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leftoverdinosaurbones · 2 months

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Drawn Together

One-shot: Gortash x fem!Tav

This is a gift for @nusaran for the Elfsong Tavern’s Valentine’s Day gift exchange. Thanks for the fun prompts!!

Content Warning: NSFW (minors do not interact), little bit of smut (afab Tav), house fire

Summary:

It's a day of celebration at the Elfsong Tavern, which is bursting at the seams with decorations, ale, and patrons. Everyone is eager to partake in the festivities and express their love for one another.

Well, almost everyone.

Your mind is elsewhere tonight. You have yet to find your soulmate, though one person in particular has been consuming your thoughts. And he isn't the type to attend a party at the Elfsong Tavern. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be, anyway.

Set in game during Act 3 (spoilers!). You can read it below or on ao3.

Gale is in particularly high spirits this morning.

He hums softly and smiles to himself, like someone just shared the most delightful secret with him.

His hands work in their practiced way, pulling the most beautiful decorations from the weave. Soft pink pastels dance among deep burgundies while pearl white accents twist them together, joined by garlands of flowers. It reminds you of home. Of celebrations with your friends, your family. Of a lighter time, seemingly lifetimes ago.

His outlook on life has taken a turn for the positive these days, though you suppose having a new lease on life could do that for a man. Only just a few days ago, you convinced him not to sacrifice himself to the netherbrain - instead, you believed that he was worth sacrificing for. Even if that meant more danger in the future, or an unknown path. We would all do it, together.

You grip a bit tighter to the warm mug in your hands as you walk over to Gale.

“What are we celebrating?” You ask, coyly.

“Oh,” Gale breathes out with a deep, content sigh. He drops his attention from the weave and focuses his eyes on yours.

“You must know what day it is! What we are celebrating! We partook in the festival each and every year back home in Waterdeep. I assumed it was well-known in Baldur’s Gate as well, but given your reaction - and Astarion’s as well - perhaps you’ve been suffering without such a holiday your entire lives! Please, allow me to explain it to you. It is a celebration of love - the divine and sacred bonds between family, treasured friends, and lovers.”

His hand reaches out for your arm, gently squeezing near your shoulder before letting his hand drop back to his side.

“I just wanted to thank you, again. I know that I truly cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. For every single thing you do for me. You’ve made me start to believe in myself again - to believe that I am worth lifelong friendship… and perhaps even love.”

Your eyes dart away from his to look towards the ground. He is being so vulnerable and forthcoming with you, like always. But you can’t help having this wall up between you, holding you back from letting him in. You bring your mug up to your lips to distract from the growing silence.

“…perhaps even love, with someone, one day,” Gale relents. “I know we are only fated to be friends, and I respect that. Our friendship means the world to me, I hope you realize that.”

Gale’s words are warm and sincere. You return his kind words with a soft smile, looking back up at him.

“I really appreciate your friendship too, Gale.” You settle down on a seat nearby to watch as he brings the weave back to vibrant life.

You know, deep in your heart, that Gale will find his perfect match. At least they will be relatively easy to recognize, given the unique scar decorating his chest.

While many people form relationships - largely temporary - with others without matching scars, that idea never appealed to you. Oh, perhaps a stolen night here and there, but never anything real. You couldn’t see opening yourself up to someone, to let them in so deep, just to have them leave you for their real soulmate.

Your eyes scan the room at the Elfsong Tavern until you find Astarion. He is sitting on the ground, cross-legged and hunched over something he was working on in his lap. His scowl is present in every feature of his face - his lips drawn into a tight frown, his forehead knit together in frustration, his eyes narrowed. You assume he is bitter about the festival, and it goes beyond the fact that romance makes him feel uncomfortable and self-conscious.

This festival would only serve as another reminder of the many impacts of his vampiric affliction. Though otherwise a good thing, his skin can heal on its own - therefore, he has no scars. He will never be sure of his soulmate like the rest of us. And so he certainly can’t be sure that Wyll is his soulmate.

Time and time again, Wyll has offered reassurance to Astarion. Wyll will claim that the matching scars don’t matter to him, that he knows what is in his heart, that his love will never stray to another. But you can see the fear behind Astarion’s eyes. And you understand it.

Even now, you see Wyll crouch down next to Astarion and start to rub his shoulders, leaning to whisper something in his ear. Astarion flinches from his touch, reflexively. You look away to give them at least a modicum of privacy within this shared living space.

Swirling the liquid in your mug, your mind is pulled back into the events from the other day, when you entered Wyrm’s Rock. After your confrontation with the guard and the Steel Watchers at the bridge, you were surprised to receive an invitation to Gortash’s coronation. Though, from everything you heard of the man, he did seem a bit full of himself. Of course he would demand your attendance to that charade of an event, in his honor. Especially after you so easily defeated Ketheric.

You aren’t entirely sure why you accepted a strategic alliance with Gortash. He was clearly a better choice than Orin, though logic could also assume that you need not choose to ally with either of your enemies. His words were tempting, a seemingly genuine and alluring offer of shared power.

But that wasn’t what tempted you. The way he moved towards you with cool confidence. His tall figure loomed over you as he drew near. He didn’t have the same physical presence as someone like Halsin, but he frightened you all the same. He didn’t need it to appear formidable. To be imposing.

When he gripped your hand in partnership, you could swear he held on for just a moment longer than necessary. His dark eyes lingered on yours before trailing, slowly, down your body. Your heart lept into your throat as a flush of heat warmed your face and brightened the tips of your ears.

You tore your eyes away from his, embarrassment washing over you. Though, admittedly, this wasn’t the only feeling you were experiencing… You hadn’t felt those kinds of stirrings within you before. Not for any of your companions, despite their (many) advances.

No. You shook your head to try to distance yourself from such thoughts. A man like that, a follower of Bane, knows how to pull you into his web. This isn’t personal - it’s his own strategic manipulation, just like he used Karlach.

“Here.” You are startled out of your memories by a tight, strained voice. You look up to see Astarion handing Gale a delicate, embroidered heart.

***

The Elfsong Tavern is a sight to behold tonight. Gale, as convincing as ever, was able to fill the room with decorations for the festival. He stood by the door to greet each patron and provide them with a rousing introduction to the holiday, whether they were interested or not.

You find yourself at the bar, sipping on a glass of wine. You glance around the room as it is filled with joyful guests. Some were paired off and dancing - Wyll gracefully led Astarion as they danced together. You recognize it as one Wyll had been practicing on his own for several nights at camp.

Others were locked together in deep conversation; Lae’zel and Shadowheart among them. Over the past few months, you’ve watched their relationship move from enemies to friends. You saw perhaps a hint of something deeper, here and there, but they didn’t seem ready yet to admit that to themselves. You smile into your wine as you take in a deep drink.

Karlach and Halsin were making their rounds throughout the tavern. Halsin made fast friends wherever he could, offering stories and friendship to anyone who might be in need of it. Karlach, with her recent upgrades and ability to touch people, was very eager to make up for lost time.

All around you, people were happy. Your companions were coupling up - perhaps not with their soulmates, no. But at least they had some companionship, some connection. Why does it matter if it is only temporary? You might not even make it through all of this alive.

With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the bar and walk out to the front patio. You rest your forearms on the railing, closing your eyes. No one at the tavern caught your interest, anyway.

Your mind begins to drift, filling with ‘what ifs’. What if Gortash were at this party? Would he even notice you? Has he been thinking of you? Does he feel as ridiculous as you do, pining over someone after one simple interaction? What if...

The smell of smoke fills your nostrils and rips you away from your thoughts. Your eyes snap open, scanning the sky for smoke. You see a small plume of it begin to stack and rise into the air. You feel your legs propel you towards it before you can even register your actions - you know you don’t have much time to think about a plan of action before it’s too late.

Soon, you arrive in front of a small home. Through the window, you can see the flames rising, building up in strength. Amid the smoke, you see a figure, hunched over and immobilized in fear. You cast misty step to get inside the house.

“I’m here to help!” you call out to the person over the roar of flames. They lift their head towards you, their face contorted between fear and hope. You see a back window nearby, close enough that they could escape.

“Step to the side!” you command, and they dive for shelter out of your path. You cast thunderwave to bust open the window so they can make their escape. Glass explodes out through the back, allowing enough space for the person to make a quick leave. However, the new opening allowed for a rush of fresh air to flood the house, adding new fuel to the fire.

The flames leap up with greater force, tongues lashing at the ceiling and quickly melting through the thatches of the roof. The force and ferocity of the flames knock you back, breaking your concentration. You lost the small opportunity you had to fly out of the house after casting your spell.

The walls of flames burn hotter around you and smoke starts to fill your lungs. Panicking, you fall to the ground, desperate for air, throat burning. If you had only taken the time to think, for even just a moment, perhaps you’d have called for help from Karlach before leaving the tavern. Or you could have asked for a Steel Watcher on your way.

One last idea comes to your mind as your body begins to shut down for self-preservation. You feel your magic build within you as you summon everything left inside. Eyes blurry, the spell leaves your lips in a whisper.

Slowly, heavy droplets begin to build into a steady downpour, dampening the roar of the flames. You welcome the stinging rain as bit at your cheeks, offering relief from the heat gathered on your cheeks. Coughing, you struggled to try to get up, weak from the inhaled smoke and spent magic.

Through your blurry peripheral, you notice a figure enter the house. Could it be one of your companions, looking for you? Grateful, you remained on the ground and raised a hand, hoping they could notice you and help you out of this mess. Heavy steps come briskly towards you, and you feel one arm scoop up under your knees while the other holds your back. They lift you up into their arms to carry you out of the building.

Exhausted, you let your head fall against their chest, clutching the fabric of their jacket with your hand. Rain continues to pour even outside of the house (how strong was that spell?). Completely soaked, you begin to shiver, in violent contrast to the state you were in only moments ago. They hold you tighter to their chest as they walk briskly, tirelessly, down the street.

Finally, you are able to open your eyes and register the direction you are going.

“The Elfsong Tavern is the other way,” you mumble softly, bringing your eyes back to your hand that is pressed against their chest. You freeze, a jolt sent straight down your spine. This body doesn’t feel familiar to you. Against all better judgment, you will yourself to look up.

You see his long black hair, plastered down against his face from the pouring rain. The rain traces his cheekbones and small wrinkle lines, outlining his features. His dark eyes catch yours. They look right through you, piercing, hardened, angry. Your body tenses as you flatten your palms against his chest, ready to push yourself away.

He lifts your body up slightly to press his lips into the top of your head.

“Don’t.” He whispers before bringing you back down again and pressing you against his chest.

You aren’t sure why, but you listen to him. You close your eyes and lean your head back into his chest.

***

Finally, you are inside. Warmth burns your cheeks, though your body is freezing from the wet clothes clinging to your body. You are brought to a room where he gently sets you down on a chair. He hands you a health potion, which you quickly drink without a second thought. The liquid starts to work immediately, repairing your raw throat and the other, thankfully minor, injuries from the fire.

Gortash bends over a hearth, coaxing up the flames. You are surprised to see him like this - Lord Enver Gortash, on his knees, making a fire for you?

He crosses the room in a couple of broad steps, soon standing at your feet.

“We need to get you out of these wet clothes.” Gortash extends his hand towards you.

You raise an eyebrow up at him.

“Unless you want to get sick, and make an embarrassingly easy target for Orin.”

Of course. That is what this is about. He is simply protecting his business partner. Protecting his assets.

You roll your eyes, feeling self-conscious about your earlier thoughts and curiosities about your potential relationship. You take Gortash’s hand with an aggravated huff, masking your hurt feelings and slightly wounded pride with a show of annoyance.

He brings his gold-adorned hands up to your shoulders. His fingers linger near the straps of your dress, the metal tips of his gauntlet ghosting your skin. Gently, he slips the straps off to the side of your shoulders. Surprised by the softness of his touch, a small gasp escapes your mouth.

He touches your shoulders again, urging you to turn around. You give in, the tips of your ears turning bright red as you face away from him. His fingertips drag, slowly, from your shoulders to the middle of your back. Though his touch is gentle, it scorches your skin, sending waves of white-hot heat through your body. You tighten your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms and bite your bottom lip to stifle any unintended sounds that threaten to escape.

His fingers find purchase on your zipper and he pulls it down, opening your dress to the bottom of your back. He brings his hands up to the top of your dress and drags it down your body, the wet fabric clinging desperately to your skin. He follows it down your body, around the dip of your waist, over the curve of your hips, down to your ankles, then helps you step out of dripping cloth. He hangs the fabric over a chair near the fire, with care. Who is this man?

You try to make sense of this. He is just helping you. Helping his business partner.

You turn back around to face him. The hair on your body stands on end as goosebumps fill your exposed skin. Gortash steps back in front of you, closer this time.

He reaches his hand to catch your jaw in his grip, the metal tips biting into your skin. He lifts your chin up, eyes blazing as he takes you in. Eager to consume you. You struggle to pull away, to shield yourself from his hunger, but his grip on your jaw is steadfast.

He swipes the pad of his thumb across your chin, tracing a faint scar. A deep sigh rumbles within his chest. With his free hand, he brings yours up to his face. You copied his movements, placing your fingers along his jaw, running your thumb along the scar on his chin…

Wait.

No. That’s…that’s just a common scar. So many people have scars on their face. It will take more than just this to convince you.

With trembling hands, you reach up to unlace his shirt. You fumble a bit, unsure if it’s because of nerves or the sloppy way in which he laced it in the first place. Finally, you grasp the bottom of his shirt and pull it up over his chest, peeling off the wet fabric as it clings to his skin. You take in the sight of him, the fire casting a dim light and deep shadows across his features. Your eyes trail along his warm, tanned skin, watching the subtle flex of the muscles in his arms as he pulls the shirt over his head. Dark hair, damp and lightly glistening, decorated his chest down to his stomach, disappearing in the waistband of his pants.

But, most importantly, your eyes land on a spot on his side. Impulsively, you reach out a hand to trace the line etched into his skin, a jagged edge, poorly healed. You hadn’t been able to stitch it up well enough to prevent the lasting mark. And here it is - reflected in another.

You drew in a sharp breath as the reality of this situation came crashing down into you. Enver Gortash: The man who kidnapped your friend’s father. The man who betrayed your friend and damned her to the hells. The man who controls the Netherbrain, and wants to rule over all of Faerûn.

Your soulmate.

Gortash laces his fingers into yours and leads you to the bed nearby. He sits you down on the bed and steps back. His hands move, slowly, to unbuckle his pants.

You bite your lips, holding your breath.

He let his pants fall to his ankles, kicking away the gathered fabric at his feet. Your eyes flick down below his waist for just a moment, long enough to glimpse the size of him straining at his undergarments. Gortash meets your wide eyes with a lazy half-smile, the knowing smile of a man with a dangerous amount of self-confidence.

He parts your legs to stand between them, raking the sharp points of his nails up and down your thighs. You shiver, feeling a burning need start to wind up inside your core.

He continues his exploration, hands running slowly over your hips, your waist, and dragging up to your breasts. He cups one in each hand, massaging gently before bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks and swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, pinching your other nipple with his hand. You cry out, throwing your head back as you tangle your hands in his damp hair.

He releases you from his mouth to continue his slow worship of your skin, leaving soft kisses up your chest and over your shoulder. Once he reaches your neck, his kisses get more needy, more desperate. He opens his mouth to bite - hard. You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist to press him closer to you. You know that are already leaking through your panties, and that doesn’t stop you from trying to grind your hips against him, making sure he feels just how badly you want him.

His mouth is replaced by his hand over your throat, metal-tipped nails digging sharply into your skin as he dulls your air supply. You bring your hands to the one at your neck, but his grip is firm. Your thoughts are swimming as you pull in shallow breaths, and you claw at his grip in vain. As he takes more and more from you, your need for him only deepens.

He pushes you back on the bed, caging you in with his arms around your head. A moment passes as you look at each other, his pupils blown.

You bring his head towards yours, inviting him in. His lips meet yours, tentatively at first, then mad with fervor - clashing against yours like a man starved. His tongue dances against yours, exploring your mouth, desperate to taste all of you. Your nails dug for purchase across his back as he groans into your mouth. You line your hips up with his, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, soaking it through. You wanted more, needed more of him, clawing and pulling at him to press you both together.

He breaks from the kiss, panting, and pushes his body off of yours.

“Ilyana.” Gortash says your name with confidence, possession. Hearing your name from his lips did something to you. You arch your back, keening towards him, wanting him - needing him - to take you. He slips off your panties and removes his last layer. You watch as his hard cock springs loose from his clothes, the tip of it already glistening with precum. Your body aches, desperate for him. He watches you writhe with anticipation as he slowly strokes himself.

“I have been waiting forever to find you. To have you. And now, you are mine.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 spoilers #enver gortash #gortash x tav #gortash x reader #bg3 smut #Elfsong tavern Valentine’s Day gift exchange #soulmates #bg3 gortash

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commander-krios · 2 months

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Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: Rolan's had little time to himself since becoming the Master of Ramazith's Tower. Thankfully, he has friends willing to help him get a break. Words: 3924 Additional Tags: Gift Exchange, Tieflings, Romance, Love, Valentine's Day, Fluff, Post-Canon

Read on AO3

Elturel Tiefling Camp Discord Server Exchange treat for a few Dammon/Rolan lovers!

Rolan had begun taking his midafternoon meal breaks at the Elfsong Tavern, away from the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries. The first reason being it was quieter in the tavern during that time of the day, the majority of the inn’s guests sleeping off their nightly overindulgences while the rest made day trips into the city. The second reason was it made it more difficult for Cal to seek him out with questions about the mundane things, those things that could’ve waited the hour he took to eat and catch up on some reading. This was easier, simpler, and he could sit and ponder his own thoughts before trudging back to some disaster or another at the store.

When someone slipped into the unoccupied chair at his table, however, he was beginning to think that the Gods themselves were plotting against him.

“You look bored.”

Lakrissa watched him with a grin, pushing a glass of wine towards him. He eyed the drink suspiciously before glancing up at her, taking in the perfectly groomed ponytail that tumbled over her right shoulder, her chin propped in her hand, elbow on the table in an undisciplined manner.

“I didn’t order that.” Rolan said instead, ignoring her probing gaze to bury his nose in the book again. She didn’t take the hint, only nudged the glass closer to him. It was a bribe, he realized. For what, he had no idea. “What do you want, Lakrissa?”

She raised her eyebrows before a laugh escaped her lips. “Want? There’s nothing I want from you, mage-boy.”

“Then why-”

“Think of it as a thank you.” She reached into the little pouch on her side, pulling out a scroll, setting it on the table between them.

Rolan stared at it, immediately recognizing the fancy calligraphy and stamp on the document. Swallowing nervously, he lifted the glass and drank deeply, refusing to be baited into the conversation. She had no proof it was him. The silence between them was tense, but when he finally returned the half finished wine to the table, he cleared his throat, glancing away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid. You’re one of the only people who knew about the bard school. I figured it would be denied. Anti-tiefling sentiment is still high after all of this time, especially so soon after Elturel.” Lakrissa returned the scroll to her bag and replaced it with a hastily scribbled letter. Rolan knew Wyll Ravengard’s handwriting mainly from their recent correspondence. There was no mistaking it. “Wyll said you made a convincing argument about opening a school in a letter. His father approved it because of you.”

“I-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Rolan.” Lakrissa told him, securing the letter with the scroll once more. “You owed us nothing, but you helped anyway. So thank you.”

Rolan blushed, fingers trailing over the page of the tome in front of him. He liked Lakrissa, she was one of the only people who saw the reality of their situation from the start. Elturel, goblins, the shadow-cursed lands… and she continued on despite it all. Perhaps because of it all. Rolan had only made everyone’s lives more difficult with his ranting. But they’d still traveled with him and now he had the means to help everyone. He intended to use it.

But one thing he wasn’t expecting was sincere gratitude.

Rubbing the back of his neck, his claws got caught in the strands of the hair loosened from his bun. “Uh, don’t mention it. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

At the pleading in his voice, Lakrissa grinned like a cat who caught the canary. Uh oh. “Oh, I won’t tell anybody. For a price.”

A groan slipped out and he buried his face in his hands. “Hells, what is it now?”

Lakrissa laughed, pouring another glass of Arabellan Dry. Then he watched through his fingers as she stood, tucking the chair back beneath the table. She glanced down at him thoughtfully, as if trying to best articulate what she wished to say. Or maybe she was trying to torture him more, he wouldn’t put that past her.

After a moment more, she sighed, waving towards the exit in the direction of Sorcerous Sundries. “Lia and Cal are worried about you.”

That was unexpected.

“Whatever for?” His hands dropped to the table and he had to resist the urge to grab the wine glass as a barrier against the uncomfortable thoughts that spun at the back of his mind. Worried? About him? All he ever did was worry about them, and now, they had everything they could’ve dreamed for. What was there to worry about?

“When was the last time you went out?”

Scrunching his nose in confusion, Rolan waved to their surroundings sarcastically. “What do you call this?”

“Hiding.”

He scoffed in offense, but didn’t deny it. Because it was true in a way. He was hiding, mostly from Cal’s questions about the Sundries. “I was busy doing work before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Oh, so rude of me to bring you wine.”

He rolled his eyes, noting her sarcasm but refusing to argue about something so stupid. She was being unusually nice today, but he figured she was as bored as he was, sitting here in the quiet tavern. If she wished to speak to him about something to alleviate that boredom, he’d gladly discuss wine, the latest novel, hells even the Gazette’s more recent gossip, but his personal life was not one of those things.

“How about this then?” She lifted the glass of wine and took a deep drink of it herself. Must’ve been a really slow day. “When was the last time you went out with Dammon?”

His blush deepened at the mention of the man who was… well, not quite his boyfriend, but something close enough. Digging his claws into the wood of the table, he caught the satisfied expression on Lakrissa’s face. She’d gotten under his skin and she knew it. “That’s none of your business.”

She let out a snort, refilling the wine one final time before setting it directly in front of him.

“Don’t you fret, mage-boy. Since you refuse to admit to doing something nice and taking the ‘thank you’ that comes with it, I’m going to find a way to thank you that you can’t refuse.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?”

“Think of it as a promise.” Ruffling his hair like he was one of the tiefling children, Lakrissa laughed when he reached up to knock her hands away in irritation. “And try to be less grumpy, Rolan. As much as it pains me to admit, you’re actually cute when you smile.”

Lakrissa waved before swiping the rest of the wine bottle from the table, leaving with his wild thoughts and burning cheeks. With one final look at the full wine glass beside his book, he pushed his chair back and made a quick exit, intending to put as much distance between him and the Elfsong as possible.

~~~~

“Alfira was here earlier.”

The next day immediately started off on the wrong foot. From the moment he’d woken up, a mischievous specter followed him, creating chaos everywhere he went. First, the lava elemental broke free of its compulsion, wandering outside and nearly setting a house on fire. Then, his projection started malfunctioning, and he had to stand at the desk for hours before Cal came down to relieve him. He’d also had to toss a few troublemaking kids out of the store for trying to steal one of Tolna’s books as a prank.

Gods, he still had a headache from the tongue lashing he’d gotten after.

And now he had to deal with this? It appeared Lakrissa wasn’t simply teasing him, after all.

Rolan glanced up from his accounting books, furrowing his brow at Cal’s words. There were very few reasons as to why the bard would show up at his store and he figured they all had to do with her girlfriend’s threat. “And? Did she say why she was here?”

“Yes.” Cal sauntered over to his desk before dropping a sealed envelope on top of his paperwork. “She left this.”

Rolan stared at the flowery pink paper envelope in concern. “And what is that?”

“Maybe you should open it and read it. It’s addressed to the ‘Master of the Tower’.” Cal sat beside the desk, putting his feet up on the edge. With a glare aimed in his brother’s direction, it only took a moment for Cal to get the hint and drop his feet back to the ground, a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “I’m sure you already know what it says so please, enlighten me.”

Cal nodded, sitting up straighter and smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “They’re throwing a party. For the bard school’s opening. Alfira said it would be a huge favor to her if you came.”

Of course she did. It’d been weeks since he’d done much else besides sit at this desk and update the ledgers for the store: the vault inventory, the supply inventory, the accounting. Lorroakan hadn’t kept any sort of organization for the entirety of his time as Master of the Tower. Rolan didn’t even know if he turned a profit or steadily lost money.

“I have so much left to do-”

“Come on, Rolan. You helped them get the deed to the building. The least you can do is show up and celebrate with them.” Cal dropped his voice, his expression softening significantly. “You should go, have some fun.”

“Does everyone know about that?” Rolan sighed, feeling the fight leave him at Cal’s grin. He never did things for himself, but Cal and Lia… if it meant that much to them, he’d do it even if he hated every second. “Fine. But the moment somebody decides that I need to give a toast because I helped, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. No one is willing to stroke your ego. It’s big enough as it is.”

Rolan coughed to cover the laugh that threatened to expose him. “I think you need to spend time with someone who isn’t Lia.”

“You’re just mad because she’s right.”

Ignoring the barb, Rolan realized he hadn’t seen his sister all week. She hadn’t lived in the Tower for a few months now. The Flaming Fist barracks were comfortable enough and Lia refused to spend every quiet moment with her brothers (or so she said), but she at least visited on occasion. Strange.

“Where is Lia, anyway?”

“Oh, uh…” Cal rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes to the floor, pretending to study the intricate tiles. Rolan didn’t need to spell detect thoughts to know that his brother was running through a hundred different excuses for their sister, before choosing what was most believable. Whatever was next out of his mouth was going to be a lie. “She’s… working?”

“Are you asking me or is that your answer?” Rolan tapped his feather pen against the envelope, tempted to open it to see the words for himself. “Because last I remember, Lia works the overnight shift.”

“She’s picked up some extra work.” Cal rushed to explain, standing as if that would stop the interrogation. “Alfira mentioned Dammon would be there. If that changes things.”

“Oh?” He tried not to sound interested, but gods dammit, it’d been too long since they’d seen each other. Maybe a public appearance among drunken bards wouldn’t be as awful as he thought. If he managed to avoid the singing. “I might be able to squeeze in a quick word with everyone.”

He almost missed the smile on Cal’s face as he slipped out of the door. “Whatever you say, Rolan.”

~~~~

The Elfsong Tavern was in chaos when he set foot inside. Drinks were poured freely, multiple bards were singing off key between hiccups, and others were guffawing and cheering along with the song. Or perhaps it was songs. None of the tunes were the same. Rolan spied Lakrissa near the bar, a glass of wine in each hand. She weaved through the crowd, a bright smile on her face as she watched the revelry. It was all a bit much for him, but he’d promised Lia that he’d make an effort to connect with the rest of the Elturel survivors.

He could do this.

“Rolan!”

He turned as Alfira appeared at his side, and without warning, she threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly against her smaller form. Using her lute must’ve given her a set of strong biceps because for a brief moment, Rolan struggled for air.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

She smelled suspiciously like a fruity wine and when she glanced up at him, Rolan immediately noticed her flushed cheeks. “Already drunk, hmm?”

Alfira giggled, nudging his arm as soon as she released her hold on him. “No, silly. I’m having fun. You do know what that is, correct?”

Lakrissa slid up next to them, holding out one of the glasses of wine towards him expectantly. When he only stared back, she raised an eyebrow before thrusting it into his hand. “Take it, dumbass.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“It’s your favorite.” Lakrissa said, handing the second glass to Alfira who took it happily. He slanted his eyes at her, immediately suspicious. “Drink up. Enjoy yourself. There are plenty of drinks to go around.”

He briefly considered asking her what her ploy was. She was definitely up to something, but decided an argument was a worse choice than simply drinking the wine. So, with a forced smile, he took a long sip, waiting for the inevitable hammer fall.

Rolan wanted to leave, these types of events always made him anxious about performing well enough to be considered ‘polite and stimulating company’, but this was their party and celebration. Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy being around all of these people, it wouldn’t be proper for him to rush off. The wine hit his tongue with its familiar woodsy flavor, the berry lingering as he swallowed it down. Lakrissa watched him intently, her mouth twitching into a smirk as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“If the crowd is a bit much, there are some fabulous views from the roof.”

“Why would I-”

Slipping her arm around Alfira’s waist, she turned back to the party, glancing over her shoulder at him with a conspiratorial look. “You can thank me later.”

Once Alfira and Lakrissa blended into the crowd, the sudden desire to flee tickled his mind. It would be so easy to disappear, to return to the Tower and forget this entire night happened. He figured no one would even notice, too drunk and invested in the party to realize that a guest was missing.

But he hadn’t seen Dammon yet.

And despite everything he’d thought earlier, he really did want to see him tonight.

The best course of action would be to go to the rooftop where it would luckily be quieter and wait until Dammon either appeared or he didn’t. Then, he could slink off into the night with no one the wiser.

~~~~

The roof of the Elfsong was much quieter, though the rumble of the party could be heard beneath his feet. With a quick sweep of his gaze, he noted the cushions set up beneath a pergola and a small table with chairs off to the side. The air smelled strongly of flowers: roses, lavender, and fuchsia, a tantalizing combination that helped to ease the anxiety in his chest.

He breathed deeply of the cool night air, not cold enough to need additional layers, but enough to make him shiver slightly as a breeze loosened his hair from his bun. With a disgruntled sound, he attempted to gather the hair in his hands but the wind made it impossible.

“Leave it. I like it down.”

His hands froze, the strands slipping from his fingers, and he turned, his darkvision making it easy to see what he’d missed during his first sweep of the area. A pair of piercing blue eyes ringed in gold, golden hair pulled into a bun over an undercut, and a set of familiar horns.

His breath caught at the sight. “Dammon.”

The tiefling blacksmith slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, smiling up at him. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, the things he wore in his day to day work. No, tonight he looked comfortable in a pair of dark slacks and a loose tunic, tucked into his waistband. Simple, but effective and Rolan couldn’t stop from staring.

“Fancy seeing you at one of these parties. I didn’t think you ever left that Tower anymore.”

Rolan flushed, grateful for the darkness and the wind blowing the hair in front of his face, if only to hide his embarrassment. “Yes, well, things have been busy. Swamped, really.”

Dammon’s gaze trailed over his robes, one of the dressier ones from Facemaker’s, bought at a price that he’d balked at before Lia forced him to hand the coin over. But with how the other tiefling’s eyes flitted across his chest at the gleaming gemstones and down the length of the sleeves at the elaborate embroidering, Rolan knew it was worth it. If only to be admired by him.

“Glad you could pull yourself away.”

There was no judgment, no anger or disappointment, just Dammon being… Dammon. Kind, understanding, accepting. He turned to walk to the edge of the balcony, his face hidden in the shadows.

Rolan followed without even realizing it. They stood, side by side, so close that Rolan could feel the warmth of his skin on his own. It wouldn’t take much to reach out, take his hand, perhaps press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“Lia’s been helping out at the forge.” Dammon’s admission pulled him from his thoughts. The blacksmith glanced down at the street below, watching as the people milled about, laughing and drinking and singing. The party was in full swing, yet here they were standing above it all, watching the city shed inhibitions and find joy in the mundane. They were safe, they were happy, and they were free. “She’s been trying to lighten my load so we could… have this.”

“Some time to ourselves without the crushing weight of responsibility?”

Dammon chuckled, leaning an arm against the banister, eyes on a fixed point in the distance. For a man who worked with weapons most of the day, there was something so soft about him. It’d taken Rolan too long to figure out what it was. His eyes. When Dammon looked at a person, he saw many things but the first and foremost was that he saw their soul. Not the facade they put up, but who they were beneath. At one time, it scared Rolan to be seen so deeply but now… now he craved the horrifying ordeal of being known by another person.

Of being known by this man in particular.

Rolan sighed as Cal’s sudden onslaught of questions, all in regards to the running of Sorcerous Sundries, began to make more sense. “It seems Cal was trying to do the same.”

The sounds of a lute and a lyre floated out of the windows of the Elfsong and people on the streets began to spin in a dance of wild limbs and stumbling feet, too drunk to do much else besides rocking back and forth or falling. The rest of the city stretched out ahead, lights flickering against a velvety black backdrop, the stars above burning as brightly as the streetlamps.

He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the Arabellan Dry still tingling on his tongue. Perhaps it was the beautiful sounds of Alfira’s lute from below. Or it could’ve very well been the fact that his family, his friends, the people who cared about him, had done so much to give him this peace.

Rolan’s hand slipped into Dammon’s, noting how easily their fingers slotted together.

He’d always wanted somewhere to call home. For years, it had been Cal and Lia and the little family they’d built out of the ashes of their lives. But the upheaval by the descent into Avernus, the difficult road traveled to Baldur’s Gate, Lorroakan and everything with the Netherbrain… he didn’t think he’d find happiness again, only pain.

He was grateful to be completely wrong.

“What are you-”

“Shh.” Rolan tilted his head to the side, nodding to the dancers below, a smile curling his lips. “Do you hear that?”

Dammon raised his eyebrows, amusement flitting across his features. “The music? It’s kind of difficult not to.”

“And what do people do when they hear music, Dammon?”

The blacksmith rolled his eyes, but his face softened more than Rolan thought was possible. He straightened, turning towards Rolan with expectation. “Why don’t you tell me? So I don’t get it wrong?”

Butterflies went to war in his stomach, but the challenge in Dammon’s eyes was intoxicating. He was going to make him say the words. Despite his intelligence, his knack for learning and doing things his own way, Rolan struggled with the right words. But action, that was easier.

His free hand slid along Dammon’s waist, their entwined hands turned into proper position. When Dammon met his gaze again, his eyes burned like blue fire ringed in gold. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his heart pounded out like a war drum in his chest, but he managed to force a single question out before he lost his nerve.

“Dance with me?”

Dammon’s eyes widened slightly before a grin spread across his face. His hand tangled in Rolan’s loose hair, strands sliding his fingers. Then he leaned in, lips brushing softly against Rolan’s, the contact a shock but a welcome one. His mouth was warm in the cool night, and he drank him in like a man who hadn’t touched a drop of water in days. His skin burned, his heart threatened to dance right out of his damned chest, and still, it wasn’t enough.

Rolan shifted closer, wrapping both arms around Dammon’s waist, deepening the kiss with a swipe of tongues and teeth. Everywhere their bodies touched, Rolan felt like he was on fire, flames beneath his skin threatening to burn him to ash. And it would be a good way to go, he thought, as the kiss finally broke.

Because with the way Dammon was staring up at him, smiling like he was nothing more than a drunken fool, Rolan understood. What they had was important, as important as anything else in his life. And he was going to fight like hell for more nights like this.

“I thought we were supposed to be dancing.” Dammon whispered, breath ghosting against Rolan’s cheek as a laugh left his mouth.

“Do you want to?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. “Dance, I mean.”

Dammon ran his hand through his hair again, but his gaze never slanted away. Chills ran down Rolan’s spine at the intensity of his eyes that he almost didn’t hear the words. “It was your idea, but I like this too.” His lips brushed against Rolan’s briefly before he pulled back, nothing but tenderness on his face.

And Rolan couldn’t help but agree.

This was nice.

It was everything.

#my writing #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #bg3 lakrissa #bg3 alfira #rolan x dammon #dammon x rolan #gift exchange

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astarioffsimpmain · 2 months

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A Darling Evening (Tali & Astarion)

[Screenshots by @snowfolly]

Astarion x Taliesin Straeth (Snowy's OC)

Warnings: None; fluff!

Synopsis: Astarion finds a way to turn a rainy evening into something romantic.

Author's Note: This is my gift to @snowfolly for the Astarion Brainrot Valentine's Day Gift Exchange! Their OC Tali was a lot of fun to write, and I'm happy to post this here for them! <3

She huffed, a frown creasing her features as the rain pattered against the windowpane. "I was going to test our new find today. But no birds are going to be out in this weather."

"And what exactly is that little trinket supposed to do again, Tali darling?" Astarion asked, deep in concentration as he stitched a design into one of her hats.

"This little trinket," she produced a whistle the size of a pen from her pocket and slipped it through several of her fingers, admiring it. "Is supposed to make birds fly backwards for as long as they hear the song."

"And when the little feathered twits end up crashing against a tree-?"

"They don't! That's the beauty of it. It's as though they don't even know they're flying backwards. They can see just as well as if they're flying forwards. The birds will never know the difference. But we will. We get a free show." She chuckled, tooting a note from the flute with a wiggle of her head before letting her hand fall back to her side as she sent a sidelong glance at the rain outside; staring deprecatingly at it as though it would cease just to lift her mood.

"Well, my love, I am afraid the birds must wait." Astarion replied absent-mindedly, his brow creasing as he doubled back on a stitch that was not cooperating.

"Well, what in the hells am I supposed to do now? And before you suggest it, I am not reading another one of the books Gale sent over right now. I'm not sure I can stomach more jargon on dissecting the magical properties of the Orevine plant." You rolled your eyes and your lover chuckled from where he sat. She leaned against the windowsill and stared at him, softening as she observed the wrinkles on his forehead and the laugh lines on the outsides of his eyes - things he would perpetually deny having as an eternally young creature of the night, but things she loved nonetheless. His eyes scanned his work tirelessly, obsessed with getting everything just right. He was a perfectionist through and through with his creations, which was surprising, considering the amount of chaos he wrought in most other areas of his undead life. But he plopped his work down suddenly and met her fuschia gaze with his discerning crimson one.

"Well, darling, if all you plan to do for the rest of the afternoon is stare at me, then I suppose I must find something for us to do, hm? However much I enjoy seeing you observe my beauty." She scoffed and rolled her eyes at the tease, but a smile threatened to cross her lips nonetheless. She quirked a brow at him, curious to see what he had in mind. In the perfect image of beauty and grace, he rose from the chair he was perched in and swept through the small kitchen of the cabin the two of them had been staying in for around a week now and down the stairs of the adjacent door. The owners were… probably, on vacation somewhere, and had left a stocked-enough cellar for Tali to live on until she and Astarion decided to move on, or the owners decided to return. She padded down the steps after him and found him rummaging around a worn iron storage container before pulling out a bottle of mead, a block of cheese, and a small box of strawberries. “It isn’t a strawberry tart, darling, but it’ll have to do.” he mused, turning the box this way and that to see how the fruit was faring.

He seemed to decide it was worthy of his lover after several seconds of looking it over and nodded curtly to himself, turning around and traipsing back up the steps with Tali on his heels. “Take these out in the rain and wash them off, won’t you, love?” Astarion smiled sweetly, a hint of flattery glimmering in his red-wine eyes.

Tali merely laughed, taking the box of strawberries from him and stepping out onto the porch. There was a generous overhang, so she remained mostly dry as she held each strawberry out into the pouring rain and brushed off any possible dust or other unseen remnants with the pads of her fingers before gathering them back into the box and bringing it back in to where her lover was waiting, an apron acquired from gods know where, fastened around his slim waist and a knife in hand. “Oh, is my darling lover going to bake something for me?” Tali nudged playfully and Astarion scoffed.

“Don’t get carried away, love.” he prodded her with his elbow as she came up beside him. “You know my specialty is to cut up, not put together.” he grinned over his shoulder at her, showing his fangs, before beginning the process of slicing their snacks. Tali chuckled and sidled up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back, humming as his laughter rumbled through her. She melted into him, allowing her eyes to fall closed as she recognized yet again how lucky they were to have found each other, especially after all they had suffered. Love was never supposed to be in the cards for her again, not after Margot. A small pang clenched her chest at the memory of her first love, but it was different now than it had been in the past. While she still held regrets, and knew she always would, there was a new sense of peace that had found her, and she knew her vampire was to thank for it.

“If I am to make a new life after all of the pain I caused,” he would often say to her, “then you can as well.” He loved to use her words against her, but to bring her peace instead of suffering, and while it was all the more irritating that the advice was her own, she was thankful for the reminders. She smiled and nuzzled her nose in between his shoulder blades, taking in a slow breath of his bergamot, rosemary and brandy scent. There was an edge to the scent, one she knew to be his natural decayed skin, and she smiled. One of the first comments she had made once they made their relationship official was how much she liked that extra tang of his natural scent mixed with his cologne. She had nearly laughed her head off when he had looked at her with so much shock and affront that he resembled a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “You’re mad.” he had settled on as a response, grinning and shaking his head in disbelief.

Tali giggled softly against Astarion’s back at the memory and he offered her a glance over his shoulder. “What are you giggling about like a madwoman back there, my darling? It is quite distracting.” His tone was chiding, but she knew there was a smile on his face and wriggled against him.

“Just remembering when I told you I liked your natural scent.”

“Oh gods, yes. I knew you were just mad enough for me when you proudly proclaimed being aroused by the scent of rot. It was all over for me at that very moment, pup.”

A cackle burst forth from her lips then and she let go of her lover to clutch her stomach. “I- hahaha! I think the f-fact that… ahahahah! That I liked you covered in gore hahaha! Would have been a sign! Ah hahaha!”

Astarion smiled down at the strawberries he resumed cutting in triumph, pleased with himself for lightening his dear Tali’s previously soured mood. He would never say the words out loud, but he couldn’t bear it when she was upset. She was his light, his sunbeam in his world otherwise plunged in darkness, and when she was down, a painfully tight coil squeezed around his undead heart.

They chatted for awhile longer while Astarion finished with the snacks and uncorked the mead. "Well, my love, it seems as though they don't have very fine glasses for their liquor, which is a true shame, but I've found something that will do for now." He tutted as he pulled several well-worn glasses from the cupboard and wiped them out with a cloth. He had placed the cubes of cheese and slices of strawberry onto a plate and gestured for Tali to grab it and the glasses. Once her hands were full, he took the bottle of mead in hand and made for the front door. Dusk was fast approaching, but where a sunny day would have made it impossible for the vampire to be out at this hour, the rain had provided enough cloud cover that he was able to step out with ease.

"Alright, those go here." He pointed to the short table that sat a few feet from the door and Tali relieved her hands of her haul. Astarion set the mead down between the two glasses, then turned to look at her expectantly.

"Okay… what now?" Tali crossed her arms and chuckled at her lover's antics.

"What do you mean, "what now?" Come now, love, you do remember how camping works, don't you? Pillows, blankets, anything to keep the ground from feeling like what it is. Off with you!" He shooed her towards the door with wild gesticulations and a laugh burst from her mouth.

"Well why can't you get them, my big strong vampire?" She teased, referring to his boost in strength post-tadpole.

"I had the idea, and I handled the food, darling, now it's your turn. You knew you were the manual labor in this relationship the moment you agreed to it, don't deny it." He tsked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Alright, alright." Tali chuckled, getting to work.

Soon, all the pillows and blankets in the house had been pooled onto the front porch where Tali and Astarion were now curled up. "The candles were a nice touch, my love." Tali murmured, glancing over to the single candelabras that held the family's bedside table candles, each one lit and waving gently in the cool night breeze.

"Mmm I am known to be quite the connoisseur of romance, you know." He crooned from where his head lay in her lap.

"Oh yeah?" Tali giggled, her fingers continuing a tender path through his soft curls.

"Mhmm" Astarion hummed, his eyes closing as he pressed into his lover's gentle touch.

"Well, I must say I agree, Mr. Ancunin. You have won me over, although at times quite begrudgingly." A smile quirked his lips, his only response to her ribbing. It wasn’t satisfactory enough for Tali though, who leaned down to press a long, amorous kiss to his beautiful plump lips; one he responded to immediately, threading his long fingers through her hair to cup the back of her head and neck.

"I love you, Astarion." She muttered against his mouth and he chuckled softly, his breath hitting her lips.

"I know, my darling… and you've won me over as well." He replied, pulling her lips to his once more.

fin

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tali #taliesin straeth #other people's tavs #other's ocs #valentine's day gift exchange #snowfolly #baldur's gate 3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 tav #happy valentine's day

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space-blue · 2 months

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Beach Day

Valentine piece for @blacknight-darksky of their Tav Dori and Astarion hitting the beach while he can be in the sun!

#elfsong tavern valentine exchange #bg3 #tav/astarion #astarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #tavstarion #fem tav #bg3 fanart #astarion fanart #astarion ancunin #astarion art #baldur's gate 3 #my art #gift art

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fanwork-exchange-promos · 2 months

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Baldur's Gate Gift Exchange - Signups Closing Soon!

Posted by: blueinkedfrost Link: Baldur's Gate Gift Exchange Signup Description: Sign up to the Baldur’s Gate Gift Exchange to create a gift for another Baldur’s Gate fan and receive a gift in return. It’s not just for fanfic - you can offer or request fanfic, fanart, fan craft, or any other kind of fanworks. Baldur’s Gate I, Baldur’s Gate II, and Larian Studios Baldur’s Gate 3 are all welcome. Dates: Signups close: Sunday 10 March Assignments given: Monday 11 March Assignments due: Friday 14 June comments via The Fandom Calendar https://ift.tt/1UJmW2F

#Baldur's Gate Gift Exchange - Signups Closing Soon!

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months

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You spent your days following the fall of the Nether Brain with him, tucked away in the Underdark as he cared for his siblings and the other spawn without a single complaint.

However, the lack of sun and isolation eventually took its toll on you. Astarion sensed it each day, your desire to return to the world above, even if you never vocalized it. He knew it was inevitable. So he urged you to return to Baldur’s Gate with a forlorn smile and a reassuring squeeze to your hands. He promised to visit you when he could—which you later discovered would never be.

You spent the day before you reluctantly left him holed up in his quarters, making love. Kissing. Holding each other. Crying as if you’d never see him again—he called you the biggest baby as he kissed your tears away and masked his own sadness with a laugh.

A humble home awaited you in the city. A gift for saving the world. It was beautiful, spacious, and lonely.

You busied yourself as best you could. Planted flowers, mended clothing for coin, crafted potions, and cooked meals to keep your hands occupied. Your companions visited you from time to time, somewhat lifting your spirits. You talked to Astarion every night via spells that allowed you to speak over great distances.

He seemed to be holding up well. Keeping the spawn from tearing into each other was quite a feat. But the impending solitude sat in the backs of your minds heavy like storm clouds. And it would always claw at your gut when you lay in bed each night, curling into the fetal position as you clutched the cold, unoccupied side of your bed, sinking into a fitful slumber.

You missed him. Dearly. And he missed you.

Months eased by. Eventually, you lapsed into a rhythm. Wake up. Clean. Entertain guests. Wander the city. Hunt evildoers. Venture home to tend to your gardens and lose yourself in a book. Catch up with your beloved. It was comfortable. It was humble, but it was what you grew accustomed to, and the loneliness became a little easier to curb.

A knock at your door jolted you from your sleep one rainy evening. You wandered out of your bedroom to open it, pulling your robe around you tightly. You were pleasantly greeted by a familiar shock of white curls and crimson eyes as he leaned against the doorframe, soaked to the bone. Your heart nearly leaped from your chest.

“Hello, Beastie,” he whisper-purred, that customary smile on his lips turning your heart to mush.

There was no need for words. No space for the awkwardness of formalities.

You crashed into each other, hands wandering, mouths messily fusing together as he backed you into your home. Clothes gathered in a serpentine pile around your feet, and he hefted you into his arms to walk you into your bedroom as your fingers tore through the riot of his hair, and you groaned in tandem.

He made love to you until morning crept over the city. And even after the beginnings of it filtered through your curtains, he didn’t stop until you asked him to.

He alternated between slow and meticulous, and hot and rough. Your headboard knocked against the wall, and your bed threatened to collapse beneath you. Scratch marks littered his back. In exchange, he adorned your body with love bites and pretty splotches of blue. You could barely stand by the end of it, limping around your room to shutter the windows so your beloved wouldn’t get burned by the sun.

You spent the day shacked up in your bedroom, cuddling, talking, and getting lost in the feel of each other’s bodies once more. When you asked what brought him back to the surface, he reasoned his siblings could manage the other spawn just fine. He needed you. Craved you each night, his chest growing hollower each day he spent without the feel of your hand in his.

Your body swelled with emotion. Even if it meant making some provisions around the house and to your lifestyle to accommodate your love, you were more than thrilled to live out the rest of your days with him beside you.

Your days together were spent in domestic bliss thereafter.

And each surface of your home was well-acquainted with your body. Not a table, counter, seat, or wall lie unscathed.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #astarion fluff #astarion smut #astarion drabble

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madwomansapologist · 4 months

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gift exchange with baldur's gate 3 companions

Navigation | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: As the end of the year approaches, the group united by worms decides over starting a tradition: exchanging gifts!

warnings: i don't think there is any...? this can be seen as tavrem or just platonic. ASTARION FLIRTS. i use tav as a nickname for reader, so... i made the sortition on a site so this is really random. i swear. like y'all wont't believe me, but it's random. also, i love those weirdos. just thought i should said that. happy rest of 2023 for all of us!

After losing a bet, Gale was responsible for starting what soon will be a tradition among the almost honorable group.

Gale stood up from his place near the fire, an unopened package floating beside his body, making a little flourish. "When I found out who companion I would gift, an immense honor took over my chest. My virtuosic―"

"Chk," Lae'zel crossed her arms. The look on her face was clear: she was daring Gale to dare her. "Humanoid, use fewer words."

Gale breathe in, so close to losing it. One things is to be disrespected, an that he can bear, but to be interrupted? He prepared jokes, and it would even rhyme. Decided not to be the one that would ruin the night, he ignored her.

"To sum up," he smiled at Lae'zel. "What a honor to put a face to the name, Blade of Frontiers."

Wyll hugged Gale, patting his shoulder affectionately. "The honor is all mine to meet such a renowned wizarding prodig."

Gale handed over the package, and then sat back down by the fire. The wine goblet returned to the wizard's hand.

Wyll's smile gradually died. From the packaging, he took out a book. "General Theory of Contracts and Unilateral Acts?" He glared at Gale. "What should this mean?"

"I'm just helping my friend," Gale took a sip. "So in the future you won't sign any appealing contract."

Facing the book that soon will be burned, Wyll regret getting into debt with Tav just so he could buy the perfect gift.

Wyll picked up the bag left on the log, and ignored Shadowheart's giggles.

"In this year full of surprises, good ones and horrible ones, but meeting this person..." Wyll breathed. "Gale, you worthless cunt. Astarion, I hope you like this."

Astarion took the gift with his fingertips, excited to have guessed who had drawn him. He told Karlach that Wyll was acting strange lately. He didn't thanked Wyll, that is something he'll only do if his gift is good.

When he touched what was inside the bag, he knew that the fabric was of quality. And upon seeing the details of the black ensemble, Astarion's smile became real.

"Oh, darling," he purred. "You spoil me."

With a smug smile and a hesitation to provoke his companions, Astarion continued.

"To show that I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time," Astarion licked his fangs. "I spent arduous weeks collecting what I would need for tonight's best gift."

Everyone booed him.

Rolling his eyes, Astarion took the chest from his tent. "I smell the scent of jealousy coming from all of you," said Astarion. He stopped talking, just to play with everyone's feelings. "That one is to my sweet leader."

You cheered as you stood up. If there's one thing no one can say about Astarion, it's that he doesn't have good taste. After all, there is a reason for why he chose to bite you.

"Thank you, darling," you mirrored the way he talks to you. "That won't make me mad, will it?"

"Oh, Tav, you know me" your nickname flowed from his lips like honey. "I only play with your feelings when we have privacy."

When he handed you the trunk, you even stumbled under its weight. You placed it on one of the fallen trees. Opening it, a smile appeared on your face.

Potions. Lots of potions. Of all kinds. Speed, invisibility, healing. Poisons, coatings. From the most basic to the rarest.

Looking at Astarion, you pouted. "Thank you," you whispered.

Excited, you runned to your tent to take the hidden gift. Something on you told you the problems you got yourself into just to able to get that would be worth it.

"Oh gods," Gale murmured. Sarcams dripped from his tongue. "What is that? Can anyone tell?"

"On my defense," you pointed at him. No words made to your brain, so you breathed in. "How else would I pack an trident?"

"Not like that," said Shadowheart.

You chose not to discuss with them only because you knew that just wrapping it with red silk and a pink knot was a bad idea, but it still hurted to know that it was the best you could do. How can wrapping things be so difficult? Why no one told you that it would be so difficult?

"The person I gonna gift deserve the whole world, and one day I will sure that they get's it," you started. Surprised that Lae'zel didn't stopped you already, you continued. "I really wasn't expecting to like that person, but she won my heart so easily."

"Heart," Lae'zel murmured. "Is it Karlach?"

Karlach jumped from her place. "IS IT ME?!"

You showed your tongue to Lae'zel, then turned to Karlach. "Yes, it is!"

In a matter of seconds you were too far from the ground. Only when your breathing had already become a problem did Karlach carefully place you on the ground again.

Karlach tore open the wrapping, the trident glinting in her hands. She was already thanking you so happily. The only reason why she didn't hugged you again was because she didn't want to hurt you.

"This pretty girl in your hands is Nyrulna," you started. "Because of an spell, it'll return to your hand when thrown. Plus, no one can force you to drop it. It also creates an explosion. But the best part is that I found a way to make it red!"

Wyll sighed, and threw his book on the fire.

"Hey!" Gale yelled.

After a little dance to celebrate, Karlach tried to control her beaming smile. She didn't knew most of her companions felt their hearts getting warmer, but if she did it would have just worried her.

Karlach held onto the box she protected with her life to ensure no one would tamper with the gift. "This person deserves a fucking break and I―"

"Shadowheart," you yelled. "Is it Shadowheart?"

"You're fucking right!" Karlach pointed at the cleric. "Is it you, my girl! You're the one that deserve a break!"

"Well," Shadowheart forced a little smile. "Thank you. I guess."

Karlach handed over the small package, and without delay she pulled Shadowheart into a hug. The brunette had no option but to accept it. Carefully, Shadowheart opened the package and found a book with leather cover.

She threw the package on the floor to open it. "What is it about?" Shadowheart asked, flipping through the book.

"It's a collection of erotic stories," said Karlach.

Halsin took a sip from his goblet. Finally someone with taste.

Shadowheart ignored whatever wit comment Astarion made and took a deep breath. "Of course it is."

Shadowheart wasn't recovered from her gift, but the tiredness that overtook her members was also caused by the irony of what was about to happen.

"Lady of Sorrow guides us," Shadowheart whispered to herself. Instead of trying to make people guess who she's about to gift, Shadowheart just threw the box onto Lae'zel's lap. "There is no reason for me to delay this torture even more."

"Chk. Oh. This seems like it's you fate to deal with me." Lae'zel opened the box with one of her daggers. "Let's see if I will thank you, follower of Shar."

Inside the box, Lae'zel found several instruments for improving weapons. How she hated liking the gift. Lae'zel would like to do like Wyll and burn everything just to embarrass Shadowheart, but she couldn't damage such well-made instruments.

"Well done, cleric," Lae'zel hissed.

Lae'zel knew that her gift was the best, but there was a possibility that she did not thought about: maybe she had got the gift she would like to receive. Either way, it would be worth it.

"I share the cleric's interest for no unecessary fuss," Lae'zel was quickly to say. "Bear, I hope you enjoy this."

She handed over the box and walked away before Halsin could think about hugging her. Halsin undid the knot that kept the box closed, and everyone gasped at the sight of his gift.

You looked at Lae'zel. "How did you... Did you keep it all this time? How did you preserve it?"

In the glass above Halsin's hands was Minthara's head.

"You truly are..." Halsin sighed. He didn't knew what to say. "Civilized."

Before Halsin could recover, Gale approached the druid.

Unable to say anything, Halsin handed him the package. Gale didn't care, he just wanted to know what he had won. His smile didn't last a lot.

"Boots, Halsin?" He yelled. "Very mature of you. Very mature."

Wyll laughed at last.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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certifieddilfenjoyer · 2 months

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Astral Prism, Orpheus & Raphael Theory

So you know how most people in Baldur's Gate 3 fandom make the Raphael joke?

I'm here to tell you that it's extremely hurtful, because his character has a lot more depth than some of you are willing to see.

Behold, my Baldur's Gate 3 theory:

Right before we enter Act 3, we are jumped by githyanki who want to retrieve our Astral Prism. We are summoned to the Dream Visitor - The Emperor, to help him in the fight.

We find out then that our supposed ally is an illithid but there is one more guy, The Gith, the Orpheus, The Prince of the Comet.

You can ask the Emperor what the heck is a githyanki doing there and he will tell you the brief story about the War of The Comet*.

He is going to mention, that he is bound by INFERNAL chains. Hold on? How come?

After we are done with the Royal Guard, we can go to the upper left side from Orpheus's prison and find an ancient Githyanki disc. It will tell us, that Vlaakith had some infernal business conducted with a devil with wry charm. Of course Raphael isn't the only devil capable of being charming, but it feels natural for it to be him when he is already a very important character in game.

Baldur's Gate 3 Wiki says that it is indeed Vlaakith and Raphael.

OK, but why would they exchange the Astral Prism and is it Vlaakith getting it or Raphael receiving the relic?

He is giving it to Vlaakith. But how would he be in possession of such an artifact?

My theory: He is the one who had it created for that trade. (Commissioned from someone else)

Explanation:

If you look at Hope's and Orpheus's prison, you will notice a striking resemblance at the crystals that can be only shattered by the Orphic Hammer. A Hammer, that Raphael is in possession of! How convenient!

(Even Hope's and Orpheus' eyes are glowing in the same way when they are enslaved.**)

The runes and the design of both Astral Prism and Orpheus' shackles are also strikingly similar. It does not look like anything of Githyanki creation, it screams infernal.

But that still doesn't really add up, does it? Who would possibly create such a powerful object which plays such a major role in the plot?

Here, we have to familiarise ourselves with the wonderful post by Bearhugsandshrugs

Em explains above who the people visiting House of Hope are***.

One of them is a crazy, extremely knowledgeable wizard who specialises in creating copies of himself which prevents him from dying in battle.

When we kill Raphael, we kill him in HoH, in his own domain. He should be gone, for good! But yet, upon interacting with the Orb of Infernal Envisioning, we see that he is soon to be devoured by his father. Hells do not split into separate planes - so either Mephisto snatched his soul somehow (which seems impossible because his body is still there and devil's souls are their bodies) or Raphael respawned and his father took one of his clones or something like that. (He's just so cool I had to put it in here, but let me return to my theory now)

Another name on the list points out to Raphael's interest in different planes (even the ones which don't seem to be reachable) but also, magical puzzle boxes capable of holding items inside. As you can see, the name on the list is under the uninvited visitors section, which most likely means that they either fuel his soul pillars or have been turned into a soul coin. So it didn't have to be that particular person helping Raphael with the creation of the Astral Prism, but it points out to his interest in that topic.

Now, when would that even happen?

Karsus Folly took place in -339 DR, BG3 takes place in 1492 DR, around 2000 years later.

The enslavement of Orpheus - so also the Vlaakith trade - happened at around -4000 DR.

It is not impossible that Raphael was already around and scheming at that time. Why? Because Mephistopheles gifted Haarlep to Raphael most likely when Raphael was about to get the Crown before his father snatched it. Comparing their visual age, it seems that Raphael was already a young adult cambion at around the War of The Comet age.

Another thing is the fact that, Kith'rak Voss, the badass Githyanki Red Dragon rider, the sword of Vlaakith, found out about Raphael and contacted him and told us to get our ass inside Sharess Caress. Raphael doesn't mention him having an 'office' there, it's Voss who does it. Only upon entering the place, we can interact with Korrilla who's like, hey girl go upstairs Raphael rented a room hoping you'd drop by. HE KNOWS WE SPOKE TO VOSS, he has to! And also, Voss was around when Orpheus got enslaved! According to Wiki he was inside the Astral Plane when that happened. And Raphael has absolutely 0 interest in trading with Voss, yet the githyanki managed to reach him somehow. In my opinion, when he finally realised the lies of Vlaakith, he was looking for a specific devil, for Raphael, because he might remember him from back then.

(* Justice to my poor Githyanki, the most based and cool race in BG3. Imagine how painful it has to be to realize over centuries of time that you helped the self-proclaimed queen establish her tyranny over your own people because you've been brainwashed to believe that Orpheus is a traitor and Vlaakith the rightful heir of the throne)

(** The eyes, the chains, the crystals. The top of the Orphic Hammer is literally partially built from that same gem/crystal and on top of that, if you use Examine on it, it clearly states that it has been built in Infernal forges.)

(*** headcanon warning: The Amulet of Vigor that is present in the Archive is actually proven to have some... Other invigorating capabilities ☠️☠️☠️ and the old, ancient, crazy wizard has the boudoir privileges. Coincidence? ☠️☠️)

Anyways, to sum up:

• Githyanki disc shows us a deal between Vlaakith and Raphael where the devil gives her the Astral Prism.

• Raphael orders creation of the Orphic Hammer (the name itself, come on, it's such a mockery just like House of Hope) to make sure that he has the means to free him if it will benefit him in any way.

• In exchange for the Hammer, he receives some kind of knowledge of ascension to godhood. (Lae'Zel tells us during the game that ascension is the githyanki's greatest honour but it turns out it is nothing else but ensuring that Vlaakith remains alive and a god, because she just consumes the life force of her greatest warriors)

• Hope's and Orpheus's chains are strikingly similar and the part of the Orphic Hammer is built from the same gem/crystal that seems to be enslaving both of them.

So yea, my humble request is that you start fully appreciating the incredible writing of the game, instead of just focusing on the shallow 'haha bottom' jokes. I could make another post about that itself, but it's pointless. I hope you enjoyed!

#bg3 raphael #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 githyanki #orpheus #vlaakith #bg3 tav #kith'rak voss #the emperor #astral prism #theory #fan theory #bg3 headcanons

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blueinkedfrost · 1 year

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Baldur's Gate Gift Exchange 2023 - Signups Open

Please reblog this post.

What is the Baldur’s Gate Gift Exchange?

Sign up to the Baldur’s Gate Gift Exchange to create a gift for another Baldur’s Gate fan and receive a gift in return. It’s not just for fanfic - you can offer or request fanfic, fanart, fan craft, or any other kind of fanworks.

Request and offer your Baldur’s Gate favourite characters.

Boo says, “You must sign up, or taste hamster justice!”(*)

Here is the signup form! Sign up before signups close. Everyone will have just over 2 months to work on their gift.

This is the fifth year of the Baldur’s Gate Gift Exchange. Baldur’s Gate I, Baldur’s Gate II, and Larian Studios Baldur’s Gate 3 are all welcome.

Newcomers and veterans are all very welcome to join.

Dates

Signups close: 9 April

Assignments given: 10 April

Assignments due: 23 June

Check the link above for more information about the dates and times!

(*) In this case, ‘taste hamster justice’ means ‘look up cute hamster pictures on the internet’.

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate fanfic #baldur's gate fanart #baldur's gate gift exchange #fanfic #fanart

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underdark-dreams · 4 months

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I'm finishing up a Rolan proposal fic for a very patient anon & ended up with this little scene between Rolan and Dammon that I don't think I'll use. Thought I'd post it here as a drabble! 💗

Rings

Rolan commissions a very particular piece for his beloved from the infernal blacksmith. [541 words]

------------------

“Are you sure it’s the right size?”

Rolan turned the smooth metal over in his hand, trying to compare it against his own fingers for reference. The material gleamed luminous and silver-blue even under the shade of Dammon’s open workshop.

“It’ll fit,” Dammon told him with surety. He wiped a hand on his apron and watched with no little pride as Rolan examined his past weeks’ handiwork. “I forged a few pairs of gauntlets for them back in the day. I’d like to think I know a thing or two about Tav’s hands. Professionally,” he hastened to add, perhaps noting the way Rolan’s brow twitched.

“Maybe so, but—”

“I know, I know. Tav deserves perfection.” Dammon gave his placid smile.

“Yes.” A bit chagrined by the obvious strength of his feelings, Rolan made no other response. As he turned the band over again, his eyes caught very fine lettering engraved around the inner surface. He peered closer—the marks were Infernal.

“Ah.” Dammon shifted nervously on his feet. “I hope you don’t mind the addition. It just—came to me.”

“‘Strength in Unity’,” Rolan translated under his breath. He glanced up at Dammon. “The watchwords of Elturel?”

Dammon rubbed the back of his neck in a characteristic gesture, but a shadow passed over his face. “You know, in terms of cities and their mottos…that one always rang a bit hollow to my ear. After everything.” He exchanged a long glance with Rolan. “If anyone deserves to reclaim the words, I thought it ought to be the two of you.”

Rolan stared back down at the ring on his palm. In a rare moment, he found himself rather lost for words. Then he slipped it carefully into the pouch at his belt and began counting out gold pieces.

The smith raised a hand, but Rolan cut him off before he could start. “Dammon, whatever the hells you’re about to say, keep it to yourself. This is fine work, and I’ll be damned if you don’t take the other half of the fee.”

“Couldn’t you consider it a wedding gift? For the two people responsible for getting me to Baldur’s Gate in one piece. Or even,” Dammon proposed hastily, “a reward for letting me work with such rare material.”

“Then keep what’s left over,” Rolan told him. He tucked his coin away as the idea for a compromise sprang to mind. “Make something incredible from it.”

“That—” Dammon’s eyes grew wide for a moment. “That’s quite generous. Do I even want to know how you found such a pure chunk of mithril?”

“We have friends in the Underdark,” Rolan answered tersely. “I may have…funded a small expedition.”

Dammon only gave a low whistle. If anyone could grasp the cost of such an undertaking, it was a blacksmith. Then he extended a calloused hand, and Rolan clasped it in a wordless agreement.

Finding the matter resolved, Rolan turned toward the front gate of the forge. The gleaming ring stored at his belt had introduced a very distracting flurry of butterflies into his stomach.

“Hold on there—” Dammon stooped to fetch something from underneath his work bench. As he straightened, a small hide bag sailed through the air into Rolan’s surprised grasp.

“You’ll be needing the other one.”

#bg3 drabble #rolan bg3 #dammon bg3 #rolan x tav #underdark-dreams #pls i love both these men #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon

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justporo · 5 months

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First Snow

Winter has come to Baldur's Gate and finally with it the first snow. You're excited about it - Astarion is rather reluctant...

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the "Snow & Ice" prompt for the BG3 Winter Holiday Challenge! We're kicking of the winter and holiday time with this first fill. Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1k

~~~ Temperatures in Baldur’s Gate had been dropping. There was ice forming now on the edges of the windows of the townhouse you shared with Astarion. And icy gusts of wind made you shiver now everytime you left the house.

Winter had come to the city and was firmly holding Baldur's Gate in its icy fingers. Some smaller side streams of the Chionthar close to town had already frozen over, inviting people to go ice skating. A winter market had opened its stalls somewhere centrally in the lower city. Windows were decorated with candles, ornaments and wreaths made of holly. And the townsfolk had started to wrap themselves in thick coats, wooly scarves and more comfy layers meant to keep them warm. For some the only thing still peeking out from all the layers of cloth, wool and fur were reddened cheeks and noses, coloured by the freezing temperatures.

But there was one thing still missing: snow.

And for the first time in your life were you actually excited for that to happen. Because now you were lucky enough to be in a position to enjoy the nice things that came with the colder weather. And you were so ready to make the best of it - together with your vampire soulmate.

When you had lived on the streets of the city you had always dreaded the coming winter because each year it had been cruel and painstaking to find enough food and shelter. But things were so different now. You had a permanent roof over your head now. And much more important: you had someone, just as permanent.

Someone to cuddle up with when the winter storms would be howling outside. Someone to decorate your home with. Someone to exchange gifts and trade kisses with during cold winter nights. Actually it all sounded pretty enticing.

Being with Astarion had made everything better. You never had been this excited about your future. And just as Astarion was ready to replace hurtful memories with new and pleasant ones, so were you.

So, tonight, you were going out. As you had done lots of times since you'd settled down. Astarion always found a reason to drag you out of the house and spoil you. You were planning to have a nice dinner, maybe stroll across the winter market and watch some of the brave fools thinking they’d be good at ice skating - at least as long as people were still out and about.

But the night was still young. The sun had barely set.

And this had been one of the first things that had made you change your opinion about winter: it allowed for so much more time and opportunities to go out with your vampire. Even if said vampire would have enjoyed that much more during summer time. You made the best out of it.

So when you stepped out of your front door, drawing your scarf and cloak closer around you, you immediately noticed one thing: Thick white flakes were drifting down from the dark night sky, illuminated by the street's mage light lanterns. The snowflakes fell slowly but steadily - as if they were trying to tell you that they wouldn’t be rushed, but would make their way surely. Light gusts of wind dragged around the small white tufts - sometimes taking them for an extra twirl before they landed on the ground.

Your eyes widened and you gasped as you beheld what was very much a fairytale snow flurry. “Snow”, you whispered silently and could barely believe how excited you’d become all of a sudden.

Then Astarion stepped out behind you. And you didn’t need to see the scowl to know it was there: “Ugh, snow.”

Immediately you turned around and gave him a look. You saw how he was fastening his cloak and threw a scarf around his head - he didn’t exactly have need for it but that surely didn’t stop him from another opportunity to make a fashion statement.

“What?”, he replied in annoyance. His lips were pressed together looking at the icy precipitation in displeasure.

“Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

“My love, you are beautiful, life is beautiful - oh and I am certainly beautiful”, he started dramatically and for the last part sweeped a hand through his hair. “But this? Frozen water falling from the sky? I don’t see why that’s supposed to be beautiful of all things”, he finished with a scrunched up nose. And very pointedly a big snowflake landed on the tip of his nose right at this moment.

The vampire’s nose scrunched up even more when he felt the cold touch his skin and made a disgusted noise while you could barely contain a laugh.

“There, I can save you”, you said and stood on your tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose and take care of this daunting snowflake.

“Cute”, Astarion replied when you stepped back again with a big genuine smile on his face. And then he quickly pulled you back in for a real kiss.

After the sweet kiss he pulled the cloak closer around you while you lovingly kept looking at him. He’d made that one for you specifically - picked your favourite colours, lined with sheep wool on the inside to keep you extra warm, marked with custom stitching. You had been in absolute awe when he had first showed it to you - he really was more talented than he would make anyone believe.

“Now, my love, at least take care you don’t turn into an icicle - I have standards when it comes to the temperature of my lovers”, the vampire lectured while he made sure you were appropriately wrapped, then pressed a quick little kiss to your forehead.

“Smoking hot?”, you asked with a sly grin. Astarion smirked back at you.

“At least above freezing would be acceptable”, Astarion replied and winked at you.

You stuck your tongue at him while Astarion laughed at you. Then you grabbed his hand and went out into the snow-filled cold winter night.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

#BG3HolidayFluffle23 #astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #bg3 companions #snow

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