GUYS HEAR ME OUT….

Gortash and durge…. I am cooking

(wip)

This makes me happy I am not the only one who thought of what if Durge as a companion!!! I look forward to more!!

Ahhh I'm so glad to see so many people who collectively agree we need Durge as a companion.

I know it's a LOT to have Larian code him into the game, but I figured if they aren't able to, I want to make stories about the "What If's".

I'll be making more in the future!

im almost certain that wyll's content was probably halved almost because of the fact that they ended up cutting the upper city as an area for us to explore but it's really stupid that they can't remix some of the dialogue or something to give him more content. surely they had some of it recorded already. and like why doesn't his dad have anything to say about your relationship with him??

i love wyll so much. i wish they'd figure out a way to put some of his content back that they cut.

speaking strictly from a plot & writing perspective here, not a commentary on characters or who or who is not my favorite blorbo (they all are). it's gale time and I wanted to get down everything I thought about this go around with his romance & the writing before it escapes me.

so I once again had a ton of fun of course, the game is still a blast, and several arcs were way more satisfying this time around simply because I ... did not skip the creche, unlike my very first run (I was an idiot) (I didnt think it would be that important) (it really really was). love it 10/10. I cannot WAIT to do my gith run & really focus in on that because the lore there is just, so cool, and that subplot was really rich & rewarding this time around since I had someone who was not orpheus become a mindflayer instead.

as for Gale, Thank Fuck I started before they bugged him up again too much. but let's deep dive into The Material.

shoutout to Tim first of all, he's a legend, dreamboat, superstar. there are so many lines delivered so effortlessly when they would sound ridiculous in anyone else's mouth. he gives gale so much soulful intensity and subtle, nuanced gravitas befitting someone like gale; with enough of Gale's own moments of silliness, cheekiness, wry wit & understated sarcasm, to outright flabbergasted at times, I was Giggling every conversation fr. I'm not usually prone to the "I LOVE YOU" Romances that come earlier rather than later, but ohhhhhhh tim gives each line with all the weight & agony that you can feel inside Gale when it comes (the looming death; not knowing what the end may bring; not wanting to leave any regrets behind) so like. MWAH to him. MWAH MWAH. all the kisses in the world.

okay mandatory compliments to the actor aside. I came out of the whole thing with breadth of new appreciation for Gale as a character in terms of the... concepts, threads, that make him up, and act 2 is where he REALLY shines overall.

I didn't necessarily come away from it with the same... weepy...... done-no-wrong? interpretation of Gale that I've seen floating about. he's lovely. he's intense. he's got soul-crushing devotion on his mind, no doubt. but for every fracture of tenderness, raw sincerity, & off the cuff soliloquy, he's got a lot of interesting flaws/characteristics I'd love to unpick with a fine-toothed comb on some replays or rewatches. Still trying to turn over in my brain exactly what that is, but it's there, and I love it. will say I'm really glad I played it mostly in a vacuum rather than getting too into others' thoughts on him, because What I Had Seen on the Webbed Site had near put me off entire (seeing someone say he's not prideful or pompous at all... when he self-describes as pompous?) -- maybe it's my tendency to focus in on what makes a character tick, when are they sharper, or harder, or meaner, and I enjoy watching that play out a lot, but? yeah. I didn't come away thinking him a super soft mushy mwahmwah -- ROMANTIC, yes, but overall as a character not nearly so lovesick and in desperate need of some protector. in fact when you tell him you don't want to be his crutch, he says as much too -- you've helped him, but you're not the sole focus of his person or the only thing keeping him alive.

there's enough of the humanity in his cheekier moments (stop licking the damn thing!!) and plenty of tear-jerking aside all of that. gale my canon-depressive-episode, mildly suicidal, chronic pained up, still-kind-of-full-of-yourself king. I adore you I love you I cradle you softly in my arms. he charmed me entire! I think that the themes hey were trying to tackle are really interesting and nuanced and I do have some thoughts on the success of the game in actually tackling those, what is there is really wonderful. some gorgeous writing in act 2, especially, and it was sold so well by the voice acting & sincerity in the writing I was just like. PERFECT. 10/10. NEED TO WRITE 98 FLUFF PIECES RN. which does not happen often, to me, as a person.

with. some exceptions, going back to critiquing act 3 as a whole.

act 1 & 2 are both strong, really nice. however this romance definitely needed at least one or two more scenes in act 2 to pad out the space between awkward flirting at the party to "I like it when you're sweaty and bloody-- sorry who said that" to "I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU." -- these scenes should've elaborated on Gale's personal feelings; of mystra, of what's been asked of him, of Tav. they should've set in threads of Gale's anger earlier, rather than the jarring shift from late act 2 "yeah I'll kill myself" to "actually... mystra fucking sucks! lol!" in act 3 at sorcerer sundries. yeah babygirl, mystra DOES fucking suck, wish I could've listened to you as you arrived to these conclusions rather than connecting empty character lines between act 2 and 3. and act 3 desperately needed more space to talk gale in or out of the crown. because by the time we get to the end, if he's really into the crown, he's into it beyond the focus of all else. but in the scenes where you talk him off that particular ledge, it doesn't even take very long to do so, and leaves kind of a weird... gap of intention.

I feel like they wrote themselves into a bit of a corner, honestly. because Gale's personal quest literally cannot be resolved until 5 minutes before the end, any climax wouldn't have much space afterward to pad the aftermath. so the solution to that would've been more character focus scenes, more flavor text depending on how you've influenced gale, something that actually makes the choices feel rewarding -- some hurdles to cross too, checks of some kind. but there really isn't any of that, and so the conflict is almost nonexistent. you squirt gale with a water bottle and he gives up the crown with no real additional dialogue. or you tell him "ma...maybe???" and he's suddenly a power obsessed little freak (complimentary) with no recourse, and in either case, we never got much dialogue to get some insight into his personal thoughts on it. this doesn't make Gale a bad character, but it does leave the narrative to be lacking in some regard.

like, for example. Astarion gets dialogue changes depending on the quest outside of character-specific moments (such as a spawn Astarion changing his dialogue after you help Aylin with Lorroakan), post-quest conversations, PRE-quest conversations with his siblings, moments where he reveals more of what he thinks (such as "You're... you. no one is like that.") etc., Gale gets None of that. the only other characters who really do are Lae'zel and Shadowheart; everyone else is either shafted or resolved in the last few minutes too. I came out of this most satisfied as a player overall with LAE'ZEL'S conclusion (also at the end of the game!!) because we had gotten a few more moments where her focus is obvious and her motivations are clear.

anyways, those are just general writing issues. Act 3 overall is the weakest, most agree, and that's still true here. Sadly it kind of takes some of Gale down with it in this case, because his personal quest is both so removed from the overall plot (despite him being a literal fixture as the only character who knows anything about the crown & was decreed by a literal god to take out the absolute).

however none of this is related to Gale as a guy. as a guy I'm Fucking Obsessed With Him. taking him with me everywhere was so rewarding especially in act 1 / 2. his commentary & insights, when they were there, ranged from funny as fuck to genuinely insightful & interesting for the overall plot. the ideas behind him, the glimpses we get of the life he led before, and the life he wants to lead after with Tav -- or what he alludes to wanting to lead with Tav, thinking that he'll still probably die at the end of this -- are lovely, interesting, TOUCHED MY SPIRIT. he's such a neat version of how to do a character that is as endearing as he can be foot-in-mouth, and as intelligent as he can be a little belligerent. I looooved every moment I could talk with him about magic in act 1, see his passions (beyond mystra), argue with him about how to do something (I'M the magical wonder here actually and I get to make the shadowlantern), all of that really MADE the romance for me in the lulls where his Silence or the gaps in his writing were more clear. 10/10 would kiss that fucking wizard again and cry a little bit thinking about exploding with him aboard a giant alien brain while one of those "ITS YOUUU I LIE WITH" songs plays in the bg

merry christmas btw i kinda forgot to say it ere at all oopsies >_< i hope you all had/have a wonderful holiday season or week or day or month regardless of your religion and if you celebrate christmas !!!!!

i got 'the end of everything' by katie mack for xmas (i begged my parents lol) bcs i finally saw it in a bookstore after months of looking for it that i just Fell to the ground ..... i love astrophysics i love space i love science. i also love u all

Listen, am I happy that you now get to rule the world with your SO and be evil together? Of course, evil couple takeover for astarion and minthy romancers, especially when they egged you on to do so, makes much more sense. However do I miss the tragedy of a characters who thought they were finally free and powerful being ultimately betrayed by the one they loved? Having thier love become corrupted and warped into something cruel as thier lover perpetuates thier own cycle of violence and abuse? Yes absolutely

Also yes I know this change is old but I've been busy ok

bruh I never thought I’d say this but wyll has me BLUSHINGGGG 😩

I'm actually still pretty disappointed about the changes that were made to implicate a canon relationship between gortash and the dark urge. you are given so much choice in this game! so it feels shitty that they took away your choice to interpret that dynamic how you'd like.

I had a dark urge campaign that I started and no longer will finish because I don't want that to sully my character's romance with wyll. it angers me enough how wyll is given barely any material for not just his story, but also his romance. like it's so unfair that rather than new material added to wyll's romance, all I was going to get was lines about how my character had a relationship with a fucking fascist. load of shit that is.

I think one thing I wish that they explored more was just how strongly Durge and Astarion parallel each other. I get why they couldn't, but MAN I wish these 2 had more heart to heart scenes than they do. Wanted these mfs to be more vulnerable as they grew closer, and for them to fiercely defend one another when hard scenes preying on them happened—like with that creepy ass Drow lady

Durge and Astarion.... my Roman Empire

Sometimes when fans flock to one character over all others that are ostensibly supposed to be equally important it is at least partially the writer’s fault

there’s also definitely fandom racism and misogyny in the mix like fans flock to certain underdeveloped characters more than others.

But like damn the bg3 companions definitely do not feel equally cared for

On Act 3 and the lack of companion reactivity and dialogue.

So, I officially hit 400 hours on BG3 yesterday (no lifing it lmao) and I've been thinking about some things I wish Larian would improve or wish that they had implemented. A big thing that comes to mind is how much companion reactivity and dialogue abruptly stops in Act 3.

Act 1 really shines with companion reactivity. They always have something to say to the MC, to NPCs, or even to each other! I love the interaction after you use your ilithid powers for the first time and it's a 4 way conversation between everyone.

Then we get to Act 3 and there's such huge drop-off. Some big offenses:

Very little reaction to quests and locations. When I killed Raphael I only got comments from Astarion and Gale! Seriously?? We just survived a trip to the Hells! This happens with multiple quests

Blank faces when Durge is killed by Bhaal.

Camp is lifeless. Everyone just stands in front of their bed, There are no interactions.

In my playthrough, the Emporer admitted to my Tav he was manipulating her and didn't really care. It was bummer I couldn't talk to the other tadpole gang about it.

I remember coming across a Druid in the city. He was trying to heal a tree. So I went back and grabbed Halsin because he was complaining no one in the city cared about nature or balance. So I thought surely, he would have an interaction here! Nope, nothing!

As soon as you finish a companion's personal quest that is basically the end of your interactions with them; even if you romance them.

What I'd like to see: (Disclaimer: Just my opinions. I have no expectation of any of this being added to the game)

More camp interaction between companions. Jahiera and Minsc had a great example of this. Let there be a quick cutscene of Minsc and Halsin arm wrestling. Shadowheart, Karlach, and Astarion drinking wine. Anything. DA:I did a great job at this. It seemed like anytime I approached someone for dialogue they were in the middle of an interaction with someone else. Or events like the card game. It brought a lot of life into the party.

More random city encounters. They did a good job with Karlach; she has interactions with the steel watcher and her friend Fitz. Would have been cool to have some of those with Wyll, maybe he meets another noble or a flaming fist and has to deal with their shock of seeing him as a devil. Or with Gale in Sorcerous Sundries (he is a famous wizard after all!). Astarion mentions he needs to keep a low profile in the taverns; what if someone called him out!

More reactions to story events.

Expand on romances a bit more. We don't need it to be a dating sim but if you finish your LI's quest early on get used to just asking for small pecks and that's it. I would like to see more romance-specific dialogue for quest reactions.

And Finally:

We needed all companions at the final battle. Everyone should have been at the main keep before confronting the brain. You should have had your final conversations with them before you all potentially die in battle. DA:O style. A passionate kiss with your LI (not a tiny little peck lmao). This was a huge exclusion.

Anyway, these are my thoughts on the matter. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Astarion is afraid: "He is so afraid. So, so afraid. Of everyone, besides you, who he ought to fear most." -Sceleritas Fel, about Astarion

"He is afraid. He is afraid because all he has ever known is you and me, and without us he is nothing." -Cazador Szarr, about Astarion

He wants to be safe: "I'd see how to safely keep the powers this mind flayer's worm has given me." - Astarion, wishing on the magic mirror

"I'm doing this for you, too, you know. To make sure we're both safe. Forever, for good." -Astarion, to romanced player, about Ascending

"You are safe. The winds of fate blow you to the warmest of hearths in the most cordial of inns. Your seething passions lead only to pleasure. The touch of the sun comforts your flesh, but never burns it." -Naoise Nallinto, giving Astarion a vision of his deepest desire, safety

He gets his wish: "You were patient. You cared. I feel safe with you. Seen." -Astarion, confessing his love

"This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can't let our lives be ruled by fear. Or else we never really live. I'm not afraid. Not of you, not of your darkness, and not of our future." - Astarion, to romanced Durge

Some of the devs for Larian were at the bg3 meet at mcm comic con today and I had a big convo with one of them and learned some neat little things

I instantly asked about Gortash romance as Durge. He said something along the lines of how logically it wouldn’t make sense and you have to consider a ‘waterfall effect’ of things that happen and how you can’t just have the one off thing, one tiny moment could impact HUNDREDS of things which does make sense.

I asked about the mocap and rigging they did for animation and learned that Kar’niss’s legs are all hand animated (I also said I could fix him, to which he replied NO YOU CANNOT.)

There’s a reason why you don’t usually see feet in cutscenes and it’s because they were weird to animate lmao

They’re really awesome people and I was so privileged to hang out with them! Wish I’d asked more stuff but I’m happy with all these little tidbits

My silly little durge head canon is that because of their growing attachment to Gortash (either romantic or platonic but I’m trash so I’m pro-romance) they start to just feel…Detached from their original plan and finding they crave companionship. They obviously can’t turn to daddy dearest or anyone involved with Bhaal.

So who could possibly be above Bhaal?

Jergal.

So they say a silly little prayer or something to someone they are pretty sure doesn’t even exist anymore for some direction, and just go through the motions.

And fate decides to play its hand in the form of Orin making jello of their brain. I feel like durge is just apathetic at this point and it’s the only reason Orin gets the jump on them.

So here durge gets their wish, in a matter of speaking. A semi-fresh start without the watchful bars of Bhaal. A handful of companions and could-be friends tied to them by fate. A chance to find out who they really are and what it feels like to have friends who don’t want to kill you in form of affection.

And then they just coincidentally wake peepaw Withers (*cough cough Jergal perhaps?*) who decides to just conveniently watch over them on their journey and help them along without directly interfering unless it’s to protect them.

And Withers is so gentle with durge and reassuring them about their previous corrupt acts and helping them accept a fresh start. He’s the family durge deserved.

And they either find they are exactly who they have always been or, just maybe, they realize they’re more than just Bhaal’s mini-me.

Anyway I could go on forever about this and devnotes.

Durge x Reader Part 2

When you really like the design of the Cannon DragonBorn and his voice is like butter making you melt. I was sad you can't romance him and your the playable character instead. So Here I am going to write Headcannons of what if he was a romanceable NPC that was in your party.These are my thoughts taking bits and pieces from the Cannon and putting my thoughts and ideas into Durge.

|| MDNI || 18+ this will contain Themes of Language, Violence, and of course Sexual Content. DO NOT READ!!

Cannon!Durge x Tav!Fem!Reader

This will be in a Fem!Reader POV!!

Word count: 1,237

Part 2: Getting Closer.

TW: Death, the Mention of killing, fantasizing murder, nudity, Smut, and Oral sex.

Durge being in a party after slaying the Goblins and saving the Teifling folk and saving them from the Druids grove (He honestly wish he would have burn their tree down, cause fuck those guys). Everyone seem to be having a good time... well he really didn't have a good time. Shall we list those reasons? Well for one thing, he tried so hard to distract himself trying to block out those images of his nightmare. But the wine wasn't doing anything for him, guess Durge would have to drink at least 6 barrels of wine... but that wasn't happening, the other thing he wasn't a huge fan of being with so many people. People cheering him as a hero! It was nice for at least 2 seconds... but then it got more annoying that each drunk teifling came up to him "You are a hero mate, cheers!". He was trying to find you in all this madness. Some sort of familiarity and safety. But finding you, he saw you talking to Astarion. He was about to step up a little, but he noticed that he was flirting with you, and you seem to like it a lot. Kinda broke his little dark heart.

Deep down Durge wanted to grab Astarion. He wanted to choke him, he wanted to rip him apart, just to see his head fall of his shoulders, just to see him dead onto the ground and rip his intestines out feasting onto him... Durge felt sick all of a sudden, what was that? Why was he thinking that way? He had to get away, he needed air. He needed distraction. He then bumped into a teifling. Pretty little thing, Durge found out her name was Alfira, she talked with him, telling him how brave he was against the Goblins. Asking on what Lyrics she should use for her song... oh she was a bard. fantastic. Durge also noticed you were staring... he looked back at Alfira and even tried at his hand on flirting, just to maybe... maybe make you a little jealous? Even offered to have a one night stand with Alfira. Of course she took it. Leading her away from prying eyes into the forest.

Durge didn't take his time with stripping off his clothes, getting on top of Alfira kissing her, marking her with hickey's and bite marks from his teeth. Gods this was a perfect distraction. A good ol fuck to pass the night. Durge has a pretty good size for his cock and yes, Durge has a knot. He is pretty good in sex, so Alfira did sound like she was enjoying it. How he trailed his nips, and licking towards her breast, to her navel and finally to her core. Tasting her nectar that was glistening on her folds. She did taste divine... but he couldn't help but replace Alfira's face with yours. What would you sound like if he went down on you... what would you taste like? How soft and warm you would be in his claws, how he would made you came into his mouth, into his jaws to taste your sweet release. "jacida nhee kiabil". It was a blur though... he was so lost in the pleasure he became so feral... and once out of his haze he smelled... blood. He shook his head and looked down seeing was the once alive Alfira... dead, with her intestines ripped out all over the place. Durge standing back and even looked down at his hands... oh gods it's on him... did he do that? Panic coursed through his body. What has he done?!! He has to hide the body quick! He did so throwing her down the river watching it float away feeling sick... dirty... fucked up. He wash's himself in the river to get rid of the blood on his face and hands. God he felt sick, he needed to get back to camp, he needed sleep.

Durge of course not being able to sleep, he of course goes to walk out into the night, away from the party. The Nightmares were not helping either. He didn't want to wake you either. He was too busy trying to piece together the images from his images. He did write into the Journal you gave him but it still wasn't making any sense. Until he see's a random stranger appear-- oh god it's ugly! Was it a Goblin? The creature claimed to be your servant. A servant? Wait... was he a prince? Oh no the joke was biting him in the ass now. The creature called himself Sceleritas, a one hell of a butler he puts it. He must know you. He kept calling you by your name Durge. It was nice... he guessed? He had so many questions, he asked a few. Learning where he came from, and was made to guide him and help... murder people? Wait kill people? "That's how I found you, I could smell the Bards dead stench from across the sea!". Oh gods Durge felt sick. He wanted nothing to do with him. Sceleritas was a little sad to see his faithful master dismiss him so soon. But he wanted away... he needed you. You felt someone shaking you awake, looking up from your sleep gaze, you could see Durge's face that was filled with dredge and fear. You asked him what was wrong. He asked if you both could be in his tent to talk... just to help him fall asleep. You agreed of course. Anything for your friend Durge. You guys did talk almost all night, he seemed to calm down. That was good. "So are you and Alfira together?" you asked Durge "What? No we uh... we just uh... had a one night stand is all." Durge replied feeling nervous all of a sudden. "Oh... I was hoping to spend more time in the party but you were gone for me to find you." you said to him. "...I thought you wanted to be with Astarion?" Durge asked "didn't he... offer to give you a good time?" "Oh he did, but I declined him." you said to him "He's not my type." "Oh." Durge was relieved. Thought you didn't need to know that... no. Besides you wouldn't want to be with a... memory loss murderer. No he can't let you find out about what he did no... it would be awful. He lose you in an instant. "Did you want to try and get some sleep?' You asked Durge tilting your head to the side. Durge definitely did blush, the way you looked at him made him feel butterflies in his stomach. Boiling within his very core. He was smitten with you. You rejected the pale elf and you wanted to be with Durge instead. Pride was welling inside him. Maybe he did have a chance... maybe... praying to the gods. "Thank you for the talk." He says to you "I feel more... refreshed, please get some sleep itov." "itov?" you asked him "Was that draconic?" Oh shit "uh yes, it means friend." he lied of course... and you fell for it thank goodness. You left Durge to rest telling him goodnight as you walk back to your bed roll. And Durge watching you leave as he says softly "mel'thurkear." as he curls up to sleep... to try and hope no more nightmares would plague his mind tonight.

Draconic Translation: jacida nhee kiabil- His Sweet Companion. itov-Love mel'thurkear- Goodnight.

Warmth (Astarion Drabble)

Author's note: Blame my friend Ellen for this one- they know what they did, I'm not even an Astarion romancer. This is a quick messy drabble because I was having feelings about Astarion and his relationship to cold and warmth and heat- given vampire.

Technically- this is Astarion/Tav or Astarion/Durge. It coule be either, it's kept purposely vague. No gendered pronouns, no physical features, and no defining traits mentioned. If you really want, you could pop anyone in the "they" role, they only have one line since its not a dialogue focussed oneshot.

TW: Astarion's backstory, nothing explicit, but it's a drabble focused entirely on him so- trauma be here. The world has had a chill for two-hundred years. Since the life was stolen from his veins and a new bastardized version placed in its stead. Astarion’s world has been chilled. Cold more often than not. Pale skin cool to the touch, innards hollowed. Heat no longer lingers in his skin, no longer pumps through his veins- he’s never fed enough for the blood to truly pump. Barely kept at the edge of starvation. A bone deep chill that rarely recedes, his body never warm- not even his. 

The only breaks are not warmth. But smothering heat, cloying heat- the slap of flesh, the friction of grinding bodies. A temporary surface level heat, it stays in his skin for a moment, but it never reaches his bones. It’d burn him alive if it did. Stick sweat, the sear of groping hands, touches he doesn’t want, didn’t ask for, made to take, made to endure, made to be used- his body is not his, the only retreat a wandering mind. 

He thinks he prefers the chill. Even in the coffin, it was coldest by far, even when he screamed and his throat ran raw- even the blood drawn from his clawing, breaking fingers couldn’t warm him. But at least the only hands in the prison were his own, well- not his, but a small comfort regardless. 

Blinding rays of sun, sand beneath his fingers- a jolt of fear, a prey animal instinct curling around his insides and demanding he run. The sun, bright and big, it hangs above his head and he waits for the flames. To die in smothering burn and ache, for all to end in heat. 

His skin doesn’t blister, doesn’t char- it warms.  

And he can’t help but think faintly that two-hunded or more years ago, a version of him that’s long since died- liked to feel the sun on his face, when it felt like his. 

No one takes the sun from him, not truly- only missing out on it’s rays when the night falls and he finds himself yearning to feel it again. But in those moments, it’s replaced by the crackle of bonfire. Flickering orange flames throwing off thin remnants of warmth, though it comes of his company is far larger waves. 

The body heat most give off, most with proper pumping hearts, the living. Even without their skin touching his, he can feel it when they linger around the same space- the warmth that comes off their skin, when they share stories and pass around cheap acrid excuses for alcohol. 

A small bump, a jostle, his skin prickles- hackles raised like a cat, an arm brushing his when their leader turned too quick. When they forgot the space between them, an accident, barely last a moment but the warmth of their skin lingers on his own, doesn’t burn, and there’s an apology on their lips a moment later. For something so small, so pathetic- already sorry, sorry to touch him without meaning to, without asking to. They treat his body like it’s his, he wishes it felt like it was. 

Warmth of blood- a full belly. He’s never felt so sated, so powerful, so warm. He drains boards until they’re nothing but hide and flesh, drinks a bear until his stomach feels it may burst- but it never feels like enough, never sated after knowing hunger so long. 

He tries to sneak his fangs between their veins, to sape some of the warmth that still a tenday later still clings to his arm- to know what it may be like to eat what he never could, to have more power. Maybe then his body will feel like his own, he tries to take without asking- that’s what the world does, so why shouldn’t he? 

But then they let him. Let him feed. Let him eat, allow him to sate himself. Allow him to climb over their body, to feel the same warmth of their body nears his- then drain the heat of their blood. To drink until he can feel a chill enter them, until he nearly sapped all that precious warmth, only then asking him to stop. Forced to tear his fangs from their flesh, a bone deep warmth inside of him, settling in his veins- in his gullet. He thinks this may be what people mean when they speak of the warmth of a homecooked meal, he can’t remember if he’s ever had one- but this feels cozy, pleasant, warm. 

And they let him do it again. 

Let him feed when he needs to. Let him sidle up to their side every couple nights, lean into that warmth, bury his teeth- and he waits for the burn. Waits for that warmth and comfort to give away to the scorch of a wandering hand. For the spike of arousal he feels in their system when he bites to become a grope, a push, to find himself on his back, and used. His body not his own. 

But their hands never stray. Never demand. Never even ask. They allow him his fill and allow him what he wants after. At first to leave with no questions, no fuss- no ask for more, just a kind good night as he saunters off with a full belly. Later, they allow him to stay. Allow him to pull off their bleeding veins and linger. To lay the weight of his head between their neck and shoulder, to lean into their skin. Never a question, never an accusation- there are no demands made of him. Allowed to sprawl like a cat against a sun warmed patch of grass. 

He feels the sun, he sates his hunger, he knows warmth- but the chill is never far behind. He’s a hunted man, a hunter in a bog- a reminder that he’s not cut his collar, but merely lengthened his leash. That until he can sever it, until he can off off the hand yanking it back- he will never be free. His body will never be his own. He will find himself again in a world of chill and burn. 

It’s a plan. A strategy. Not affection or love that pulls him to invite them out. Someone to keep him protected. To help keep him safe as he figures his way out of this, as he tries to sever his leash. They’re the obvious choice. The leader of the motley crew, at times desperate good doer, already fond of him, and most importantly- they want his body. He feels it in the casual lingering glance, the hormones in their blood when he drinks from them- they don’t say it, but they want him. And if they’re willing to slaughter a hunter for him now, what will they do once they’ve been given his body? How much harder will they fight for him if he gives them  what they want? All anyone wants from him. 

His body is a weapon, wielded by Cazador for two-hundred year- why shouldn’t he wield it as well? 

This time it’s his choice. It’s different. He initiated. He asked for this. Not in a pathetic simpering self blaming way, but he verbally asked for it- he invited them out. His way to claw back some power, some control, to use and be used but on his own terms- for his own safety, his own freedom. It’s his choice, for once in two-hundred fucking years it is his choice. 

But it feels like it did every time before. He chose this, but it doesn’t feel like it. Still a tool but he’s learned how to work without his master,  still a means to an end- his flesh just the way of getting what’s needed. The same cloy of body heat, the cling of sweat, his mind far away. His body not his own, abandoned as it does what it needs to. It’ll help him in the long run, it’ll be okay, steel his nerves, and wait for it to be done. Tells himself there’s a power in this, he’s making a choice, he’s choosing himself- protecting himself, that he’ll never feel the bone deep chill again. 

He feels half frozen when he lays at their side. 

He plays his act as well as he always does. Uses his body when he needs to. Manipulate. Seduce. Trick. Running off a script he’s memorized over and over. Same song, same dance- telling himself he’s running the show. But between lies and disassociation, the other things bleed through. 

Warmth. Being asked for nothing but a cuddle on a cold night, his flesh unable to warm- but they ask to curl around him all the same. They give them sweet words and kind gestures, he gives them back with a smile that doesn’t always reach his eyes. They worry for him, fret over him, and at some point he realizes he’s the only one pushing for those burning touches. Those moments where his mind has to wander to make it okay, because otherwise- why would they keep this going on? If he’s not spreading his legs, what good is he? He can’t risk them losing interest. Can’t risk them growing bored before he gets the leash severed, before they’ve helped him- before he’s used them. 

A broken mirror, long forgotten after a conversation of forced compliments and faded memories. He assumed it’d been abandoned at the same campsite he’d thrown it against the ground on. Reminded that he’ll never see the visage of who he was again, that who he was is but a stolen memory. 

But it’s silver decorated handle is laying face down in his tent night. No speck of dirt nor grime, plucking it up between his fingers. His eyes narrow, a portrait in charcoal, the paper tucked neatly within the framing panel where the mirror glass once sat. The visage of a man looking back at him- sharp eyes, hair curling around his ears, smile lines- a name jotted in the corner. 

Astarion. 

It’s him. And he knows exactly who did it. The only person who would, the same person now poking their head into his tent- but something is wrong. 

His face burns with warmth and heat, up his cheekbones and clear into the tips of his ears as they poke their curious face inside, their own face a deeper ruddier shade than usual. An awkward scratch of their neck, acknowledging he found their present- asking if he likes it, but how can he even know when there’s a sudden inferno in his face. Not smothering or cloying, but hot. Fever was a symptom of the parasite wasn’t it, is that what this is? His fingers graze his cheekbones, brush along his jaw- they feel warm and alive, but they shouldn’t 

“Something is wrong, my face is- my face is burning,” he yells, he warns, feeling the fear in his chest pit- of course he’d turn first, the world too cruel to do anything else, “Am I, is this-” 

Hands delicately cup his cheeks, warm, so warm- their eyes examine him as they did the night they played his mirror, the heat only worsens- the fever spikes. Their thumbs stroke along his jaw where tentacles would split his flesh. 

“No squidier than before, love- just a little flushed,” they tell him and the heatn only spreads- flushed, blushing. He hardly ever had the blood to do it before, barely enough to perform how he was forced to. 

But his stomach is no longer concave. His skin so rarely chilled. And an affection he’s lied to get is turning his face scarlet. Too much, far too much- pitting a heat in his chest, where the warmth has never reached. 

And eventually he can lie no more. Can use no more. Defenses laid down and vulnerabilities splayed out like viscera in an autopsy. The truth of how it hurts to be used, how it hurts to never be in his own body, how it never feels like it’s his body, and how it hurts that he’s done it to himself as readily as Cazador did it to him. 

He waits for the rejection, refusal- what good is he if he cannot sate them, what use is he if not fro what’s between his legs, and if can no longer give that- what else does he have to give?

Arms wrap around him- warmth. And he hardly knows what to do with himself, where to put his hands, or how to pull them in. But it settles in his bones and he longs to cling, to allow himself to cling. To cling to every promise on their lips, that it’s okay, he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to- that they don’t need anything from him he isn’t willing to give. 

That never need feel a touch he doesn’t want. 

That his body is his own. 

It may be the first promise he’s never seen broken. 

His body is his own, his life is own, and he’s allowed the space to learn what that means for him. He’s allowed to make choices, some good, some bad. He tries things outside his comfort zone- some good, some bad. Sometimes he feels silly, making choices, agreeing to things- only to find himself unhappy, uncomfortable. To learn it’s not something he wanted. But every misstep, every utterance of ‘I thought I was ready, I thought I’d be okay,’ is met with nothing but warmth, it’s okay that he didn’t know. It’s okay that he’s relearning how to own his skin, his body, his life- that it’s not an easy process, but he’s learning who he is. And he doesn’t need to know every answer, they’ll learn them together in time. 

But the leash still clings. A hand still pulls and temptation calls to him. 

And he makes a choice. 

He stabs and he stabs, until his blade chips into the floor. The warmth of blood on his skin, soaking into him- Cazador’s. The hand that pulled finally severed and his body wracks with tears, with hurt, and he cries out. Cries out for two-hundred years of chill. Cries out for the power he didn’t grasp. Cries out for everything he’s lost, he’s gained, and the path that lies ahead. Cries for the sun that may never warm his skin again. 

Cries until arms wrap around him, until he’s pulled into familiar warmth- until he’s sobbing into the joint between their neck and shoulder, the place he’s began to see as home. A promise in their touch, in their love, their grace, their kindness- that he may never know the warmth of the sun, but he’ll never feel that chill or burn again, that their warmth will fill the spaces where sunlight can no longer reach. 

He hopes that too is a promise he’ll never see break.