#and now i have astarion to further bear the curse | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pagesfromthevoid · 25 days

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A Real Nightmare | a.a. | 4

Astarion x fem!tav

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Mildly suggestive themes. Nudity, almost sex, talking about consent and insecurities

Author’s Note: I promise I didn’t give up on this I just got distracted by the fuckin wizard

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

It wasn’t that they didn’t have a lot of alone time in the following days since Tav confessed her desire for Astarion. It was just that she had decided to let Astarion make whatever move he wanted first –if he ever made one.

While he admitted he found her attractive the other night, he told her that she “smelt like a wet dog” and couldn’t bear the idea of bedding her like that. Tav had rolled her eyes at his dismissal, chalking it up to him putting up the walls she had managed to break down. But she didn’t push him, and simply thanked him again for letting her use his tent and bedroll for the night.

“I suppose we could share until you get your own,” he had offered dismissively, waving his hand as he reopened his book.

And thus started a strange co-living situation that was a step above what they had already been doing. They had plenty of alone time in camp, with her sharing his tent each night. But Astarion either didn’t want to make a move or didn’t know he could —both of which made Tav’s heartache one way or another.

Following a particularly nasty fight against a couple of death Shepard (truly, could they catch a break?), Tav's magic had taken a rather chaotic turn, ensnaring everyone and anything that stepped too close to her. Karlach and Gale had gotten away just fine, though Astarion had briefly slashed at the roots to free himself. Even she was stuck in the vines that had appeared after a particularly powerful spell, preventing her from being able to help further than casting a fire bolt here and there.

“We could just leave her here,” Astarion suggested, standing right at the edge of the vines that tangled her up now.

“Astarion, you ass —,” she started, but was cut off by a vine jabbing itself into her calf and causing her to curse angrily.

“And risk you biting one of us, instead?” Karlach chuckled, hacking away at the vines. “C’mon, soldier. Simmer down so we can get you out.”

“If it was that easy,” Tav huffed in frustration, throwing her hands up. “I damn well wouldn’t be here.”

“Perhaps if you knew how to control yourself,” Astarion offered unhelpfully. “We wouldn’t be picking you from the bushes.”

“You are not helping, Astarion!”

“You have to remember that the power is within you,” Gale reminded her, smiling that know-it-all smile of his that Tav really didn’t want to see at the moment, even though she knew he meant well. “Your powers come from ancient forces of chaos. They churn within you —waiting to burst free at any time. You just need to take a deep breath and —,”

“I do not need a lesson in magic right now!” She snapped at him, only worsening the vines that wrapped around her. She held her breath for a moment, looking at the wizard. “Gale, I do not need to be reminded of what my magic does. I am painfully aware. You can teach me later.”

Then she heaved another sigh, looking to Karlach now as the tiefling broke through the original set of vines. Tav was able to shake loose the newest round, stepping clumsily out of the disaster.

Clumsily being the key word, as the moment she thought she was free, another root wrapped around her ankle. She yelped as she fell face first, but Gale was there in a beat, catching her before she hit the ground. The vine disappeared, leaving her clutching onto the front of Gale’s robes with his hands on her waist.

“Careful there, Tav,” he chuckled, helping her stand up right again. His hands sat just below her waist, firmly grounding her. “Can’t have you losing your balance now of all times.”

His hands lingered a bit longer than they needed on her waist —long enough that when she did pull herself away, she saw the annoyance on Asterion's face. She wanted to scold the vampire —he couldn’t be jealous or annoyed that someone else was willing to touch her if he didn’t do it himself. Or when he was being an absolute menace towards her instead of helping. But instead she stood up straight and ignored him and Gale entirely, pushing forward to the monastery.

“We should probably make camp,” Gale suggested as she and Karlach pressed on. “We need to rest if we’re going to get into the crèche without issue.”

“I hate it when he’s right,” Karlach snickered, elbowing Tav.

The sorceress gasped some at the singeing of her robes, looking up at her companion for a moment. Karlach looked sorrowful, apologizing frantically. But Tav broke out into an easy smile.

“Now I know how Astarion felt when I lit him on fire,” she laughed, looking at the burn hole in her side. “Hells, I guess we do need to set up —I can’t fight with this.”

“You certainly cannot compare your light burn to actually lighting me on fire,” Astarion sneered as he appeared at her side, eyeing the hole in her robes.

“Well, I can. And I did.”

*****

“I’m not fixing that for you,” Astarion stated as he entered the tent that evening.

Tav sat in her night clothes —something loose fitting and breezy, but easy to fight in if needed —with a needle and thread in her hand. She squinted with her good eye —the other having been stupidly (but voluntarily) replaced by the one Volo had when he tried to remove the parasite and thus felt too foreign to use still.

“Why would you?” She asked, threading the needle carefully. Her tone was curious, though her eyes were fixed on her task at hand. “Can you even sew?”

“Of course I can sew,” he sneered as he dropped down beside her, yanking the tool from her hand. “Unlike you.”

“Astarion, I don’t —,”

“Oh, be quiet.”

Tav grudgingly complied with his request, her irritation evident as she watched him work. However, as she observed Astarion's nimble fingers expertly maneuvering the needle, her annoyance gradually gave way to curiosity. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and leaning in closer, intrigued by his unexpected skill. Despite her initial skepticism, she found herself impressed by the effortless way he patched up the hole in her robes. There was a certain finesse to his movements, a hint of a life she couldn't quite grasp. It was as if he had once been accustomed to having others cater to his every need, yet now he was here, performing a task with a dexterity that surprised her.

“Where did you learn to sew?” She asked, watching curiously as his hands moved carefully but quickly around her clothes.

“When you’re a slave for two hundred years, you learn a thing or two.”

She blanched, words caught in her throat at his comment. Of course he had to know how to take care of himself and his things; she hadn’t even considered that in her little judgmental tirade.

“Hells, I’m sorry —I shouldn’t have —I’m an idiot.”

“You don’t need to apologize for something you weren’t even alive for,” he amended, though his eyes were fixed on her garments and he refused to look at her. “There’s plenty else for you to apologize for.”

Tav's brows furrowed as she mulled over Astarion's cryptic remark. Before she could press for clarification, he spoke again, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Though I must admit, it's quite the spectacle witnessing you and Gale, so cozy and chummy. Almost makes one wonder if there's more to your partnership than meets the eye. Or perhaps you're just practicing your innocent act for when you're not knee-deep in trouble," he quipped, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he finally glanced up to meet her gaze.

“Sweet hells,” she groaned, throwing her hands in the air. Tav's irritation flared at Astarion's insinuation, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze head-on. "You know very well, Astarion, there's nothing between Gale and me," she retorted, her voice tinged with exasperation. "I've made it abundantly clear who I want in this camp, and it's not some imaginary love affair with Gale."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, wondering why Astarion insisted on needling her about nonexistent romances when the truth of her feelings was plain for anyone with eyes to see. Yet, despite her frustration, she couldn't help but notice the slight tension in his posture, the way his gaze flickered away before returning to hers with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability.

“I told you the other night –it’s you,” she reminded him, taking the needle and clothes from his hands, forcing him to focus on her and her alone. “Whatever you want, whatever you decide —I promised you that –but you haven’t decided anything. You feed on me every night, we share your tent, you’re fixing my damn clothes –but you cannot be jealous of Gale putting his hands on me when you won’t.”

Something dangerous flashed in Astarion’s eyes at her scolding, and suddenly she was being shoved to the floor of the tent. She was pinned beneath Astarion, whose thighs caged her legs in while his arms trapped her from above. His face was close to hers, close enough that their noses barely brushed against one another.

All the blood rushed straight between her thighs, heart racing against her rib cage as if trying to escape. For the first time since she met Astarion, she was seeing the spawn he was.

And it was all too alluring.

“Do you know why I haven’t touched you, Tav?” He asked, leaning in closer now. Baiting her, goading her into making the first move. But she shook her head, pressing herself further into the ground. “Because if I do, I will not stop.”

Clenching her thighs together, Tav couldn’t help the sound that escaped her lips –an almost lewd hum of desperation. Asterion's eyes were locked on hers, keeping her gaze from straying from the rubies that made up his irises.

“What if,” she managed to breathe out, tentatively reaching up to touch his cheek. The danger that Astarion presented melted just barely at her touch, softened the edges of his eyes, as she finished, “I don’t want you to stop?”

It was a heartbeat later, if even, that his mouth was on hers, tongue parting her lips to taste her. Tav moaned into his mouth, her hands reaching up to pull at his silver hair and tug him even closer. She tried to part her legs, to wrap them around him, but he still caged her in and he wouldn’t budge as he pulled away from her mouth to trail his lips over her jaw. Across her cheek, under her ear, then down her throat —right over the only spot he had touched her in weeks: the bruised bite marks on her throat.

Asterion's teeth grazed the spot, though he did not break the skin as she writhed under him. Her hands still had purchase in his hair as his tongue trailed down the column of her throat.

“Astarion, please,” she sighed dreamily.

“Please, what, darling?” He asked, voice muffled slightly by the skin of her throat. “Use your words for me.”

“Just —touch me, please. Anywhere —everywhere —Gods, please.”

Finally, one of his hands pulled her leg out from between his thighs, spreading her so he could fit there instead. Without hesitation, she hiked her leg over his hip, pulling him closer to get whatever friction against her core that she could. The feeling of him pressed against her forced a hiss from her throat again.

The hand that had pulled away was trailing up her leg now, over her knee and up her thigh. So close to where she wanted —where she needed him to touch. But instead, he continued upwards until his nails tugged at the laces of her pants and loosened them. She didn’t question the movement, instead lifting her hips and untangling herself briefly from him to shimmy her pants down and off.

“Eager little pup, aren’t we?” He teased as she finally let go of his hair to reach for his pants next. Astarion stopped her however, swatting her hand away. “Unfortunately, I want you bare before me first.”

She huffed in frustration, but it was replaced by another sigh as he slipped his hand under her shirt, cold fingers brushing over her heated skin until he was pinching her taut nipple. Gods, she was thankful for the fact that she stopped wearing her undergarments to bed (entirely in case of a moment like this, if she was perfectly honest).

But if he wanted her bare, then he would get just that —anything to get him to touch her more. And so she reached back down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, throwing it to the side.

“Wait,” she breathed out, fingers stilling along the waistline of his pants.

Astarion pulled back slightly, eyes darting between her hands and her face, frowning deeply. One of her hands reached up, resting against the pale skin of his chest.

“I just —I need to know that you actually want this, Astarion,” she admitted, dropping her hand from his waistline, as if to show him she wasn’t moving forward without him. “I know that’s ridiculous and I’m already naked and you’re literally on top of me but —,”

She let out a surprised yelp when he kissed her again —but it was softer than before; careful. He didn’t deepen it, though, and instead pulled away just enough to look down at her once more.

“How is it you care so much about what I want when you’re getting exactly what you want?” He whispered, nudging her nose with his.

“I told you, I want —,”

“Yes, yes —you want what I want —but do you know how annoyingly sweet you are? How you just…you ruined my plans and now you’re stopping me from giving you what you want because you care so damn much about what I want —,”

“Wait, what? What plans?” She interrupted, pushing herself away from him some, grabbing her shirt to try to cover herself up as she stared at him.

Astarion sat back on his knees, pursing his lips some as he realized that he had given away more than he meant to.

“I just —,” he hesitated a moment, looking down at his hands for a moment before shaking his head. “Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan —seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was easy —instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you.”

“Astarion, what are —,”

“Shush,” he scolded, narrowing his eyes down at her as she sat up. “This is…this is where my nice, simple plan fell apart. Tav…you’re incredible. And you deserve something real.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Tav clutching her shirt to her chest as she processed Asterion's confession. What it sounded like he was saying was that whatever this was —whatever was happening between them —wasn’t real. And that realization squeezed her heart tight in her chest as she started to put her clothes back on.

The tent was suddenly too small; too cramped. She was overwhelmed and naive, just like he had thought weeks ago when they met. And she needed to get away from him as she tried to stand and hurry out.

“I’m sorry, Astarion. I should have —I didn’t —,”

But he grabbed her wrist, quick to stand and pulled her back to him.

“Tav, stop,” he demanded, though he didn’t sound all that convincing. “You deserve something real —I want us to be something real.”

Asterion's fingers flexed against her wrist, before he finally pulled her back into his embrace. Tentatively —almost timidly —he wrapped his arms around her waist and back, looking down at her with soft, crimson eyes.

“I…I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what comes next, or what to do. And the idea of…intimacy or sex, I don’t…I don’t know how to separate the good and the bad. But I know that…I want you. All of you.”

Tav's touch mirrored his, reaching up to run the back of her hand against his cheek. He melted into her touch, leaning into it as he closed his eyes. He was so vulnerable in this moment; the walls he had spent so long hiding behind were breaking down and Tav’s heart ached at the thought that he was scared of her —of her rejection, of her feelings.

“I want you too, Astarion,” she promised, pressing her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and guiding him closer. Her nose brushed against his as he pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t need to sleep with you to know I care about you. Whatever you need —however long you need —I can wait for you.”

His eyes searched hers, as if trying to catch a lie. While it hurt, not knowing if he truly believed her, she understood the fear. After everything he’d been through, there was more reason to assume the worst than not.

“You are more than what your body can do,” she promised him, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

“I…,” he paused, swallowing down whatever he was going to say, before pulling away. “I’m afraid I may have ruined the mood, darling.”

She waved off his concern, laughing at the idea. “The only mood I’m in is for a cuddle. How does that sound?”

Astarion smiled —a real, soft smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes —and he nodded. “A cuddle…sounds nice, actually.”

Tav grinned up at him before pulling away from his embrace –not enough to stop touching him; her fingers trailed down his arm until they latched onto his fingers –so she could take over his spot on the pillows he’d piled up. Although hesitant, Astarion slowly joined her in the mess of pillows, about to lay back when she pulled him into her arms. He seemed surprised by the notion that she would be holding him and not the other way around, but he didn’t argue as she wound one arm around him and held him close to her chest. The other found his hair, running her nails over his scalp and she swore he purred at the touch. She’d keep that in mind.

Melting into her embrace, Asterion's arms wrapped around her middle, holding her tight against him as if she would disappear. What she would give to be able to read his thoughts in this moment; to know if he felt safe like this; if he felt loved like this. Because that's what she wanted –to give him that safety, that love that he so desperately wanted; that he deserved.

Perhaps he heard her thoughts himself, because as she drifted off into a restful sleep, she heard him murmur into her skin,

“Thank you.”

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion bg3

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immortalwandererxoxo · 3 months

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It's me, can't you see?

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Dark urge

Summary/Setting: “You thought they knew and saw you for who you were. The nights around the campfire, the jokes and stories you shared, the rounds of constant checking in on them, it was all for nothing. The hate in their eyes was apparent and set for who could honestly trust a bhaalspawn, and perhaps this was for the best. You thought I’d be free of these urges, these feelings, this life. I’m done; I’ve had enough of all this; how nice your last sight on this plane would be, those jewel-red piercing eyes."

Rating/Warnings: Basically for everyone just get ready to cry your little heart out lol

Word Count: 1,903

A/N: Sooo this is the first fic I've written in a while, so please be gentle with me. Honestly, I just kept thinking about this kind of scenario constantly running through my head. I'll be posting this here and on AO3 if you prefer to read it there as well! Currently, I am writing the second chapter on this. At first, I was going to only do one shot but the ideas just kept growing lol

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It was your birthright; that is what the funny-looking butler has said to you. A gift was to be bestowed upon you, but only if you killed the selunite cleric Isobel… the last hope for last light inn.

Your first encounter with her was tense; even being near her brought on a violent pounding within your skull as if it were to spilt any second; you tried to push past it to focus on the vital information that Isobel was explaining in regards to Moontower, it fell on deaf ears, the roaring in your ears started to get louder, your vision began to darken at the edges, no you thought not now! Your finger began to twitch as if in anticipation of unleashing the same horror that claimed the poor bard Alfira.

You needed to remove yourself now. You quickly mumbled about needing a moment to yourself before sprinting out Isobel room and down the stairs and making your way to the furthest edge of the light barrier to try and gather yourself.

“Breathe, just breathe, please just stop; you silently pleased with just you and your horrid twisted mind. You squeezed your eyes tight, though it seemed to not really matter. In fact, it just made the images appear faster in your mind. Oh, the beautiful ways you could rearrange the limbs of Isobel body, bones snapping, eyes all but gone and left with gaping holes of nothing and filled with nothing, darkness, and hopelessness. The delicious fear of condemning these pathetic souls that cling to life only for it to be snuffed out in an instant just if blowing out a candle. It would be so easy.

The sound of footfalls told you that the others had finished up with the Cleric and had most likely come to see why their leader had run out on them.

“Wretched thing, pull yourself together,” You whispered quickly, trying to dissipate the vile thoughts still wracking your mind and readying yourself to answer the many questions probably going to be hurled upon you.

“Oh darling, was that cleric prattling on too much for you to bear? Even Shadowheart had to restrain herself before tearing into her about her love and how much better her dark lady was ha! Astarion says with a

“Ah, my love, are you alright? Darling your hands!

This is what breaks you out of your dazed self. You open your hands to reveal puncture wounds you had inflicted upon yourself. You didn’t even notice your hands had formed into closed fists, forcing yourself to restrain yourself to the point small droplets of your blood had begun to pool a bit in your palm.

“Yes… I.. I’m alright. I just needed fresh air; this shadow curse must do a number on me. You could feel Astarion eyes boring into you. He must have known you were lying, but he didn’t press further, and you were thankful for that. You were not in the right head space to tell him what you had just expressed, nor did you really feel the others would care when you had more pressing issues to address. You must focus on the task at hand and find the nightsong. Your pain could be dealt with later.

“Let’s head back to camp with the others. Gale said he is trying out a new recipe, and it don’t worry; he even managed to find the good kind of wine just for Astarion.

————————————————————————————————————--------------------------------------------------------------

As Gale started passing out the new stew, he managed to salvage together from the stocked-up ingredients you collected throughout your journey; Shadowheart began to explain the current mission and what you had missed. But your heart and mind weren’t all there, considering what happened previously. When would you be rid of these violent urges, these sick thoughts that clouded your mind?

With dinner complete, you did your normal rounds around the camp, checking in on everyone; you were a bit apprehensive in speaking with Astarion, concerned that he would ask you what had happened since you never really did address why you ran out, but no he didn’t even bring it up, you would have thought you would be relived, but a sharp chord struck you within your heart; did he really not care you had thought your relationship with he was making progress or perhaps that was you fooling yourself into thinking someone could love such a creature as yourself.

Making your way to your bedroll and staring up at the pitch-black sky you knew you would not be getting any sleep; the thoughts in your head of today’s events were ever buzzing about.

You were so engrossed in your thoughts you didn’t hear the pattering of talons upon the dirt coming closer to you.

“You called for me, Milady?”

You sat up hastily. Gods, what did he want you to do now, or what exactly were his intentions of coming to you in the middle of your camp?

“What is it now? If this is about killing the cleric, you can forget it. I already gave you my answer; I refuse to be part of such a massacre, you said with a hushed whisper.”

“Your father was most displeased with this kind of outcome, Milady, dear Master; I want only the best for you; you always did need a little push of encouragement with those urges you get; allow me to give you a hand in this, please,” he pleased.

“I don’t need any push or anything from this so-called father I have never met before!”

You wanted him to leave before anyone could overhear you two, and you would have to explain another thing to the group.

“Now, don’t be this way; your father does love you, miss, how he doted on you so tenderly when you were but a babe, and because of this, he is allowing yet another chance for you to redeem such an egregious display you have made of yourself.

Your hands begin to feel clammy and freezing; the building anxiety takes hold of your body and starts to stir. What is that will do? More importantly, is this something that harms others?

You catch the glint of silver with little red specks encircling something within his clawed hand. It looks to be a coin?

“Here is the deal, master: if this coin falls upon heads, your favorite person will be brutalized! This normally would have been your punishment and a token to your father and would allow this minor transgression with the cleric to be overlooked. If it lands upon tails… no, you know what, master? I shall let you find out personally what awaits you; this will be my little push to steer you in the correct direction for you to grab your inheritance.

A flash of anger flared up within you. “No, what is the second choice tell me now!” Panic filled you as if the first choice was not bad enough; something worse awaited you, leaving you in the dark.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Milady. Be patient here; I’ll toss this coin, and we shall see what fate has in store for you.”

With the flick of his finger, the coin spun in the air. The fear and anxiety that you felt waiting on this damn coin to fall, you tried to make a plan of some sort on how to deal with the said potential of having to kill either Astarion, your lover, or dear friend Shadowheart.

“Oh, master! You are Truly cursed with the most delicious tragedy.”

Your eyes widened, and your heart sped up. Gods, what side did the coin land on? Were you fated to kill your sweet love?

“Now, Milady, stay still. I don’t want to miss.” Scelerita’s hands began to glow red, even his eyes;

Beneath your feet, a red glow, a red circle outlined with what seemed to be blood drops arranged in a perfect circular motion on the outermost circle were some ancient ruins, ones that looked familiar, but you had no time to possibly read them before you felt the excruciating pain of your bones breaking in multiple places, your joints snapping, stretching, your skin being pulled into various directions to cover long new limbs you seemed to be growing, Gods it HURT,

Two additional arms shoot out from your sides. Each hand is morphed into sharp, long, talon-like claws. You feel the sharp spikes and horns poke and prick your entire body, from your head, arms, and legs to the tip of your now-said tail. Great long horns jut out from your now spikey head, and you feel something dripping. It seems to be slick blood from your former form. It’s a miracle you think to yourself that you are not dead from blood loss or, at the very least, shock from the horror show that you are becoming.

But honestly, the worst part of this horrid transformation is the one relating directly to your mouth: two large tusk-like horns protrude out from your would-be former jaw that now splits into somehow four splits of skin that are all surrounded and arranged by pointed and thorny teeth that could shred something or someone within seconds.

“Oh, my Master, you truly are a sight to behold; how I missed this form of yours so dearly! Such a strapping young behemoth.”

You attempt to scream for help from your companions; however, it quickly becomes apparent that you cannot speak within this grotesque form. What were you to do now that you were transformed into a monster?

“Master, this will surely be something you can finally make your father proud of! I can see in your eyes that you are waiting for an explanation of what you are meant to do with this new, beautiful form; allow me to get this started. "

Your now small demon butler has waved his hand and conjured up an illusion of self-disguise into a near-perfect replicate of Gale?! He then opens his mouth, and much to your horror, what he screams out next in a voice. That sounds exactly like him.

“What is that monstrosity?! Everyone! Wake up! There is an abominable monster readying to attack the camp, and they have our leader!” screams the illusion-like Gale.

Your heart begins to plummet into the pit of your stomach, and you quickly understand what this sick lesson is meant to teach you. Your father expects nothing to stand in his way. It does not matter if they are the ones that can help you reach the Baldur’s gate. If they are holding you back from your “gift,” then they must be dealt with, and what a perfectly twisted way for them to be under the guise that this monster has taken their precious leader and must kill it.

You can only watch in horror as you look out to see the flames in camp start lighting up and the yelling and harsh footfalls quickly approaching your location. In the distance, you hear Karlach’s battle cry and the others gathering their weapons.

You swiftly turn your head to see your butler’s face, only for him to give you a sick and cruel smile on your friend’s face. “Have fun, milady, your father, and I wish to see some excellent results from the child of Bhaal.”

And then he is gone, leaving only behind thick smoke and the damn coin laying tails side up.

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alister312 · 29 days

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I saw in your stick of truth art you said you play baldurs gate? Im interested to know if you have any south park crossover ideas?

I have been playing lately!! well, not really 😅 a friend from d&d has been streaming it to me but once I have my own gaming PC I will be buying and playing it on my own a lot 😏 but since i can’t exactly access it on my own i don’t know the whole game’s plot so no spoilers please!! however i will say……. wyll my beloved 🥺

(putting further ideas below the cut in case anyone else wants to play but can’t and doesn’t want any spoilers at all!)

speaking of Wyll, i do definitely get Gregory vibes from him. like, the fact that he’s a runaway noble who was forced to run bc he sacrificed himself (or at least his soul via a pact)…. big martyr vibes. and now he just goes around helping the downtrodden for no reason other than that it’s the right thing to do?? ABSOLUTELY Gregory. but i will say that the way Gale talks is more Gregory’s vibe.

Christophe….. idk honestly. i will say I’ve seen that one foreign kids in bg3 crossover thing that has Christophe as Shadowheart and i think that is pretty much the MOST wrong choice lol. i know she has trauma with wolves and Christophe has trauma with guard dogs but that’s where the similarities end. Shadowheart’s a cleric. her whole thing about devotion to a goddess. Christophe’s arguably biggest defining character trait is his hatred for God. if i had to pick a main companion person to align Christophe with it’d maybe be Karlach..? but idk. maybe he’s not meant to be in a bg3 AU.

for general SPxbg3 and not just my two main SP boys tho, I really vibe with the idea of Stan as Halsin… strong, kind, loves animals 🥰 kind of the perfect fit! also the fact that he’s a bear and finn has all the art with post covid Stan as a big ol bear. for Kyle, my heart wants to say Astarion since i love vamp Kyle and for style/halstarion reasons BUT Kyle is not as mean spirited as Astarion is at first ofc so i think he’s sort of similar to Gale..? well meaning but comes off as kind of pretentious, bad luck in romance, and kind of a nerd.

Kenny is Karlach, no doubt about it. loves to party and dance, excellent vibes, but cursed in ways that involve destruction of their bodies. circling back to Astarion, honestly i think this could be Craig! i mean, Damien fits really well too but i’m trying to think of more major characters for this theoretically crossover lol. Wendy seems like an obvious choice for Shadowheart visually at least, but i think she’s a bit more like Wyll! assuming that it’s not Gregory haha. they both care deeply about issues of justice and are willing to fight for what’s right. Shadowheart then i feel could be Bebe… both perfectly bitchy but also badass. and tell me Bebe wouldn’t be the type to cut and dye her hair after a dramatic moment!!

then there’s Lae’zel who honestly I’m a bit stuck on 😅 to be frank she’s my least favorite character so far. the tav my friend and i have is a cleric of lathander who believed that the guardian in the prism was his god (before learning The Truth lmao) so the combination of the githyanki occupying the temple of Lathander and wanting to kill the guardian made me not like her much. but maybe she could be Red bc Red is my favorite SP girl so that will help endear her to me 🥰

i know nothing about Minthara bc my friend loves Halsin so we killed Minthara basically the moment we met her. doesn’t help that she’s a drow and personally as a D&D player I hate dealing with drow. come back to me about her when i play on my own and don’t kill her straight away.

#these are all just ideas floating around. thrown spaghetti if you will. let’s see if they stick in the morning #but thank u for asking anon!! i have been spending a lot of time thinking of bg3 but really just mine and my friend’s experience #so I don’t feel anyone would be interested to hear about it lol so I’ve kept quiet #south park

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cannibalisticskittles · 6 months

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okay current thoughts for scenes to include and the general order --

(1) the first scene is the rejection/misinterpretation and big argument in the woods, naturally. this one is mostly done already

(2) a next day scene where astarion and amity both give each other the silent treatment and seem real grumpy. they're still out and about together and fighting together, just. silently. no communication. this might lead to more injuries than usual bc while they haven't built up MUCH synergy in battle yet, there's absolutely ZERO flow the whole day. end of day, amity approaches him in camp and shoves the necromancy of thay at him. "here. you wanted this, didn't you? well, good. take it, it's yours now. ...bye." no further communication, just makes him take the book and leave (tho maybe a comment that she finally figured out how to open it with the amethyst, she doesn't know what it'll do, try not to be consumed by a necromantic curse when you open it, then she stomps off)

(3) the day after THAT is when amity cautiously tests the waters. doesn't ask him anything directly about whether he's still mad and DEFINITELY does not bring up What Happened Before or What Was Said by either of them, just like, "i think we should scout ahead across the bridge in case there's a second force of goblins to reckon with; astarion, do you agree?" just looping him into a conversation/decision. astarion.... is still ticked about what happened before, even tho the book IS interesting, so he chooses to act aloof. frosty. but not outright hostile, and still responding to her. so she keeps trying to loop him into existing conversations (she's not gonna talk to him one-on-one when she doesn't know where they stand rn, that's scary) and he keeps reacting the same way. after a while, it's annoying but also a little funny because she's clearly trying to get back into his good graces. so he decides to keep letting her put in that effort to win him over. see how far she'll go. HE certainly isn't going to put forth any effort towards her, not after how thoroughly she had dashed his plans. (wyll is in the group also. and he's trying so fuckin hard to not let things be awkward. but even his natural charm isn't enough to counterbalance the weirdness between amity and astarion right now.) astarion wonders after a while why on earth she's doing this. putting forth this effort to involve him. is it just for the sake of good group relations? (if they got thrashed more than usual the previous day, maybe he wonders if it's just so that they're a more effective fighting force.) or... is she just... needy? attention-seeking? can't bear to be disliked? some idle wondering of whether there's anything there to use still, but it's really too early to tell, and again, he already put forth an effort to be charming and win her over, and she ruined that. he's not putting in that energy again unless he's certain that he'll get something out of it. he might, but he'll let her keep acting like a fool until he's sure. plus, even if he IS able to manipulate her eventually... she ought to sweat a bit first, right? it's a fitting punishment.

...annnnnd thennnnn the group meets karlach and amity's attention IMMEDIATELY latches onto the big buff pretty tiefling lady -- which means her attention is No Longer On Him. he reacts -- in large part, out of impulse. he does not have a plan, and does not know if he will indeed grant her the mercy of forgiveness or if he will continue to be frosty to her, but if he wants that pathway open later for the possibility of making her grovel for his forgiveness.... he needs to remind her who it is she's chasing after. namely, him. he does this thru referring to the group as a team, or friends, or working together in some capacity. whatever phrasing he uses, she perks up at the mention of, well. amity between the group. she named herself for a reason; positive relationships are the thing she thinks is most important in the world. it very much works -- part of her attention is still very much on karlach, but now it's also split between her and astarion. that's at least a partial success.

she's probably still... nervous around him. not sure where they're at. never ever planning on actually bringing that up to find out though, hell no. so she talks to karlach and to wyll and... sort of around astarion. but she seems encouraged. enthused. and astarion has learned that she reacts extremely well to little scraps of attention like that. good information to have.

(4?) since it's written in astarion's point of view, i'm not sure whether mizora's arrival and wyll's transformation gets a whole scene devoted to it -- astarion is still very much a bitch and i think he'd watch on with sort of impartial detachment, whereas amity is front and center trying to deter mizora and then comfort wyll. maybe that's just like. a time for him to observe. note that she's very invested in each member of their little party; maybe that's a new angle. if he deigns to take any angle and give her attention at all, of course. she Still Isn't Worthy Of It Again. success still isn't guaranteed. he probably won't bother. but he's still leaving his options open.

(5) wacky ass battle that would quality for war crimes if faerûn had ever made actions like that a crime. amity is super jazzed to try out some spells that the tadpole had been blocking -- excitedly sends him a telepathic message "how do you feel about death from above?? causing it, not falling prey to it, i mean." casts fly once he agrees. tells him later that if you combine fly with an invisibility spell, oh man, they NEVER see that coming. and one time she used fly on a friend and then cast web, and that friend cast a lightning spell, and it was so potent that it ended up lighting the web on fire and frying their target to a crisp and -- astarion is quietly revising his assessment of her to 'possibly insane.'

(5.5) she maybe follows up with him abt how it's been going with the necromancy of thay here; not super great. she offers her help if needed. POSSIBLE point where her knowing infernal comes up.

(6) short scene of astarion musing abt his scars while everyone else is asleep; feeling them out, feels like they're in another language, starts to suspect infernal, wonders what the hell cazador was up to.

(7) here's where scene order gets fuzzy; i need to replay the game and see when gale first tells you abt mystra. this might be too early for that. but if not, amity is helping astarion with his Camp Duty (tent and bedroll setup -- he is... not good at it) and she keeps looking over at gale and sighing. astarion is Not engaging with that. but when karlach and shadowheart come back from scouting ahead, karlach joins them and SHE asks what's bugging amity, which sparks a conversation about how she just feels really bad for gale knowing about mystra now. she and karlach commiserate for a bit, but astarion is unmoved. amity asks if astarion doesn't feel bad for gale, knowing that. no?? why would he, what's there to feel bad about?? amity says that that kind of heartbreak isn't easy to bare, can't he sympathize? actually -- CAN he sympathize? has he ever felt real heartbreak like that? have any of them? have any of them... actually been in love? it's A Whole Thing. karlach hasn't had the chance for that in hell, tho she reminisces fondly abt relationships she had before that. astarion Can't Remember Before Cazador, thanks very much. and amity... isn't sure if it counts? karlach and astarion are curious/nosy, respectively, and they (mostly karlach) make her spill the deets. amity isn't sure if it counts as love but she sure had Feelings, and they weren't reciprocated, and she's attending that person's wedding in the winter, so -- well. probably doesn't come close to what gale is feeling tho. (she brings this up to deflect again.)

this might end up with her saying that it's still nice to have those feelings even if they're ultimately not shared. karlach isn't totally sure she agrees, but she's excited to experience non-blood war feelings so she can be persuaded. amity... MAYBE shares a bit of how she felt thru the tadpole. warm. trusted. excited. says it was nice even if it didn't turn out how she wanted.

amity also maybe has a moment with karlach where they speak in Infernal. amity thinks karlach deserves to hear something nice in that language, instead of orders barked at her. plus it's fun to have a language most of the others don't know. just wyll. they can be a club. this could be the other point where amity knowing infernal comes up. could also be the point where amity asks abt the necromancy, if it doesn't work to do so earlier.

(8) swamp? sheep/redcaps. gandrel. the hag. a bit of a mood rollercoaster for them both -- haha, bad redcap disguise. baaa. oh no, someone's hunting him! no wait nvm they murdered that guy :). auntie ethel! help! sorry, pull out one of their eyes? nvm, no thanks. a hag!! and amity goes fucking buckwild during that fight. Ethel offers them a deal and amity says "make me your best offer :)" so Ethel does and amity says "no, i have something i want more: for you to be dead" and just like. burns thru ethel's throat.

(10) goblin camp. the goblin camp is not a big part of the scene, it's is mostly like 2 or 3 or 4 sentences summarizing the main things he found interesting about how it went down. her letting her back get all torn up by a priest of loviatar, for one.

(8.5) follow-up -- unsure if this is right after the hag house, as they walk back to camp (they had intended to just visit Ethel really quick before finally going to the goblin camp because maybe she could help them get the tadpoles out and avoid a lot of effort, but by the time they get out of her house, it's already dark and they're all exhausted and wounded. [lmao maybe they get the shit beat out of them by that frog.]) or if this is in camp. either way, astarion asks if she wants to/is ready to talk about That now. How That Went Down. she assumes he's talking about gandrel (or at least pretends like she thinks that's what he means. he's not sure if she really believes that or if she's just faking it.) and says that while she doesn't love that they killed someone who probably mostly does good things, he didn't really give them another option, since they weren't about to let him take astarion. he slightly sarcastically but very slightly sincerely thanks her for that and says that no, that's not what he's talking about, he's actually referring to the brutal murder of that hag. is there something she wants to talk about?

she doesn't. want to talk about it. but he maybe deserves an explanation, huh? she gives him a very pared down version -- a while back, she and her party were trying to stop a ritual and they needed a specific rare ingredient so they snuck into a hag's house and amity charge the head like a fool and triggered a trap that was less physical than it was mental and that curse, well -- it wasn't anywhere near as bad as those poor people who were trapped by ethel. but she was... affected by it. it was stupid of her, and her party had to stop and help her out, and so they were too slow to stop the ritual, and people died, and.... some of the effects of that curse.... linger. he's kind of curious as to what she means and she just says it's not really important and she'd like to just move on, please. she promises she'll do her best not to let it interfere with her usefulness. her effectiveness. she just... doesn't like hags and she's not going to fuck around and risk another hag curse.

(9) scar scene? maybe feels weird to have it be at this point, got to see if it needs to be earlier. but! she's given a slight token vulnerability. and he knows she speaks infernal (and like 9 other languages). so he... asks her to take a look. also a quick flash of her discomfort with touch -- her curiosity brings her closer to him, and she reaches out to like, trace them, but she doesn't know if he's comfortable with that and she also realizes that she feels weird about it too and she backs off and then just draws it.

tiefling party. she says that she's actually going to go and hide away for a while because she's kind of done with all the noise and a little overwhelmed, but she doesn't want to be a downer, so she's just going to go find a quiet moment somewhere else. possibly slight teasing, like asking her if she wants him to sneak away with her too and she says no, no, just. well. feels like someone ought to know in case she disappears out there. was also wondering if she could maybe borrow that book of his for a little bit, so she has something to puzzle over. hesitates and then says well, if he does want to come and find her, that's fine. she won't be far. but she's, well. not looking for the kind of fun that he might be looking for tonight. not... something that she can provide. so! don't worry about her, she'll go off and have some boring time to herself and she'll make sure to be back before morning.

he....... and she has seemed..... very receptive to him thus far, even if it's in different ways from what he had initially intended. and it's going to find her a little later, and she is indeed puzzling with the book and trying to get it to let her teeth some of its secrets out. they have, eventually, a slight heart to heart where neither of them are fully vulnerable. she eventually says hey, listen, she thought about what happened a while back. the night in the woods. and she thought abt what he said (abt her having different expectations and not knowing what she wanted) and... she thought she knew what she wanted. she thought she was just going out there to tell him he didn't need to feel obligated to her. but she thinks maybe he was right? that maybe she. sort of wanted that. what he was offering. but simultaneously also didn't. and... look. she's... not used to having someone so close. and she doesn't like having her appearance brought up. and she's got a Thing about touch, and she might have... unfairly taken that out on him. and she's sorry.

slight discussion of that had curse and how the effect of it trapped her in her own mind for a while and she felt everything and nothing all at once and it felt like an eternity and now she struggles to be touched and it's really annoying but she doesn't know what to do about it

not fully sure how that will end up! just talk? and agreement to... try something, just very slowly? no mention of any of that romantic/intimate business at all? unsure at this point!

also eventually there's a moment in the shadowlands where she offers to it him feed on her because she's worried that he has gotten enough to eat and he asks about her thing with touch and she says that she can push through it because her discomfort isn't as important as him not going hungry

that's all I've got so far, haha

#amity tag #amity fic tag

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elisende · 3 years

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Sharp Teeth

Characters: Halsin/OMC, Astarion Rating: E Words: 2500

Halsin joins Langoth's camp and Astarion isn't thrilled about it. But Halsin and the ranger's mutual fascination is unyielding and undeniable.

There was an energy in the air, the sort of charge that preceded a night of more than mere revelry. It would be a night of abandon. Halsin could sense it.

The young elf, Langoth--he allowed himself the pleasure of saying the name aloud, under his breath, like a cantrip, or a prayer--had chosen a fair site for his camp by the water’s edge.

The mere fact of it reminded him of the youth, his wounded eyes and battle-hardened hands. He saw him in the neatly constructed fire at the heart of the camp, and in the fallen beech trunk by the water, where he knew Langoth must sit most nights, at the mercy of his grim thoughts, twisting the ring on his finger and staring sightlessly into the rushing stream. In many ways, he was not so different from Ketheric, before he was lost to the darkness.

Halsin found a place for himself away from the gathering crowd of anarchic tieflings, who danced and frisked about the camp like so many red flames.

It was not long before the pale elf, Langoth’s vampiric companion, sauntered over. He wore a slashed velvet doublet and a crooked smile. Halsin had seen through his facade in the Shattered Sanctum quickly enough, and his hunch had been confirmed when the pale elf had dug his dripping fangs into an acolyte’s throat. He wouldn’t soon forget that sight.

“Well met,” the vampire spawn said. “Decided to join us, have you? I imagine you’ll be quite a favorite in the adventuring party. For a time, at least.”

Halsin laughed a laugh which was not a laugh at all, but a species of growl. “Oh, I’m merely here for advice. Ketheric Thorm and I have a bit of unfinished business.”

“That is rather your thing, isn’t it? ‘Unfinished business’?” said the pale elf. So he knew, or had guessed, about Halsin’s connection with Langoth. He couldn’t imagine that Langoth had told his companion about their night together, about the ritual, the wild game. But he did seem the type to sniff these things out.

When he didn’t rise to his bait, the vampire spawn shifted tactics. “We haven’t been properly introduced, have we? Langoth is an eminently capable ranger, but somewhat lacking in social graces. Raised by wolves, you know,” he said, showing his teeth. “I am Astarion.”

“I have a higher opinion of wolves than of most civilized people,” Halsin said. “At least they’re plain in their intentions.”

Astarion laughed, a silky, practiced sound. “You’re going to be great fun, I can just tell.”

“‘Fun’ is not a word that’s usually ascribed to me.” He folded his arms in front of his chest. The vampire spawn attacked and dodged like a phase spider, impossible to pin down.

“Oh, I have a hard time believing that. You must join me for a sip of wine this evening. My ego will be terribly crushed if you decline,” Astarion said. “Really, you mustn't make me beg. It would be unseemly.”

“Actually, you seem the sort that might enjoy that,” Halsin said.

“See, you are fun, even if you are old enough to be my grandsire,” Astarion smirked. “Well, I’ll see you tonight, then.” And he swept away on a waft of sweet violet perfume before Halsin could correct him.

Halsin heaved a weary sigh, glancing over as Langoth’s comrades gathered near the fire. His heart seemed to treble in size as he expectantly looked around for Langoth, who was never far from his companions. But he was not yet here. Perhaps still palavering with Zevlor, then. He tried to quash his disappointment and failed. Now that he’d found Langoth--now that they had found each other--every moment spent apart felt somehow wasted. He felt like a lovesick adolescent again, as ridiculous as that was--for as Astarion had so mordantly noted, he was old enough to be the elf’s grandfather.

Night fell and as the chaotic energy built up and the din of the crowd grew with the flames of the bonfire, Halsin’s gaze lifted to the waning moon that ascended over the horizon. Despite all that had happened, and his many mistakes, he was not often prone to regrets, to dwelling on the past. Perhaps this too came with his advancing age. He had never felt so apart before, not just from the others laughing and dancing and drinking and singing by the fire. Apart from himself. If he could not end Ketheric’s curse, now and finally, what had his long life amounted to? What was its purpose?

And then Langoth was beside him, as though summoned by magic. Firelight danced in his eyes. A smile on his lips. Warmth that Halsin could lose himself in, forgetting all doubt and darkness. This one, he could protect: and that would be enough. He felt it in his marrow.

Langoth’s lips found his and there was a sudden rush of heat, like dry grass catching flame. His mouth was sweet; Halsin lost himself in the kiss, running a hand through the younger elf’s chestnut hair, taking in his scent. Then pulling his hips closer, dangerously close.

When they finally broke away, Langoth asked, “Why are you standing over here alone in the dark?”

He might have lied, to save his pride. But they were past such things. “I was waiting for you,” he said.

The other elf paused, drew his breath. “You should join the celebration, you know. This is as much your victory as the tieflings’. The Emerald Grove is safe now.”

“Nowhere is safe, while the shadow Ketheric unleashed still remains.” He failed to keep the darkness from his voice. He didn’t wish to think of Ketheric but felt bound to warn Langoth. If their path led there--to Moonrise Towers--there was much that was needful to know.

But not tonight. “Come to me later,” he said, taking Langoth’s wrist and looking into his eyes. They shone with starlight. The young elf leaned closer, lips brushing Halsin’s ear, his warm breath sighing on Halsin’s neck, heating his blood anew.

“I don’t want to wait until later,” Langoth whispered. The youth’s impatience, his hunger and urgency, reminded him of their stolen moments in the grove the day before. How Langoth had bitten his arm to keep from crying out and giving them away, even drawing blood when Halsin had taken him with too much force. The memory of it quickened his breath.

“Where?” Halsin asked, glancing toward the increasingly wild revels, the glowing heart of the camp aroar with gaiety. Langoth took his hand and pulled him further into the darkness, under the hush of the pines. His tread was soft; the elf knew his woodcraft.

They stopped in a small clearing where a stone table stood under a gnarled oak. A place of sacrifice which he recognized from many years ago.

“This once was consecrated to Corellon, in the days when our ancestors ruled the Sword Coast,” he said, examining the runes on the table. Magic had preserved them against the elements, but even the enchantments were now wearing away. Only a slight tingle of it remained under his fingertips.

“Ancient history,” Langoth teased, leaping onto the table with ease. Despite all, he was still, at least in part, a heedless youth given to demonstrations of skill.

“That’s blasphemy,” Halsin said with a wry smile.

“You’ve not seen anything yet.” And Langoth knelt on the table, dipping his head just slightly to give Halsin a long, sensuous kiss. His lips trailed down Halsin’s throat, finding the gap at the top of his tunic, where he lapped the base of his neck with lingering, greedy strokes of his tongue. Halsin groaned.

Frustrated by the druid’s tunic and straps, Langoth impatiently pulled at the buckles, swearing in filthy Baldurian street slang when they defied him. “Here is a riddle,” Halsin said. “How does a wood elf of noble bearing learn to curse like a Heapside cutpurse?”

Langoth’s mouth was otherwise occupied, however; he was now unbuckling Halsin’s baldric with his teeth. He hissed when they caught his skin instead. “Careful,” he murmured. But the elf had succeeded and was pulling away his clothes, eager hands gliding over the bare skin beneath.

Finally, Halsin stood bare-chested and Langoth paused to admire him, his fingers tracing the fading vine tattoos that extended from his face down the length of his torso, coiling just below the line of his breeches. Halsin shivered under his touch, the rough callus of the elf’s bow finger chastising his flesh.

“So many scars,” Langoth said. He touched a long-healed wound that ran horizontally across Halsin’s ribs, the slash of a wyvern’s claws. Now he knelt to kiss along the scar even as his hand wandered down the front of Halsin’s breeches. Halsin moaned as Langoth palmed his cock through the rough weave of the linen. He was already so hard. He reminded himself to take things slower, this time, even as every part of him wanted to pull Langoth from the stone slab and take him against the rough bark of the ancient oak tree.

Reluctantly, he pulled back from the ranger’s touch and kissed him again on the mouth, slowly but forcefully, insisting. Now his hands found the front of the youth’s jerkin and began to unlace it--it had to be said, with more deftness, if more slowly. His skin beneath was hot--nearly feverish, even--and soft, unblemished save by the few silvery scars Halsin had noticed before on his back. He wondered about those, as he wondered about the Baldurian slang, about the fear that lived in his gaze, and about the strange affliction that the elf and his companions were battling.

“Most of your scars are invisible, aren’t they?” he whispered into Langoth’s ear. The youth stilled like a stalked deer; even his breath seemed to stop. He half-expected Langoth to pull away from him, to slip off into the darkness and leave Halsin for the party, or for another partner without uncomfortable questions about the past, or just for solitude with the ghosts of his past.

But instead, the ranger drew him into another kiss, this one desperate, rough, wild. He slid forward on the table, hand finding Halsin’s cock again, this time underneath his breeches. He gripped the base and achingly slowly stroked along his shaft to pause at the tip. Halsin felt almost weak with desire, leaning forward against the table for support with a moan.

“You want me,” Langoth said. It was not a question.

“You know that I do,” Halsin gasped. The youth was kneeling above him, skin aglow as marble in the moonlight. He tugged down Langoth’s leather breeches, exposing the top of his pelvis, the angles of his hip bones. He kissed there roughly, making him sigh. His hands cupped the elf’s firm round ass and pulled him closer to the edge before unlacing the rest of the breeches to expose his manhood.

Remembering his own admonition to move slowly, Halsin bowed over the youth’s cock and ran his lips over the crown before beginning to tease it with his tongue. Langoth was salty and tasted so slightly of the leather he wore. Above him, the elf groaned, taking Halsin’s hair in his fists and pulling involuntarily as the druid took more of him into his mouth.

Halsin’s self imposed restraint was more than matched by the youth’s eagerness as he arched his hips to force himself deeper and deeper into Halsin’s mouth. When the youth moaned, a high and helpless sound, the druid knew he was close to coming, that Langoth was pushing himself to the edge and beyond it as hard and fast as he could.

With a shudder in his lean hips, a sigh, Langoth’s climax overtook them, filling Halsin’s throat with salty nectar. He coughed, but the youth was beyond noticing. He’d fallen back from his knees to rest, gasping, on the stone slab, eyes fixed to the stars above. A tear suspended from the corner of one eye, and while it could have simply been provoked by their exertions the druid knew better. He wiped it away with his thumb and held the youth’s face in his hand for a time.

Finally, Langoth looked back to him, and his eyes were unreadable. “Take me here,” he said. “Don’t be gentle, this time.” And he slipped off the ceremonial table to bend over it, resting his cheek against the hewn stone.

His back was long and rippled with muscles and the faint tracery of the silver scars. In defiance of the elf’s words, Halsin ran his fingers slowly down the length of it, pausing when he came to his buttocks where the creamy tops of his cheeks were barely exposed by his breeches. He eased them down, hands shaking. He’d never wanted him more than this moment and he wished to stretch it out as long as he could. He pressed himself to the elf’s ass, relishing the answering cry, the way he rose to push against Halsin’s cock. He parted his cheeks and slid his finger inside of him, two, thrusting faster, and when he began to use more force the elf gasped in pleasure. This was what he wanted.

He could restrain himself no longer. Langoth cried out as he entered him, even though the first dip of his hips was shallow. The youth was so tight. Halsin adjusted the angle of his hips, so as not to hurt him but Langoth leaned forward to take him deeper. “Harder,” he demanded, his voice thick.

Halsin gathered himself for a deeper thrust, moving forcefully but still slowly, mindful not to hurt the elf in spite of his demands. Yet he was fighting his own impulses at the same time. He wanted to take the youth with the same abandon as in the rite they had performed under the eyes of another, wilder god, those decades ago. That night imposed itself on the present and his hips seemed to move of their own accord. Langoth grunted as his tempo increased, as the druid rutted him, heedless as an animal.

A moan escaped Halsin’s lips as he sank himself up to hilt into the youth writhing and groaning below him. Distantly, he heard the youth call his name, begging him. He grasped Langoth’s hips, taking him deeper than ever before even as his climax blindsided him, crashing over him like a wave. He finished with a muffled cry as he came inside the youth, bowing his head over him and releasing a shuddering breath.

Below him, Langoth was still but for his breathing. Halsin rested his head on the ranger’s back as he caught his own breath, only to see the power of their joining had activated some of the ancient magic on the stone table, making the runes glow. This was the moment, he realized--under the stars’ vigil, under the eyes of the gods themselves, by dint of ancient rite--that their bond had been forever sealed.

#bg3 Halsin #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #fanfic #fanfiction #halsin/omc langoth

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