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hannibals-favourite-meal · 7 months

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.⋆｡Let Me Be Your Bear｡⋆.

Halsin x plus size reader (Tav)

An accident involving a fiery touch and your beloved stuffed teddy leads you to something wonderful

Warnings: Tav!reader, fluff, mutual pining, daddy Halsin, cuddling, reader has no specified gender or pronouns

WC: 782

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

It had been an accident really. You knew Karlach was just curious about the small stuffed animal that was sitting on top of your open pack, she didn’t mean to turn it to ash as soon as she touched it and you didn’t resent her for it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t break your heart just a little bit.

Especially now as you lay by the dying fire, clutching a small bag Wyll had given you for the ashes tightly to your chest in some vain attempt to receive the same warmth the toy had given you before. You knew it was silly, it was just a small bear you found at the beginning of your journey but it was comforting on the darkest of nights when you were stuck with your thoughts or nursing some wound.

Sighing, you rolled over onto your back and came face-to-face with the massive druid who was standing over you, looking at you curiously. You inhaled sharply in shock, clutching the bag even tighter. Halsin just tilted his head. “Why are you holding a pouch?”

Heat crawled up your neck in embarrassment. “It’s dumb.” You mumbled, but his sensitive ears caught each word. Firelight flickered over his face yet the light in his eyes was even brighter.

“You can tell me you know. I have been told I am a good listener.” You sighed, patting the ground beside your bed roll. With no hesitation, Halsin took a seat beside you, his muscular thigh only a few inches from your soft one.

Your fingers toyed with the small braided rope that tied the top of the pouch together, the ends already frayed from your nervous fiddling. “It was my bear, it was accidentally burned up which I understand, it wasn’t deliberate. But I can’t sleep without it.”

Halsin hummed under his breath and you braced yourself from some teasing remark (perhaps you were spending too much time with Astarion) but it never came. Instead, the druid smiled softly at you. “Perhaps, you would allow me to help, with your permission of course.” He must’ve noticed your confused expression because he quickly spoke again. “I think you forget, I myself am a bear.”

Realisation dawned on you then, which was quickly followed by bashfulness. He was offering to let you cuddle him just so you could sleep. That of itself was an enticing offer, he was an incredibly handsome man, only a fool would deny that. But more than his outward appearance, he had a gentle and kind soul, one you had quickly fallen for.

“You don’t have to.” You replied but Halsin laid one massive palm on top of your knuckles, easily enveloping your much smaller hands.

“I want to.” No other words were needed. He pulled away from you just far enough for him to shift without hurting you as his eyes began to glow a beautiful gold. You blinked and suddenly there was a brown bear standing before you. He huffed and nudged your shoulder, pushing you to lay back down.

You didn’t even notice as the pouch slipped off your lap, too focused on the way that Halsin’s huge front legs now straddled your wide hips as he himself lay down between your legs. A soft groan was forced from your lips when he placed his head onto your soft stomach but it wasn’t uncomfortable, far from it actually. His weight on top of you eased the tension throughout your body and you quickly found yourself overwhelmed with exhaustion.

He gazed at you with emotions you couldn’t quite comprehend, watching with some satisfaction as you relaxed beneath him.

Your arms curled around his head as best you could, rubbing one of his ears between your fingers. He gave a satisfied groan, his black eyes shutting. “Thank you.” You whispered and he nuzzled further into you, almost purring as your closed your eyes.

“What in the bloody hells are you doing!” Astarion’s shrill voice cut through the tranquillity of the morning, startling you from your surprisingly deep slumber. Hot breath fanned across your face as the massive bear on top of you growled before settling back to sleep, his huge maw resting on your sternum.

“Sleeping.” You grumbled and your fingers tangled in his dark fur.

“Well yes I can obviously see that but why do you have a bear on top of you?” You cracked open one eyelid to glare at the elf who looked greatly put off by this whole thing.

“He’s my bear.” You answered simply as Halsin groaned in agreement, both of you wishing to go back to sleep and maybe get another blissful hour of just holding each other.

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mushlooms · 7 months

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if blade of frontier-ing ever goes south wyll could honestly try a career as a comedian

#who tf is volo i only know wyll with a y #wyll ravengard #bg3 #bg3 wyll #bg3 funny

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demigoddessqueens · 4 months

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I can't stop thinking of Wyll with a tiefling lover, its a brainrot. How they would help him with his new horns, maybe help him trim them and apply oil on them? How he would react to their tail wagging like a dog or a cat when they're happy?! Imagine them going in a mainly human/elvic town before he transforms and how he deals with the comments they get by strangers? And after he transforms, they distract him from those comments with love , affection and jokes😭

Aahhh anon this is so cute!

HERE ON MASTERLIST 9

Wyll and his tiefling lover includes….

Once he’s transformed, needless to say, it takes him a lot of getting used to

You’ll find him staring at his reflection a lot, fiddling with his horns, sometimes with a deep sigh.

Of course you show up right behind him with a smile and kiss, saying “you look stunning as always, my dear.”

He’ll just have to take your word for it

Naturally, Wyll starts to find his rhythm in getting used to his new features: getting warmer than usual, his body reacting to you more, how cute it is your tail and you react when he’s close by

When you two passed through one of the markets, you split off for a second to find some trinkets for him.

Decorating your horns and his becomes a new favored pastime for you both, having mini dress-up sessions for each other.

Sometimes Wyll likes to rest his head in your lap as you massage his head and horns with scented oils

But, there are challenges too.

The quieted whispers and darting eyes, followed by a short “tsk” are daggers to your ears.

It saddens you to see Wyll feel down and insecure about his looks, but you don’t let it deter him.

Anytime you see or hear something displeasing, you have a kiss ready.

Pretty soon, he starts to catch on to what you’re doing and he feels so loved by you. Thank you for being there for him, for being so wonderful.

#inbox requests #wyll x reader #wyll ravengard #baldurs gate wyll #bg3 #bg3 wyll #wyll x tav #baldur’s gate 3 wyll #my writing #Wyll x you #wyll #wyll romance #baldur's gate 3 #Wyll x y/n #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate tav #tiefling #baldur's gate iii #bg iii

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vampireposter · 3 months

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regularly shocked by remembering wyll is 24. i'm 24. take this man Out of situations, his biggest worry ought to be whether his roommates are going to pay him back for pizza last night

#LIKE WHAT #(he would forgive the debt if they couldnt bc hes a cool friend)#idk i know i feel younger than my age bc of disability and i think he may feel older sometimes bc their age 18 is 15 in faerun #and hes been independent for 7 years #but also hes lost 7 years of social maturation so maybe he also feels young and idealistic and silly sometimes #i keep re-realizing this whenever i think abt my 25 y/o tav romancing him & am like #‘no they cant adopt yenna my boy is too young for a 10 y/o’#wyll is younger!!!#i may be becoming a wyllposter. hes in my mind lately #bg3

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scarredwithcruelintentions · 21 days

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chapter 3: a desperate revelation

Find the masterlist here!

CW: Astarion talks about his abuse.

W/C: 2,795

A/N: My dog had heart surgery last week... please send all the good vibes for her recovery!

After the arduous fight with the Hag, Astarion wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bedroll. Shadowheart had mended the worst of their wounds with a healing prayer, and your quiet songs of rest had bolstered their energy for the trek back to camp. Once out of the bog, the fading rays of the sun’s light were visible once more.

He paused a moment to marvel at the way they painted the sky in various hues of pinks and oranges, a sight he had long since given up hope of ever seeing again. He tried to convince himself that any day spent in the sun was a day worth having, no matter how fleeting a retreat it might be.

A plaintive sigh escaped him at the prospect of returning to the shadows after being blessed by the warmth of the light.

“Copper for your thoughts?” you intoned from behind him, startling him out of his quiet reverie.

“For nearly two centuries, I’ve known nothing but darkness and pain. To stand in the sun, after so much tragedy and despair, is nothing short of a miracle,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, it would shatter the beautiful illusion he’d come to know and he’d instead find himself a psychotic wreck, locked in a mausoleum somewhere at Cazador’s behest again.

He tracked your approach in his peripheral vision, mentally preparing himself to broach the topic of his past, of his Master’s cruelty. You stopped at his side and gazed out into the encroaching darkness with him, listening along as the song of birds gave way to the chirp of crickets. The stars began their winking, and the ambiance of rural night crept over them in a subdued melody.

“Without darkness, there would be no light,” you said quietly.

He peered over at you, watching as the moon started its trek across the indigo sky just above your head. You glanced at him, and your eyes met his for a moment. He did not expect the sorrow that he found in their depths. He opened his mouth, but no sound left his lips, the icy fingers of fear choking him. He closed his eyes and steadied himself, preparing to spill his darkest secrets upon reopening them.

“Come, friend,” your hushed voice met his ears. “We are not far from camp. We may speak there.”

With that, the moment was broken. Astarion opened his eyes to see your retreating form, and silently thanked whatever gods still were for the extra time to gather his strength. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion sat alone in his tent, lost in his thoughts. He could hear the chatter and laughter of his companions just beyond its thin walls, but he didn’t even have the heart to observe from afar tonight. He waited in trepidation for you to come find him, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the closed cover of the book in his lap. Even reading had proven to be an unhelpful distraction.

“Astarion?”

He recognized the lilt of your soft voice and cleared his throat.

“In here, darling,” he called, unwilling to move, lest his legs were to carry him far from this conversation, far from camp in cowardice.

You parted the flaps of his tent with a small smile, a question in your eyes. He waved at the space in front of him, a silent go ahead to enter and sit. You nodded imperceptibly and sat down, crossing your legs and setting your lyre in your lap.

Astarion raised a brow at the instrument.

“Do you ever go anywhere without that?” he asked, curiosity coloring his voice.

“Never,” you grinned. “It’s the source of my connection to the Weave.”

He scoffed, “A lyre?”

“Well, not the lyre specifically,” you blushed, “but the music it creates. Any instrument will do, but this is my instrument of choice.”

“I see,” he said, though he really didn’t.

“Would you like me to give you an example?” you asked kindly.

“Please, be my guest.”

He watched as your delicate fingers plucked a soft melody on the instrument, caressing the tune from them with practiced ease and fondness. The mellifluous sound of your voice began its harmony, and a sense of peace like he had never known washed over him. He was enchanted by your performance, finding it a strangely intimate experience with no one else to accompany the two of you.

All too soon, the final chord resonated in the cavern of his chest with a quiet hum.

Astarion opened his eyes - not remembering having closed them - and gazed at you. The warm feeling from earlier had returned at the start of the song, and had slowly spread its way through his limbs with each progression until he felt light and fuzzy, an unusual and somewhat dizzying sensation. A slight flush had spread across your cheeks and into the bodice of your nightclothes as he regarded you with a soft expression.

“That was lovely,” he murmured, loath to break the tranquil quiet of the moment.

“A Song of Calm for my tense, toothsome friend,” you smiled, voice lowered to match his own.

“Ah! Well that explains the sudden silence in my mind.”

He cracked a wry smile and delighted in your answering giggle. Stillness enveloped the tent once more, and your expression morphed into one of concerned sincerity.

Here we go.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t want to say a damned thing,” he bit out, rage and fear laced in his voice. You recoiled at his tone, and it took conscious effort for him to soften it. “But that won’t do anyone any good.”

You remained silent, waiting patiently for him to continue. He heaved a great, mournful sigh, and began.

“Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate. The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power. Not political power or military power - I mean power over people,” he said with carefully construed apathy, “The power to control them completely. He turned me nearly two hundred years ago. I became his spawn and he became my tormentor.”

His eyes had fallen to the space separating him from you, avoiding the questions he knew he was sure to find in yours.

“How were you turned?” you asked in a whisper. “Did he attack you?”

Astarion sighed again.

“Not him, no. A gang of thugs, the Gur,” he sneered, “attacked me, angry about a ruling that I’d handed down as a magistrate.”

“I see. Is that why you were on edge with the hunter today?”

“Indeed. They’d beaten me to death’s door when Cazador appeared. He chased them off and offered to save me. To give me eternal life. Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the street’, I took him up on the offer.”

He repressed a violent shudder at the memory and ploughed ahead, “It was only afterward that I realized just how long ‘eternity’ could be.”

“I take it he was rather lacking as a master,” you intoned gravely.

“He had me go out into Baldur’s Gate and fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find by whatever means necessary. It was a fun little ritual of his - I’d bring them back and he’d ask me if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat.”

He could still taste it even now, the fetid blood of overripe rodent corpses. He wanted to gag and retch at the thought.

“Of course, if I said no, he’d have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse,” he shrugged matter-of-factly.

“Astarion, that’s terrible. I’m so bloody sorry,” you sniffled.

He looked up at the sound to see the glistening tracks of tears running down your face in the glow of the oil lamp, more yet unshed making your eyes glassy. He didn’t know what he expected your reaction to be, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Thank you, but this isn’t about the sympathy,” he continued uncomfortably, “it’s about knowing what we might be up against. The Gur hunter won’t be the only one looking for me, what with his favorite plaything being misplaced.”

“Plaything?” you nearly choked.

“Yes, he always did say that my screams sounded sweetest,” he intoned bitterly.

He did not raise his eyes at the sound of your sharp gasp, fearful of what your face would betray.

“Vampire spawn are less than slaves - we’re puppets. All he need do is speak and our bodies obey. The things I’ve done, seen… felt. Well, there are some things better left unsaid,” he finished, voice hollow.

He looked up again to find tears streaming freely down your cheeks, eyes puffy and nose running with your sorrow, the whimpers and sniffles of your sobs echoing in the silence. He was unsure of how to console you, so he simply looked away, giving you time to gather yourself.

“Fuck, m’sorry,” you garbled, and he looked back to see you dashing tears from your eyes. “How insensitive of me. You don’t need my tears to make this wretched retelling any worse.”

“It’s quite alright, dear. It isn’t called a sob story for nothing, after all,” he chuckled, trying for levity to lift the stifling gloom of the atmosphere. His attempt wrested a watery giggle from you, so he considered it a success.

Once your sniffling had died down, a comfortable silence settled over the tent. He had gone back to staring at the empty space of his bedroll between you and him, and a new plan slowly began to unfurl in his mind. You seemed to like him well enough, but was well enough going to keep him safe in the dire straits ahead?

He was broken from his musing by the gentle strings of your lyre, a different melody this time but with a similar effect. The dulcet tones of your harmony flooded him with that strange, tingly warmth again, and he made up his mind in that moment. You were an unalienable ally with your charisma and quiet authority, and he needed to do whatever necessary to stay in your good graces.

Resolute in his decision, he listened intently to your music, laying back on his hands and closing his eyes to bask in the beauty of it. Your songs transitioned smoothly from one into the next, and he soon found himself drifting into his nightly meditation with unprecedented ease. He didn’t even register when the music had stopped, only noticing when your hushed voice temporarily disrupted the blissfully quiet calm of his mind.

“Goodnight, Astarion.” ______________________________________________________________

He rose early the next morning and was pleased to find you already awake. You were breaking your fast with some sludgy gruel the wizard was stirring while Wyll regaled you with animated tales of his heroics. He rolled his eyes at the warlock’s prideful display, but noticed you listening intently, gasping and asking questions at all the perfect intervals. The warlock regarded you with a smile far too fond for his liking, and he found himself calling out to you before he was even sure of what he was going to say.

“Darling, a moment, if you please?”

You gave Wyll a sheepish grin and excused yourself, setting the bowl of lumpy porridge on your stool and sauntering over to him. Astarion snickered to himself at the way the warlock’s face twisted.

“Good morning, Astarion,” you said brightly, smile more radiant than the morning sun.

“Good morning, my sweet. How did you sleep?” he asked, laying the charm on thick.

“Alright, I s’pose. You?”

“Vampires don’t sleep, dear, though I’ll say that last night was the closest I’ve come to it in two centuries,” he replied, trying for his most disarming smile.

“I’m glad to hear it,” you responded softly. “If you’d like to dine with me tonight, I’d be happy to lend my neck.”

Astarion could swear he felt his undead heart give a flutter of a beat before going dormant again.

“Why, there’s nothing I’d love more darling! But, are you sure you’re feeling up to it so soon after the first time?” he asked, his portrayal of concern surprisingly effortless.

He watched as you pulled a pendant out of your decolletage, holding it up so that it glinted in the light. He could feel the faint thrum of the Weave surrounding it.

“I went hunting through my things last night when I remembered I had this. It’s an amulet of restoration. Shadowheart confirmed for me that it will counteract the effects of blood loss,” you beamed.

“My, my. Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as you noticeably retreated into yourself.

“I only wanted to help,” you mumbled, eyes downcast.

In a desperate attempt to salvage the conversation, Astarion shifted the subject back to the amulet.

“And wherever did you find such a pretty bauble?”

Your answering grimace and accompanying flush was an unexpected reaction.

Oh, this must be good.

“I nicked it from the druid grove,” you said sheepishly.

“Aren’t you full of surprises, my dear,” he responded with a hearty laugh.

“Shut it, Rogue,” you grumbled at him good-naturedly.

“Never! And in answer to your earlier question, I would be more than delighted to dine with you.” He bowed dramatically, earning him a few bright peals of laughter.

“Your tent, or mine?” he purred. He made a show of watching the way your flush deepened and crept its way down into the plunging neckline of your nightclothes.

“Erm, I’d assume you’d be most comfortable in your tent,” you responded, wringing your hands with eyes downcast once more.

Well, that won’t do.

He reached forward slowly so as not to spook you and tucked a finger under your chin, gently raising your face so he could catch your eyes.

“I can make myself comfortable anywhere for you, dear,” he breathed, watching closely as your lips parted in a silent gasp and pupils dilated infinitesimally wider.

Just as he was about to celebrate this small victory, your eyes cinched shut and a pained expression flitted across your face. He dropped his hand instantly, taken aback by the dramatic shift in your reaction.

“S’not you,” you gritted out, confusing him further. You opened your eyes and took a steadying breath.

“Just a bad memory,” you clarified, standing tall in a display of faux confidence.

It was a tactic he knew all too well, and he could see right through it to the rigid way you held yourself. He felt his face fall with a doleful kind of understanding.

She, too, has endured much torment.

“Ah yes, those I am quite familiar with. We all have skeletons in the closet. An unfortunate side effect of living…” he paused, “and unliving, I suppose.”

You chuckled, easing up again.

“I’m taking Lae’zel, Wyll and Gale with me today to look for the missing druid. We’ll let you know what we find,” you changed the subject, meeting his gaze.

He felt a pang of disappointment with the chill of fear quick on its heels and fought to keep his face neutral, but was ultimately unsuccessful. You caught a glimpse of something, however fleeting, in his eyes that turned your countenance steely.

“He won’t have you, Astarion. You don’t need to go back to him,” you said, suddenly vehement in your determination. It only increased his panic.

“You don’t know Cazador,” he relented in a whisper, “He could have spies anywhere. I could be gone long before you make it back. If he finds me, I will have no choice but to return.”

“He won’t find you. You’re safe with me,” you murmured back, reaching out to take his hands. It was an odd sensation, being held, made odder still by your initiation of the contact.

“Then take me with you,” he begged, just shy of desperate.

He could feel your thumbs sweeping over the backs of his hands, no doubt a placating gesture to ease the burn of your next words.

“Not today. You need to rest after yesterday’s events.”

“How rich, coming from you,” he snapped, withdrawing his hands from your grasp abruptly.

He caught the hurt that flashed across your delicate features before you managed to school your expression, straightening your spine and squaring your shoulders.

He sighed in defeat, “I suppose I will see you tonight, then.”

“Tonight,” you nodded and turned to leave.

You took a few steps away from him and paused, turning halfway back toward him.

“And I mean it, Astarion. You are safe with me. I will watch your back, so long as you watch mine.”

With nothing but your parting words for reassurance, Astarion returned to his tent, succumbing to the biting cold of dread’s barbed claws.

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fangsyouverymuch01 · 4 months

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If walls could talk

This is part 2 of my series. You don't have to have read the first part to get into pt 2, butttt I would appreciate it! :) Part 1 LINK.

Part 3 is also out! Here is the LINK.

Summery: Tav is fighting against their dark thoughts and decides to do something about it. However, what other bloodthirsty killer lurks in the dark forest?

Words: 2,2 k

Parings: Astarion x durge, Astarion x tav

Warnings: Blood, dark fantasies/nightmares, daggers, smut if you squint???, murder, sleep deprivation, sassy vampire

Hope you like it! <3

Moonlight marks the end of the day, painting the swaying leafs a faint blue. The cracklings of the fire and the laughter from your newfound companions warms the cool night. You’ve managed to gather a party of the gith - Laezel, the blade of frontiers - Wyll, Karlach - a fighter from avernus, Gale - Mystras former chosen, sharworshipper - Shadowheart and lastly the pale rouge Astarion. Quite the mix to say at least.

Everyone’s laughter is mixed with the occasional slurping. Gale had insisted on making a traditional potato and leek soup which was appreciated by some, others like Astarion had barely touched it.

“You’re not hungry Astarion?” Karlach asked as she gulped down her second bowl of soup.

“I prefer something more filling.” he stated and shot you a quick glance before adding “ Besides, the events of today have me thinking of other things than leek soup.” .

You nearly choke at his comment and retort by gluing your eyes to the bowl in your hands.

“No offense taken my friend, however you are missing out on this delightful soup, the leeks are scarcely this fresh in Waterdeep.”

The party hums in approval and the conversation falls into a stillness, only the occasional breaking of twigs and swaying trees break the silence. Soon enough, the moon reaches its peak and everyone zips up their tents for the night. Your tent contains a simple bedroll and a teddy bear Karlach had lended you after observing your dark under eyes worsening the past days. Sleep had not found you , thoughts of life before the crash kept sleep from embracing your tired form. The others abilities had been wiped from the tadpole insertion but their memories stayed intact, why hadn’t yours? Questions filled your cortex, gaining a disturbing wriggling from the worm trapped within your skull. Adding to your concern, were your trances. Unbeknownst to your companions, these trances haunted you far more than sleep deprivation. Blood, gore, torture, murder and a variety of dark fantasies threatened to consume you.

What will happen if you lost control?

This night differed from the others, the lack of sleep seemed to affect your willpower and fantasies of butchering foe and friend displayed themselves as your eyelids felt heavier. Cradling the stuffed animal, your eyelids dip and curl your legs against the lower of your abdomen. Snoring and faint breaths cushion your tilted ears, guiding you to enter the embrace of night. The occasional stir flings your eyes open but the blue light signals them to close yet again.

Flashes of Shadowheart and Karlach pass by, them withstanding to burst into laughter as you awkwardly shift to fit the very large lute in your lap. Alfira bombards your efforts with words of encouragement, unsuccessfully pulling you from glancing at Shadowheart and Karlach doubled over in the corner, tears forming in the half elf’s eyes and the tiefling biting her lip as she pushes down a rumbling laugh. Exhaling to calm yourself, you pull at the strings and an array of tunes and random noises are produced. A terrible tune, a tune so foul that your ears fold to lessen the eardrum to vibrate at every tone crushing against it. Stealing a glance at your companions, an image of a headless Karlach strikes. Twisting your neck towards Alfira, she’s holding her heaving chest and pouring into her lap is a waterfall of thick blood. The once joyous ambiance twists into a macabre dreamscape. Shadowheart and Karlach's previous laughter warps into haunting echoes, and Alfira's encouragement morphs into desperate pleas though her gurgling. Your fingers tremble on the lute, producing dissonant, nightmarish sounds that echo the chaos. As you steal glances at your companions, Shadowhearts face contort into grotesque expressions of agony. The nightmare's grip tightens, effectively suffocating you.

“What did you do?” Shadowheart whispers, hands lacing with the hem of your trousers by your feet, the essence of life a ghost on her lips.

Wake up. Wake up!

You need to stay awake.

You can’t and you won’t let this control you.

Panting, your person rises from the bedroll. Your heart drums against the sternum of your ribcage and you swear, the sound of cracking bones bounces off the taupe tent walls. Tears pour as the floodgates to your tear duct opens. It was all so much, overbearing guilt tightens its snare and breathing burdens your lungs. Tossing the sweat drenched stuffed bear, you unzip a backpack in the corner of the tent. In the backpack lies a crossbow you picked up from the battle outside the groove, a battle your then more modest party barely withstood. Pulling it out you prepare to head out into the night. Perhaps your thoughts could not be controlled but you did have a choice in what was at the receiving end of your brutal fantasies. Puffing out a breath of air, your rise and glare at the dark sky. The cloud-free night unveils moonbeams and stars twinkling in the vast expanse, inviting contemplation.

“Please let this work.” you plead with the moon.

The camp is positively silent, making your chance to slip into the shadows significantly increase. Carefully, you tread past Gales and Astarions tents. To your surprise, Astarions tent is slightly unzipped. Was he also facing the restless night? Or was he out causing mischief at night as well? Having no time to ponder the alternatives, you make way towards the dark forest.

The night has the once calm and inviting nature evoking a sense of adrenaline - what hid in its shadows? The ballad of birds and paws of gentler creatures had slumped with the rise of the moon, leaving behind a hushed stillness that amplifies the rustle of leaves and distant whispers of the nocturnal world. As the cool breeze carries the fragrance of earth, the night becomes a stage for the mysterious and unseen, where the darkness holds both the thrill of the unknown and the comfort of needed solitude. A twig is snapped further down the unknown woods, sending a subtle tremor through the air. Instinctively, you froze. Your gaze narrowed, senses guiding your body to scan for any signs of movement. Amidst the rustling leaves, a fleeting silhouette hides behind the vegetation —a prey

Salvation by the blade! Salvation by the blade! Salvation by the blade! Salvation by the blade!

It demands to be heard. Clutching your soul, clawing at your cortex to take a shot at the unknowing creature behind the protecting leafs. A feverish sweat trickles down your temples as you aim the crossbow. Narrowing your eyes, the moon casts an eerie glow as your prey skillfully drains the life force from another unsuspecting creature.

Pointy ears, white curls - Astarion?

No. No, it can’t be.

Descending into the trance, your body remains unfazed to the revelation before your eyes. Astarion is crouching over a boar, blood from its guts spilling over his leather beeches and obscene guttural noises escapes the elf’s lips.

Did he have the same affliction as you?

When fighting to regain clarity fully, his keen ears catch a hint of movement in your direction. Swift as a shadow, he hurtles toward the foliage, forcefully pushing you onto the plush grass. With a thud you hit the ground. His dagger assertively rests at your throat and the other hand restraints yours from countering his initiative. His face, smeared with blood, reveals menacingly sharp teeth, droplets cascading onto your lips. The metallic taste mutes the voices in your mind, and as clarity dawns, you realize it may be a moment too late to salvage the situation.

“Trying to sneak up on a rouge now are we?” The elf snarls.

“Astarion wait I didn’t know-“ you ramble as you try to regain your full clarity.

The elf’s jaw tenses as if juggling his options.

“Are we the same you and I?” You ask unwillingly, being careful not to move under his sharp blade.

“Darling, you and I are nothing alike. I’d never make the questionable decision to aim my bow at a fellow and trusted companion ” Astarion answers and leans towards your face, persistently persevering eye contact with you.

At that, Astarion pushes his dagger further into your jugular vein, earning him a disapproving growl. He’s straddling you with his full weight pressing you down, there is no escaping except from your sharp tongue.

“I never meant to hurt you, it’s just-“ you stop, contemplating how to explain your condition to the irritated bloodstained elf before you. “I dream in red, I’ve not slept for days in hopes it would go away to no avail, so I came out here to kill some worthless boar or rabbit in hopes it would ease my fantasies.” You confess in one breath.

There it was, the truth of it all and now it was up to him to decide.

Astarion investigates your features as if trying to detect any dishonesty, face still covered in blood running down his neck, spilling under the front lacing of his shirt. What starts as a chuckle turns into a manic laughter from the elf’s lips. On display are his teeth again.

Fangs. A vampire.

“I won’t tell the others, just let me go.“ you begin as panic rises from your chest.

“How delightful, a maniac with a dark urge and a starved vampire. A fruitful pair don’t you think?” He smirks as his eyes grow dark, a deep crimson boring into yours.

“Fruitful?” you question as he narrows the inches between your faces.

“Darling, your urges have you adrenaline pumping and mine keep me far from alert, we could perhaps come to an arrangement for our predicaments..”

Oh.

His push on your jugular vein softens and he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“You give me a taste of your delectable blood and your reward leaves you from acting on these dirty thoughts of yours. “

His sultry voice entwines with your senses, warm and enticing as it beckons you to accept his proposition. On a logical level, he presents a solution to your predicament. Yet, it's hard to ignore the stark reality—this man, soaked in blood, recently grappled you to the ground and still pushes a dagger menacingly against your throat.

“Not a drop too much, I still need to be able to fight when the sun rises.” you squeeze out, hiding your blush at the position in which he held you, restraining you from squirming and hiding.

“I’ll restrict my urges as long as you do too darling”

Gods.

Astarions lashes flutter against your cheek, traveling along the curve of your neck and sharply inhales near your jaw. The dagger in his grasp is speedily pocketed into his holster, hand now reaching to angel your head in the perfect position.

“Very good” he coos.

Heat grows between your thighs as his legs squeeze the sides of your hips and chest pressed against yours makes your breath hitch in response. You want to indulge in every part of him but at the same time you are at his mercy. He was dealt a hand where destiny, hope and trust entirely was up to him.

“Give in, embrace the truth of the blade.” the voice licked into your other ear, tongue slithering further in.

“Astarion please get it over with, I-“ you stutter as the trance flits back into your limbs, nails reaching to tear themselves from his grip. “I’m losing myself…please”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. The rouge skillfully bundles your restraint from pulling away from his sharp teeth. Licking the area to prepare for his bite, he plants a kiss before puncturing into your pumping jugular vein. The pain is sharp at first, urging your mouth to let out a gasp. Seconds pass and with time leavs the pain and is traded for an electrifying jolt that sends shivers through your body. Warmth, pleasure, joy, arousal and at last - nothingness. The kiss of stillness lures before you and only Astarions licking pierced through the vacuum-like atmosphere. His head bobs up and down, curls cushioning your tilted jaw.

“Astarion?”

The rouge stiffens as your words cleave through his own blood frenzy. His licking is replaced by fluttering kisses, sending jolts of warmth to spread between your legs. Your once bundled hands are now also intertwined with his, the other tangled in your hair. The elf slightly pulls your hair, earning him a muffled moan as you bite down to contain your racing thoughts. As your head spins in bliss, Astarion prowls to catch your disoriented eyes with his pupil-blown ones. The vampire is positively delighted, a genuine smile creeping up as he loosened his grip on your hand.

“ You are truly delicious my dear.” the euphoric man softly speaks, licking his lips.

“I’m glad to be proven a filling snack.” you say through half-closed eyes.

Astarion must’ve noticed your delirium and furrows his brow in response.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I?” you whisper and give him a genuine smile.

You glance at him with fully opened eyes, taking in the sight before you.

Trying uncipher your progressively clouded thoughts you mumble “You are very pretty Astarion”.

In the moonlit silence the rest of your conversation turns into a blur. The last image to flash by is a trembling hand that sought your pulse, any sign of life.

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

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violadesdragons · 5 months

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Where there’s a Wyll, there’s a Y

#bg3 screenshots #screenshot #video game screenshots #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 screencaps #game screenshots #baldurs gate #where there is a wyll there’s a way #wyll with a y #wyll #wyll ravengard #baldurs gate wyll #bg3 wyll #the blade of frontiers #blade of frontiers

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falling-heights · 2 months

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Ascended Astarion/Tiefling!Tav Pt. 1

Summary: A few years after the event with the Elder Brain, Tav find her lover is not the same. She feels it's in her best interest to leave him, but does he feel the same?

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Notes: This is going to be a very angsty, very sad, and very dark story with multiple parts. I cannot imagine any sort of happy ending with Ascended Astarion, this is going to be reflected in my writing. I'm using the relationship my Tav had with him as a basis, so her appearance, class, and species will follow suit. Tav is a wizard.

Warnings: Astarion is not the sweet pea he used to be before his ascension, so fair warning, he'll be an absolute bastard. In this chapter, just expect angst and foreshadowing.

You thought by now the lurid amount of drinks you had stomached would have allowed for some reprieve in the troubled thoughts that had plagued you for weeks. There was an ample drone of chatter that filled the Elfsong this night, as patrons filled their tabs and relished in the drunken bliss that you could not share. You had come here to escape your worries, and only found yourself nibbling on the inside of your cheek.

It seemed there was no place where he left your mind, and now you were nothing more than a sad drunk lamenting over their own circumstance.

Your lover had the sweetest eyes, the most gentle smile.

Hair, softer than the clouds.

Teeth, whiter than the finest pearls.

And gods, that damned voice. It could make the heavens weep.

You were the luckiest girl alive to have such an exquisite creature and to call him yours. But, yet your gratefulness had been waning as of late, becoming entirely replaced with guilt. There was a strange kind of pain that followed when the images of your lover crossed your mind.

Your head throbbed at the mere thought of him. You could swear you felt the pain all the way to the tips of your horns.

How many nights had it been now, since you had seen his real smile? Weeks, surely, months, even. What graced your lovers lips was nothing more than a plastered copy, so perfect it belonged on a sculpture. It was perfect, and though you had always seen him as perfect, there was a strange artificiality to it, something procured from years of practice. And his eyes, well, they were never as kind anymore. You knew why the sight of him, or even the mere thought, caused this dull ache, though you only recently understood it.

It was grief, over something that no longer existed. Mourning for some kind of spiritual death. Though death had not truly claimed him, it was clear that he was not the man you loved. You mourned the ghost that still haunted you. What remained was just the mask he had so dearly clung to before becoming infected with the tadpole, like you, and the rest of your dear companions.

It was strange, you thought, to think you were happier when the risk of dying or becoming an Illithid weighed heavily each day. And to think now you would do near anything to go back to that time. To when your lover smiled as though it were more than just a lure to keep you trapped.

"You have not spoken much this night, she'lak," Lae'zel's imposing voice broke whatever conversation was being held at your table. Shadowheart and Wyll went silent upon her interruption, turning their attention to you as you took another drink from your pint that had gone flat by now. You twinged a brief smile at the nickname she had given you since you had met the gith. 'Do-gooder,' it meant; you still weren't quite sure whether or not it was meant in an endearing way. "Perhaps your drinking is getting to you."

"I still have a ways to go," You reassured her, trying to make your voice sound clear. It wasn't often that Lae'zel found enough time from her battle against Vlaakith to leave the astral plane and return to Baldur's Gate, but tonight was a rare exception. You felt guilty for not being able to enjoy her company to the full extent, but you couldn't help allowing the negativity to follow you even now, in the presence of your dearest friends and allies.

With few exceptions, it had been a vital effort on most people's part to remain in contact after the Elder Brain's defeat. Gale wrote to nearly everyone when he could not leave his tower in Waterdeep, and Karlach-- well, everyone knew Karlach's options. With much convincing, and with little time left, she had finally agreed to return to the House of Hope. Although it did not bring anyone any sort of joy in forcing the decision upon her, at the very least, she would not need to fight in the Blood War, and could regain a tiny sense of normality and peace with Hope.

Being the most adept in magical studies, you and Gale both had begun to research any possible way to free her of her insidious engine. That being a loophole or something to replace it entirely. Because of this, Gale wrote to you more often than anyone else. You missed him, disappointed he was held up again. He and his letters were one of the few comforts that you still found in your suffocating home. Rolan usually filled the spot for Gale physically, and you found comfort in the extensive library of Sorcerous Sundries.

You dreaded going back home tonight. That gods-awful palace that once imprisoned your very spouse, was now reclaimed in some sick kind of inheritance. Its very walls felt like a cold tomb; nothing could heal it of the suffering that had taken place for centuries. You were quite certain that no matter how drunk you became, you would never find joy within those staggering walls. You felt like a rabid animal, clawing at the walls of its enclosure whenever you entered there. Wholly trapped and subject to its masters whims. As though reading your mind, Shadowheart was the next one to speak.

"How has Astarion been faring?" Your eyes remain glued to the center of the table for a moment. He hadn't given anyone present the pleasure of his presence for a long time now. Though they would never be given a reason, you felt they each knew why.

Astarion had become something else entirely after entering Cazador's dungeon. That was truly the turning point, you mused bitterly. Those lives lost, thousands: men, women, children, all victims in the end. All regarded as little more than the price for true Ascension. And worse yet, you helped him. Thinking he could be anything better than his master. What a naive little wretch you were. Allowing thousands to die just so you could help make another monster. You think the alcohol was finally playing its part because your next words were some you had never thought you would say.

"I'm leaving him," You say it so forwardly, as though it were easy, as though you had been thinking it over for an eternity now, eyes still glued to the table, memorizing each groove and grain in the maple-stained wood. "I don't quite recognize who he is anymore."

It was strange, really. Your relationship was founded on deceit, him using you for protection, and finding sincerity along the way. But at one point, it was something real. It had once meant something to the both of you. To you, it still lingered. To your other half, you weren't certain anymore. You hadn't been for an agonizingly long time. Now, you hadn't been able to see yourself as anything more than a prized pet. A singular piece of gold that lay discarded amid the rest of his stashed wealth. Something to polish and hoard, but never to be spent. Perhaps a year ago, you would have burned the world down just to make him happy, but now, now you weren't even sure he still valued you as anything more than a means to survive. Silly, how it all devolved to the singular thing that began all of it. The singular thing that was never real.

"Your decision is wise," Lae'zel replies just as bluntly, taking a drink from her mug. You turn to read her face, and only find strong integrity within her eyes. She was confident in the assertion. There was never an air of uncertainty about Lae'zel. It was something you deeply admired about the woman. "Only a dog would waste it's time with table scraps. You would better spend your time finding a new meal than trying to lick up the crumbs of an old one."

"What I think Lae'zel means," Wyll clears his throat, trying to make Lae'zel's metaphor less crude. "Astarion is a changed man. If you have truly lost that connection, then you need to act in the best interest of your own happiness."

"K'chakhi, is that not what I said?"

You weighed both of their words for the rest of the night. You felt somewhat comforted, but it would do little beyond the moment in which it was allowed. Eventually, you began to depart, saying farewells until the next time you could see each other. It would be weeks until then.

"I know it's not much, but if you need a bed and a warm fire, you are always in the Ravengard Hall," Wyll placed a hand on your shoulder, smiling warmly as you stood underneath the sign to the Elfsong.

"Thank you, Wyll," You weren't really sure what else to say. You weren't even sure how to approach the matter to Astarion, or whether you had the resolution to go through with your claim of leaving him for good. The man lingered for only a moment longer before departing down the narrow streets of the sleeping city.

Lae'zel stepped in front of you after his departure, staring intensely into your eyes. It was hard to discern her emotions, everything about the gith was intense. You suppose that included her loyalty and support to her comrades.

"You are many thinks, she'lak," She spoke assertively, almost accusatively. Her shoulders were rolled back, and her stature oozed confidence and command, yet her golden eyes were soft as they bore into you. "But you are no dog, and you are no fool. Do not waste yourself with worthless scraps."

She did not wait for your response, simply flashing a tiny smirk at you before leaving the warm glow of the Elfsong behind. You listened to the rattling of her armor as she grew more and more distant.

"It's a shame," Shadowheart added once the other two had left, looking to you sympathetically. She put your hand between hers gently. "To see what he's become. I understand your pain. All of us do to an extent, seeing the perspective of something important to us change into something else entirely."

You realized the truth to her words. There was solidarity amongst your companions in that regard. Still, this was your problem, and there was only so much comfort they could offer. "Thank you, I-"

She cut you off before you could say anything else.

"Come to me for anything if you need my help," Her eyes were suddenly resolute, darkened by the furrow of her brow. Her grip on your hand tightened soundly, sealing the seriousness of her words. "I will not tolerate it if he harms you, in any way."

She pulled you in for a hug, wishing to see you again soon, and left you to think over her words. You understood the concern, but you were uncertain on how grounded they were within reason. Astarion had been cold, but you hadn't even considered how he might react to you leaving. You had only hoped he would only care as much as he cared about anything else lately: not at all. Her words made you uneasy though.

The draft from the chilly night air distracted you from your thoughts, reminding you that you still needed to make the trek home. With much trepidation, you adjusted your cloak, pulling the hood over your head, and began the long walk back. At the very least it would give you time to find your words.

Extra Notes: y'all i have like 600 hours of bg3 under my belt, and Astarion has been my ride or die the whole time. I was definitely not comfortable writing about him until I felt like I knew his character and his dynamics, so I am doing my best to make this realistic to him.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 companions #yandere #yandere astarion #yandere bg3 #yandere baldur's gate 3 #no use of y/n #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll ravengard #bg3 wyll #bg3 rolan

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