant of House Ancunin."

"For my frail and meek body requires attention!" He arched dramatically, raising his arms to his chest and forehead. I laughed and his own melodious voice reached my ears.

“If only you could be my consort.” He pouted and kissed me before I could respond. I picked him up as he continued to bombard me. I couldn’t deny him the pleasure as I fell back. I tried to get a word in once or twice. But he was quick to stop me. I eventually wrapped my leg around his waist and flipped him.

“Allow me to get a word in, sir!” I panted and leaned over him, he smiled at me cheekily. He leaned towards my neck, and I pulled myself away from the habit.

“Wait.” I whispered. He backed away instantly, concern etched through his eyes.

“If that is what you want. I would happily be your consort.”

“Darling, I haven’t proposed…I was just--” His expression changed, he seemed confused but also nervous.

“But I am.” I said. “Astarion, I’m terrified of what might happen in the coming week. I’m terrified of losing you. Will you marry me?” He suddenly sat up and I kneeled to the ground.

“You’re…serious?” He studied my face, my heart hurt from how fast it was beating.

“Yes. Astarion Ancunin, will you marry me?”

“I--” He gasped. His red eyes trying to blink back tears. “What makes you think something is going to happen at the mansion?” I shook my head.

“I’m hoping that we find a Wish spell. But people don’t come back from that mansion. And if we are to die there, I want to be your husband.” I grinned at him. His chest rose and fell, he didn’t need to take breaths, but he couldn’t help the action. I took his hands in mine again, kissing his elegant fingers.

"You don't have to say yes. But know that I want this, and I hope that you do too."

He inhaled sharply, taking my chin. “How could I say no?" I stood and pushed him back into the bed, he crawled back. His lips never leaving mine, I pulled away his shirt, lowering my touch to be rid of his other garments. I took a moment to stare at him and smiled as he beckoned me forward with his beautiful red eyes.

Chapter Three: Here

#bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #slow burn #established relationship #hurt/comfort #slight angst #astarion x male tav #spawn astarion #bg3 tav

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songbirdtales · 7 months

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Just before the Nautoloid (SFW)

Author's Note:

Hi! I'm the author. This is the first of a series of Baldur's Gate 3 fan fiction I'm writing about my OC version of Tav. This series will consist of both SFW and NSFW fics and some scenes will be based on, use dialog and direction from, or reference scenes in the game. I'll be tagging everything as best I can to be mindful of content warnings. This is going to be very queer, and very spicy, and it will have a lot of Astarion in it. I apologize in advance for the depravity and second hand trauma from this OC. This is just a hobby for me but I hope some people find these entertaining. Sam

The tavern calmed in the dead of night as a somber tune echoed into the streets. The sound of lute playing wasn’t new, but this was far from their typical, high energy rabble. At a table near the center of the room, a Tiefling bard played their instrument.

Their dark stone grey complexion could made one think they had Drow in them. Long rose gold hair pulled back into a messy bun was all that brought warmth to their coloring, loose pieces framing their face parted by frayed horns that started near their skin tone and turned black at the tips. A thick splatter of dark freckles ran across their nose and cheeks from one heavily pierced pointed ear to the other. Black sclera framed fay fire eyes that seemed to glow in the lowlight as their gaze stayed locked on their instrument.

The Tiefling was androgynous in a way that confused most, certain aspects of their outward appearance contradicted by typical standards. Ritual scarification framed their lips and chin as well as their brow, white tattoos lining their lower lids and contrasted both their black winged eyeliner and their eyes themselves. There was a softness to their facial structure that made most call them ‘Miss’, but their lack of chest and baritone voice made just as many reverse course as soon as they spoke. They had been accused many times of being deceptive, but the androgyny was entirely honest. The bard had done a great deal to make themself true. The hum of rhythmic plucking repeated as the bard let their jaw slack to sing.

“Tav the Songbird,” The sound of their own name pulled the Tiefling from their focus and the playing stopped, Tav’s mouth still hanging open. Devil fangs hung in plain view as they stared at the gaunt human that approached them. He looked familiar, they’d seen him around when they’d kept worse company. They didn’t need to know more than that to be sure he was trouble they didn’t want.

“The one and only.” Tav rose their plucking hand, twirling it in a flourish for dramatic effect. “Sorry, I’m not taking requests at the moment.”

“Not here for the music, though, could use to play something a little more chipper. Thought there was a funeral going on in here.” The man’s laugh made Tav’s expression sour.

“Then what do you want?” The performance was over and Tav was now glaring at the man. He looked frail, as if he hadn’t eaten regularly in a number of years. The curse of poverty. Tav knew it well.

“You remember Saber, yeah? He’d like to see you.”

“Barely." They lied. "If this 'Saber' wants to invite me to see him he could have sent a letter.” There was a smooth flow to their words, yet they bit off the end of their final words, like sharpened arrowheads now pointed at his throat, ready to fly.

The human began to sweat, his eyes struggling to stay on the bard as his body language became withdrawn. The burning of their hellion eyes scared him, and it was smart of him to be afraid. “Th-this isn’t an invitation.”

“Funny, last I checked, I don’t work for him.” Tav’s tone was void of amusement, each word fluid string of words like the pull of a violin bow now cut like a razor. “So if he wants to see me, for whatever reason, he can do it like every other stranger. Otherwise I have no interest in hearing from him again.” Their eyes narrowed at the human. “Do you understand?”

The human messenger was sweating profusely now, his eyes on the ground as he nodded. A soft “Y-yes,” croaked from his throat in response.

“Good,” Their voice softened only ever so slightly before it hardened once more. “Now go, before I make you.”

He didn’t need any more convincing. The human quickly turned tail and ran. A minor inconvenience to an otherwise mediocre night. Tav finished their drink and took a chunk of bread for the road before settling with the bar and left.

Tav was drunk, their balance unstable as they wandered down the road. The Tiefling steadily broke apart the bread and ate it as they walked, lute on their back, and pockets filled with many things, but not a single gold. “At least I broke even.” They sighed under their breath.

They’d only closed their eyes for a second when a strange sound came from overhead. It was like a breathy explosion, as if something had just vanished from existence, or materialized.

Tav didn’t even get a chance to look up before the nautiloid ship plucked them from the street. The next thing they remembered was the tadpole.

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #fanfiction #tiefling #bard #dnd #dungeons and dragons #bg3 tav #oc tav #lgbtqia #lgbtq #enby #nonbinary #nonbinary tav #baldur's gate oc #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanf

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whitegoldtower · 9 months

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Fleshing out my BG3 OC a little more;

So we know his name is Aelgoth and that he’s a rogue.

He’s an older fella, a bit rough around the edges, but there is an undeniable… refined quality to him, underneath that tough exterior. It’s something that Astarion is particularly drawn to.

He likes the finer things. He can be a bit of a selfish prick, bit of a bastard. He doesn’t like not being paid for helping people. That sense of pride comes from the fact that he is of a noble background. And also the fact that he was deeply scorned by that background. He knows too much about high society and niceties for it to be coincidence.

So why is he a massive, muscular, rough-handed and tattooed assassin-build rogue?

He was cast out of his family. Or rather, he cast himself out; see, his family was obsessed with bloodlines and creating ‘pure’ offspring. They only cared about the parts he was born with and wanted him to be a baby-maker. The thought disgusted him. Not the thought of having children of his own, rather the thought that he could be stripped down and dehumanised so easily. That his feelings didn’t matter.

So he changed himself - mainly for the good where his body was concerned - but also slightly for the worse because now he’s a bitter old fuck with bottom dysphoria who doesn’t truly trust anybody, and is a bit of a bully towards other adults (proficiency in intimidation and deception).

(Eg, the poet dude in the Emerald Grove. Aelgoth sarcastically helps him to embellish his story to the absolute extremes, and then - when the guy reveals he’s going to the goblin camp and Aelgoth tells him that ‘goblins aren’t exactly the most merciful” - when he says he’d make a quick getaway with the invisibility potion in his back pocket… Aelgoth (the utter bastard) pickpockets him and swipes that lotion away. Because he thinks it’s funny. Because it’s entertaining.

He does, however, have a major soft spot for children. Particularly the mischievous ones.

While he can come across as scary and callous, it’s little things like how he corrects the tiefling kid’s scam and performs sleight of hand for him that gets you that little glimpse through ‘the castle wall’. Like when he rescues Arabella, he talks to her parents for his reward, but ends the conversation by talking to her primarily. Like when he tells Kagha that he ‘just wanted to see what would happen’ it’s clearly a lie. Like when the human guy is threatening another little tiefling kid for ‘stealing his locket’ he goes full paternal and puts himself between the dude and the kid and tells the dude to essentially ‘get a fucking grip before I get one for you’.

He also feels immensely paternal towards Shadowheart. She puts a mean exterior up in a very similar way to him, only with more gentleness. She’s more passive aggressive, whereas he’s just straight up picking fights. Doesn’t help that she looks similar to how he looked before he went rogue. He wants to nurture her, but tapping into the soft part of his personality is difficult after so many years of suppressing it. Especially then, with Astarion pretty much just egging him on.

All three of them are deeply traumatised people (lmao), but sometimes even Aelgoth draws a line with some of Astarion’s antics. Nonetheless, he won’t judge him for something he can’t control. And I think, secretly, Astarion clings to the prospect of someone actually understanding and empathising with him.

And even though Aelgoth technically trusts nobody, he trusts Astarion and Shadowheart. And he frequently passes perception checks with ease when they lie because they’re the same lies that he tells. He recognises when his own mannerisms, words and body languages are being reflected back at him.

It’s like the three of them have a code-like language of saying one thing but meaning something else entirely.

#bg3 #bg3 oc #bg3 astarion #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart #astarion #baldurs gate 3

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queen0fkingss · 1 year

Note

Hi, I saw your post about the dnd half-races and was wondering if you could do locathah-triton stats? One of my players has those two parentages, and I’m intrigued at what the combo could entail.

(the character also has an amethyst dragonborn-triton sibling, but they’re an npc instead so if you’d only want to do one it’d be the locathah-triton)

Hope you have an excellent day!

Catch me rubbing my hands like a villain lmao

I will start by saying that I'm not a professional by any means. These are just my ideas, whether they be balanced or otherwise. They'll likely vary in terms of balance. Though if you'd like to use them, or even edit them as you see fit, feel free! I'm open to thoughts and feedback!!

That said, please tell me all about your players and campaign I am not asking lol 🔪

Locathah - Triton

At first glance, a Locathah-Triton might be mistaken for a Merrow or a Siren. However, they inherit their proud and noble personas and make for deadly forces when fighting on land, or in water.

Ability Score Increase. Your Strength increases by 2. Your Charisma increases by 1.

Age. Locathah Tritons reach maturity around age 16, and live to be around 150 years old.

Size. Your size is Medium.

Speed. Your base walking speed is 30ft. You have a swimming speed equal to your walking speed.

Darkvision. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.

Amphibious. You can breathe air and water.

Natural Armor. Your skin is scaled and tougher compared to your Triton lineage. When wearing no armor, your AC equals 12 + your Dexterity modifier. A shield's benefit applies as normal while you use your natural armor.

Underwater Warrior. You suffer no penalties that are normally in place when fighting underwater.

Languages. You can speak, read, and write Common and Primordial.

~~~

Dragonborn - Triton

Like many of the Dragonborn hybrids, one may be easily mistaken for a tiefling, or a draconic bloodline sorcerer. While the latter may be true, it's not always the case. Colored scales cover their bodies in iridescent sheens.

Ability Score Increase. Increase a skill of your choice by 2, and your Charisma by 1.

Age. Dragonborn-Tritons reach maturity around 15 years old, and live to be about 120.

Size. Your size is Medium.

Speed. Your base walking speed is 30ft. You have a swimming speed equal to your walking speed.

Darkvision. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.

Amphibious. You can breathe air and water.

Dragon Lineage. You gain access to a breath weapon of the same type as your lineage. Additionally, you gain resistance to the corresponding type.

Charismatic. You gain proficiency in two of the following: Deception, Intimidation, or Persuasion.

Languages. You can speak, read, and write Common, Draconic, and one language of your choice.

#I feel kinda meh about the Dragonborn-Triton one tbh. not sure if I just hit a block but I will probably try to revise it later

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sarcasticgaypotato · 4 years

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At any given moment you can assume I’m thinking about tieflings.

#d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #tieflings #I just.....love them so much.....#they're so cute #I have so many thoughts about tieflings and their body language #as well as just general traits that tend to be shared by tiefs #I'm just mad I don't get more of a chance to utilize all these thoughts

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

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Tie Your Heart to Mine

Widomauk vampire AU! Huge thanks to @minky-for-short for coming up with this AU idea and for being an amazing beta reader alongside the ever wonderful @spiky-lesbian

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3!

-------

Mollymauk only ever remembers being a vampire. He woke up like this, with a still heart and a thirst he had to fight to control. He struggled to understand humans for the decades he's been alive.

Until vampire hunter Caleb Widogast arrived to kill him.

A year or so on from that day, he marks Caleb as his for the rest of their lives.

-------

When you see them, you just know. You just know.

When Yasha had given him that answer, Mollymauk seemed to remember he’d made a retching noise and aimed a kick at her head. He’d felt that had summarised his feelings succinctly, even if it had earned him a pillow to the face.

He’d just been struggling to understand it. Ever since Yasha had bonded not only with the usual one partner but a second, and a human at that, Molly had been trying to wrap his head around it. How someone’s life could change so completely and so quickly. One day his best friend had been the silent, towering, stoic vampire he’d whiled away decades annoying and travelling with. But then she’d met Jester and Beau and suddenly she was silent, towering, stoic and in love.

With a lot less time for her best friend.

Not that Mollymauk was bitter. He’d wanted happiness for Yasha since he’d met her, he knew how hard her life had been since she was turned, since she lost her first wife. The way she’d talk about Jester and Beau, the light that would dawn in her eyes, the kind that used to be a memory. Molly would never, ever deny her that. He just didn’t understand and that answer hadn’t helped.

But now he was looking down at Caleb, holding his angular face in his hands as he paused in between kisses, kneeling over him as they sprawled out on the bed. A moment’s inhaling, the slightest pause before their lives changed forever, where he looked down at the man he loved.

And he just knew. He just knew.

“What are you thinking, Liebling?” Caleb’s voice was rough and low, breathless from the countless kisses that had carried them up the stairs and into the bedroom. His smile was bright, crooked, a little goofy in the way it only got when he had let his walls down completely.

Molly gave a soft chuckle, running his thumbs over Caleb’s cheekbones, “Just how I can’t wait to be yours…”

“Mine,” Caleb murmured, a note of awe gentling his voice as he reached up to return the touch, ghosting his fingertips along Molly’s neck and following the line of that old scar that bisected his body, “And...you’re certain you want this? You want me?”

Mollymauk sighed softly, his smile turning fond. Ever since he’d explained the process to Caleb, the way that vampires marked those they’d chosen to bond with, the way they tied their souls to another’s, he’d seemed completely mystified. Like he wanted to believe it was happening but, even now that they were moments away from it, part of him still doubted.

And Molly knew exactly who had planted those parts of him, who had cultivated them until they’d grown into a tangled thicket of thorns that Caleb still cut himself on today. He’d known Caleb and his scars for years and it still woke a deep, hungry anger in him. One day he would need to do something about that anger. He would need to do something about Trent Ikithon.

But not tonight. Tonight he would show Caleb exactly what he was worth.

“I want you,” he nodded, kissing the bridge of his lover’s nose, his cheeks, his forehead, “Every part of you, Caleb. Since the moment you walked through my door.”

Molly felt his human squirm, saw the delicious rise of colour up his neck, smelled his sweet, rising pulse.

“Since the very first moment, huh?” his blue eyes shone like pools of water in high summer, though his smile was somehow brighter.

“Well, there was something just so alluring about the vampire hunter turning up all soaked through with rain, giving me the whole oh kind sir my carriage broke down just outside your door routine like I didn’t know he had a stake strapped to your thigh under those ever so tight trousers…”

“Küss meinen Arsch,” Caleb slapped his leg lightly, “It worked, didn’t it? I saw where your eyes were.”

Molly laughed, flicking his tail in retaliation, “I was simply watching for more concealed weaponry, I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Caleb rolled them over, a growling edge to his laughter, until the two of them were caught somewhere between wrestling and kissing, hands wandering and gripping tight enough to leave marks.

“So…” Caleb eventually asked, chest heaving, hair now loose from it’s tie and spread out across the pillows like burnished copper, “Do you want to, um…how do we…”

Molly, now sprawled on his side next to his lover, grinned and took his hand, “You know how to do this part, darling. Let me take care of the rest.”

So Caleb nodded, the last of his anxiety falling away like leaves from a tree in the last days of autumn. He dragged Molly across those last few inches between them, kissing him hard, letting his lover stretch out over him like a contented cat. Mollymauk remembered when his dear human had been a thin twig of a thing, when he’d been forced to keep his strength on a tighter rein than he would even have to normally, for fear of hurting him when they lay together.

Now he was fuller, wire cords of muscle hiding in those still slender limbs, stronger and surer. Of course Mollymauk could still break his bones with a firm grasp but that was humans for you. About a year of wandering, free from Ikithon’s brutal, abusive training and returning often to Molly’s determined, loving caretaking, Caleb had flourished. He wasn’t the frightened young man with the shaking hands who’d been sent to Mollymauk’s door to kill him. And as much as Molly had loved that man, he loved this one just as much.

“Liebling…” the other language fell from Caleb’s lips in between heavy, open kisses, making Molly think of far flung fields full of golden wheat, snow capped mountains, all the things you couldn’t find on the Menagerie Coast. It made him think of the other world his lover came from and just how lucky he was that he’d wandered into his home.

“My darling,” Molly murmured in return, bringing their still clasped hands down between his own legs, encouraging Caleb to feel how aroused he already was, “Take me?”

The human gave a breathy gasp and nodded, drawing himself up onto the bolsters so Molly could climb fully into his lap. He slipped his hand back between Molly’s thighs, gently teasing him open, as the tiefling’s tail wrapped around his bare thigh and anchored them together.

“My mate,” Molly whined, biting his lower lip, fangs snagging the low light, “Mine, oh gods…”

Caleb grinned up at him, working his fingers deeper, breaching the soft heat between his legs, “Then make me yours. Show the whole world who I belong to.”

Molly groaned brokenly, digging his nails into Caleb’s shoulders as he dragged him into a bruising kiss and sank down onto his cock. He felt the human start under him before leaning into it, moving into that rhythm they knew, that they’d built over nearly a year together. Familiar, comforting, the same way it always was after Caleb would come home from his long hunting trips. Like coming home. Like exhaling.

And always, as ever, that line waiting just up ahead. The line Molly had never crossed, as much as his heart had ached for it from the first moment he’d had Caleb in his bed. Something so much deeper than his usual hunger, the kind of desire he’d never experienced with any other partner, with anyone he’d ever fed from or slept with. That pull that said he’s yours, the one you didn’t know you were waiting for.

They’d held back from it for nearly a year, both of them very aware that the brainwashed, brutalised, rain thin vampire hunter who’d turned up in the rain that night was in no fit state to make that kind of bond. So it had been long months of separation while Caleb sorted his head out, Molly putting him on the trail of those many vampires that did deserve the justice he’d been trained to give. He’d receive letters, tales of nights under the stars and the deep, dark thoughts that were slowly being unpicked and straightened out, and Molly’s heart would break for him. Breaks that would knit back together the moment Caleb returned.

Molly had been happy to wait, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to that. Immortal beings had to learn how to be patient or things got messy.

But now here was Caleb, his mind his own and his heart about to be Molly’s for the rest of his life. And gods, all Molly could think was how long he’d wanted this. How much he was going to enjoy this.

“Ready?” he gasped out, voice high and wild, instinct and lust burning through him so fiercely it took every inch of his carefully constructed self control to ask that question.

Caleb lifted his chin, pupils blown wide, hair falling in his eyes. He just looked so bloody alive, all flushed skin and damp brow and throat pulsing. So human, so fragile but nothing other than complete and total trust on his face.

“Ready,” Caleb hands slid down his shoulders to rest against Molly’s chest, over his heart that hadn’t beat in nearly a hundred years, as long as he could remember owning it but he could have sworn he felt it flutter at that touch. He felt it respond to that call.

Time stopped when Molly’s fangs broke Caleb’s skin. A single, perfect moment of stillness where the universe clicked neatly into place. Then everything flooded through him, the dark, savoury taste of Caleb’s blood crashing over his tongue, the white hot release of his orgasm and something more, something much more. If his mouth wasn’t busy he would have screamed, though Caleb did enough for both of them. Molly had always wondered what the feeding felt like for his human lover, if he really gained as much from it as Molly did.

But in this moment, he didn’t have to wonder. Caleb’s pleasure was his own and his was Caleb’s, everything they felt theirs to share. They weren’t separate for that brief beautiful heartbeat, they were one being, tied together right down to their atoms. Mollymauk felt Caleb’s red hair sticking to his forehead, the tremble in his hands, the fear and anxiety and doubt that had become permanent fixtures in his brain shaken in their foundations and starting to shift. Caleb felt the strength and power in Mollymauk’s muscles, the looseness of s form that could change at will, the never ending, always gnawing hunger sated only in moments like this.

And they both felt the love the other held for them. Even when they’d doubted and felt unworthy, even when it had seemed impossible, there it was.

Coming back to themselves was like the snapping of a whip, both vampire and human left reeling as they crashed back into their own bodies. Molly shook all over, the usual adrenaline rush he got from feeding cranked up so high he felt like he might break at the seams, every noise a racket in his ears, even the low candlelight too bright. He took deep breaths to ground himself, bracing himself to throw back the usual violent urge to take and take again and take too much.

But it didn’t come. Because how could he ever hurt his mate?

He swayed, their bodies coming apart as he tumbled onto his back, gasping out, “Gods, Caleb, that was…”

He trailed off, everything calming down enough that he could pick out the sound of muffled, snatching sobs. He saw that Caleb had thrown his arms over his face, his whole body hitching as he cried.

“Oh…” Molly immediately reached for him and Caleb latched on, gripping him tight enough to hurt anyone but a vampire, “Oh, my darling, come here. It’s alright, I’ve got you…”

“Sorry,” Caleb choked out, “Sorry, I’m okay, I promise. It was just…a lot.”

“I know,” Molly soothed him, stroking his hair and squeezing his shoulders, making sure he could feel that he was there and his thoughts couldn’t take him far from his embrace, “I know, darling.”

And he did. He felt how overwhelmed Caleb was, how his mind was slowly growing to accommodate these new feelings, the ache in his muscles and rawness in his throat. It was as if the emotions and sensations were coming from somewhere behind his own heart. That was going to take some getting used to.

Eventually Caleb’s sobs were just sniffles and his smile was shining through like sun peeking through clouds. Though he still clung to Molly tightly.

“My mate,” he sighed happily, licking over the twin puncture marks and blushing bruise he’d left on Caleb’s neck, chasing away any lingering burn. Unlike the others from their year together, this one was permanent and it was perfect.

“Mine,” Caleb replied, his voice heavy as the inevitable exhaustion overwhelmed him. He’d always fall asleep after Molly fed so this must have floored him.

Molly smiled, kissing his forehead as he let him drift away, “Sleep, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”

And as he held his mate in his arms and listened to the quiet of the night around them, Mollymauk meant it. Despite everything they’d been through, it would be okay.

He just knew.

#widomauk #critical role #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #vampire molly #trans molly #vampire au #smut #please leave a comment!

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Dr. Mael Halvorg (Part 3) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part-Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Naga, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Oviposition, Egg Laying, Birth, Surgery, Male Infertility Words: 4029

Dr. Halvorg learns what could be causing his infertility and makes arrangements to try and correct it. He and the reader become closer, and the reader attempts to do something to help him feel less lonely and unfulfilled. Please reblog and leave feedback!

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Halvorg went in for the tests that same week, returning afterwards subdued and blushing slightly. You assumed he’d never given a… sample… before.

“How’d it go?” You asked him.

He rubbed his neck bashfully. “It was… thorough.”

You snickered. “At least it wasn’t a biopsy after an abnormal pap smear. Those are traumatic.”

He looked aghast. “I can only imagine.”

“Did they say when the results would be in?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re supposed to call me when they come back. Could be a week or so.”

You patted his arm softly. “How are you feeling?”

He sighed heavily. “Worried. This could change my life or confirm my worst fear. Either way, I’m… well, to be honest, I’m a little scared.”

“I understand,” You replied. “Well, no, I don’t. My family is disgustingly fertile. If I ever tried to get pregnant, I’m sure it wouldn’t take me long.” You looked up at him with sympathy. “But I do feel for you.”

“I appreciate that,” He said solemnly. He looked at you curiously. “If I might ask, how old are you?”

“I’ll be one hundred and seventy four years in August,” You said.

“And you’ve never considered having children in that time?” He asked.

“Not really. I figured I had enough nieces and nephews that I didn’t think it was necessary. I mean, I’m not against the idea of having children, I’ve just been career oriented for most of my life and never really settled down in any place for very long. I’ve never been married, never had any serious relationships, never dating with the intent on finding ‘the one.’ I figured if I wanted that, it would come in time and I would let it happen naturally and there was no need to rush it. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” He said. “That’s how I used to be for a good three centuries. It wasn’t until I did marry and tried to make a family and failed, again and again, that I sort of became… obsessed.”

“How many times have you been married?”

“Thirty times, I believe.”

“Were they all human?”

“Most of them were,” He said. “There were a couple of tieflings, a half-orc woman, a faun, a selkie, and a dryad. I stayed with them all until the end of their lives, except the last one who left me. I’m nothing if not devoted.” He cocked his head. “Well, I divorced the dryad. She wasn’t happy that I couldn’t conceive children and berated me for it.”

“Oh, jeez, what a bitch,” You said, frowning.

He snorted. “I may have used similar language at the time.”

“I can’t imagine you calling someone a bitch,” You said, side-eyeing him.

“I was a different man in my youth,” He said, smiling. “I’ve got some papers to file. I’ll see you later.”

You waved him off, watching him walk briskly and frowned. He’d lost so much, been disappointed so often, given up on the things he wanted for himself to help others. He was using what he had to give others what he wanted, and as noble a pursuit as that was, it was also rather sad. And what if he got the news he was dreading the most. He’d be devastated.

Was there anything you could do to make him feel better? Was there something you could give him that would make him feel less… incomplete? The only time he seemed genuinely happy was when he was with the children. What else could give him the same joy?

The boy. It came to you suddenly. What about the boy he thought was his son? The one he raised until his mother left with him? Could you find him? Was he alive?

At lunchtime, you sat down with Amai in the cafeteria.

“Can I ask a favor of you?” You asked.

“Sure, what is it?” She responded, sipping her coffee. She always craved coffee when she was incubating and downed gallons of it after laying.

“The boy Halvorg raised, what was his name?”

“Robert, I think?” She said. “I can ask Yenuno, he knows.”

“What year was he born?”

“Uhhh… 1901 or around there.”

“What was his mother’s name?”

“Martha--why are you asking about this?”

You sighed. “I want to find Halvorg’s son. He may be dead now, but I have to try. Halvorg is so unhappy, he’s just gotten really good at hiding it. I want to give him some kind of closure.”

Amai winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Spending all these years around him, I can see how much he’s hurting, even if he tries to mask it.” She sighed. “I have some contacts at the census archives and I can make some inquiries. I’ll check the lineages websites and find as many records as I can.” Amai snorted. “Maybe he’ll be less uptight.”

“Amai!” You retorted.

“Sorry, sorry!” Amai held her hands up. “I’m sorry, it’s a reflex by now, sorry. This is serious. I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you,” You said with a warning tone. “This is serious.”

“I know,” Amai said, her face more solemn. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” You repeated. “I’m sorry to put more work on you, though.”

She tsked at you. “Please, I always take maternity leave during Yenuno’s time incubating. I generally have nothing to do but keep the big guy company while he’s stuck in one place. It’ll give me something to do.”

Halvorg got the call a few days later and informed you of the appointment time. You offered to drive him, and he gratefully accepted.

“Are you alright?” You asked him.

He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “I don’t know. This is either a new beginning or the end of the road. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I’ll be with you, no matter what,” You told him.

He grimaced in a failed attempt to smile. “Thank you.”

The two of you sat in the waiting room for a moment before being called back into an exam room. He sat there in his chair and fidgeted nervously. You put your hand on his and held it. He looked up at you with fear in his eyes and didn’t shake you off.

The doctor knocked on the door and let himself in. Halvorg straightened up, releasing your hand.

“Alright, Dr. Halvorg,” He said, sitting at the table. “We Have your results back. Blood and urine came back normal, and there’s nothing abnormal on your x-rays.” He flipped on the computer screen on the desk in front of him and pulled up Halvorg’s file. “However, there was abnormalities in your sperm sample and the MRI.”

“What type of abnormalities?”

“Well, first of all, your semen sample didn’t have any sperm in it.”

Halvorg looked confused. “What?”

“It’s a condition known as Azoospermia. It’s basically when there’s a blockage somewhere that’s trapping the sperm, which is why there weren’t any little swimmers in your sample.” The doctor clicked on one of the tabs and opened an MRI of Halvorg’s pelvic area and pointed out the anomalies. “The MRI confirms it. There doesn’t appear to be a connection between your epididymus and your vas diferens, and without that connection, the sperm is completely blocked. There’s also a blockage from your testes to the urethra. You appear to have been born with all of these blockages.”

“How does that happen?”

“As to that,” The doctor said, looking at the paperwork he came in with. “Your genetics test came back, and it appears that you have a mutation of Cystic Fibrosis. Thankfully, with this mutation, there are no other typical symptoms of Cystic Fibrosis besides the infertility.”

“Can it be corrected?” Halvorg asked anxiously.

“Yes, microsurgery can correct it. Before we do that, we’ll need to take a sample directly from the testicle with a needle to see if you’re producing sperm at all and look at the count. If we determine that the general sperm production is not the problem, then we’ll proceed with surgery.”

Halvorg sat in a stunned silence, gripping his knees tightly.

“So… it’s possible that I could have children?” He asked.

“There is a possibility,” The doctor said. “We would have to wait until after the surgery and take another sample. I don’t want to get your hopes up too soon, the sperm count could be low, they could be abnormal. There are a bunch of things that could go wrong.”

“But there’s a chance?” Halvorg asked, his eyes as wide and vulnerable as a puppy.

“There’s a chance,” The doctor replied.

As the two of you left the clinic and headed to your car, before you could get to your door, Halvorg gently took your arm, swung you around, took your face in his hands, and kissed you full on the mouth. You made a sound of surprise, but you didn’t push him away.

He lingered for a moment or two before breaking away and saying, “I’m sorry, I know that was extremely unprofessional and probably unwanted, but I don’t know how to thank you. I owe you so much, I can’t begin to express how grateful I am.” He gulped and looked at you earnestly, breathing out a shaky breath. “Do you remember when you asked me to dinner?”

“Yeah?” You asked, confused but intrigued by the sudden softening of his prickly exterior.

“Does the offer still stand?”

You smiled at him slowly and took his hands. They were trembling. This was the first time in a century he’d asked a woman out, after all.

“Yeah,” You replied, stepping closer so that your body lightly brushed his. “Yeah, it does.”

He smiled wide and kissed you again.

Maël went in the next day to have a sample taken, and was thrilled to learn that he did have a decent amount of sperm production. He scheduled the surgery immediately. The recovery time would be at least six weeks, and it was advised that he didn’t try to have sexual relations for another two weeks after that. Plenty of time to feel out your new blooming relationship and get more comfortable with each other.

Thankfully, you had a week to actually go on a few dates before he went under the knife. He took you to Dunmountain on a weekend trip to the museum and the opera. It was the first time you’d done anything like this recreationally in a really long time, and you loved every second of it.

Even though you were sharing a hotel room and a bed, he didn’t attempt to be intimate with you, and you didn’t push him. It had been a century since he last took a woman to bed, and you imagined he felt a little nervous about it.

You didn’t go out of your way to tell people that you were together, but it wasn’t a big secret either. Yenuno and Amai were overjoyed for the two of you. Maël had told Yenuno and Amai about the surgery, but he claimed it was a hernia. You weren’t sure if he would tell them the whole truth. Not unless he got the results he wanted.

By the time he healed completely, it would be about time for the eggs to hatch. Yenuno was already restless and it had only been a month.

You drove Maël to the surgical clinic on the day of his surgery, sat with him in pre-op while he waited nervously and just talked him through his anxiety, holding his hand when they put the IV in. They gave him some medicine to help calm his nerves, and he began to grow sleepy. You stroked his head and watched his eyes fluttered closed. They wheeled him into surgery while he was still snoozing.

The procedure didn’t take very long, only about an hour, and you waited to be called back. A nurse came to retrieve you and took you to his room.

He lay there in bed, drifting in and out.

“Hey, sweetie,” You said, rubbing his arm. “How are we feeling?”

“Sore and thirsty,” He croaked.

You picked up the cup with water in it the nurse had provided and helped him take a sip.

“I’m not surprised you’re sore,” You remarked, setting the cup back down. “A whole bunch of people fondled your balls for an hour.”

He wheezed a laugh. You loved it when he laughed. It changed his whole face. “Did they say when they’d release me?”

“As soon as you can pee on your own, they’ll let you out of here. They said there would be swelling so it might be a while before you’re able to do it, though. I’ll wait.”

He held his hand out for yours and you took it.

“I feel like all I do these days is thank you,” He said. “I wish I could do as much for you as you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t have to do anything for me,” You said. “I’m a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. But I’ll keep you around. You’re cute.”

He breathed another laugh through his nose. “I’m glad. I’ve become rather fond of you.”

You kissed his knuckles. “Likewise.”

He managed to relieve himself right after dinnertime, and was declared clear to go home. You drove him back to the facility and helped him to bed. He was asleep before you left his apartment.

Heading back into your own apartment for the night and sat heavily on your couch. God, you needed to do laundry. It had been a chaotic few weeks.

You started picking up clothes that were strewn haphazardly over furniture, and while picking up a pair of jeans, a small book fell out.

Oh. Right. Maël’s research notes. You’d meant to give it back. Well, Maël was going to be recovering in bed for a few days and likely sleeping most of that time. You could give it back when he was back on his feet. You placed it in the drawer of your nightstand, stared at it for a minute, and went on to start laundry.

And promptly forgot about it for a second time.

Maël slowly healed, though he walked a little stiffly for a few weeks and was careful when sitting. He was a little more irritable than normal, but you imagined he was trying to adjust and was also still worried about whether or not the surgery had worked. He wouldn’t know for another several weeks.

The children kept bringing him flowers they found in the forest to cheer him up, which always seemed to lift his spirits. You spent the evenings with him, talking and cuddling and kissing. You felt like a teenager again, and you hadn’t been a teenager in over one hundred and fifty years.

You were starting to regret the timing of the surgery, though. Sometimes the making out would get pretty hot and heavy, and you had to force yourselves to stop for fear of injuring him.

One night after you’d been dating for just under two months, he was kissing your neck and began to unbutton your shirt. You stopped him.

“You haven’t been cleared for intercourse, have you?” You asked him.

“No, not yet,” He said, breathing heavily and biting his lip. His white-blonde hair was out of it’s normal clean braid and falling around his face. “But I can do something for you.” His hand drifted down your abdomen and between your thighs.

“Oh,” You said, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”

He slipped his hand into your panties and stroked you, and your breath caught in your throat.

“I haven’t done it in a while,” He said, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. “But I think I still know how to do this.”

He got up from the couch and pulled you by your legs gently so that you were laying flat, pushing up your skirt and pulling off your panties. He knelt back down on the couch, yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He slowly spread your legs and pushed your knees upward. He started kissing and sucking the inside of your thigh while circling your bud with his thumb. You moaned and lay back into the cushions, giving over to the sensations.

As he kissed his way toward the apex, he slipped his middle finger inside you and thrust it gently in and out. You whimpered and gripped the couch, your hips grinding against his hand.

“Maël, please,” You breathed.

He growled low in his throat, sending a shockwave through your spine.

“Since you said please,” He whispered teasingly, and pressed his tongue to your clit. Your toes curled at the contact and you grabbed a handful of his hair.

“Oh god,” You whispered. “Maël.”

He placed his whole mouth over you, licking and sucking, adding another finger inside you. He certainly did remember how to do this.

“Fuck!” You said through gritted teeth, followed up by a shuddering moan, raising your head to watch him. He looked up at you through his long lashes and doubled his efforts, sucking your labia into his mouth and pulling, adding a third finger. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Still sucking, he grinned up at you and quirked an eyebrow. He withdrew his fingers and used his hands to push your knees into your chest to open you up wider. You grabbed his head with both hands and rocked your clit against his tongue.

You came as though hit by a bus, loud and violent. Your butt lifted off of the couch as you pulsed in ecstasy, screaming. You hoped the walls of his apartment were soundproof. You couldn’t believe that he’d made you come in under a minute.

“How? How did you do that?” You wheezed.

He chuckled darkly. “I was married thirty times, darling. If I don’t know what I’m doing by now, I shouldn’t be dating at all.”

You just sort of laid there like a starfish while you got your breath back and cooled down. Maël went to fetch you some water and a snack. Eventually, you found your underwear and put it back on. Once your heart rate had slowed, he pulled you into his lap and kissed you slowly until you fell asleep. The next morning, you woke up next to him in his bed. You were tucked up under his arm and he was sleeping peacefully, a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, both of your cellphones buzzed at once. Maël snorted awake and untangled himself from you, picking up his phone, looking at it, and jumping out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“The eggs are hatching!” He exclaimed hastily, pulling clothes out of drawers and putting them on hurriedly. You threw your clothes on and joined Maël’s mad dash for the door.

When you got to the receiving area, the kids were milling around inside, instructed to stay away from the cottage until the babies were born, but they were craning their necks to see what was happening.

Amai was in the shelter with Yenuno and several members of the hatching team, looking into the circle of his tail. She looked up and saw the two of you running up and shouted: “Hurry! They’re almost out!”

You and Maël darted up the ramp and looked down into the coil. All three of the eggs were cracked open and little arms and tails were poking out.

“Vitals?” Maël asked, donning a surgeon’s paper outfit and instructing you to do the same.

“Vitals are elevated but within acceptable range,” One of the nurses said.

“Good,” Maël said. “Alright, we just have to stand back. They’ll do most of the work.

Amai and Yenuno were watching the eggs hatch with awe on their faces. You supposed watching this never got old for them. You wondered if they would miss this now that they decided to stop laying.

Slowly, the little wiggling figures freed themselves from their shells and were crawling around on their hands, looking up at their parents. Maël used that distraction to examine them.

“No way…” He said in a hushed tone. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Amai asked a little shrilly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Maël said, grinning up at her. “They’re all girls.”

“What?!” Yenuno and Amai said in unison, looking at their new little ones.

From what Maël had told you, the ratio of male to female births of Blue Gill Nagas was disproportionately skewed in favor of males. One in twenty eggs contained a female. Having an entire clutch of females was extremely rare.

Yenuno and Amai cried with joy and excitement. They’d been hoping to have at least one more little girl. To get three in one go was overwhelming.

Maël supervised the clean up process, and when they were ready, Yenuno and Amai brought the three baby girls out and introduced them to their siblings. You watched on the ramp with Maël, smiling, and took his hand. He squeezed yours in return. Looking up at his face, you could see he was crying, too.

This is what Maël wanted. He wanted to be the first to say hello to his own child, to be the first to hold them, to be the first to tell them he loved them. He wanted to kiss their brow and dance with them when they were crying and sing them to sleep at night. To get on the floor and play with them and put bandaids on their knees when they scraped them. He was desperate to experience that again, like he had with his son.

After the hatching, Maël went to file the new birth paperwork and Amai and Yenuno and their children were spending the next few days together. That left you with nothing to do.

Back in your apartment, you lay in your bed, thinking about that morning over and over. The babies busting out of their shells, the look of joy on their parents’ faces, the mix of happiness and pain on Maël’s.

You sat up to get your lip balm from your night table, and again found the book. You really ought to give it back. You’d been absent-minded about this for too long.

You opened it, flipping through pages until you landed on the date you first arrived at the facility. Intrigued, you read it.

“Amai’s friend finally made it today. It was exciting to meet her; I’ve been following her career for so long. She’s done so much for the non-human community. Amai didn’t tell me how breathtakingly beautiful she was. My heart stopped when I saw her out of the window. I haven’t felt attraction like this in centuries.”

Oh. Oh god. This was his personal diary. You knew you should stop reading it, but couldn’t. You had no idea he’d felt this way.

“I think I’m flirting with her, but I’m not trying to. I can’t help it. She’s funny and intelligent and everything I love in a woman. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying so hard to stay professional, but I can seem to stop smiling around her.”

The next entry was the day you asked him to dinner.

“She asked me out on a date tonight. It was so hard to say no, but there’s no point, is there? She won’t want me if she knows I can’t have children. She’ll either leave me or mock me. There’s no point. I’ll avoid her. That’s all I can do. It’s best if I don’t get closer to her. Even friendship is dangerous. I’m already half in love with her, and I don’t think I could take it if we started a relationship and she ended up pitying me or disgusted. I can’t do it again.”

There were no more mentions of you in the book after that. You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears hit the page.

It was then that you made a decision.

You took out your phone and dialed your gynecologist’s office. “Hi, Grace, I’d like to schedule a consultation with the doctor about canceling my next birth control injection.”

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redstaratmorning · 3 years

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Headcanons and Musings of Pirate-y And Plunderous Proportions: Astarion Says What

Synopsis: Random musings and ramblings regarding and spawning from the differences between how Astarion says just one word, depending on your choices—“What?” This got very long and touches not only on Astarion’s difference in presentation in aforementioned moment, but also some discussion-thoughts to chuck onto the dashboard regarding some other elements of Astarion’s content thus far in Early Access, and some thoughts to add onto others’ speculations and wonderings (I did not save sources so pardon the lack of proper citation, oops. We’re going informal here anyway.) Spoilers for Chapter 1 BG3 scenes, plot, etc, under the cut in case someone hasn’t filtered out the tags. Trigger warning/content warning: some discussion of heavy topics is mentioned and explored, including starvation, abuse/torture, and trauma. Other topics of note for summarization include speculation on Astarion’s largely unknown as-of-early-access background and a touch of his possible pre-vampire morality leanings, possible mental state/trauma reaction in a couple of scenes, and vague speculation on Larian’s gameplan for Astarion’s arc ending. Gather thy party and venture forward, for here be dragons and lots o’ text, matey! [/stereotypical pirate accent]

“What?” Just that one word, between the goblin party and the tiefling party. If Larian keeps the body language and tone presentation more or less where it’s at now in Early Access, they are worlds apart and delightfully up for interpretation of just what’s going on in our favorite vampire spawn’s head. This won’t be an in-depth post about all the tonal and body language differences, just picking out a few due to personal constraints (ie too broke to buy this game currently.) Edit: And also a lot of other thoughts and ramblings tacked on, lol. On the one hand we have him at the goblin party, where he seems much more superficially comfortable there, knows what’s going on and knows what to expect—it feels like he’s done this kind of scene a hundred times before. The comfort of familiarity. Did Cazador throw “parties”, much like how he “invited” Astarion to dine with him? I wouldn’t be surprised if he mingled at regular dinner parties either before his turning, or perhaps after when he’s ordered to hunt for Cazador’s evening repast. I doubt the goblin party has anything as potentially horrific as what Cazador would have lined up on the nightly basis, which is why Astarion isn’t aggro’d: he’s in a position of power at this party after all, not a powerless one. A conquering hero, as he describes the MC. A Precarious position, as it turns out.

Circling back to that one word though, the way he says “what” in that scene after he propositions the MC and the MC picks the “Maybe. If you say please” line feels like Astarion’s response could be interpreted as pretty abrupt. On guard, perhaps, squaring up, offended, even perhaps lowkey challenging/hostile. Expressing social displeasure and possibly staring down the MC mayhaps? Could be, especially if Astarion’s body language remains as it is rigged now in-scene with that step forward, his shoulders shifting, the lack of a smile, that assessing glare, all combined with that flat tone of voice. The animation could just be temporary and subject to change, but if it does end up as more or less the final version of that moment’s depiction, it’s pretty interesting as a shift. I’d read it as potentially “not actually truly comfortable in this situation, just familiar and numb to it all”, especially when combined with some of his other earlier potential lines at the goblin party, such as the following: Astarion: So, what are we drinking to? Other than a pile of corpses. MC: That’s not funny. Astarion: Oh don’t be so sour - It’s a party. You did what you had to. Don’t be ashamed that you did it well. MC: I wish things had turned out differently. Astarion: And I wish I was drinking out of the skulls of everyone who’s ever wronged me. Life is tough. Although that’s not to say we can’t have a little fun. This supports the whole “has been through his personal hell and has adapted to survive it albeit not unscathed” story Larian seems to be going for with him quite nicely in the little tells and details. A sort of “take what joy you can even amidst the dark situation surrounding us” trauma-induced adaptation, coupled together with actual enjoyment on his part for killing. It’d be easy to say Astarion is moreso in his element at the goblin party, and to a degree he is—it’s one he is well practiced with in his current mindset. Compare now how he acts at the tiefling party—we can all agree he’s not having a good time, our friendly neighborhood vampire sulking in particular over the fact that “there’s a worm in [his] brain, [he’s] surrounded by idiots, and all [he] has to drink is wine that tastes like vinegar.” But the delightful thing is he’s complaining so vividly about it. The wine likely is worse at the tiefling party, seeing as they’re refugees, and the goblins had previously captured a duke whom they likely stole loot from and under orders from Minthara et al stored said goods elsewhere for a later date (likely some of said goods were consumed at the party if it happened. Edit: Shadowheart’s drunk dialogue at the goblin party mentions the goblin’s wine there being good, poor dear. Fascinating hints at her story and character in that scene though.) This is assuming Astarion is drinking wine at the goblin party, of course. He may very well be drinking something red and full-bodied there, just not made from grapes. But even in his complaints and presentation, he seems arguably more relaxed and less on guard compared to his demeanor at the goblin party. Let’s be honest, he doesn’t view goblins as equals or stimulating company judging by his various voice lines expressing his disdain, distrust and overall low opinion of them as vermin among other things. The fact that he’s willing to call the tiefling refugees idiots while in earshot of them? Definitely doesn’t respect them as a group—though he has a less negatively opined line regarding them earlier on if the caged goblin (Sazza) is killed,—which is not surprising given that MC and company at the time of the party just saved them from certain death. Astarion’s reaction however also reads as potentially at ease enough to say what he’s thinking. He’s not going to get murdered for saying so, and there aren’t any punishing power games at play with the refugees and do-gooders he’s found himself surrounded by. There aren’t any hedonistic shenanigans going on and the drinks are terrible, so it’s not an entertaining party for him, but one could make an argument that Astarion might actually be feeling more secure or at least less threatened-as-is/was-his-accepted-ongoing-norm there. Which might mean he’s feeling quite out of place, or even just not...entirely engaged with what’s going on around him and even within him as far as emotional states go. Would he casually pull the same stunt at the goblin party? If you’re a bastard to him, yes, but that’s not in the same emotional vein as his dialogue during the tiefling party at all. Loyalty from the goblins is fickle, the goblins worship the Absolute and those that are chosen by the Absolute—so long as said Chosen remain powerful enough to subjugate them and is in favor. Astarion knows this kind of power structure well: ruling by fear and power. With the tieflings? It’s not superiors-and-subordinates, it’s just...people. People celebrating surviving an event that could’ve very well and most likely would’ve ended in their deaths. Will he get to celebrate like that one day? That could very well be a painful and bleak thing to consider, and not something he wants to contemplate as of yet, based on his dialogue lines that demonstrate his fear of Cazador. How’s he supposed to get lost in the fun and revelry if the wine doesn’t even taste good to him? I don’t know wines, but I’m guessing from what little I do know and what I’ve read of flavor descriptors for wines hyped as good, it might actually be bad wine based on the adjective “sharp” when mixed with the rest of the description if the MC takes a sip. Sharp seems to suggest too many tannins, or maybe improper storage so the wine actually did turn to taste a bit more like vinegar, or maybe not enough sugar in the grapes used, perhaps? To be fair, I do believe there’s a non-conversation line somewhere of Astarion’s regarding solid food tasting terrible to him, but I can’t verify that so a pinch of salt there. Still, if his taste buds are aligned with regular living mortal ones for wine at least, RIP Astarion, he’s stuck with a terrible drink for the foreseeable night. Unless, of course, you know. ;D Compared to the tieflings, the goblins as a whole? As a group they’re a scraped together army of pillagers hungry for destruction and spoils. They don’t have ANY loyalty to you—in addition to being willing to betray you via murder immediately despite working with them when Sazza first brings you back to meet Minthara, there’s also when Minthara potentially opts to try to kill you post-goblin-party. If you persuade her not to, Minthara does mention “do not return to the goblin camp, as far as they were concerned you were destined to die tonight.” This is not a group to get chummy with, obviously. Doesn’t say good things about the Absolute’s followers in general, either, or the Absolute depending on if Minthara’s being honest about the Absolute intending that the MC dies after razing the grove. Minthara could just be lying to serve her own ends and is out to destroy any rivals for the Absolute’s favor, after all, I can’t verify that from dialogue exploration at present. So it’s not surprising that this is not a group Astarion is going to let his guard down around I’m sure, or around an MC that sided with the goblins, because fortunes can shift like the wind in a scene like that, and I think his utter lack of surprise at Minthara trying to kill you all (whether or not the MC had a romp with her) is potentially spawned because he recognizes this fact. He’s been here before, in another time, another place, with different faces, but he’s seen this play before. And the MC is just another face for the same old role of a player in this rat race for power when they side with the goblins, aren’t they? The difference this time though is: will they succeed and make it to the top? Is Astarion betting on the winning horse, or not? Far less reason and far more motivation to not be emotionally invested in anyone or anything around him because it’s survival of the fittest, and the most ruthless will be the ones who win—the MC just reinforced that perspective for Astarion, in slaughtering the tieflings. But Astarion isn’t fully corrupted yet, despite however much Cazador has twisted and tormented him so. Isn’t it fascinating, that the MC, one of the first people Astarion can actually interact with relatively freely without Cazador’s puppeteering influence hanging over him quite so acutely, is someone who might very well and very likely will have a huge impact on how Astarion develops and sees the world? For better or for worse, the MC will shape all the companions’ futures and perspectives it seems, depending on their choices. On a meta note, isn’t that thrillingly fascinating and engaging work by Larian Studios? Bravo, honestly. Continuing, for Astarion this could very well just feel like a better but complimentary and thematically continuous segment of the nightmare that is his existence under Cazador as it goes on: he’s a vampire now, and the world is only ever a power struggle between the strong and the weak, and he knows better than to ever be weak again. Kindness and virtue belonged to Before. Before he died, before he turned, before he was taken. Those are things in stories and fairy tales now, that belong to other people, other places and times, other lives—things that belong to the living, not the undead. Sentimentality, more universally-accepted morality, all of those Good™-aligned or softer feelings can feel like they have no place in his world now, on this darker path. But he knows what they are, not just in theory I think, but also perhaps knowing from memory and experience, however distant and faint. The way he speaks on many occasions has subtext that could very well suggest he wasn’t without a better side through implication and emotion. Which is not to say I think he was a shining paragon of virtue before he died—guessing based off of the dev team’s writing of him so far, I’m expecting nuanced and complex but ultimately very human (or elf if you’re being fantasy-based technical) morality with both merits and flaws, for polarizing opinions in the fandom. That being said, I’m holding off judgment on what kind of person he was before he was turned for now despite reading about pre-early-access, preliminary ideas the dev team had for his background. The reason I’m waiting to see what the dev team puts into the game for his backstory of Before, is because some of his datamined lines could be taken in a couple of different ways, and some of his emotional responses as is currently don’t track as truly Machiavellian or I’d say malevolent in nature for manipulation or otherwise. Granted, not all Evil™ acts stem from intentions to be malevolent. Sometimes people do evil both in-game and in life without really intending to, or recognizing that they do, nor seeing the harm they have caused or will cause (I’m looking at you, Mayrina.) Manipulative yes, but so far it’s looked like it’s for defensive purposes in a world that is out to hurt or kill him if given any opportunity whatsoever. Personally I actually wouldn’t even say he’s been really manipulative at all, but your mileage may vary. He lies because he’s afraid you’re going to murder him for being a vampire, and because he doesn’t want to reveal the cause of two centuries’ worth of trauma to someone he just met and likely can’t predict if they’re emotionally safe for him to interact with. Note: “emotionally safe” does not necessarily denote being sympathetic here, so much as “will their response cause me pain in some fashion?” from Astarion’s point of view, which does not necessarily require the MC to be mean to him though obviously that wouldn’t help. We touch upon why sympathy can hurt later on in this essay. And why would he expect sympathy in the other instance, regarding revealing that he’s a vampire? How often would we not murder strange vampires we just met in DND-worlds? Is that not a common response and practice in Faerun for the most part? They’re on the list of acceptable prey for a monster hunter to be kidnapped and taken to who knows what fate (probably nothing good we’re sure), and who would come rescue them? In all actuality: No one. If he wasn’t a companion he’d easily just be one more random encounter to kill—as he and all the companions are in the right circumstances, *cough cough* like when sacrificing anyone to Boooal *cough.* Astarion’s had little cracked moments where he seems to be showing genuine vulnerability, and I’d say he likely displays real genuine emotion plenty of times, just not all the time. While the vulnerable moments could be a ploy, were he the type to actually be fully acting, I’m disinclined to bet that he’d act in the way he does during those moments if he planned them out or even improvised. It could be a mix of both, where it’s both true but also an act of manipulation. Were it the last option, that would require more exploration of his character in various situations to determine imo. I still doubt that though. I think he’s a little too raw and real in his pain, anger, and aggression to say he’s being malevolently manipulative at the end of the day, at least thus far in chapter one. The MC’s choices may change and influence that, on the Evil™ route. I’ve been following some of the fantastic dash discussions on Astarion’s reaction to when the MC tries to comfort him (because of course I have, I’m here for BG3 content and Astarion content especially, aren’t we all here for the same party in his tag? Also hello fellow Astarion stans! :D I hope everyone’s having a good day), and if some of these datamined lines from Pjenn’s blog post are actually implemented and kept as canonical [link], specifically the ones Astarion says regarding heroes, I do think it ties in very strongly with some of what other folks have said regarding his recoiling reaction. Copy-pasted the potential dialogue lines of interest below: Astarion: Heroes. |said with disgust| Astarion: Heroes had two centuries to save me from my torture, but not one came knocking. Astarion: The strong had two centuries to pluck me from torture, but no one came. No, it was the mind flayers that rescued me. Astarion: I spent centuries as the victim of a corrupt man. It was the mind flayers that plucked me away from that. I very much enjoyed all the takes on Astarion’s potential motivations in his response, and I do want to chuck another idea into the fray that supports the vein of ideas that have him being truly afraid and then angry at the MC in that scene, with the speculation including those possible hero lines above as influence. Specifically, I’d like to bring in an outside comparison to part of Molly Grue’s reaction to seeing the Unicorn from The Last Unicorn animated movie for the first time, transcribed below: The Unicorn: I’m here now. Molly: [Bitter laugh] Oh? And where were you twenty years ago? Ten years ago? Where were you when I was new? When I was one of those innocent, young maidens you always come to? How dare you. How DARE you come to me now, when I am this. [begins to cry, heartbroken] Consider Astarion being shown kindness when he is now away from Cazador, not fully free or safe yet but not currently actively fully suffering Cazador’s torment all up close and personal. Consider that only on that very night before he was snatched up by the mindflayers, which might’ve been anywhere from only a day to a handful of days before this conversation about his nightmare, he was going out to falsely smile and lure some innocent—(“No innocents. You have my word.”)—or perhaps not so innocent, beautiful soul back to Cazador’s mansion to very likely die or be turned. How often must he do so? Is it every night he is ordered to go out and condemn someone else to that unfortunate fate? Do you think Cazador killed them cleanly? Quickly? Why would he, instead of agonizingly grinding out any last traces of sympathy his spawn might have through the guilt that they are the ones who “choose” who suffers and likely dies at Cazador’s hands that night? To give the illusion of choice is one abuse/torture tactic that can be used to break a soul that we see often in games: choose who suffers or dies. Cazador is unquestionably a personality who enjoys the psychological aspect of tormenting his victims, as evidenced by giving Astarion the “choice” to be either flayed or to “dine” on a rotting, dead rat, as well as other mentions of how he puts thought into torturing those around him. Astarion is still so fresh from his torment,—torment that is still technically on-going with the very real threats of resuming once more—he is emotionally bleeding enough arterial blood at the seams to fill a sea. His actions, words, and emotions so often metaphorically smell of blood, and not because he’s a vampire and the traditional role of a vampire being a predator among humanoids ironically enough, but because being a vampire spawn means Cazador. And Cazador means horror. Astarion has survived, yes, and it’s been hell. He’s still in hell, because he isn’t free yet. Not truly. It’s a desperate gasp of air, this taste of freedom, to dream that he could be free of Cazador. Imagine his feelings when he’s now in something like freedom, a reminder of what could be, what his life might’ve and likely was like once upon a time, an uncertain here-and-now where he has the possibility—just a possibility, and an unlikely one at that for most ordinary or less-than-ordinary people, not a certainty—of being free, and he’s just admitted to the horror that is Cazador. Admitted in this moment how much Cazador frightens him, how much just the thought of Cazador frightens him, how much the possibility he might be sent back to his master and having his previous tormented existence resumed truly frightens him. And the MC reaches out in sympathy. In acknowledgement that what Astarion has been through is horrifying. To look at this horror and say it is pain, and terror, and awful, that it isn’t normal. It isn’t something to ignore. It isn’t something to pretend is just everyday same old, same old, to numb and take off the edge as much as one can. That Astarion’s pain and fear aren’t to be sought out for entertainment or at best to be willfully neglected in an act of malice. That stark moment of contrast, like night and day, could bring the pain of two hundred years crashing down inside his head, all compressed into one moment. Feelings he tried so hard to survive through, ignore perhaps, suppress: fear, helplessness, loneliness, misery, anger, sorrow, hatred, pain, anxiety, distress, need. Memories, of so many instances that hurt in that moment and then continued to hurt for so long afterwards. How much must it hurt him, wound him, to lift his head for air and have a perspective outside of his suffering that is sympathetic...but knowing that nobody came to save him. That perhaps, no one ever will, if he loses this so-called freedom and is dragged back under. That those that care, cannot help you. And that those that can help, do not care. Why would anyone help him at this point after all? He’s a vampire spawn. A classically defined monster in the eyes of society, and he knows it. (”I’m not some monster!” / ”At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs.”) He must have been truly desperate in his starvation to chance anyone finding out he’s a vampire in the party. Not surprising, he can’t rest at the end of the day like the other companions can. He has to expend extra energy at that point to find food discreetly after fighting all day, and subpar food at that. (”Animal blood tastes like muck.” verification needed, it’s a conversational line in some branch of the morning-after he asks to bite the MC the first time) He’s not eating breakfast, snacks or lunch during the day, and he isn’t guaranteed to find food while hunting in the woods. Game might be scarce, he can be wounded or exhausted after a long day of fighting, and he wasn’t starting out in the peak of health to begin with either. He is a vampire spawn yes and apparently can take down large game such as boars to drain them, but that is a rough existence to condemn anyone to mechanically speaking. He knows what he’s risking, regardless of his int stat. But he takes that risk anyway. The character who is so survival driven, risking a very high likelihood of expulsion at best or death as the much-more-likely worst outcome of this attempt? His bite isn’t painless, and pain can wake a person up readily enough if they aren’t a deep sleeper, and how deep a sleeper are most people when in an uncertain and unfamiliar wilderness, potentially while hungry and cold, with the fretting fear of a agonizing death looming over their head? Even accounting for a lack of mental clarity from hunger and exhaustion and other factors, I find it deeply unlikely that Astarion is unaware of how big a risk he’s taking with the odds are stacked against him, rogue class or not. And even if he’s just thrown out of the group? He’s alone. Vulnerable. A target to be hunted by a much bigger, meaner predator. One that won’t kill him quickly, we can guess. His odds are much lower, on his own. Specifically his odds of not being dragged back to Cazador...assuming the MC doesn’t just turn him over to Gandrel. How terrifying is it to imagine that your suffering will never end, to be told it will never end, and then you are reminded of what it is like to not suffer for a time. To have felt the painful hope that maybe there is a possibility that you could escape an existence of torment...but knowing you very well might not? It is desperately bleak. It is no great leap of the imagination to hear Astarion saying—(or more likely thinking because this would be terribly vulnerable...but he might say something when pushed because he’s so full of sharp edges and bleeding insides still)—something similar to Molly Grue’s line in his own fashion, is it? Astarion: “[Bitterly laughing, mockingly so. As he speaks his tone breaks, an edge of raw, desperate hysteria slipping through, attached to centuries of pain turned to anger] And where were you two hundred years ago? A hundred years ago? Where were you when I still desperately thought in the deepest parts of my heart that someone might come? When I still had hope? Astarion: [his voice turns low and venomous, raising in volume and accusation before finishing with a break on the final word “this”, a tonal admittance of how distraught and self-aware he is of what he’s had to do, of what he’s had to become to survive] How dare you. How DARE you say this to me now, when I am this.” (the above lines are entirely fictional and are not from any in-game, data-mined, or otherwise official source or content) He’s been made to do so many terrible things, even just based off of the few lines we have heard in early access he’s been through so much horror. An hour of torture, a day, a month is so incredibly long. It can have such lasting impact on a person—PTSD, as we know it in this day and age. A year? Five years, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred? An elf he may be, but from a human perspective...he’s been tortured for lifetimes. Even as an elf, two hundred years is a long time. More than long enough to seriously alter how someone’s brain works—people are both amazingly resilient, but also so incredibly fragile. Cazador has had all this time to play with Astarion’s brain, honestly I find it impressive Astarion has any sense of self left after all this time. That he’s still driven to survive, that he still feels anything at all. (”It doesn’t look broken. But then again, none of us do.”) It doesn’t surprise me that he’s intensely bitter when encountering the “paladins” of Tyr—(ie Anders and company if you know who I mean—and was that a Dragon Age 2 reference? If not that is an amazing coincidence with the whole Anders-Justice-Vengeance-Demon thing there)—if the MC asks something to the tune of “Don’t you wish someone had helped you when you needed it?” Oh. Oh that had to be a painful question for him. Astarion had his basic needs denied and abused, to ask if he wished that someone had helped him when he needed that and more, and no one came? Why was he denied but the paladins get help? Why does he have to be the hero when no one came for him, when no one very well might come for him when he might still very well be in dire straits in the near future? I can see the possible desire to inspire sympathy intended in the question from the MC, but it can be so utterly without sympathy to ask that in some contexts, and in Astarion’s case it is. He was being abused and controlled without any way out—Anders and his cohorts opted into the deal with Zariel for personal reasons, not as far as I know under threat of imminent death, and they are relatively capable of fulfilling their end of the bargain barring their current injuries at the time. They certainly have more freedom of choice than Astarion and other vampire spawn ever did, and they were not being tortured right then and there. Warlocks, referring to Anders and co., might even have the option to get out of deals, a la Wyll’s personal questline hook thus far. Astarion can’t get out of his servitude from Cazador. Cazador holds all the cards, makes all the decisions, has all of the power. To compare Astarion’s situation to his face with that of the “paladins”? I’m surprised he wasn’t spitting fury, honestly. They still have normal elements to their day to day life, despite their devil’s deal. They are not being tormented on the daily—yet. They are not in hell—yet. They can get out. They have the possibility. A possibility Astarion didn’t—until now. And isn’t that the most fucked up thing, that it wasn’t a force of Good™ that saved him, but an even bigger monster than Cazador himself? He was saved—by mindflayers, intending some fate that was likely worse for him than before. Even when the Absolute’s hand begins to be revealed in all this, he is still a pawn among monstrous masters. What heroes there are in the world, won’t come for him. They never did before, and they didn’t now. Heroes are for other people, for realities aside from his own. They are for other people, living Other lives. Not his life. Forces of Good™ swooping in to save the day, to correct the wrongs of the world and to make things Right™ just isn’t his normal. Not anymore, if ever it was. His normal was warped by Cazador a long time ago. Is it a stretch of the imagination that if Cazador twisted “dinner” to be a choice between consuming a rotting, putrid rat corpse or being flayed on a nightly basis, turning “poetry” into the memory of a “sonnet” carved into Astarion’s back with a razor over the course of an entire night full of Astarion’s own pained screams? Is it hard to imagine that Cazador also took pleasure in turning other ordinary situations one might encounter in normal life into nightmare versions as well for Astarion and his other spawn? One illithid mind-power option shows Cazador controlling Astarion by holding his chin, though without any further context. Cazador wouldn’t have had to do more than that to invoke terror, after a certain point in time. It seems highly unlikely the gesture wasn’t followed up with more pain, though. Perhaps in that moment when he speaks of his nightmare in the first conversation and the MC reaches out to him in sympathy...Astarion was reminded of something. Multiple somethings, multiple moments, when Cazador reached out to him oh so casually, and it ended in pain and terror. The way the camera is framed as of the current time in early access, the way he flinches away crying “No!” so quiet and low, his eyes wide and staring just so, how he goes so far as to pull back almost entirely out of frame and the camera slowly pans to follow him? Perhaps that is just a stand-in scene, but as it is, even now, it emphasizes that he is I would argue genuinely afraid, and reflexively responding in what is likely his first opportunity to freely respond to his traumatically induced fear. The first opportunity where he wasn’t supernaturally compelled to do exactly as Cazador ordered him to, the first opportunity where he was likely not going to be tormented further for expressing his fear, for having his main tormentor laugh and delight in his distress. The first instance where he for a split second let his guard down, and didn’t expect to be hurt—until the MC reached for him, echoing possible memories of what happened last time someone (Cazador) did that. It’s not Cazador reaching for him. But...it is not Cazador. He doesn’t have to worry about Cazador hurting him right that second, but...will the MC hurt him, like Cazador did? Will they make it look like they’re going to help him, that he can trust them, and then betray him? (”How can you be so cruel?” / “It [Raphael playing games] reminds me of Cazador, taunting his slaves with hope when he knew the game was rigged.”) But they scared him. They scared him, and perhaps for a moment he was back there, in another time and place, where he knows, where he remembers, vividly, perhaps even recently, what normally would have happened to him. And how dare they make him feel that. (“I can do without reliving that particular night, thank you.” [Nightmare about Cazador dialogue, a separate scene if you miss the insight check from the first post-nightmare camp discussion I believe.]) He’s so raw and upset, both aggressive and defensive when he speaks about his nightmares in quite a few of his lines, asking and waiting to explain just why his nightmares are truly so terrifying, especially in the second-nightmare conversation. The way he speaks there, and in other scenes, makes me very disinclined to interpret him as actively intending evil in general so much as having been shaped to be ruthless through a centuries-long trial by fire that he isn’t free and clear of yet. Based off of how he reacts on more than one occasion, I’m personally inclined to take a leaf from Wyll’s book and say I do think he has more than just potential to be good. “Good™” being relative of course to his situation and undead-life—Astarion has GREAT potential as a character to explore not only what it means to be Evil™ aligned, but also what people on the meta perceive as evil, as well as what prejudices we may carry from that labeling. He is I think very much an excellent walking morality test and ironically a mirror for the player’s character. What kind of person is the MC, in how they treat and interact with him. He is a complicated and morally-entangled character, and it is so very easy to only read him in the here and now within the stark, daylight context of societal’s average norms without looking at the very real, very recent nightmarish Twilight Zone reality he’s lived in that echoes through his words and story thus far. It’s a marvelous bit of echoing reality and real life here by Larian, truth be told: how do you tell people about your life, when it’s been a ceaseless, unending nightmare? With smiles, witticisms, and the occasional polished lie that bleeds out pain, for some folks anyway, including Astarion. He says he’s having more fun at the goblin party, but at the tiefling party? That’s probably the first time he’s been at a normal party where he hasn’t had to obey and fear Cazador’s orders and inevitable torment during or afterwards. That’s the first time in his entire undead existence when he’s been in a social situation like this without being afraid, hurt, or manipulated. It’s not a fun party on its own by his standards, but it is a safe party for him. In a way though, safety can be boring. A luxury, yes, but in this case? For him, boring. And boring...might very well be irritating, in an anxiety-turned-irritation fashion, because he’s not being tormented right this very moment. He should be finding something to enjoy, because in his normal everyday routine? In the day to day that he would expect, that his subconscious expects out of habit? Opportunity for any form of enjoyment must be rare indeed, twisted and tainted by Cazador’s ever looming shadow over every minute of Astarion’s vampiric existence so far. It could be anxiety-inducing, to not seek pleasure or some form of happiness or comfort while there is opportunity for it, in what one perceives as a respite from constant, on-going suffering. (”Why do you insist on exhuming the past?” - when you ask about his past in camp, after you know he’s a vampire. An unpleasant reminder of an unpleasant past, why would he want to dwell on it? He has enough pain to last him multiple lifetimes. Literally.) From the deep, deep depths of prolonged suffering, it can potentially take a great deal more intensity of sensation to feel anything at all, let alone something approaching happiness. (”For the first time in two hundred years, I felt happy.” [presumed Astarion-origin line after drinking from a sleeping companion] / “I feel strong. I feel...happy!” [after MC succeeds in persuading Astarion to stop drinking from their neck after giving him permission to do so.]) This isn’t even taking into consideration how vampirism might have impacted Astarion’s psychology on a metabolic/biochemical level, so to speak. Where Larian goes with that is still to be determined, though my money’s on they give him more a murderous edge and natural inclination—not unlike a Beast-lite version of bloodlust from Vampire: The Masquerade— but still keep his core traits very much human rather than supernaturally-alien/2D-cut-out-monstrous. (Or elvhen, if we’re being fantasy-world-linguistically technical here again.) Touching on the matter of monstrous behavior though...It is a powerfully understated moment of casual cruelty that Larian allows the MC to decide once and once only, if Astarion may also drink from people or only animals. It’s so fitting I don’t believe it to be coincidence that he was a magistrate in his backstory—isn’t the MC passing a judgement too on him, a sentence to change his life for the foreseeable future, possibly forever without realizing or perhaps not caring about the full extent of their actions? And one cannot forget Wyll’s comment about the rat diet. Oh, can you not hear the resonating parallel real life pain from how those ignorant of another’s hurts might unintentionally mock the person and hurt them so? How some might apply their own morality from their own life experiences, without looking at the full extent of the consequences of their actions? A life and perspective that more likely has never been tested under the lash and upon the rack of some of life’s worst possible realities? Even if Wyll and the MC don’t mean to be, it is so very, very cruel. It is beautifully painful, Abdirak and the goddess Loviatar would be proud. (”My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel...happy!”) To be denied not just better food, but the ability to think clearly, to feel well, the actuality of being happy as a norm? It is so very hollow an existence to feel so constantly weak of both body and mind, and oh isn’t it just the richest thing, that an MC might echo Cazador’s choice and power over Astarion thusly? It’s enough to make one laugh an Evil Laugh™ of appreciation at just how unthinkingly, horribly cruel a person can potentially be while playing a Good™ character. This is actually a level of genius on Larian’s part that I wonder how many in the audience will actually look at and appreciate the subtle horror of. The horror that we do this too, in real life, sometimes without ever knowing the seemingly small, far-reaching ripples of harm an unthinking phrase or comment can do when we don’t take another’s reality into consideration—that we don’t know what it is we don’t know. It is a fine piece of storytelling, to offer up a story with so many facets to reflect upon. It’s so beautifully crafted that Astarion speaks and dresses like a noble, that he can so easily be perceived as a person of privilege at first glance should one merely look at some of his surface behaviors and inclinations—remnant trappings of his distant past most likely, from once upon a time. It’s a delightful reveal and subversion that he, I think we can safely say, isn’t that. Perhaps he was, once, but he isn’t at this point in his life, not anymore. Appearances are deceiving, and doesn’t that just tie so nicely right into some of Astarion’s potential themes and behaviors? The lies that crack open as truth and pain come bleeding out from underneath? I do wonder how many of Larian’s audience have known hunger—and not known when the next meal will happen, what it might be, if it will have strings attached? The kind of hunger that follows you everywhere, that roots down into your bones and hollows out a home there forever more? It changes how a person sees things, how they act, how they think, even when they’re removed from being hungry all the time. One doesn’t need to be skin and bones to feel like one is starving constantly,—(I very much enjoy that headcanon just to clarify, I’m not intending to throw shade in any of this or future rambling)—to be kept on a hollow diet of empty calories that are enough to keep your heart pumping, but your body struggles because it doesn’t have the nutrients it needs in the amounts it needs? To feel your mind fog over with exhaustion and blanketed despair, a primal and low level desperation whittled down into a tired and numb, anxious background static from adrenal fatigue? Miscellaneous aches, pains and problems that seem unrelated but in reality, if only you knew, were because your body can’t function the way it should ideally, because you don’t have what you truly need? A very real problem in real life, for far too many people. And oh, the beautiful, casual, so very human monstrousness Larian lets us exercise here, knowing or unknowing. It is such a powerful, understated cluster of ideas. And I think Larian knew—someone on the dev team did their homework on both traditional starvation but also what one might call masked-starvation as no doubt other tumblr folks have also speculated, just based off of what we’ve seen and because of that Happy buff Astarion gets when he uses his Vampiric Bite ability in combat. It fits right into his whole theme of “what makes a monster and what makes a man?” (Sing the bells of Notre Dame~♪) But not necessarily asking that question only of him. Rather, asking it also of the MC. This fits into the game’s whole theme with the tadpoles, the choice of using the power and turning into “Something More Beautiful” as Minthara put it, of taking the darker path, it all fits so very well. I just want to applaud this because it’s not a major story-beat moment. It’s a companion-side-quest moment. It’s going to be for the most part seen as a combat-game-mechanic and head-canon defining moment, deciding if Astarion may feed on people or not. I doubt we’d see Larian actually changing Astarion’s demeanor much in how he delivers lines with a “allowed to drink people blood” code flag, as cool as that might be. It very well could factor into later outcomes but for voice acting I doubt they’ll make an entire second/third/etc set of each line spawning from that one seemingly small choice. It makes me very hopeful that Larian can handle such weighty themes so deftly thus far—we’ll have to wait and see if they can stick the landing once the game is finished, but boy oh boy their nuance and delivery so far is strong as steel and sharp as a double-edged sword right out of the gate. The studio is in a fantastic position to explore and to challenge people’s thoughts and ideas regarding character builds like Astarion’s imo, depending on how the dev team chooses to play it out. Seeing some of Gale and Shadowheart’s dialogue trees from the goblin party, I have high hopes that the dev team will allow a great deal of exploration and flexibility all across the moral spectrums, not only allowing us the option to drag the more seen-as-good-aligned characters down paths of moral corruption,—(note: I’m including Shadowheart in more neutral-ish territory for now but the fact that she seems to feel emotionally ill—guilty, one could say—at the goblin party and is busy trying to get drunk to drown that feeling out suggests to me she Definitely does have a more good-aligned moral compass to a nuanced degree)—but also the chance to drag more seen-as-evil-aligned characters along the path to more traditionally good endings and persuade them to see the benefits of playing nice with others per more classic Good™ societal rules (subjectively speaking ofc.) But Larian is also in a very precarious place too—speaking strictly of just the one character as the focus of this essay, Astarion resonates very easily through that very real fear, pain, anger, bitterness and so many other emotions as a result of what he has survived, is still surviving through, and struggling against: trauma. How bitter indeed would it be should a character—that people with very deep, real pain can relate to—not get at least the option for a well-crafted, hopeful and merciful epilogue? Oh the sympathetic pain that Larian could reap could be pain of the very worst kind, if they condemn him to only death and darkness with bleak endings that lack nuance and care. I’ve seen some posts where people worry about Astarion not potentially having a good ending, with possible unspoken implications that he might be railroaded into betraying the MC. I’d like to say that I think a lot of his subtext, even looking at the instances where he lies and the datamined details of the voice-acting-directions, would run counter to railroading him to only ever betraying the MC. I think straight betrayal is going to run as mostly antithetical to his core themes in a way. He might betray your MC—but it will likely be because the MC betrayed him first in a myriad of small ways, or in a big way. Approval-rating-system based choices are a very real possibility too, separately or as a part of the equation naturally, in addition to your major in-game choices. That would also include the scenario of betrayal through using the tadpole powers enough to be mind-controlled into having no will of his own, much like the other characters, including the MC. I do think we have plenty of good, solid reason to be very hopeful that he will have a possible good continuation—not ending. A continuation where he manages to free himself from Cazador with the help of his companions or perhaps dare he even say friends, manages to begin the process of healing the immediate pains of his trauma and learning how to truly live with all that he’s been through and all that he’s done, to have the possibility of not only living but living both happily and well for the most part? Who knows what else Larian Studios might have in the works for him and the other companions, as well as the MC and the story of Baldur’s Gate 3. But good outcomes for all seems like it very likely could happen, for all of the companions. His wiki page’s summary tagline hook in particular offers up that implied promise from the developers to the audience, I would say, “Astarion prowled the night as a vampire spawn for centuries, serving a sadistic master until he was snatched away. Now he can walk in the light, but can he leave his wicked past behind?” What that promise is, varies from creator to creator. In this case, based on the wording, I would say that potentially implies a satisfyingly well-crafted and engaging story wherein we find out and determine if the answer to that question is yes or no, and in a DND-based RPG full of choices that have an impact on the people and world around you? In a game genre that has a history of multiple, varied endings for your companions based on how you play? That checks out. Larian so far has been handling things admirably well in my opinion, and I’m willing to invest emotionally in this story they’re telling with the trust that they will deliver a good continuation and conclusion. But on the off-chance that somehow Astarion’s endings all turn out painful and tragic on the meta for the fanbase, that the associated intentional or unintentional messages wound and grieve those who recognize and resonate most strongly with the pains he has felt? On that off-chance, in that instance where we are left bereft and disappointed because of what happened to him or any of the companions or the story itself should somehow things go awry, then it would be your right to ask Larian the very same question Astarion asked you once: How can you be so cruel?

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #spoilers #bg3 spoilers #Astarion #character study #long post #very long post #eXtreme rambling ahoy #speculation #congrats if you can read this all #totally understandable if it's too much text tho #it's long enough and rambly enough that it wandered away from the limits I intended #because I have FEELINGS about this gremlin vampire man #cackles madly #maybe the vampire will stop haunting my brain for a bit now #I have other things to do #aside from writing long contemplation pieces #prepare the angst-grapple-hooks crewmates #why yes I'm going to make silly jokes about pirates and sailing and the like #no I do not have any depth to my knowledge base about such things #I just like their hats man #arr #also not looking to make anyone feel bad or invalidate their hcs or opinions #just want good vibes for all #and more cakes for all #metaphorically speaking #the cake is not a lie tho #well #metaphorically it's not a lie

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