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baldursgate3gayz · 22 days

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Vague NSFW and Non-Con due to injury/Manipulation

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Anticipation was like a high to Enver Gortash.

The anticipation of a deal falling into place thanks to his hard, arduous work. The anticipation of the transfer of power from a brain-dead noble of Baldur’s Gate to himself, they are all too willing to do anything for the smallest bit of attention from the Lordling. The anticipation of praise from Bane himself to his well-picked Chosen for the smooth going of the Absolute plan, especially since the Banite took a risk bringing together the Dead Three’s chosen for it.

Or the anticipation of the Chosen of Bhaal, the most perfect Bhaalspawn, to crawl through his window and fall to the floor.

That excitement made his heart thump strongly against his chest; it was disorientating how it pounded in his ears. Gortash had that strong, building heartbeat since he left the city a week ago with a naked, sleeping Son of Bhaal Thanatos on his office floor, with one last spill of cum on his back. He couldn’t help himself; the shorter man looked so beautiful, like an art piece needing one last finishing touch. How wonderful that pale grey skin with those blue accents looked with the streaks of white cum; it was nearly perfect. Though Gortash had almost wished he left him in the streets so anyone could appreciate the work of art he had sculpted, he knew better than that. Thanatos may be a slut, but he was still a Bhaalspawn and would have probably sliced the taller man from throat to asshole for such a bold move.

Perhaps another time.

Gortash’s thoughts were cut off when he heard his office window being wrenched open. With a quirk of his lips, he turned to said window and watched with delight as Thanatos crawled through the space. He was far more graceful this time around than he had been a week prior, actually managing to land on his feet this time. The Lordling looked to the floor for any stray drops of blood to fall, but there were none, much to his disappointment. He always loved reprimanding the shorter man for breaking the rules; it was always so funny to probe the Bhaalspawn until he bared his teeth. Much like a ragged street mutt, Gortash always thought. Both men looked up at the other, and when their eyes met, the taller man’s smirk deepened at the wide-eyed look the half-drow was giving him.

The Bhaalspawn looked rough—not as bad as the last time he came through Gortash’s window, but still rough; his black hair was greasy and sticking out every which way from his normally tight top knot. He was very pale; the grey of his skin was nearly white, and the normally blue tint nearly looked a sickly green. Thanatos was also panting, drooling even like the effort was strainious, which was unusual considering he usually climbed through that way without hassle. He also looked gaunt, nearly like he was starved, with a wild look in his nondamaged eye like an animal sick with rabies, going mad. His other eye was still a little swollen, the scar had healed over a bit, but there was still a pink tint to it, and the eye itself was cloudy, evidently still blinded. A thrill went through Gortash’s spine; even in this state, the half drow still came crawling to him.

Again.

“Welcome back, Bhaalspawn,” The Banite announced dramatically, taking a few steps toward the shorter man. He watched with joy as Thanatos frowned at him and almost instantly bared his teeth, just like Gortash loved. He couldn’t help the rumbling chuckle he let out at the display. “Don’t make me regret coming here, Banite,” The half-drow growled, fists clenched tight and shoulders high. How he looked like a mangy mutt, Gortash lovingly compared, defensive and snappish, but the Banite knew how to get him to roll over, to show eagerly his belly. “Oh dear, already so defensive? Has this week been difficult for you?” The taller man cooed, stepping even closer to the Bhaalspawn. Thanatos tried to scramble away, but his back hit the wall, and the shorter man’s face gave a pained wince at the force he threw himself back with. Gortash paused his approach as he waited for an answer, eyes darting down to the clenched fists that were turning bright white from the tension. When his eyes went back to Thanatos’ face, his mouth was opening and closing, obviously trying to find the best words or even just to get his brain together. Then, his glare deepened.

“Why do you care?” He hissed.

The Lordling fought the desire to roll his eyes. This was not the game he wanted to play, but he could, for a little. He needed to appease the Bhaalspawn at least a little to get him to mold into the game Gortash actually wanted to play. “Was our bath not enough to show just how much I care? I don’t just bring anyone into my personal tub, you know,” He said with a dramatic flair. He flashed a perfect political smile to try and dazzle the half-drow, which didn’t work as the other man just sneered at him, shoulders getting even higher like he was ready to throw a punch at the other man. Again, the Lordling had to fight against himself not to roll his eyes; it seemed that Thanatos was going to need something more flowery, more special to comply with Gortash’s desires. However, he knew one surefire way to get the man to fall into his lap. “Then perhaps I should’ve left you to deal with your injury on your own,” The Banite said in a loud chastising tone. “I could have made you march back to your father’s temple and made you show him your mistake,” He reveled in the way the shorter man flinched, eyes jumping to the ground and his face morphing to embarrassment, shame. Excitement stirred in the taller man’s gut; this was leading to the game he wanted; all he needed was to turn Thanatos’ guilty look into bug-eyed desperation. Gortash let out a loud, dramatic sigh as he turned away from the Bhaalspawn. He could feel those curious eyes following him. “Well, since I do not care, I guess I will be keeping the gift I have to myself,” He teased, acting like he was about to step away from the shorter man when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a jerky movement. There was a sudden, tight grip on his elbow, and he looked down to see one of the half drow’s pale hands with a tight hold on him. The Lordling hadn’t noticed the flecks of dried blood before, staining Thanatos’ hands and caked under his jagged, bitten-off fingernails. Gortash flicked his eyes up to the shorter man’s face. Ther was no trace of that defensive anger but instead an almost curious expression, nearly gullible with his mouth open with a slight shine from the drool that had been sliding down his chin. “A… gift?” He asked, shaky and raspy.

The Banite’s heart thumped against his chest.

“Yes, a gift,” He answered, reaching down to grab the Bhaalspawn’s hand. “Just for you.”

Thanatos stared up at him with a stunned expression, giving a slow lick to his lips. The Lordling watched the movement closely; the desire to use his clawed hand to pinch it and hold it tight caused him to twitch ever so slightly. “But now,” He said. “Now, I am not so sure you deserve it. After all, you were just very rude to me,” Gortash said in a taunting and condescending tone, much like his mother used to do when he was a child. Panic filled the half drow’s eye, and his breathing picked up; it sounded harsh and almost like the Bhaalspawn was going to cry. It made the Banite giddy. “No. I-” Thanatos tried to speak, fumbling over his words as his breathing became more uncontrolled. The taller man shushed him as he began to shake his head, reaching down to wrap his hand around the other man’s. He yanked at it, causing the half drow to stumble forward into Gortash’s space, their faces close enough the taller man could feel those panic breaths against his lips. A high pitched cry fell from the shorter man’s lips. Had the Bhaalspawn’s whines always been so sweet, or had the Lordling simply developed a new appreciation for them? He held Thanatos closer, nearly having their chests touch. The other man’s eyes were so confused, so innocent. “I know a way you can earn it back,” The Banite practically sang. Somehow, the half drow's eyes got even bigger as he seemed to hang onto every word the taller man said. Gortash leaned around his head to the man’s ear, resisting the temptation to bite at the sharp, pointed tip. He felt the half drow’s shudder reverberate through his own chest as the Lordling whispered into his ear.

“Get on your knees and beg,”

There was a very long stretch of silence. Neither man moved. Being this close, the Banite could smell that strong metallic smell that had assaulted his nose the last time he was this close to the other man. It wasn’t bad per say, distinct if anything. It had sunk into the clothes he had been wearing at the time, and it wasn’t until he had worn it for a meeting that he realized just how much it clung to that outfit. Along with the smell, Gortash felt Thanatos go rigid with tension while in his grip. He couldn’t see the shorter man’s face, but he could very easily imagine the shocked look on his face. He’d seen it quite a lot in their last interaction. There was a very strong desire to push the half drow down to make him follow the Lordling’s demands but he had to remind himself that the shorter man was still the murderous child of Bhaal. He’d seen Thanatos nearly tear off a man’s entire skin for drunkenly asking something very similar to Gortash’s command. The half drow had done it with nothing but his bare, bloody hands, too. The Banite had never come so hard in his life after returning home, the image still fresh in his mind as he very roughly stroked his aching cock. He was honestly surprised none of his servants came to check if he was being murdered by the way his howls had echoed through the estate.

Suddenly, Gortash was snapped away from his thoughts as he was very roughly pushed away. His grip on Thanatos’ hand was still tight. The half-drow wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were down, and his body was very still. The only movement was the slight lift of his shoulders with every short breath he took. His jaw was tensing, slightly protruding out from how tightly he was evidently biting down. There was another long pause before, much to the Lordling’s surprise, Thanatos slammed down to his knees in a sharp, jerky motion. He heard a quiet curse from the Bhaalspawn at the resounding crack his knees had given as they hit the floor. Reflexively, he changed his grip from the hand to the shorter man’s wrist as the sudden movement caught him off guard. The half drow didn’t attempt to pull away, even as Gortash tightened his grip. He could feel how bony the other man was; the skin almost felt paper thin and like it would break under his grip, but he didn’t loosen it. He opened his mouth to speak, ready to quip that the thick silence the shorter man was giving was not a part of their deal, but he stopped when the man’s head snapped up. Those damn wide eyes stared into his. Gortash’s lips curled into a grin at what he saw in those desperate eyes.

“Please…” The half drow whimpered in a small, pathetic voice. His body was shaking, lips quivering as he watched the Banite. Gortash hummed at him, slightly shaking his head. “I know you can do better than that,” He said snidely.

He relished in the whimper the Bhaalspawn gave but quickly grew angry when the man’s eyes tried to flicker away. The Lordling threw Thanatos’ wrist to the side, grabbing a hold of his chin and making sure to dig those claws deep into his skin. He waited until he saw pricks of red blood slowly pool under the pressure, just as he had done last week. Gortash pulled the shorter man’s face close enough that their noses were nearly touching. His back ached by the way he had to bend down but it was tolerable just for the look the other man was staring at him with. “Do better, or I’ll give your gift to that disgusting sister of yours,” He growled lowly. A flash of disgust went through the Bhaalspawn’s eyes, as it usually did when Orin was mentioned. For a very brief moment, Gortash worried he perhaps pushed a little too far but brushed the worry away. The half drow would have to control himself and focus on his task no matter the threats Gortash threw at him. If he wanted his prize, he would have to endure. Luckily, that disgust quickly washed away as those eyes once again turned big and pleading. There was another beat of quiet before he finally spoke again. “Please,” The Bhaalspawn started, pausing to lick his lips again. “Please, Gortash, I want it. I can be good. I’m… I’m begging you. Please, give me my gift,” Thanatos gasped out, scooting closer with every word until one of the Banite’s legs was snug into between his. It could have been his imagination, but Gortash swore he felt a hot, wet patch rubbing against him. He laughed, relaxing his grip ever so slightly. “Good boy,” The Lordling purred, watching intently as the shorter man’s eyes fluttered with praise.

The Banite waited until the Bhaalspawn’s eyes fluttered shut, until his body relaxed and he was lost in his head. Gortash released his tight grip and roughly pulled away, shaking his leg loose from where it was under the half drow. At the last second, Thanatos’ hands went out to brace his fall and stop his face from smashing into the wood floor. A confused sound echoed into the office from the shorter man that the Lordling had to laugh at as he walked over to his desk. He reached across it for the case that was holding the other man’s gift, sitting on the corner. There were a few choice words directed towards Gortash from the other man, but the Lordling spoke over the shorter man. “Tell me about your week,” Gortash said as he turned back around to face the Bhaalspawn. “How was it without me?” He asked with a tilt of his head. Thanatos stared up at him with a pissed, confused expression, even looking around a few times before he spoke again. “You just had me drop to my knees and beg for a gift… And now you want to have a casual conversation about what I did this week??” The half drow asked with a grossly sarcastic tone. Gortash also didn’t like the way his expression became even more judgemental as if he thought the Banite was crazed.

A resounding ‘Pop!’ echoed through the office as the Lordling used his gauntleted hand to backhand the shorter man across the cheek. Thanatos’ head was snapped to the side by the force of it, and he fell onto his ass from the kneeling position. He kept his head to the side and Gortash could see him shaking, truly nearly vibrating. Gortash honestly expected the man to snap around and tackle him, dig his hands into the man’s chest until he was nothing but ribbons of flesh and organs. He probably wouldn’t even offer his remains to Bhaal, too embarrassed that the Banite was confident enough to smack him across the face so blazingly. Luckily, that wasn’t what happened.

“...I haven’t returned to the temple at all,” Thanatos said in a very quiet voice, still looking to the side. “I’ve been killing for my father, but I haven’t gone back since last week. I’ve been sleeping in alleys and parks, anywhere, to avoid any other Bhaalists. I…” He paused for a moment before very slowly turning his head to look at Gortash with his wide eyes.

“I was waiting for… you,” He whispered, his cheeks turning a dusty blue. It was how his skin blushed, the taller man had learned a while ago. It was always a wonderful sight when the Banite would stick his dick down the man's throat. There was also still a shine of drool on his lips, and he was panting like he couldn’t get a good lungful of air, struggling to breathe in the presence of the Lordling. A perfect image of debauchery, just for Gortash. He reached down, cradling the shorter man’s cheek in his left hand caringly. “Did you miss me?” The Banite asked. Thanatos tried to move his head away, but the taller man tightened his grip and quirked an eyebrow at the shorter man. The Bhaalspawn knew better, and the look in his eyes said that. “I missed…” The half drow cut himself off to catch his breath, making himself breathe in a deep, long gulp of air. He made his eyes look into Gortash’s, and the Lordling made sure to match the gaze.

“I missed looking at you as I imagine my knife slowly digging into your chest, right where your heart is. It would be just enough that with every beat of life, blood might spill from the wound and down your body. I missed thinking about your sweet blood dripping to the floor as I dug my fingers into the hole I had created. Do you bleed gold, I wonder?” The beginnings of burning arousal started in the Banite’s thighs, especially as the Bhaalspawn leaned closer and set his hands on Gortash’s knees. “I missed your gross, musky cologne that I know would mix into your red or gold blood as its sweet, disgusting aroma might fill my nose and cloud my brain. I always wonder if I could taste it in the air, but I would want a closer taste as I lick your blood from the floor.” Thanatos muttered in a dazed voice, his eyes beginning to cloud with primal, uncontrollable violence. Gortash tightened his grip on the shorter man’s cheek, purposely digging his claws into the other man’s flesh to watch those eyes flutter with the pin-prick pain and that uncontrolled heat disappear for a moment. “I want you in this moment, Bhaalspawn, not your Urges,” The Lordling growled out, watching for any signs that the half drow was losing the battle to his deep, bloody desires. One day, Gortash did want to push them out, to force the shorter man into that space and bask in the twisted glory of those Dark Urges, but not today.

Thanatos’ working eye returned to the present, and he seemed to have control over his mind again as he looked up at the Banite. Gortash had to smile down at him, relaxing his aggressive hold on the man’s cheek to give it a gentle pat. “There you are~” He purred, watching as the other man failed to hide the shudder that went through him. He was losing control, it seemed. “Have I-” Thanatos tried to speak, but his voice cracked, making him cough to try and clear it. The Lordling watched as the tips of his ears turned blue. “Have I earned my gift?” The shorter man finally asked, shyly matching the gaze of the taller man with begging eyes. Again, Gortash patted his cheek, this time more playfully. “I believe you have,” He answered, pulling away from the half drow and shaking his knees to make Thanatos’ hands drop away from him.

The Lordling lifted up that wooden box he had been cradling in his other hand. Thanatos’ eye was glued to it, probably taking in the details carved into it. It was beautiful, Gortash thought rather smugly. He wasted no expense on the gift or the container that held it. Finding an artist who would carve decapitated and amputated bodies as well as a ‘To the most perfect Bhaalspawn’ wasn’t easy, but threats can make anyone do anything you need them to do. The Banite caught the half drow’s hand twitch, obviously desperate to touch this gift of his. How adorable, the artificer thought. He presented the box to the Bhaalspawn, who looked up wearily. “Don’t open it until I say you can,” Gortash said sternly. Thanatos nodded before slowly reaching up for the box. Their fingers brushed against each other; the Lordling felt the jagged edges of the other’s bitten-off fingernails, a reminder to take the man somewhere to get those fixed.

An awed sigh came from Thanatos, and when Gortash looked down at him, he was pleased with the sight, letting a grin curl on his face. The half drow traced a dried blood-encrusted finger along each carving before bringing it up to his left eye, probably to see all the details. It was almost endearing. “It’s beautiful…” He muttered. Gortash let himself chuckle, which made the Bhaalspawn look up at him with a glare. “If you’re going to-” He started, but the Lordling cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t ruin the moment, dear,” He said in a sharp tone. Thanatos opened his mouth like he was going to snark back, but after a moment, he closed it and returned his attention to the box. “Good boy,” The Banite purred, which made the other man blush again. A few more minutes passed where Gortash let the half elf inspect over the box, especially the writing, before he presented his hand out to get it back. Thanatos hesitated for a second, his grip tightening on the container, but when Gortash tsked at him, he relented. Again, their fingers brushed together; this time, a bit of blood transferred onto the Banite’s skin. He hoped it would stay.

The Lordling maneuvered himself to be as close to the kneeling Bhaalspawn as he could. His leg was once again nestled in between the other man’s, and if Thanatos happened to move in closer, Gortash wasn’t going to say anything. He presented the box to the Bhaalspawn, his heart thumping excitedly in his chest as he reached to open the box. Never had he seen the half drow so attentive, eyes glued to the box and hands nearly shaking where he laid them on the other man’s knees. Carefully, Gortash opened the box, watching Thanatos’ face for his reaction. There was confusion at first, as he expected, but then wide-eyed realization set in. His eyes slowly trailed up at the Bhaalspawn, who leaned in closer, his fingers digging into the man’s knee. “Is that…?” Thanatos’ voice was a whisper, almost like he was afraid to speak too loud. He actually probably was; Gortash loved to keep the other man on his toes and would reprimand him for anything he could find annoying like Thanatos talking. The Lordling’s personal favorite game was switching back and forth on one particular irk. One moment, it would be fine, then the next, it would be a cardinal sin. He loved the look the half elf would give him during those days; that burning hate was something akin to a drug.

Gortash pulled in the box to have a look himself, as if he hadn’t worked on this particular piece all week, every free moment he had. Upon first glance, it was just a spherical black gem. There was one dark spot, but other than that, it seemed to be nothing but a beautifully hand-carved gemstone. However, if one took a closer look, one would see spindly carved details that were akin to veins leading to the center dark spot, which itself looked like an iris. “An eye for my favorite Bhaalspawn,” He purred lowly, taking in the details of his work. It was made from an Underdark crystal along with infernal iron to become this wonderful work of art. The artificer looked back down to the half drow, who somehow had gotten even closer. “You made this for me?” Thanatos asked, with those wide eyes staring up at Gortash, who had to laugh. “Do you know any other perfect Bhaalspawn’s missing an eye?” This time, the half drow didn’t snap at him for laughing; far too encaptured by the gem to care, it seemed. The younger man reached to take it out, but Gortash pulled it away with a condescending ‘Ah, Ah, Ah,” as he shook his head. A displeased sound came from the Bhaalspawn, who was now pouting and almost looking like he was going to try again as he raised his hand out. The Banite gave the hand a sharp smack with his free one, which made the other man’s jolt away. He snapped his teeth at the Lordling but quickly looked away in shame like he couldn’t control that reaction rather than it being intentional. Gortash chose to ignore it.

“We’ll have to get rid of that damaged eye of yours,” He announced somewhat loudly, grinning down at the Bhaalspawn, who gave him a confused look. “And just who is going to do that?” Thanatos asked, some of his normal snark under his tone. Gortash put the eye back into the box and placed it on his desk again. “I will, of course,” He answered as he turned back towards the other man. A huff of laughter came from the half drow as he adjusted himself to sit a little more lazily. “You? I didn’t realize you were a medic, Banite,” The younger man snided, very nearly rolling his eyes, but was stopped when Gortash once again reached out to tightly grip his hair. A hiss fell from the Bhaalspawn’s lips. “Play nice, Thanatos. I am losing my patience,” He said with finality. The lordling expected a fight, some sort of pushback, but it seemed he had gotten the message as he adjusted his body to be on his knees again and gave a nod. Gortash relaxed his grip, switching to pet the Bhaalspawn he spoke again. “I wish to give you this gift fully; is that so bad?” There was a moment of silence as he waited for the other to respond. When the half elf realized this, he shook his head. The Lorlding smiled. “Now, to work, yes?”

Gortash rather meanly pushed the half-elf away again and stood from where he was leaning on his desk. This time, when Thanatos fell, he recovered quickly, and his face remained neutral as he watched the other man. The Banite went to his desk drawer, carefully pulling out a small corked jar from in it before rounding the front of his desk again. He snapped his fingers and directed the other to once again be in front of him. There was a very short moment of hesitation from the Bhaalspawn before he crawled his way to where the Lordling gestured him to be. There was another spark of arousal that went through Gortash again, something he needed to remember for another time. Thanatos tried to get in close again, but the other man stopped him with his foot, making sure to place it directly onto his crotch. It earned him a high-pitched cut-off moan. How the Bhaalspawn didn’t even have the decency to look offended was a telltale sign that he was finally in the mood Gortash was aiming for. He rewarded the half drow with a gentle pat to his right cheek, which made him wince due to the pinked, agitated wound across his eye, just as the Lordling planned.

Finally, his game had begun.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #dark urge x gortash #bg3 dark urge #dark urge #the dark urge x enver gortash #bg3 gortash #enver gortash #goretrash #goretash #baldur's gate iii #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate fanfiction

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bhaalsdeepbat · 3 months

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self-indulgent "oops accidental pregnancy. let's drop it off with grandma" au. rambling below the cut CW for accidental pregnancy & discussing forced breeding shit with durge

in my canon my durge is a twin and i'm like,,,,,,the drama of "oops the thing i did to try and make sure i couldn't have kids didn't actually work, now i have twins who might try to slaughter each other like i murdered my sister. i didn't know of bc i was literally created to conquer the world or become breeding stock for those who would, so my body was literally meant to create broods"

so to explain i have this idea that, just in case Durge became a disappointment, Bhaal specifically made them so their body and mind would fulfill one of two purposes for him. Resist durge still has the body he sculpted. i don't really like the idea of "magicking a dick on them" and i like the idea of exploring the dawning horror that your body was made to very easily spawn your replacement in the case of your failure. so, shortened pregnancy, plus super easy to get pregnant.

and mercy knew when they were bhaal's chosen that they were expected to have more bhaalspawn, and early on they did smth to try and prevent that (think stupid, dumb child who sees logic but not thinking my father is a god who can just magic this back to normal)

and then having the twins and having horror flashbacks to baby's first duel and just the FEAR that history is doomed to repeat itself.

and like the birth would be so fucking easy like it would be comedically so. just like "wow i do not feel good today and--oops here is a baby" and the babies are dhampyrs so it took a long time bc of mr. undead not Mercy

and mercy and astarion should NOT be raising kids. they both know that. and mercy has a thought that they're ashamed of bc it's soooo old durge, but they're like "mercy killing them might be better" but they're also just like.....i can't actually kill these babies i'm no longer that monster

bc y'know, still having intrusive thoughts, it's just their CHOICE whether they listen, and there's no physical illness or other repercussions if they choose to ignore them thoughts.

and their options for what the fuck to do are actually very limited because family ??? DURGE ????? and like Astarion has his siblings in the underdark and on Mercy's side, they're officially adopted by Jaheira. That's their mom, now, and they know she's not the best mom to her actual kids she's raised, but like.

again. if the option is to be raised by Jaheiranor to be raised by Astarion "trudging through filth is for Pigs and Children" Ancunin and Mercy "I only have solid memories from the last several years and everything else is just death, destruction, and darkness" The Dark Urge, leaving them with the most qualified people to handle potential ticking time bombs of a blood thirsty nature, it's Jaheira.

also with sceleritas being there since Durge was an adolescent, I decided Mercy was pretty useless beyond basic survival skills because they aways had him to take care of them. They had to learn a lot in the months, even years following waking up on the nautiloid.

And they're both panicking bc what the fuck do you do. They don't even name the kids. Like they just pack their shit and head out without warning bc they will not take a "no it's urs"

Jaheira gets the twins at first while they're too young to try and kill each other. astarion and Mercy visit frequently with how easy it is to move around with magic, they just.

1. Gotta make that $$ to support them brats and adventuring makes that gold bc those two aren't going to get jobs are you fucking kidding me. They're gonna do heroic shit, get rewards, and rob horrible people blind. They would be doing most of this during infancy / toddler years to set up a nest egg and then decide they need to pitch in more and be more available so that they're always with one twin or the other when they anticipate they need to listen for the blood whispers.

2. With kids, there's a pressing need for Mercy to travel and learn everything they can about their heritage. So good intention, bad idea, motivated by fear. Just anything about the other bhaalspawn who resisted and how they manifest in ones not literally made from him

3. On a real note with Astarion I think he genuinely wouldn't have wanted kids, but with the circumstances (can't just drop two dhampyre bhaalspawn at at orphanage) are such he would step up when it was time. He would eventually become #1 girl dad to them both. Like he does NOT want anymore, but handling this will be barely a blip in their eternal lives they can go back to adventuring full time later.

I think at a certain point the one with the bhaalspawn blood inheritance would depart to start traveling with them bc I think that they would be solid with a ten year old. Like they wouldn't be best role models at times. And the curse still lingering in the tainted gore mercy was sculpted from was passed to one of the twins and their blood curse stirred. That one, they can't, in good conscience leave in case Bhaal has a stronger hold or not. Like Mercy would have to take on more responsibility there.

And Astarion just. Didn't want kids, but also this is one of those "this is a consequence of one of my free choices" thing. He wouldn't be HAPPY about it, and would complain when he was left alone with them, but be very, very good at handling them. He would become #1 girl dad (regardless of their gender) and he'd grow to love his wretched little brats.

And the one that stays with Jaheira needs astarion for counsel because dhampyr bloodlust. They don't have Bhaal's curse, but their sanguine hunger is far stronger, awakening early and becoming a hurdle that required assistance from the Gur to help keep it medicated enough to make this baby so feral bc that isn't who they are.

But that one has a really solid support system bc Astarion would take them to the underdark frequently and they would befriend one of the Gur children.

And like this one I think would feel like other sibling is favored, but it would be one of those things that just they realize baby thinks that and have to correct the mistake. Bc they'll be deeply imperfect but at least *try* with what little they can do to help.

And eventually they both do love the kids. And as adults the kids sometimes travel with them, but are supported in whatever endeavors they choose to embark on by the extended family that helped raise them to adulthood.

And then from kid perspective

I'm torn between either having them raised together OR separating them. Bc having a twin you can never meet (one could go to Leon and I have thoughts if I did that) for the foreseeable future

You were raised with your twin and love them so much but suddenly have to be ripped apart bc one keeps trying to kill the other (even tho the other doesn't have the curse, Bhaal just wants them to suffer).

also back to leon

i can see that going one of two ways. like that was the initial plan for one, but then him and the other vamp spawn sibs are like "you're just running away from shit again" but like make it dramatic bc i don't think they'd get along entirely right away. like they all have shit they did to each other bc they have resentments they gotta work through. i think there are siblings he'd get along with better than others, but the two i just cannot see him ever quite getting along with are Petras and Violet. Yousen would ONLy depend on if Yousen could forgive how awful and racist Astarion is lol

and like if Leon DID take the baby, I could see the bond he has with dhampyr baby as like. part of his healing journey. in NO way a replacement for victoria, he misses her every fucking day with everything he is, but raising this baby reminds him of the ONLY happy memories he has and he would kinda like to bask in them and it helps him separate those happy memories from the bad ones he suffered bc they all happened together

idk I JUST NEED TO TALK IDEAS OUT IG. if you read this i would love to hear your thoughts lmao

#bat muses #thinking the working title for the au may be “growing pains”#or a play on criptic pregnancy we will see #never love an anchor au

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slusheeduck · 7 months

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Fictober 2023 Day 11 - Prompt: "I'm not saying I didn't like it." Fandom: Baldur's Gate

There was a chill in the camp, but not from the wind—nor was it from the party’s recent encounter with Orin. Rather, it came directly from Falerin and Astarion, both facing away from each other and whispering sharply at each other. They’d been like that since they returned from the circus. No one had dared intervene.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Falerin said for what must have been the third time in as many hours.

“Well, apologies for not wanting every weakness I have laid out to a stranger,” Astarion hissed back. “Oh, and not just a stranger! Fucking Bhaal’s champion, who wants to paint the wall with our innards.”

“I didn’t know it was Orin,” Falerin snapped back. “None of us knew!” He huffed through his nose. “Look. I just wanted a break from this horror show we’ve been in, and I wanted to have a nice time at the circus with my friends and you.”

“A nice time? At the circus where we literally had just killed a homicidal clown and his pals?” Astarion whispered incredulously. “The blood was still drying on us!”

“Gods, you are being…” Falerin cut off his grumble, crossing his arms and turning farther away from the vampire.

“Oh? Oh, I’m being what, Falerin? Difficult? Impossible? Concerned for my wellbeing?”

Falerin took a deep breath, and his hand darted out behind him, grabbing Astarion’s. He squeezed it, shoulders still tense and obviously still upset, but he didn’t let go. Astarion looked down, brow furrowing.

“What are you doing?”

Falerin swallowed. “I read about it, in one of the books I skimmed through while we were out and about. It was about marriage troubles.”

“…you do know you can’t divorce me if we’re not married?”

The half-drow didn’t respond to that, shutting his eyes. “It said that…even when you fight, try to give some indication that it’s temporary.” He squeezed Astarion’s hand. “I’m really pissed off. With you, with me, with…fuck, everything. But I don’t want you thinking that I’m about to call things off because of it.”

Astarion stayed quiet, eyes fixed on Falerin’s hand wrapped around his. He let out a soft breath as he looked away.

“Why are you so upset?” he asked stiltingly. This wasn’t natural, not going on the defensive, but…well. Worth a try.

Falerin let his head fall into his free hand. “I’ve…worked so hard to find you. To get you to trust me enough to let me see who you really are, beneath all the flirting and quips and barbs. And I love you, Astarion. I was charmed by the person you wanted everyone to see, and I love the person you’ve finally, finally let me see beneath that.” He swallowed. “So reacting the way you did, being angry with me for showing that I do know you…it hurt. It felt like we’d undone everything we…everything I’ve done.”

Astarion listened quietly, and he let out a long sigh as he looked up overhead. After a moment, he turned his hand over, giving Falerin’s a squeeze. “I’m not saying I didn’t like it. I can’t remember the last person that really knew me, that wanted to know more about me than what they could find on the surface.” He glanced over at him. “It was going to be a waste of time regardless, but you could have given stupid answers. Fun answers. And believe me, I…I love that you care enough to know me as deeply as you do, but it’s dangerous to show that kind of openness in our situation. And…”

He trailed off. Falerin let the silence rest between them for a moment, then gently prompted, “And?”

Astarion stayed quiet. Finally, with an encouraging squeeze from Falerin, he took a deep breath. “I’m scared,” he whispered. “Not just of Orin, though that’s certainly part of why I’m so angry with you. But you’ve not only put a target on me; you’ve put one on yourself. Because now you can be used against me. By Orin and Gortash, by Cazador, by anyone.” He glanced back, finally meeting Falerin’s eyes. “I don’t want to lose you when I’ve just gotten used to having you.”

“You won’t,” Falerin said emphatically. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure that you and I are safe. No tadpoles, no Cazador, no shapeshifters or Elder Brains or…goblin cults will stop us from getting a happy ending.” His mouth twitched. “Is this a bad time to ask if you wanted to move to Neverwinter with me when this is all over?”

A strained little laugh escaped Astarion. “I’ve always wanted to go.” He went quiet, staring down at his knees. “I’m going to need some time to cool down.”

“I know,” Falerin said softly. “I do, too.”

Astarion squeezed his hand. “But it’s temporary.” He glanced over his shoulder at him. “See you in the morning?”

“Bright and early.”

“With a kiss?”

“Only if you’re up for it.”

Astarion gave a little smile. “I do love you,” he said, finally drawing his hand away. “And how well you know me.” He hesitated as he got to his feet, then bent down to kiss Falerin’s head. “Sleep well, darling.”

With that, the chill in the camp dispersed, leaving just the warm crackling of the fire behind.

Fictober 2023 Drabble Master Post

#fictober23 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion x tav #the boys are fightingggg #and learning healthy tools for fights #I actually cheated and did both the actual answers and the fake answers for the love test #And I think it's funny that Astarion's pissed regardless #God I was too excited to post this I've had to edit like four times

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fkitwebhaal · 28 days

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Tumblr Version fic: SLEEPING GIANTS PART 2

Ship: Durge/Astarion

Part 1: The Cazador Aftermath

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: Canon typical violence and gore, see tags

Rating: M

Notes: Each chapter can be read separately/ stand on it's own

AO3

Summary:

Astarion earns his freedom covered in Cazador’s blood. The Former Chosen of Bhaal earns their freedom drowning in their own. A look at two different aftermaths of breaking free. This chapter: The Temple of Bhaal

Fic under the cut!

Rune made it out of the sewers entirely of their own power before they collapsed.

Astarion caught them easily enough, given he’d been standing right next to them the entire walk out. Everyone else came to a halt with them, all eyes on the pair. With one hand bracing their arm, he cupped their chin and took a look at their face. They were awake, but their eyes were half-lidded and their breath labored. Rune looked up at him and grimaced.

“Wow, family reunions really do take the energy out of you.”

Astarion knew this maneuver, the attempt to break the tension with a quip. He was well practiced at the art of deflection. Any other day, he might have played along, but today he’d heard all of Rune’s bones shatter on a blood drenched altar.

No one else went along with the joke either, everyone’s eyes on their sorcerer who less than an hour prior, had been dead and gone. The rest of the camp had met them within the temple along with Withers when they’d thought Rune was-....was…..well that wasn’t something Astarion wanted to think about. Now they were all peering at Rune, concern painting all their faces. Karlach’s hand was out, ready to help Astarion hold Rune up should they faint, and Wyll was already digging in his bag for a healing potion. Astarion didn’t pay them much mind, instead focusing his attention on Rune themselves.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He could hear their pulse in his ears and it was thankfully steady. He’d been listening to that same rhythm ever since Rune’s heart had started beating again. It was almost grounding. “Shadowheart, Halsin?”

Shadowheart and Halsin pushed through the crowd and assisted him in helping Rune stand. Rune grumbled at the movement, but didn’t rebuff the aid. After a moment of investigation, they both diagnosed Rune with a nasty case of exhaustion.

“You should have let me carry you out,” Halsin said, looking down at the human with sympathy. He’d carried Rune before, back when they thought there was nothing left to be done, and his arms were covered in their dried blood. Astarion was trying very hard not to look at it, nor the blood still soaking Rune’s outfit. Rune shook their head, their bangs falling in front of their eyes.

“I needed to walk out of there myself. It was important.” Their voice will still hoarse from screaming.

Astarion found himself a mix of irritated about their stubbornness and understanding of their position. He had wanted no comfort in front of the other spawn after Cazador, he too had insisted on walking out under his own power. There was something about being able to leave the manor of his own violation that mattered to him. On some level, he could understand why Rune felt the same about the temple.

On another level, he’d seen Rune die today and he was in no mood to coddle their pride.

( He was not going to think about it. He could not think about it. Not now, later. If he thought about it now, he’d fall apart on the dirty stone streets) .

Astarion slung Rune’s arm over his shoulder and bent down to take on some of the sorcerer’s weight. Rune let him, hand tangling in his. Astarion noted they were somewhat cold to the touch. Anemic probably. Astarion was partially tempted to force them to let Halsin or Karlach carry them, but that would mean letting go, and he was reluctant to do so if he didn’t have to.

“Can you make it to the Elfsong like this,” he asked. Rune nodded. “Alright, come on you fool. Let’s get you in front of a fire. You’re almost as cold as I am.”

He tried not to think about the hour previous, when he thought that cold might be permanent.

______________

Astarion watched the entire fight with Orin ready to interfere if he had to.

How Rune had talked him into standing by while they went head to head with their murderous kin was still somewhat of a mystery to him. Sure, they made some good points at the time-Orin would be less likely to hurt Halsin, Rune wanted a chance to talk Orin down, a one on one fight would be less messy that taking on the whole temple-but once Orin had transformed with a screech into whatever the Gods she was now, he should have jumped into the fray. He probably would have, if Rune’s cast of Hold Monster hadn’t draped over Orin’s form like a shroud and held her in place.

It was almost stunning, how a lanky human sorcerer could take on the Avatar of Bhaal themselves. Astarion watched as they held their concentration, casting spell after spell, lightning and fire washing across the platform. Once or twice, Orin broke free of their hold, but she barely got a hit or two in before Rune cast the spell again and held her in place.

It was over in just over a minute, a final lightning bolt flashing through the temple. Orin turned back into her human form, and then, for lack of a better word, began to melt. Her legs went first, and she collapsed onto her knees as the rest of her went with.

“Usually Bhaalsapwn don’t leave bodies behind,” Gale said next to him. His face was grim and Astarion saw him twitch as Orin let out another screech of agony. Unlike most of Gale’s lectures, his dry academic tone was gone. Instead, he spoke in a strained whisper. “No one knows quite why. The leading theory is their father doesn’t give them second chances. Why Rune has thus been exempt, I do not know.”

Rune had only died once within their journey to the gate. It was early on, back at the Creche when they’d gotten struck down with a greatsword. Astarion hadn’t even been there, hearing about it later from Lae’zel who chided the sorcerer for getting in the way of said sword in the first place. At the time, Astarion hadn’t thought much more of it other than relief that he wouldn’t have to start from scratch to find himself some protection.

(Well, that was what he told himself. In retrospect, he was growing fond of the sorcerer even then. How many other people would respond to being woken by a vampire spawn mid-bite and offered their neck in exchange? Astarion had initially written it off as Rune having a bleeding heart, but after seeing Rune tell off Mayrina, he was revising his assessment. They were different from what he expected, that was all he knew. And he was curious to see how they could further surprise him).

Now, the thought of Rune dead, even in one piece, chilled his undead body. Was Rune immune from such a fate entirely, or had it only been their father’s will that kept them whole? Astarion didn’t want to find out.

Orin fell into a bloody pulp, her arm still stretching out towards Rune. Her fingers grazed the edge of their robes as she dissolved and Rune looked down at the ribcage and skull she left behind with wide eyes. Astarion took a step forward, the duel was over he’d be damned if he kept his distance any longer, when Shadowheart put her hand on his shoulder.

“Look,” she said, pointing ahead. A small creature had climbed onto the top of the dias where Halsin was lying. The Butler from earlier, Astarion realized. He walked over Halsin, like Halsin was simply an object in his way and held his hands out, before stepping to face across from Rune. He stood directly in the bloody pile that was once Orin.

“Master!” He crowed. “You are the Chosen one!”

Rune turned to him, movements slow. When their hands started to move, their mouth opening, Astarion realized what they were doing a moment before it happened. Rune had once pulled him aside to show him the gesture they used for this spell, so “you know to stay clear.”

The dreadful butler didn’t say another word before the thunderwave spell hit him square in the chest and shot him off the edge of the platform.

Rune breathing was labored, and a cruel smile fell from their face as soon as the Butler was out of sight. Astarion watched as they turned and looked at the mess of what was once their bloodkin. Rune’s hands curled into fists as they took in the gore, and looked up at their Father’s symbol, carved into the temple wall. He could see them clench their jaw, hands balling into fists.

The sound of lightning crackling in the air was the first sign that Rune had lost their temper. While their magic was wild in nature, it often manifested similarly depending on their respective mood. When Rune was scared, spells that conjured light would appear, dancing lights hanging close as if to banish mental shadows. Electricity, Astarion had learned, was something that accompanied them only when they were truly furious. Their hair crackled with electricity and stood on end. Their robes clung to their body from the static.

Astarion had only seen this happen a handful of times before. Rune often buried their emotions, fearful that the Urge might twist them for it’s own ends. They rarely screamed, instead preferring to speak in a highly controlled tone with a hint of a growl when they were truly angry.

They were screaming now.

“How dare you!” Sharp vines erupted from where Rune was standing, spreading across the platform. Thorns emerged from those vines, sharp as daggers. The foliage grew around the bloody pulp that was once Orin, almost protective. Astarion wasn’t sure if Rune was even aware that their magic was acting up, given how intense their gaze was on their father’s symbol. They didn’t seem to even notice the brambles cut their own legs. “You couldn’t have even given her the chance to say no?!”

Astarion had thought Rune’s attempt to talk their kin out of her plan was doomed to fail, but he found himself unsurprised when Rune appeared to win her ear. They had that effect on people, a way of getting to the heart of someone and pulling at the right strings. Orin apparently was not immune, and he’d watched with pride as she lowered her daggers at Rune’s bequest.

Then their father had interrupted and forced the fight anyway. He’d plucked the chance for anything other than blood out of both his children’s hands and set them against each other.

Despite everything Orin had done to Rune, Astarion understood why they were so upset. Rune’s rage wasn’t solely for Orin. No, their fury was for themselves, the person who had once stood in Orin’s place, the true heir to the throne. If things had gone as planned, Rune would have been the one to contort in a new shape in this hideous temple. They would be the one who dissolved under the weight of their father’s expectations.

“Couldn’t you have given her a fucking choice!?” Rune shouted. They started to float an inch off the ground and Astarion winced as the thorns tore at the hem of their robes. He glanced at the Bhaalists to see if they might attempt to attack. Some of them looked horrified at the sacrilege but some of the older ones sat back and watched, like this was a common occurrence. With a sickening lurch, Astarion realized it had been a common occurrence, back when before Rune was Rune. How many times had the Chosen of Bhaal stood here and screamed their heart out to an unforgiving father? How many times had that Chosen gotten nothing back but silence?

“Did you ever give me a fucking choice?” Rune screamed. Their voice was hoarse, strained from shouting, and their breathing heavy. When they spoke next, their voice broke halfway through their sentence. “Did I ever even get the chance to say no!?”

Astarion thought back to what Rune said before they slayed Cazador, about the things Astarion had done under his thumb. They’d said something at the time that stuck with him.

“It’s not a yes if no isn’t an option.”

“Oh darling,” Astarion said, uncaring of the fact Shadowheart and Gale could hear him. He was torn between going to them and giving them the moment to scream. He watched as Rune shook on the dias, hands clenched into fists. After a moment, they floated back down to stand on the dias. After a shuddering breath, they walked towards the gore that was once Orin, tearing up their legs in the thorns further. They didn’t seem to even notice. Staining their hands with the blood of their kin, they picked up her daggers, along with the Netherstone. The vines receded piece by piece, shriveling and wilting on the stone. When Rune turned around, their eyes met Astarion. Astarion knew the look on their face. He’d seen it before, back at the Coronation when Gortash had held Rune’s past up for all of them to see.

Get me out of here.

Astarion agreed entirely. He started forward, heading down the steps two at a time. He could hear Shadowheart and Gale follow behind him, Shadowheart’s armor clanging against the stones. He waved his hand at Rune and tried to keep his voice light without being too flippant.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” He somewhat knew the answer already, as he was able to smell their blood even at a distance. It wasn’t too strong a smell, either old and drying or small cuts from the brambles, and that did ease his nerves somewhat. He’d seen Rune chug a healing potion during the fight: that had likely taken care of the larger wounds.

That was good. It would be better when they all left this godforsaken temple and got back to the inn. Astarion could talk to Rune there without the prying eyes of the faithful. He could take their hand in his and ask what they needed and if Astarion could provide it.

Rune opened their mouth to reply when the form of their terrible Butler floated out of the darkness, above the platform and began to speak once more.

______________

While it would be ideal to take Rune right to their own bed, they were still covered in blood and that would have to be dealt with before anything else. Astarion started the bath much like Rune had done for him, except for relying on Gale to heat up the water. Rune grumbled about having to get in, they were almost asleep on their feet after they made it to the Elfsong, and Astarion had to cajole them into cooperating before they decided to simply sleep on the floor.

“You don’t have to-” Rune mumbled once they were finally in the water, leaning on the side rather than sitting straight up. Their gaze was on Astarion, who’d already rolled up his sleeves and grabbed a cloth to sit on a stool beside them. Astarion rolled his eyes and reached forward to cup some water with his free hand and pour it over their head.

“If I don’t, you’ll fall asleep in there and drown. And I am not letting you get into the bed like this. Now lean your head back so I can get your hair.”

Rune did as they were told. When their head was fully leaning back, he began washing the blood from their hair. It had come a long way since the day he first met them, back when they were going by whatever someone was calling them. Their hair was a half burnt mop then, a buzz on the left side where their head wound was. They’d been covered in so much dirt that he thought their hair was the color of soot at first. Now as he ran his fingers through the short strands, the blood washing away, he could see the proper almost silver gray once again becoming visible. Meanwhile, Rune scrubbed away at the rest of themselves, the tub turning pink as blood ran off their arms and shoulders.

The bath was a quick endeavor, meant to be efficient over anything else. When they were almost done, Astarion noticed Rune staring forward into empty space, with something like awe on their face. Concerned, he tapped their shoulder.

“What is it, love?”

Rune’s eyes focused on him and they gave him a similar awed look. Astarion felt his eyes prick as he took in the reverence in that expression, along with the life that he thought he might not ever see again.

“It’s just…quiet,” Rune said, whispering. “I didn’t know it could be so quiet.”

Right, the Urge was gone. Rune had confessed to Astarion that they didn’t savor baths because the Urge tended to be loud should they sit and attempt to enjoy the warmth. This was probably the first time they could actually remember enjoying the experience.

Astarion’s heart was likely already broken from earlier today, but he swore he could have felt it shatter further.

Once Rune was clean, Astarion handed them a towel and some clean clothes for sleeping. They changed quickly, and it took little prodding to get them into the bed. Rune’s head had barely hit the pillow before they were fast asleep.They hadn’t even bothered to get under the sheets. With them taken care of, Astarion set about cleaning himself and changing into fresh clothes as well. He was quick about it and once he was done, he got into the bed and sat behind them, placing their upper torso and head against his chest.

They were still colder than usual. Shadowheart said it was to be expected, but it didn’t calm his nerves. He thought about trying to get them under the sheets, then decided better of it, worried about waking them up. Body heat would help, but it wasn’t like Astarion had any to spare.

An idea came to him and he followed it. With the Tadpole, he gently sent a message asking Karlach to stop by. She was there in moments, entering by throwing open the door, and Astarion hissed at her to keep down the noise.

“They’re still cold. I don’t want to wake them up, so I thought-” He gestured to a spot of empty space on the bed where she could sit, should she so choose. Karlach’s expression grew soft and he ignored the feeling of embarrassment as she walked over and sat down, so her legs were pressed to Rune’s side. Astarion could feel the heat radiate off of her even from a foot away. She reached forward and grabbed both of Rune’s hands in her own and clucked her tongue.

“Fangs is right; You’re way too cold, solider. Let me put this engine to use, huh.”

Astarion began running his left hand through their hair, parting the damp strands with careful fingers. He felt a little silly calling Karlach in at first, but her presence was a balm for his nerves. As much as he wanted to keep Rune to himself, close and safe from anything that could try to hurt them, the silence of the room was getting to him.

(They’d be so quiet, once Bhaal had- no, no, don’t think about it ).

“We can’t both have cold hands in this relationship, Darling,” he said, tucking one of the loose strands of Rune’s hair behind their ear. When he noticed they still had their earrings in, they must have forgotten to take them out before the bath, he carefully removed the dangling hoops and tucked them away into his pocket. They were slightly bent from the fight and one of the hanging crystals was cracked. Maybe Damon would be able to repair them. If not, maybe they’d let him purchase a pair.

“How are you doing, Fangs?” Astarion looked up. Karlach was watching him with a thoughtful expression that set him a bit on edge. He breathed in deep through his nose, and dug into the well of charm he so often used as a shield.

“Me?” He held up a finger, and pointed it at himself. “Karlach, I barely even lifted a finger today; Rune did most of the hard work.” He gestured down to the sleeping sorcerer, who’d begun to snore softly. How odd it was that he found that sound so soothing. ”I just sat back and-“

He’d stood back and watched as Rune died in front of him for what should have been for good.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Karlach said, and Astarion wondered when he’d become so easy to read. Or maybe, when these people had become so fluent in reading him. Either way, he didn’t care for it. “That had to suck. I’m sorry.”

Astarion’s lips curled up into a snarl. “Had to suck is an understatement-“

Karlach lifted her hands, still holding Rune’s. He stopped mid-sentence, and scowled, looking down at Rune’s face. He’d never seen them look so relaxed while sleeping. “Wanna talk about it?”

“You know what happened.” It wasn’t exactly hard to figure out. He heard the sound of Karlach’s swishing as she shook her head.

“No, I know Gale told us via tadpole that Rune was dead and we ran in to find a bunch of dead cultists and everyone as tense as a wire.” She paused. “You don’t gotta tell me if you’re not up for it, but I thought it might help.”

“Help what?”

“The fact you look ready to climb the walls.”

This was a stupid idea, Astarion thought. Talking wouldn’t make what happened today go away, it wouldn’t erase any of the images now burned into his mind. But the restless energy in his body howled to go somewhere. If speaking to Karlach might release some, it was worth a try.

“Bhaal gave them an ultimatum.”

______________

“Your life is mine. Accept your inheritance or I will reclaim it.”

The reflection of the Butler stared at Rune, glowing eyes harsh. Everytime the reflection spoke, it felt like nails scratching across slate. Even with his distance- he and the others were standing on the stairs to the dias-he couldn’t help but flinch at the noise. Astarion found it took effort to understand anything the God was saying. Rune didn’t appear to have the same problem, but he’d never seen them as still as they were now, staring at the horrific reflection.

“Don’t,” Astarion whispered under his breath. Who he was talking to, he wasn’t sure. The terror flooding his veins made it hard to think clearly. Was he speaking to Rune? If so he wasn’t sure what he was asking of them. Don’t defy your father? He couldn’t ask them that. Don’t die? It wasn’t like people got a choice in that matter, Gods knew Astarion didn’t.

Was that plea instead for Bhaal? Astarion doubted the Lord of Murder ever showed mercy, but if Astarion’s begging could convince him to bestow it, Astarion would get on his fucking knees. Anything to stop the threat Bhaal left hanging in the air from coming down like the blade of a guillotine.

He saw Rune glance at him, eyes wide. They looked torn for a moment, before they shook their head slightly. Their gaze turned soft, and Astarion could see tears beginning to form there. Inside his head, he heard their voice echo through his mind.

“ I love you .”

Then Rune tore their gaze from Astarion. He watched as they titled their chin up, their expression resolute. Like they were speaking to any other shitstain on the road. When they spoke, their voice was firm, not a hint of hesitation to be found.

“I refuse you. I would rather die.”

There was a long pause. For a beautiful moment, Astarion basked in the naive possibility that this might be the end of it. That Rune would get to leave this atrocious temple alive and whole. That Bhall would let his wayward child walk out of this den of horrors and into the light. That later, Astarion would get to press kisses into Rune’s skin, call them foolish for taking on Orin alone, and marvel in the only good thing the Gods have ever done for him, if only on accident.

Then Bhaal spoke, his lips curling back into a snarl. “You were made to conquer. To devour.”

Rune coughed. Astarion could smell the blood in the air instantly. It splattered on their lips, a fine mist sticking on their chin.

A few things happened in short order. Astarion took a step forward, hands on his daggers. He didn’t know how he could fight a reflection, but stabbing it wasn’t the worst place to start. Bhaal said something else that Astarion couldn’t make out, and he watched as Rune jerked, like they were attached to a string. Rune looked at the pool of blood, the assorted Bhaalists gathered around, and then over to Astarion, Shadowheart and Gale. For a brief moment, Astarion saw two emotions cross their face.

Horror that quickly morphed into grim determination.

They gritted their teeth, their arms moving slower than usual. Like every movement was a struggle to make out. With slow movements, Astarion watched as they moved their hands, tugging on the weave. They were casting, he realized. To do what? To escape? To fight their father directly?

He stumbled on his next step forward as a wall of shadow fell on the dias and blocked both Rune and the facsimile of their father out of his sight.

“No!” Astarion screamed, trying to leap forward as Shadowheart wrapped her arms around his torso. He scrambled against her grip, desperately trying to wiggle his way free but she held fast. There was a cracking noise coming from somewhere, but he didn’t pay it much attention, too focused on getting free. “Let me go!”

“You can’t even see them, Astarion,” Shadowheart said, her voice strained. “You have to stay back. You’re going to get hurt.”

“Who gives a damn-” He continued to try to escape her grasp and shot Gale a look, hoping for his aid. He didn’t find it, the wizard instead focused on something in his hands. Rune’s journal. The same cracking noise from earlier echoed through the temple and Gale looked nauseous at the sound.

“Astarion, we can’t do anything if we can’t see!” Shadowheart was still trying to reason with him. Stupid; he was past reason. He reached out to Rune’s tadpole and demanded they drop the spell. He got no reply, just silence and-

Another cracking noise. Astarion recognized the sound this time. The crunch of breaking bone.

It was coming from the cloud of darkness along with a rich sweet smell that Astarion knew far too well. A smell that was growing stronger.

“Damn it, drop the fucking spell-” Astarion shouted. The Darkness held. What in the Gods’ name were they doing, Shadowheart couldn’t heal them if she couldn’t see them, why cut off any chance of aid-

He knew why. It struck him like a hammer, the realization. Rune had cast this spell because there was no way to aid them. All they could do was watch. And Rune would not force them to do as such, if they could help it.

It wasn’t just that, Astarion thought as he took a note of some of the cultists, who peered forward like they could see through the magical darkness if they tried hard enough. This darkness Rune cast was more than a desire to spare them from watching their death; it was an act of defiance. Their father craved murder as a sign of faith, a means to prove one’s devotion. The cultists here would see this atrocity as a miracle, a rite to be celebrated. By blocking their view, Rune denied their father even that scrap of devotion.

Astarion sank to his knees, Shadowheart releasing him from her grasp. It felt like a parody of prayer. The smell of blood was overpowering now and he could see it drip off the altar and into the darkness below. There was too much of it. He knew how much one could lose before they died. His mouth watered but he was never less hungry in his life.

There was another loud crack and the darkness vanished, flickering once, then twice before dissipating. With everything clear, Astarion could now see what he had only been able to smell: the entire altar was covered in blood, and all of it came from Rune, held up in the air by their father’s will. Their arms and legs were bent at odd angles, and they were so covered in their own blood that Astarion couldn't see a patch of pale skin from beneath the red. But what drew his attention the most was their face, their eyes blank, their mouth curved up in a victorious smile.

The light went out in the carving of Bane’s eyes. The Butler’s corpse fell to the ground.. Rune dropped to the floor and there was a sickening crunch as their body met the stone. Astarion was already moving, scrambling up and using the charge of misty step on his boots to get there faster. When he arrived next to them, he fell back onto his knees and ignored the feeling of blood soaking through the fabric.

They were not breathing. This was not a surprise. Astarion breathed instead, even though he didn’t need to, gasping for air like he was drowning. Maybe he was; there was enough of Rune’s blood here to drown in.

Shadowheart arrived a moment later and Astarion watched as she cast revivify, hope almost dizzying. When Rune did not stir, and she cast it again, he could feel that same hope drain away, leaving him colder than any of his undead chill. When Gale handed her a scroll and that failed too, Astarion watched as she banged one hand onto the blood drenched stone and wailed.

It appeared their magic would not work here. Shadowheart’s powers were great, but she was not a God herself, solely an agent of one. Undoing something a God did personally was beyond all of them.

He knew this was a possibility. Not exactly this, but the rough outline of it. Rune had discussed it with him before this endeavor despite Astarion’s attempts to avoid the topic at all. Thinking about it then, a world where they entered the temple and Rune didn’t leave, evoked a kind of pain that even years of Cazador did not prepare him for.

And now that thought was reality and he felt nothing. Not a peaceful nothing but the kind of nothing one felt when they saw a knife about to meet their skin, or a boulder about to crush them. A knowledge that pain was coming, a pain they might not survive, and waiting for the agony to come and meet them.

Gale’s hand was on his shoulder, Astarion noted. He was kneeling next to the vampire, looking purposefully away from Rune. He was talking too, his voice frayed and soft and while it sounded far away, Astarion could make some of it out now.

“Help wake up Halsin,” the wizard said to Shadowheart. “We’ll need his help getting them back to camp.”

They would need Halsin’s help, Astarion realized. Astarion couldn’t carry Rune. He’d tried that once before upon seeing Karlach lift up Wyll. She’d teased him for not doing the same, Rune had a limp at the time, and when he’d tried, the pair of them went down in a tangle of limbs.

He would have been mortified if it wasn’t for Rune’s laughter, rich and warm, echoing through the shadowed lands. Rune had laughed before, but it was rare and often tinged with a dark humor. They kept such a tight control of their own emotions that laughter wasn’t something they allowed themself much of, less the Urge twist it and turn it cruel. This was the first time Astarion heard them laugh so freely, and for a second, he understood why people sometimes spoke of bottling sound so they could keep it forever.

“ Come inside the temple .” Astarion flinched as Gale’s voice echoed in his mind. They sometimes used the tadpole to communicate when it was necessary, but it was odd feeling someone else’s thoughts in your own brain.

“ What happened? Is everyone okay ?” Wyll replied at once, and his emotions bled through the words. Dread, hope, relief, and fear all intermingled with Wyll’s words, and recoiled from the sensation of feelings entirely.

Astarion heard Gale take a deep breath from behind him. It was the same kind of steadying breath he took when he was trying to concentrate on a difficult spell. “ Rune’s dead. Their father-” Gale’s thoughts turned murderous for a moment, all the wrath of an archmage turned onto the deity. Didn’t Rune say he was thinking of becoming a God? Would Gale be able to undo this, should he reach divinity? “Killed them. Please come. ”

The flood of grief from five different minds almost bowled Astarion over. He quickly removed himself from the connection, and with shaking hands, finally reached his hand to cup Rune’s chin, thumb stretching to feel for their carotid artery.

There was nothing there. Just cooling skin, and tacky blood. An empty shell where Astarion’s heart used to be.

He leaned forward, hating how his mouth watered at the smell of blood. With his thumb, he brushed back their blood soaked bangs and pressed a kiss to their forehead.

“Please,” he whispered, leaning back. “Please. I promised you. Don’t make me break it.”

Rune did not respond.

Halsin was the one who ended up carrying Rune in the end. Astarion didn’t know how much time passed between Shadowheart going to free him and the Druid walking over, but he also didn’t care. Halsin appeared relatively well despite his time in Orin’s captivity, though there was a parlor to his skin that spoke of lack of sun. Astarion barely noticed him until he was crouching on the other side of Rune, gaze mournful.

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” Halsin said, then looked up to Astarion. “Do you mind if I carry them? I don’t believe they’d want us to linger here more than necessary.”

Astarion nodded, feeling separate from his body still. It was like he’d taken all his emotions and entombed them like Cazador once did to him. He could sense them trying to break loose, screaming and clawing from where he buried them. He watched as Halsin handed Gale the Netherstone, then lifted Rune. Gale cleared his throat and reached out his hand to Astarion.

“Astarion,” he said. Tears freely fell down his face and his voice wavered on his name. “We need to go.”

Astarion did not take his hand; his mind was somewhere else at the moment, but his body worked just fine. It was dependable like that, taking commands even when no one was home to give them. He stood up and turned towards exit, flinching when Shadowheart hovered her hand over his shoulder, as if asking permission to touch. She took the hint, but still kept close, like she thought he might stumble.

Two of the Bhaalists waited for them by the stairs. The main one was older and stood in the center, while the other lingered in his shadow. Gale led their procession to stand in front of them.

“Let us through,” Gale said, knocking his staff once onto the stone. As much as Astarion hated to admit it, the wizard could look dangerous when he wanted to be. He looked dangerous now, even with tears still lingering in his eyes. Maybe it was due to the smell of ozone in the air, something one associated with powerful spells and those who commanded them.

“You’re free to leave as long as you leave what is ours,” the Bhaalist said.

“The Netherstone is coming with us,” Gale said, tilting his chin up, defiant. Shadowheart took a fighting stance from behind him and Astarion’s body reached for his daggers. The Bhaalist looked at Gale like he was rather dense and shook his head.

“Take the stone if you wish. It’s of no consequence to us. But you must leave the relic behind; you have no further need of it.” He swept his hand, long robes fluttering with the gesture at Halsin. The elf held Rune in his arms and tucked close to his chest, like Rune was still someone that could be protected.

Astarion was still occupying some place in his brain where everything felt far away, but he managed to manage feeling somewhat confused. What relic? Orin’s armor? He doubted any of them would wear it and it couldn’t be worth that much if sold.

A part of Astarion’s mind, the part that he had desperately locked away before it took over entirely, seemed louder now. He could practically hear it howl.

Shadowheart inhaled sharply and Astarion watched as she leveled her spear at the Bhaalist. Her expression was free of sorrow now, replaced entirely by rage.

“They are not a fucking relic.”

The pieces in Astarion’s mind fell into place. He thought of the decor when they entered, the piles and piles of bones and blood. What had Shadowheart called it? Decor. He remembered seeing a body or two impaled at some of those shrines, mummified by time and decay. How some of the cultists prayed there like one would pray to a statue or an idol.

Oh. Well, there went the emotional detachment from the situation. It was bound to end eventually, all his feelings flooding back into him at once. At least the main emotion was a useful one.

The Bhaalist in front of them opened his mouth to reply. He did not get a chance before Astarion lunged forward and ripped out his throat with his teeth.

It was not the quickest way to kill the man, but it was the most fitting. If this stain of humanity wished to make Rune into an object, then Astarion would bestow him the same treatment. He wasn’t clean about it, ripping in and taking a long drink before pulling back, his fangs still deep inside the man’s skin. The man clutched his throat, gasping at his comrades to come to arms, but he didn’t finish his sentence before Astarion’s dagger was in his guts.

Everyone charged into the fight. The other Bhaalist barely got a step away from them to cast before Shadowheart hit them with guiding bolt. Gale launched a fireball at another group of cultists charging down another one of the stairwells, and Astarion saw Halsin gently place Rune on the ground before transforming into a roaring bear. Some of the former faithful headed for the exits, and Astarion ran to meet them. He couldn’t kill a God perhaps, but he could ensure there were no faithful left to praise his name.

Rage and agony consumed him as he fought, drinking cultists dry and shooting others down. It felt similar to how he’d felt when Cazador finally freed him from his year of agony. He was a creature of nothing but hunger then, desperate for the slightest scrap of blood, willing to do anything for a taste. Now he was not starving, not in the slightest, but he felt a similar sort of empty agony run through him. He could drain the blood of every damn Bhaalist in this temple and still feel that ache.

A handful of days ago, he had sat on the roof of the Elfsong and promised to see Rune free of their father. The day after that, he’d taken them to his grave, carved his new birth into the stone and enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh because he wanted to, not because he felt obligated. The nights since, he’d fallen into his trance daring to think of what might be next, instead of what lurked before. What to do if they defeated the Brain in one piece and Rune decided to stay with him in the shadows. The spawn in the Underdark would need guidance and the sun would pose no risks there. He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect, but it seemed like the sort of mess Rune would enjoy sorting out. Or they could go to Candlekeep, take a look at all the information there. There might be something about curing vampirism there, or the fate of Bhalspawn. Or maybe they could continue adventuring, tracking down worse things in the night. Frankly, it didn’t matter much what he settled on. If Rune would come with, he would be there.

And now they were gone and he was left with the future mockingly stretched out in front of him.

One of the remaining Bhaalists ran towards Rune and he ran to meet them, feeling almost sick as he tore into their throat. They fell shortly after and he pushed them aside, heaving with the taste of the cultist's blood on his tongue and Rune’s blood under his palms. He heard everyone else smash through the temple entrance, Karlach’s cry of rage and grief inescapable, and pressed his face into Rune’s chest, right over their heart.

They were dead. They were dead, and Astarion had failed them. His first promise as a new man was broken, destroyed by a God with barely a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped into their robes, fingers digging into the fabric. A sob escaped his throat, the grief sinking into his bones properly now that it was no longer held at bay. “I’m so sorry, love, I’m sorry-“

It was like this that he first heard Wither’s speak and bring hope back with every word.

______________

“We hurried pretty quick when we got Gale’s message,” Karlach said, pulling him back into the present. She brushed at her eyes, hiding away the tears that had slipped through. Without realizing it, Astarion’s had moved his hand to rest over Rune’s heart, the beat a steady tempo.

“It was-” He cut off as Rune twitched in his lap, their eyelids fluttering. After a moment, they turned their head to look up at him, eyes half lidded with exhaustion. It was a miracle to see their brown eyes focus on him, such a sharp contrast to the empty dead look he’d seen earlier today.

“Astarion?” They sounded almost drunk. Astarion smiled, pressing his lips to their forehead.

“Hello dear.”

Rune looked around, taking in the room and the other occupants. Their eyes jerked to Karlach and their brown crinkled, confused. “Why is Karlach in our room?” They paused before they spoke again. “Hi Karlach. You’re warm.”

Karlach laughed. It sounded a little unsteady. They were all a bit adrift after almost losing their leader. She rubbed her thumb over their hands. “And you’re freezing.”

“Which is why she’s here actually. You’re as cold to the touch as I am, love. And as much as I’d like to warm you up myself, I’m afraid this was a matter that was best left to an expert.”

Rune frowned, tilting their head to the side slightly. When they spoke next, they sounded a tad put out.

“You’re an expert in cuddling.” Karlach bit back a laugh and Astarion knew he had enough blood in him for his blush to be visible. Rune was less private when they were sleepy. Before Astarion could respond, Rune continued, likely saying whatever first came to mind. “Well, maybe not at first, but you get it now.”

“I can’t believe you’re defaming me in front of our friends.”

“I was worse at it, if it helps.” Rune looked up at Karlach and frowned. “I kept accidently jabbing him with my elbows.”

They talked for a few moments after that, mostly mindless things. Karlach stood to take her leave, likely picking up that Astarion would like to have Rune to himself, and told them that if she found them working in the next 24 hours, she’d pick them up and throw them back into bed. When she left, Astarion enjoyed the sound of Rune’s breathing before they spoke up.

“What were you two talking about?”

There was no reason to deny it. “What happened in the temple.”

Rune’s eyes grew wide and they sat up straighter, despite Astarion’s protests. They turned in his arms, brows furrowed.

“Oh. Are you okay?”

Astarion laughed, the kind of laugh one made when the world was so unfair that there was nothing to do but chuckle or weep. “Am I okay? You’re the one who died, you imbecile. Why in the Gods’ name are you worrying-“

Rune kept their eyes on his face. He wasn’t sure what did it in the end, if it was the expression of concern on their face or the proper meltdown he’d bottled up once Wither’s appeared finally breaking loose. It frankly didn’t matter. All he knew was he was clutching Rune close, his face in this shirt, and choking on a sob.

“I’m sorry,” Rune whispered, wrapping their arms around him. Astarion shook his head.

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything-“

“I’m sorry it happened, at least?” Rune rubbed his back. “I didn’t want you to have to watch. Like with…”

Astarion felt like he’d been punched in the gut, when he understood. For 200 years, he’d brought people back to Cazador for the man to take them to an early grave. He hadn’t been forced to watch Cazador drink them all dry, but he’d seen more than he could count.

Rune had been dying and they’d refused to let that be the same for them, as much as was in their power.

“You scared me,” he whispered into their shirt, his voice still cracking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “I thought you were lost to me forever.”

“Never.” They sounded resolute. Like their fate was something within their power.

Astarion pulled back from them so he could look at them properly. “I would have let Gale become a stupid God if I thought it could bring you back to me.”

Rune’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t.” Rune sounded appalled. Astarion knew how they felt about the Gods and Gale’s proposal to join their ranks; he’d never seen the wizard and sorcerer so at odds. As far as Rune was concerned, there was no such thing as a “good god” merely ones less insufferable than others. Given who their father was, their loathing made a fair amount of sense.

“I would.” A part of Astarion wanted to lie, to tell Rune what they wanted to hear. But they deserved better than that. He would give them the truth of himself, as ugly as it was. “If Withers hadn’t come, I would have torn the crown off that brain with my bare hands and handed it to him myself.”

He would have. Astarion wasn’t as appalled at the idea of Gale becoming a God as Rune was, but Rune’s arguments against it were compelling. It reminded him a bit of their concerns about him ascending, how such power turned people indifferent and cold. But if a godly version of Gale could deliver Rune back to him, Astarion would have tithed at his temple regardless how insufferable the man might turn out to be with that kind of power.

Rune looked torn between pressing the issue and letting it lie. They appeared to settle on the latter, instead pulling him close again to give him a quick kiss. There was no heat to it, they were both far too tired for that, and savored it all the same.

“I love you,” they said. Astarion grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face of tears before he leaned back in for another kiss.

“I love you too. Now my apologies for weeping on your clean shirt,” he said after they parted. Rune opened their mouth to reply but he cut them off. “Especially since you have yet to have the opportunity.” He reached forward and grabbed both of their hands in his, rubbing his thumb across their knuckles. “How are you? And don’t say fine.”

Rune looked down at their joined hands.

“Tired, I guess,” they said after a few moments of silence. Astarion made a questioning noise, trying to encourage them to speak a bit more and he was rewarded with some elaboration. “Maybe a bit overwhelmed.”

A bit overwhelmed? That tracked. He’d felt similarly, after Cazador.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rune shook their head.

“Not now.”

That was also not surprising. Aatarion wouldn’t force them to speak on it now, but after what he’d seen at the temple, he would not let the topic lie forever. Astarion had watched Rune’s voice break as they screamed at their father over a sister who’d once tried to kill them. He heard the agony of someone who did not know how much of the blood on their hands was of their own choice, or forced upon them. It was something he wrestled with himself, something he knew he would never entirely have the answer for as much as it ate at him.

All that feeling would not vanish even if the Urge was gone. It would have to surface eventually, less it eat Rush from the inside out. But he was not going to push it. He could wait. It would arrive by itself sooner or later.

“Well you’ve been given a strict order of bed rest by our favorite cleric,” Astarion said, pulling them forward so they fell back into his grasp, their faces nose to nose. He smirked at the flush that crossed their face. “You are quite terrible at relaxing, darling. Perhaps I can teach you the art of hedonism.”

Rune’s eyebrow raised. “In just a day?

Astarion ran his hands down their back, enjoying the shudder from Rune. He had no intention of going further with it, but it was always fun to tease them up a little. “I am an expert.”

Rune’s laugh was perhaps the best thing he heard all day second to their inhale of breath when they came back to life on the dirty temple stones.

______________

Rune’s feelings did come to the surface, though far sooner than Astarion predicted. Because that night he snapped out of trance when he felt Rune pry themselves out of his arms with a gasp.

“Darling?” It was dark out, and he reached for them. They withdrew at his touch-right they couldn’t see in the dark like him- and he cleared his throat. “It’s me, Rune. What’s wrong?”

Rune was trembling, one hand over their heart, the other gripping the bed sheets. Astarion snuck his hand under the one clutching the bedding and grasped their hand with his own. Their grasp was almost tight enough to bruise.

“I had a dream,” Rune said after taking a few more steading breaths. “Of a memory, I think.”

That didn’t bode well: what little memories Rune had sounded more like nightmares.

“It wasn’t a bad memory. It was...I was a kid?” Rune sounded outright flabbergasted at the statement. Like the concept of them as a child was outrageous. Astarion tried to picture Rune as a child, how they would have been at Yenna’s age. A vague image flickered in his mind of a smaller Rune, still on the tall side for their age, tucked away in a corner with a book far too large for them. It was only a thought, probably not accurate in the slightest, but the book part felt true.

“What happened? In the memory?”

“I was outside? I think it was the Gate, but I don’t know where. Maybe a park?” They bit their lower lip and Astarion could smell blood bloom from where they broke the skin. “There was someone else there, an older girl, and she was showing me how to braid her hair.” Rune’s hand tightened in his own, their shaking growing stronger. “I kept trying to stick flowers in it.”

Astarion smiled at the image, picturing small hands that now casted spells and wrote dutiful notes, plucking flowers to place in someone’s hair. He briefly wondered if their interest in plants was present even then, or if it was just childish delight that spurred their actions.

Sometimes, Astarion was jealous of the void that was Rune’s memory. It would be nice, he thought, to be rid of the years of starvation and torture, to have his past an empty page instead of a tragedy. But there were some advantages to knowing your past, no matter how brutal it was. Astarion didn’t remember his mortal life well, but he knew enough to know he’d once been more than what Cazador made him. Maybe he’d been a downright bastard even then, but he’d at least been something more than an extension of Cazador’s orders. Rune, on the other hand, had no such consolidation. At least, not until now.

From the stricken look on Rune’s face, Astarion wondered if it was much of a consolidation at all.

“It was the same kind of braid Orin wore her hair in,” Rune said, whispering. They sounded very small. “It’s a common enough hairstyle, but…I think I was the one to taught her how to do that.”

Ah. ‘Is this about guilt? Because she did stab you in the head.” Rune still was living with the consequences of that injury, migraines laying them flat some days. Astarion could understand why Rune might feel empathy for their dead kin, but Astarion had no such sympathy after knowing what happened to Rune in Moonrise.

“No. Well, maybe?” Rune shook their head and the hand previously grasping their chest came up to tangle in their own hair. It was the same color as Orin’s, Astarion realized, and he doubted that was lost on Rune. “It’s just- teaching her that. We had to be more than enemies once, for that to happen. We’d have to trust each other, a least somewhat. And it still ended like this. All because he wanted it to.”

Rune was talking faster now, almost tripping over each word as they raced to get the next out. Their shuddering was more pronounced now, and they put their hand over their mouth. Astarion had to struggle to hear what they said next.

“We weren’t always like that. We probably weren’t anything good, but we we’re more than just feral dogs he set upon the masses. And there was a time before the temple too. I thought I might have never been a kid before, until now-” They hunched over slightly, like they’d been hit with a physical blow. Their hand fell from the mouth. “Just something he made and set loose. But no. I was normal once. Just a normal kid. I thought I might have always been like this, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t always a monster. I-”

Despite all the time they have traveled in each others’ company, Astarion had never once seen Rune cry. At first, he chalked it up to them being rather stoic, but as time passed it became clear that they held back their tears for the same reasons he did.

Astarion once had his feelings used against him to carve out his heart as painfully as Cazador had carved into his back. As a result, he kept them hidden whenever possible, so one could not easily wield them against him. Rune was similar. The Urge took advantage of any soft thing in them, any moment of weakness Bhaal found unsuitable and sought to either eradicate it or further his agenda. Should Rune take even a moment for themselves, Bhaal would use the Urge to burn their life down. He’d even do it when they tried to rest.

Rune’s breath hitched, but no tears came, their free hand back to grasping the sheets. With his free hand, Astarion reached for their chin and tilted their head so they were looking him in the eye. He could see wetness cling to the bottom of their eyelashes.

“You didn’t deserve what he did to you.”

Some people managed to look pretty when they cry. Rune was not one of them. Their face scrunched up and as they bent forward into Astarion’s waiting arms, they gasped. He could feel their tears soak his nightshirt and he ran his right hand down their back as they shook in his arms. Astarion knew his shirt would be covered in snot if it wasn’t already.

It was an ugly kind of cry and yet, Astarion still found them so terribly beautiful. Because they were here and able to cry at all.

His heart twisted as Rune keened into his collarbone and he pressed his lips to their hair.

“I know,” he whispered, trying to sound soothing. “I love you. I’m sorry.” He didn’t specify for what. For the child Rune once was. For the person they were now, haunted by their past but yet so very kind. Even for the monster Rune was before, the person who had done so much evil because their father refused them any joy outside of blood soaked hands.

This would not be the end of it, that Astarion knew. Even if they defeated the Netherbrain, even though the Urge was gone, Rune would not heal from their Father’s treatment overnight. There would be more of this, more crying, more periods of self loathing, more days where Rune shied away from anything good out of fear of ruining it. Just like there would be more days where Astarion did not want to be touched, where the shadows felt like chains and where he’d find himself miles away in his own body.

That was alright. Astarion meant it when he said he wanted it all. The last time Astarion found himself adrift in his own skin, Rune had gently pushed him back, held his face in their hands, and asked him simple questions until the world around him came back into focus. And when he’d arrived back in his own body, they had greeted him with soft words, his shirt in case he wanted to feel less exposed, and said something he’d wished he heard over those 200 long years.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re not alone, I swear it.”

This was a promise he was determined to keep.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x durge #durge spoilers #some people seem to like having the tumblr version so here I am #rune tavernus #the dark urge #bg3 #bg3 fic

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astarionbae · 1 month

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alone, break, ghost + Luna?

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Luna is very much used to being alone, especially when she was first welcomed into the Bhaal Temple by her Butler Sceleritas Fel, because she was very different from the other Bhaalspawns that came before; having been brought back to life with his own mortal flesh and blood. She was kept from the others due to her 'pure' status and due to that, she was taught things and learned things, and done things on her own. That was until she developed a friendship with Enver Gortash who basically became everything to her. Post nautiloid crash and now having amnesia, Luna struggled a lot with a new sense of loneliness that's always been there but now manifested as conscious thing. Everyone knew who they were, what their lives were like, even Shadowheart knew where she was going and doing despite having some of her old memories removed for Shar. Luna didn't have any of that, she only had nightmares but even then they were formless with screams and whispers. The thing Luna knew about herself was that she had this urge inside of her that called on her to commit heinous acts and have intrusive thoughts. It terrified her because she cared immensely and had such empathy, that she felt that it was for the best to have her bedroll further away from them. Then when the Alfira Accident happened and she felt the judgement of these people that she came to know and understand, she becomes more isolated where she chooses to handle with her own struggles last because she puts everyone else first

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

The lowest Luna has ever been was when she learned about who she was, and how that came to be in Act 3. She's a Bhaalspawn, one of the most feared creatures in Baldur's Gate opposite of vampire(s)/vampire spawn. Learns that she was the one that was behind the idea of creating the Absolute Cult and stealing the crown of Karsus from Mephistopheles' Vault, and that it was in her hubris that she been struck down and tadpoled by her bloodkin Orin. But what broke her completely was the revelation that her birth father, Apolis, had died trying to protect her Karlach and Shadowheart has both seen Luna being very upset and depressed, but the only person who had ever seen her truly breakdown and become pure, unadulterated rage is Astarion. And that rage has only came out when she met Cazador because how he spoke of Astarion and called him a "means-to-an-end" because in hindsight, she was the exact same thing for Bhaal. And when someone recognizes themselves in another's situation, it unlocks a primal instinct to protect them from something that you cannot protect yourself from.

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

Her father Apolis. He was the one that unknowingly struck up a deal with an avatar of Bhaal in order to save her life from a spell that he casted and indirectly struck her with. And because of that, Bhaal seen it fit to let him be Luna's first kill when the dark urge took over. She stabbed her own father in the chest with a short sword as a child and was led to the Bhaal Temple where she was then taught and conditioned to worship Bhaal as her lord and as her father because his blood now coursed in her veins. She gone a long time without any thought of her father, she was so young when it happened and didn't fully understand what she did since the urge took over. As the years progress, he merely became a distant echo and she forgot about him. But when her dream guardian of the prism visits her and has taken the shape of her late father, she doesn't necessarily recall / know straight away that it's him. But there's this undeniable sensation that tugs at her because the aura is loving and forgiving, and comforting. So imagine her destress once she learns that her dream guardian is actually the Emperor and he searched her broken mind, caught glimpses of her father, and used that against her.

tagging @endless-lilach because she sent an ask asking for break for Luna

tagging BG3 moots: @daughter-of-melpomene, @jewishbarbies, @starcrossedjedis, @seize-the-droid, @faerieroyal, @curious-kittens-ocs, @eddiebdiaz, @aliverse

#oc asks: luna dungardio #han tag #oc fam asks #bg3 oc

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sorcerous-caress · 4 months

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Thinking about the three main villains of Baldur's Gate.

All three were motivated by love, different kinds for different subjects. And all three pushed it to the extreme.

Tyranny - Gortash loved himself.

Which at first glance seems very cliche, a villain loves himself? What's next, a fork spotted in the kitchen? But consider the fact that Gortash isn't some spoiled brat who got the world handed to him on a plate and demanded for more. Since birth, he has been deemed unwanted and unlovable. His own parents didn't want him and sold him, and the devil he was imprisoned at didn't see any worth or use of him. Gortash didn't have a single soul love him all those years, and he looked at himself in the mirror and declared himself lovable.

Do you realise how powerful that is? To stand against everyone who never bothered to see worth in you and deem them wrong. He could've just as easily believed their words as true but he didn't, he chose to love himself when no one else does.

And he takes it too far, which is why his betrayal of Durge must have been so easy. I genuinely think he loved Durge, the only ever other person to truly love him back, but he loved himself more than he loved Durge. So one had to go.

He wants to gift the world to himself because it's what he thinks he deserves. Because if you loved someone, you'd want to grant them the world too, wouldn't you?

Death - Ketheric loved his daughter.

Loved her more than the world. The gods he betrayed for her, the families he has torn. A father's love pushed to the extreme. She died too young, and for that, he took his revenge on the world and sold his soul time after time just so his child may have the gift of life again.

Even if she loathes him, for he doesn't matter in his own world. His sole purpose, the thing keeping him going was Isobel and as long as she breathes, the world may burn and he wouldn't lift a finger.

He loved her more than death loved life, which is why he stole her back to life.

He never demanded her to be grateful either. It wasn't just selfless love, he wasn't just ready to sacrifice himself but also sacrifice the whole world just so she could stay on this plane a little bit more.

He didn't even ask for her to have immortality, he only wanted her to be granted a fair chance like the rest, be given a long enough like like the other children.

Murder - Orin loved her art.

She saw beauty in the chaos, pleasure in the pain, blossoms in the rot. She understood murder in ways even Bhaal couldn't comprehend, she has put so much thought and effort into each and every kill. Which is why she so easily swayed the other Bhaal fanatics to her side despite Durge being the clear favourite child of Bhaal.

They could see her passion, they could only dream to share her vision. She had the potential to start her own cult, build her own temple that'd accommodate her high art. She lived to kill, believed it was her purpose, toyed with her victims.

The fear she instilled into her victims was the coating before the painting.

Each cut was a deliberate brushstroke. Each wound seamlessly blending to one another.

The blood soaking the corpse was the varnish, the last touch before her masterpiece was put on display for all to see.

Even her audience was carefully chosen, not everyone was worthy to witness her art, not everyone deserved it.

Her passion burned bright enough to rival the god she was a chosen of.

#♡Ketheric #♡Orin #♡Gortash #♡character study

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uh-wriring · 5 months

Text

The Gods Must be Lying

Rating - M

Tags - m!Dark Urge x Gortash, cannibalism, religious trauma, religious guilt, drow durge, not beta read

The Dark Urge ponders on his affection towards Gortash, aware of his Father's disapproval.

Chapter 1

The bones are aching, hands laying upon the altar, under the blood red eyes of the Father. The ever so adoring butler stood by his side, his subordinates walking around the temple, bringing fresh, succulent bodies to his surroundings.

Oh, how they kill for His blessing.

It is beautiful, the blood soaking the ground of this temple. All for Him. But also all for his child.

The Dark Urge.

A strange name to have, even stranger to give to other people when asked.

Urlyn, is what he eventually chose.

He wonders, hands caressing the viscera on the altar, if that was his Father's mistake. To give him free will.

Perhaps chosing his own name was a mistake in itself, perhaps choosing awareness is a sin, he still sees the God as he should, but he could feel the blessing as much as he could feel the tug of the tight leash.

His latest actions weren't welcomed on His abode.

The admiration for the uncommon ally. To have Lord Gortash by his side was an important step, the man genius allowing for the putrid future his Father so required, but Bhaal was still not happy.

And Urlyn would be lying if he said he didn't know why.

"My lord, it is time for the ritual feeding." The butler said.

Sceleritas' voice took Urlyn's attention.

"Of course." the drow stood on his feet, a last, longing look at the red eyes granted an absensse inside. It had been years since he felt that, hadn't it? The details are foggy but he knew the punishment that came after Father's absensse, the scar on his face a reminder.

He had to correct this soon.

Pushing away the trouble from his mind, the man proceeded to greet the few selected for today's practice.

Oh, how the meat danced on their mouths as he kindly put it there, how the blood tasted metallic, how the teeth raged with each bite.

He was his Father's child, but he was still a kind leader. Mass fear didn't prove half as effective when commanding his flock as well placed attention. They wanted to feed? Then feed they will, from the hand of their so beloved. They wanted to maim? Then maim they shall, and the remains of their victims will stand proudly on the temple, all in name of Bhaal.

It was important to keep each follower's name, make them earn and embrace each achievment. Make them want more.

Give them just enough for them to come back begging for more.

Make them know their offerings won't grant the blessings they want.

But that doesn't mean they couldn't get it, if only they kept their worshipping.

At the end of the day, Urlyn retires to his chaimbers, and can't help but imagine the Banite licking the feast's blood off of his body.

He did not indulge in such thoughts that night.

#fanfic #bg3 #dark urge #dark urge spoilers #enver gortash #lord gortash #durgetash #durgetash fic #dark urge x gortash #my writing

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tieflingtareon · 6 months

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My love, are you the devil? (Oh, call me a devil)

Chapter 37 | Words: 10k

Summary: Astarion found himself often surprised by his heroic companion. He had one goal. To become the favoured companion of the group, to earn the Tieflings loyalty, to make Tar'eons strength his own. Yet Tar'eon isn't like the usual target of his manipulations. Despite his naivety, he does not seem gullible. There is something very wrong with their 'leader' to begin with. Astarion isn't sure if he wants to control it or eradicate the threat it posed. But can he really do either when Tar'eon himself seems so...unwaveringly kind?

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50668558/chapters/127995079

SMUT AHEAD ENJOY

Tar’eon had his guesses about where they would be going but a graveyard was…not on the list. It was silent, like a ghost town should be, he supposed. There wasn’t another living, breathing soul around. It was only them and the crunch of gravel beneath their boots.

The silence was begging to be broken, and Tar’eon blurted out the first thing that came to him.

“Hot.” He burned with shame the moment it came out. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“You couldn’t wait ten seconds before being an absolute freak?” Astarion didn’t seem annoyed though, much the opposite.

“Sorry, I— I was trying to make a joke. It was a bad.”

“It was a little funny.”

“Though, truthfully, if you had brought me here before I lost my memories, I probably would have meant it.”

“Too bad you don’t still do.” Astarion snorted before shaking his head and looking at the grave before them. He patted his hands against his sides, feeling awkward in the quiet before he knelt down and removed the overgrown vines from the stone, wiping after a centuries worth of dust and dirt.

This was what he had wanted to show him. This whole time, he’d been wearing a mask before him, or trying to appear better than he was. He’d had his moments were he failed to hide away from him, but…he was done hiding. This was who he had lost. How did one grieve their own death when they still technically lived?

He’d never been able to bring himself back to the place he’d been buried. Afraid it would be too much for him. That he’d try and bury himself back in the dirt to escape Cazador. Now though…he wasn’t alone. That fact alone was enough for him to face what once was. What he was finally letting rest. He wouldn’t let who he could have been, what he'd been warped into, haunt him. Not anymore.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” He placed his hands behind his back, squeezing his left with his right. Trying not to let his voice waver before he got it all out. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin…and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then, when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood…Cazador was waiting.” He could still taste it in the back of his throat as he spoke.

“From that day on I was his.” He stared at the grave, where he died and was reborn by Cazador’s blood, where he clawed his way out on the pure instinct to live, to survive. He’d been doing it since the night he awoke in his coffin. Fighting. All to survive. To live. And two hundred years later, he was finally being given the chance. Not just to survive, but to thrive. “Until today.”

“You were never his.” Tar’eon swore in a low voice. Astarion never belonged to Cazador, just as he had never belonged to Bhaal. People weren't possessions, even if they had been shaped to be. Bhaal's blade and Cazador's canvas. “What he took, he took by force. That doesn’t make it his.”

“Maybe…but he did take it.” The scars he left on him, physical and mental, would never disappear. He was coming to accept that. He would spend every day of the rest of his life trying to be better than he was. Better than what Cazador made him. He only hoped that would be enough to reclaim most of himself back. “There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock.”

Whoever he had been had stayed in that coffin, long after he broke free of it.

“For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried.” He gave a humourless chuckle. “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

There was endless possibilities for him now. There were limitations in terms of walking in the sun and through running water, once the tadpole was gone, but even then…the world was his oyster. He wanted to explore it. To see everything he never got to while on Cazador’s leash. To experience everything he had been denied.

“And what do you want, Astar?” Tar’eon asked, his mismatched eyes glowing in the dimly lit night. To think once they had scared him. Now, he loved nothing more than gazing into them, letting them be his light in the dark. Here he was, listening intently, patiently. Always so patient with him. So thoughtful. So kind.

“You…I want you.” Astarion turned to him with a small, warm smile. He wanted to do it all; explore, live, thrive, with Tar’eon at his side. “You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was objectively a stupid thing to say.” He huffed out a laugh. “You trusted me with your heart, you stupid, stupid man. After all the hearts I’ve broken. You’re a fool.”

“They say love makes fools abundantly.” Tar’eon smiled without a hint of regret and Astarion scoffed softly before looking down at his feet, pressing off his heels in an anxious little movement before he looked back at Tar’eon.

“I feel…safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t.” Tar’eon reached out and took his hand in his gently, caressing his callous thumb over Astarion’s knuckles, his elegant fingers. “Whatever comes next…I’ve got you. And I know you’ve got me too."

“Thank you.” Astarion meant it. Gods, he meant it. He felt like he would never be able to thank Tar’eon enough for all he had given him. All he had done to help him take back what was his. He’d reminded him of his own strengths, and lent his own when he needed it. In his moment of weakness, in his desperate hunger, he had reminded him he could be more. That he was more.

He looked back to the grave and smiled awkwardly.

“Well, I should probably fix this.” He reached for his dagger and frowned when he realised it wasn’t there. Right. He must have lost it when Cazador trapped him in the ritual. It was always on him, so he didn't even think to reequip himself. What a shame, he really did like that one…

“Looking for this?” Tar’eon lifted the hem of his shirt and slipped out a sheathed dagger, offering it out to Astarion.

“You-“ Astarion took the dagger and opened it. He blinked. It wasn’t the same one, he could tell by design alone, but it was frankly, gorgeous. “Where did you get this?”

“I, uh...I had it crafted a while back. Back at Last Light. It’s silly, but I was waiting for the right moment to…give it to you, I suppose.”

“You silly devil, why would you wait so long?” Astarion shook his head, unsheathing the dagger completely and admiring the black blade, curved like a fang. The handle was wrapped with red leather, the cross guard a bright silver colour and curling downwards on one side to curl around his fingers. Harder to knock away or steal. After another look in the dim lighting, he could confirm it was definitely pointed at the end like a familiar pair of horns he adored, the pommel curved like a crescent moon and embedded with a bloodstone. It made him grin. When he tilted it in the moonlight, the black blade revealed a crimson hue.

“Where on earth did you get the materials? It's exquisite."

"I picked up a lot of stuff, I suppose. I kept the prettier things in the chest." He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you...do you like it?"

"Like it? Darling, I love it."

"It's not enchanted like the other, but..."

"As long as it cuts clean, I'm happy." Astarion smirked and turned to his grave, kneeling before it and taking a breath before he began carving into the stone. He'd be blunting his beautiful new blade, but he'd be sure to take much better care of it in future. It felt right he supposed, to use a gift to close this chapter of his life. Bittersweet in a way. He looked back to Tar'eon and smiled, not because he was particularly happy, but because he was grateful to end his story with him here. Now, it was time to start a new one. The sequel, he supposed, and with a much happier plot than the last one, he hoped.

Tar'eon smiled back softly, seeming to understand that he didn't need to say anything. Astarion knelt in front of his grave and looked at the new date left on the stone. He had died two hundred years ago, and now, that part of him could rest. Meanwhile, the him of now, would finally have the chance to live. He had been reborn in Cazador's death, and perhaps one day, someone would write the true date of his death, his final death. He was ready to accept the possibility of having more than just himself in the far future. It was almost nice, to think one day, someone may mourn him when he left this world, instead of going silently in the night, forgotten by all.

Tar'eon reached down and gently placed a white flower on his grave as he knelt beside him, smiling at the stone.

"Cute." Astarion remarked. It was a sweet gesture. He didn't know if anyone had put flowers on his grave after his death. Perhaps his parents had, but he wouldn't know. He wondered if they were buried here too, or in some gutter, or if they were still out there.

He took his time to let it all soak in. All that he was putting to rest. Everything from his past would stay there. It was for the best. Even if his parents lived, he doubted they'd want to see him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see them himself. It had been so long that he couldn't even remember their faces. What was the point in chasing ghosts from the past?

He'd rather look to the future. Soak in the present.

"I've been dead in the ground for long enough. It's time to try living again." He broke the silence that had fallen upon them and found his chest felt lighter to voice it out loud. Like now that it was spoken, it was unavoidable. A promise to himself that he couldn't break. He turned on his knees to face Tar'eon and took his hand in his, guiding him to face him. Tar'eon slipped his other hand into his and smiled, squeezing gently.

"With everything that life has to offer." Astarion thumbed over his scarred knuckles, feeling a little shy honestly. When was the last time he asked for sex? It felt strange to. To admit he kind of...wanted it. Not solely for the satisfaction but to...be close to him. He'd never had the choice before, the desire, to share his body with another. It had always left him feeling uncomfortable and disgusted in himself, wishing he was anywhere, anyone else, but...

It wasn't like that with Tar'eon. He'd proven time and time again that he didn't mind waiting around for him. He didn't mind not having his body. He never expected it. Even when he teased him on purpose and riled him up, he never got mad at him for it. He genuinely...just wanted to spend time with him. Know him. It was different from any other relationship he'd ever had. If he could even call what he had in the past 'relationships'.

"Meaning...?" Tar'eon blinked him slowly, waiting for him to elaborate and Astarion chuckled breathlessly, unable to help his small grin.

"If a night of passion is on offer, I...could be persuaded." He offered, not wanting to seem too eager. After weeks of telling him no, he was honestly a little anxious to see how he'd respond.

"Persuaded? I don't think I like that word." Tar'eon didn't let go of his hands, but his expression said enough. He wasn't going to agree unless Astarion was completely honest. Unless he expressed genuine interest.

"I...I want to." He looked away. When had he gotten so embarrassed over the topic? He was hardly a stranger to it, but...this felt different. Gods, he had butterflies in his stomach for Heavens sake. "Tonight is both my final night and my first. I...I want to spend it with you."

"If that's what you want," Tar'eon stressed the word. After all, this was Astarion's new beginning. He was free. He had a choice in this, in everything. Especially when it came to his body. Always when it came to his body. "Then I'd be happy to be your 'first'."

Astarion barked a short laugh.

"Gods, you are hardly my first, darling."

"You technically weren't mine either, but I consider you to be." Tar'eon smiled. "If you want a night of passion, I'm here. If you just want to cuddle, I'm here for that too. I'm here for you, no matter what you can and can't do for me. I promise."

"That...that means a lot to me, actually." Astarion smiled down at their hands, slipping his fingers between the gaps of his and locking them together. "You know, I didn't care for you when we first met." Looking back, it made him chuckle. He had been so blinded by his own narrative of Tar'eon and his great plan to manipulate him, that he hadn't realised he'd been falling for his own sham, quickly and deeply. He had been just as naive as he had called Tar'eon to his own feelings.

"But I do now. Being with you is more than lust, or manipulating you into a tactical alliance." He rolled his eyes at himself, at the silly ideas he'd had in his head, thinking he couldn't fall for him when he was so damn lovable. When he had so much love to give to any poor soul who needed it. He had needed it.

"I love you." The words finally felt light on his tongue. There was no beautiful lie anymore. Only truth. He was finally ready to say it with meaning. Without holding anything back from him. He was ready to accept that this was it. That Tar'eon was it. "I love this. And I want it all."

He knew he would be his only and one, the one he'd cherish the memory of for centuries after he was gone. He may love again, he may show affections for another, but Tar'eon would be the one he'd think of when the world caved in and everything turned to dust. He was willing to carry the hurt for however long he lived, to have just several decades of happiness with him. That would be more than enough for a lifetime, even if he selfishly wanted forever.

He released his hand, reaching up to cup his cheek, smoothing his thumb over the dark scar etched into his face as he guided him in for a kiss, Tar'eon meeting him in the middle with eagerness that betrayed his earlier reluctance. Astarion suppressed a grin, smoothing his hands down his neck, skimming over his chest before he pushed him back. Tar'eon made a small sound of surprise, looking up at Astarion with wide eyes before he gave a nervous laugh.

"We, uh...here?"

"Where else?" Astarion grinned without shame, eyes shimmering with amusement as he slunk up his body, making space for himself between Tar'eons legs. "Weren't you the one that remarked on how hot it would be? Let me satisfy those dark urges of yours, Bhaalbabe."

Tar'eon tipped his head back with a stifled snort, covering his grin with his hand. Gods, he was the worst. That was horrible. He loved him irrevocably.

He curled up, taking Astarion's chin in hand and guiding him that extra inch to his lips, catching them in a hungry kiss. If he wanted to tease him, to make corny jokes at his expense, so be it. Tonight, he would indulge him. It seemed only appropriate to give him the 'little deaths' in a graveyard. There would be no need to perform for his benefit. Any delicious sounds he wrung out of him would be an apt enough compromise for disturbing the peace of the dead in their home.

Astarion's cold breath tickled his lips as he broke the kiss, burying a hand in his curls, making a mess of loose, soft strands as he sat up properly, his left hand sliding up his thigh.

"Come closer, virdulq myirz." He murmured against his cheek, brushing his lips against the sharp cut of his jaw. "Tonight is about you."

"Then you better undress faster, darling." Astarion countered, swinging his leg over his, slipping his hand beneath his loose shirt, touching hot skin with relish. Tar'eon let out a throaty laugh, pulling back to tug his shirt over his head, throwing it aside for Astarion's pleasure, resting back on his palms so he could have an eyeful. The vampires eyes darkened, Tar'eons cock throbbing in response, keeping his hands to himself even as he dug his claws that yearned for flesh beneath them into dirt. He shivered beneath cold hands, the sharp change in temperature to his natural body heat only making him feel more sensitive.

He wouldn't say anyone was in charge when it came to this particular act, but...well, he was a slave to Astarion's whims. Whatever he wanted, he could have. If he desired him beneath him, free to be moulded by his hands, so be it. Nothing pleased him more than knowing Astarion liked what he saw. His back met dirt and gravel as Astarion forced him back down, tracing perfectly manicured nails along the ridges of his skin, along long forgotten scars.

"This makes a lot more sense now..." He mused, scratching gently over a raised, thick scar the spanned across the right side of his chest to his shoulder. Astarion's eyes flicked up to meet his, a small smile curling onto his lips. "I would have thought you more assertive after all the teasing. I could hear how much you wanted me. But I suppose it makes sense. You were made to worship, weren't you, darling?"

Tar'eons chest stuttered as Astarion slipped his hands up his clavicle, curling elegant fingers around his throat. He groaned lowly, tipping his head back to bare it to the man. He may resent his creator, but Asatrion was right. It was instinctive to worship, and in the same vein, to kill. If he had to worship anybody, it seemed only right to worship the angel illuminated by moonlight before him.

"Yes...My gentle devil, you were made to love like no other mortal man could." He purred, straddling his waist properly and reaching for the latch of his doublet, slipping himself free of the leather and velvet. He tossed to towards his grave and grinned. He suppose all that power was worth giving up, when he had his own little godling smitten in his palm. Gods, if he wasn't just as smitten.

He stripped his shirt off and swooped down to snatch his lips up in a passionate kiss, groaning low as a large hand buried in his hair, the other smoothing down his back. Heat rippled off the tiefling in a way that burned in the most delicious way against his own skin, pulling him even closer by his hip, his touch holding the intensity of a brand. Any disgust or loathing was left at the door, left in the dirt, chest too full of every other emotion he thought long forgotten to allow them to fester. Tonight? Tonight was his. His and Tar'eons.

Astarion giggled as his fang caught on Tar'eons lip, the centuries worth of practice lost on Tar'eons enthusiasm, tongue tracing enticing canines as he pulled away.

"Careful now, love."

"Fuck careful." Tar'eon rasped, eyes burning with heat as he slipped his hand to his nape, squeezing gently as he ducked his head to lavish the vampires neck with tongue and teeth. "If I cared for careful, I never would have let you sink your fangs into me, ph myirz."

A surprised laugh escape his throat, mixed in with a hapless moan, arousal burning low in his gut.

"Like you didn't enjoy it." Astarion grinned. "You're a little masochist, darling. I've known that since you let that priest strike you thrice without killing him." He shivered as blunt teeth scraped over the swell of his chest, a hot tongue licking a stripe between his pecs, tasting and inhaling the rosemary scented oil on his skin.

"I like knowing my blood is what makes you so blush so beautifully." Tar'eon murmured against his flesh, the back of Astarion's neck burning at his words, heat tingling his cheeks. Oh. So that's how it was. Gods, he was more possessive than he'd admit to, wasn't he? It didn't dim Astarion's arousal in the slightest, only making it burn hotter. Maybe because he knew there was a difference between possessiveness and possessing another. After all, he too quite liked when Tar'eon wore his bite mark with pride. There was something about others knowing he was his darling that made his fragile heart ease it's trembling.

Astarion's stomach quivered at Tar'eons large hands grasped either side of his waist, pressing gentle kisses into his skin, mapping out the moles and freckles on his chest rather than the hard lines he maintained over the centuries. He'd been told on multiple occasions he had the body of a dancer, but he could not remember a single time he'd bothered to try.

This though, this felt like a dance. Not in the sense of routine practice, but in the sense that moving his body against Tar'eons left him just as dizzy as spinning circles on a dance floor. He moaned weakly, wrapping his fingers around one horn and guiding Tar'eons lips away from his skin before he crumbled to ash beneath the heat. All survival instincts were out the window now though, because he crushed his lips to his, letting the fire consume him, letting skin split and blood spill between their tongues. It was as esurient as the kiss in the crypt, and he didn't bother holding anything back.

His first rebirth had been raw and cold, filled with hunger. This time, he'd be reborn in blood and fire, just as ravenous as the first time, but he would not go hungry.

He knew Tar'eon wouldn't allow that.

"Get these clothes off before I tear them off." Tar'eon groaned at the demand, lips throbbing and stinging as he licked the blood off them, hands falling to Astarion's laces. The vampire leaned back against his legs, like it was his throne, crimson eyes looking at him like he was prey. Like he wanted to eat him up. A thrill ran up his spine. He had expected something tender, but he wasn't going to complain. They had plenty of time ahead of them to be tender, to make love. They'd both been wanting this though.

To make each other theirs. They were both men turned monsters trying to overcome their pasts at their core, both scared, frightened souls, lead by urges and compulsions that were instilled into them; love wasn't the question between them. It was the answer. They already had that. Now, all they needed was to appease the insecurity in them. To show it was just as loved. That the blood and selfish urge to covet between them was equally adored.

His love was greedy and intense, intense enough to kill and die for, to destroy or create for, and Astarion's love was metallic and insatiable, always hungry for more, voracious. Those things were simply facts. Had they met in another lifetime, it would be a love that levelled cities. In this life though, it was a love that would save one.

Tar'eon tipped the man back onto the ground in a swift motion, kneeling above him as he eased him into the dirt, supporting his weight so he'd be laid out like the treasure he was, lips finding his chest and travelling lower as he slipped his pants down his hips. He only paused to take off the others boots, smiling to himself at the bloody trail of kisses on Astarion's marble skin, tossing his trousers aside.

"I was quite enjoying my view, you know..." Astarion said petulantly, a pout in his words that made Tar'eon grin.

"I'll make it worth the trouble, my oilqyv dajy." He assured, reaching for his own laces to ease the pressure on his cock, his spare hand running over his calf and up his thigh, ducking his head low. He kissed up one thigh, leaving behind faint red prints against his flesh before he did the same to the other, purposefully ignoring the hard cock before him in favour of sucking dark bruises into the flawless skin.

He felt a tug on his left horn and gave a hoarse laugh, licking his lips as the small glare Astarion was giving him.

"I think I preferred when you were some clueless virgin, rather than a cocktease."

"You won't after I'm done with you." He may not have much experience he could remember, but he knew for a fact that he wasn't clueless in terms of sex. Far from it. He pressed a sticky kiss to the crease of his thigh, eyes locked with his lovers as he smiled, only half hidden against his skin. There was a visible stutter of his chest, a flutter of lashes, and Tar'eon grinned, looking more fiendish than ever.

He let Astarion keep his grip on his horn as he licked a stripe up his cock, base to tip, blunt teeth scraping the deep red head and enticing a soft gasp before he ceased his teasing, sheathing his teeth behind his lips and swallowing the vampire down as far as he could, eyes falling shut. He didn't dare touch himself, wanting to reserve his pleasure for his lover, instead taking his hip in one hand, the other wrapping around what he couldn't fit just yet.

It would probably always feel strange, his mouth full of cock than wasn't burning hot but instead leeching the heat from his own wet mouth, but knowing it was Astarion - it made it ten times better than anything he could imagine comparing it to. He bobbed his head with leisure, delighting in the little breathless sounds he drew out of him. There was no better reward to servicing another than the appraisal he would receive. He knew that in the same way he knew the sky was blue.

"Gods," Astarion sounded glorious, voice so soft yet rough around the edges. "You've definitely been thinking about this, haven't you? I can tell." Tar'eon didn't spare him a reply, simply looking up at him and taking him deeper, swallowing around him as he held his gaze. The vampire cursed, head falling back as his hips twitched, both hands grasping onto the thick bases of his horns. He wouldn't mind if he held them tighter, if he pulled, if he tugged at his hair. He wasn't sure he'd mind anything Astarion did to him, as long as he was touching him.

"Now, now, I have plans, darling, I can't cum just yet." Tar'eons quirked a brow, eyes darkening as he buried his nose in coarse white hair. He had plans too. Without hesitation, he allowed the bond between them to stir, opening the gate to his mind wide open. He'd let Astarion see it all, seeing as he still had the sense to blabber on despite having his cock buried in his throat.

Astarion gasped softly at first, surprised by the sudden connection, but a rush of images and emotions flooded in through it before he could question it. Tar'eon wasn't withholding anything, allowing it to tidal wave over the vampire as he lavished his cock with attention. The intensity of his desire, his love, the centre a pure white light of devotion and warmth, shrouded by tendrils of darkness than wanted to consume and be consumed, to make bleed and be bled. There was shame deep, deep within the shadows, hazed over by burning hot passion and yearning, every thought filled with ardent affection for the pale elf.

Astarion thought one scenario would be enough to possibly unravel him, but it wasn't just one. No, it was a dozen, mixing and mashing together through the bond, every fantasy like a phantom touch, warm hands and lips covering every inch of him, sliding, caressing, fingers and teeth digging into his flesh. There was heat everywhere, Tar'eons desire consuming his mind like a wildfire, his lust leaving him feeling feverish, and though realistically he knew the only place he was touching was his hips, knew the only place his lips were were around his cock, it felt like he was everywhere, tearing into him with vicious teeth and putting him back together with gentle hands.

The connection sparked suddenly, short circuiting and turning to static as he ripped his hands from his horns, clamping his palm over his mouth. A guttural sound tore from his throat as his nails dug into the dirt below him, back arching off the ground, pressing up into Tar'eons palms as his body drew itself tight like a bowstring. The sudden gut punch of pleasure leaft him trembling, his vision spotting with bright white spots. He didn't even recognise his own orgasm until after it was over, his cock pulsing weakly after his release, his body deflating against the cool dirt and grass. Hells.

Tar'eon dropped his softened cock from his lips, licking his lips. He hadn't hesitated to swallow. Astarion drank from him near daily. It felt only fair to consume him in return.

"...Are you okay?" Astarion blinked a few times, finding it hard to focus. Gods, was that what people meant by having their mind blown? He felt like his brain had died and was being rebooted. Now that - that was a climax. He thought he knew pleasure, the way any expert would with the experience he had, but he'd never experience anything close to that before.

"Huh? No, yes, I-" He ran a hand through his hair. "You are...full of surprises, as always. Give me a moment. I think you just sucked my soul out, you bloody incubus."

Tar'eon smiled shyly. Gods, the nerve to act shy after that. If Astarion didn't love him, he'd stab him. The tiefling came to lay beside him, tucking his curls back from his damp brow, the gentle thump of his tail giving away how pleased he was with himself.

"I hope I didn't overstep. I probably should have asked first." He admitted sheepishly.

"It wouldn't hurt to warn me next time, but...honestly? That was - mind blowing." The thumping grew louder as Tar'eons eyes brightened.

"Good to know." The tiefling nuzzled his temple and kissed his cheek, tracing his claws along his clavicle. "How're you feeling?" It felt like a good time to check in, all things considered. "You need anything?”

"I was going to rock your world, you bastard. I can't feel my legs." Tar'eon laughed at Astarion's half-assed grumble.

"It's the thought that counts." He slipped his arm around his waist and smiled down at the vampire. "We can end the night here, if you want. I don't mind. Naked cuddling sounds perfect to me, honestly."

"Absolutely not, you pest. You're going to fuck me and you're going to like it."

"Oh, am I?" Tar'eon smiled coquettishly, knowing Astarion didn't actually mean it as a command. He was being melodramatic, as per usual. "Shall I bark too, while I'm at it?"

"Oh, you have such wonderful ideas, darling. If you want to bark for me, I'll gladly to collar and leash you like the mutt you are." Astarion grinned, pinching his chin gently as he leaned up, noses bumping as the vampire's eyes shimmered with mirth. "Pant for me, puppy."

Tar'eon stifled a laugh and tilted his head to crush his lips against Astarions, unable to suppress his grin as he licked into his mouth, chest burning brightly with desire. He saw right through him. After all those lovely thoughts he shared with him, he was obviously liking the prospect of having him everywhere. He would have been happy bottoming, but there was something equally delicious about fucking Astarion.

Perhaps he just lived to please.

“Ah, one problem.” Tar’eon gave a small finger wave, implicating his claws as the problem at hand. “And I didn’t bring anything to rectify that little issue I’m afraid.”

“Gods, making me do all the hard work.” Astarion rolled his eyes and sat up with a groan, cracking his neck. Maybe fucking in a graveyard wasn’t the best idea, but he wasn’t willing to back down now. He wasn’t finished with him just yet. “Well? Make yourself useful, darling.”

He offered up his right hand and smirked, waiting for Tar’eon to get the hint. The bard looked at his hand cluelessly before taking it and kissing the heel of his palm. Astarion laughed.

“That’s very cute, darling, but I meant I need something to make this whole process a bit smoother...” Tar’eon blinked before his cheeks coloured, smiling despite his embarrassment. He whistled softly, a soft yellow glow coating his fingers in grease.

“Good boy.” Astarion grinned and leaned back on one hand, spreading his legs with little shame. No point in such a thing when it was just Tar’eon. Beauty was in the eye beholder as they said, and Tar’eons intense gaze told him he was more than ‘beautiful’ to the tiefling. He was infinitely more. A quiet purr rumbled from Tar’eons chest as the tiefling curled his hand around his calf, nuzzling just above his knee and resting his cheek on his thigh, watching with a languid sway of his tail like a pleased feline.

“Enjoying the view?” Astarion drawled, refusing to let the other know how hot he found his watchful gaze to be as he circled his hole, lazily pumping one finger. Tar’eon didn’t bother with a response when the answer was obvious, his claws scratching gently along his calf as he rumbled out another purr, the sound vibrating through his lover. Astarion shivered, his cock twitching weakly against his thigh before it began to stiffen again. Tar’eon smiled to himself and stopped holding back the urge to vocalise his pleasure at the scene before him. He's not sure where he learnt to refrain from doing so, but something about Astarion's acceptance of him made it easy to unleash, purring louder, a continuous thrum. It was far too animalistic to do around others, growling and purring like some sort of creature, but it was a natural aspect to his ancestors. Why should he hide it from his lover?

He turned his cheek against his inner thigh and pressed a gentle kiss to the pale skin, watching long, elegant fingers disappear past the second knuckle, sinking deeper as his soft breathing grew heavier. His lips parted and he scraped his teeth along the sensitive inner flesh, closing his eyes as he lavished his lovers thigh with love marks, with gentle bites that never dared to break skin. Astarion's sweet sighs were music to his ears, better than any tune he could play upon a flute, or any instrument for that matter.

"Gods, can't keep your mouth to yourself, can you?" Astarion laughed breathlessly, not sounding annoyed in the slightest as Tar'eon smiled against his thigh.

"It's impossible to when it's so easy to get lost between your legs." His hummed, gaze flickering up to meet the vampire's dark eyes. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? To have me, to make me lose myself in you?" He purred, teasing Astarion about his own pick up lines. The vampire gave a little giggle, tilting his head and biting his lip.

"I've never had my own lines used against me. Aren't you just a saucy little minx?" He grinned down at him and Tar'eons eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Well? Do they work?"

"As well as they did on you, darling." Astarion smiled softly, cheeks the faintest pink as he shifted with a sigh of pleasure, slipping another finger into his hole, relishing in the warm intimacy that shrouded actions that had once been mechanical, performative. "I have you now. Entirely. And not for a mere night."

"You have me for as long as you want me, ph myirz." Tar'eon swore in an oath, pushing his body up from the ground so he could catch Astarion's lips in a kiss, a gentle hand pushing his hair back and cradling his head, swallowing up the faint whimper that clawed its way up past Astarion's lips. He drew himself up onto his knees so he could hold the spawns face in his hand, caressing the smile lines he adored, the curve of his high cheekbone, tracing the length of his pointed ear before tugging gently on the bare lobe. Astarion gasped softly into the kiss, tingling all over. He couldn't remember the last time he was kissed while touching himself rather than touching another. What was the point of sparing affection to someone prepping for the main course, after all? He hadn't known anyone long enough to be given that kind of intimacy, or to return it.

It felt nice though. To be kissed like he was the finest vintage, savoured and consumed slowly. He parted his lips with a low moan, sitting straighter if only to have more. To be held like glass, to be drunk from, to be treasured. Gone was the greedy hands, the scorching kisses, the sanguine hunger - in it's place was the warmth of a hearth, was a touch that cherished and adored, the hunger nothing more than a gentle ache. He loved the tenderness as much as he loved the ravenous need. He was more familiar with the latter than the former, but he said himself that he wanted all of it, and he meant it.

All of it, all of Tar'eon. He wanted nothing less and nothing more.

He slipped his fingers out with a small groan, his arousal not liking to wait. His cock ached, stiff against his stomach, but he ignored it in favour of slipping past Tar'eons loose laces, wrapping his slick hand around his cock and squeezing. He couldn't tell if the sound he let out was a purr or a growl, but the thin ring of colour around his blown pupils told Astarion everything he needed to know. His tenderness hid desperation, his cherishing touch was a newly learned skill, conjured up purely for him, body coiled tight like a viper ready to strike.

He was holding it all back, purely for him, had always been. Astarion hadn't seen it the first night, but he saw it now. He wasn't sure he'd ever been able to pick someone apart so expertly before. Maybe it was because he knew him now, truly saw him, just as Tar'eon saw him too. It wasn't their bodies bare before each other anymore. It was everything that made them who they were, it was their very minds and souls, at each others fingertips. All they had to do was take the time to look.

He reached up and touched his cheek gently, the grey dirt on his fingers and palm marring the tieflings skin. Tar'eon closed his eyes, savouring the caress, and Astarion found himself smiling softly.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"I think I'll always love you." He wasn't sure how else to say it. How to explain to the man that his heart was his, for as long as he would live. He may love again, he may share a life with another after him, but it would never be him. It would never be this. He couldn't see it ever being possible.

"As will I." Tar'eon opened his eyes, and there was no lie in that mismatched gaze. Astarion could almost seeing himself within them, reflecting him in a way no mirror could. His eyes fluttered shut as Tar'eon kissed him once more, wrapping his arms around his lovers neck and dragging him down with him, legs curling around him to keep him as close as possible. Tar'eon bracketed his head with his forearms, not wanting to crush the elf as he laid above him, kissing the promise to his lips. His love would cloak him like a shield, long past his death. He didn't intend to haunt him, but he did intend to watch over him. Until he was ready to let him go. Until he moved on with another. Tar'eon would make sure he wasn't alone in the end, even if it meant walking the Fugue plane for centuries, waiting for him to return to his side.

His tail wrapped around Astarion's thigh, squeezing lovingly as he broke the kiss.

"Don't ask. You already know my answer, darling." Astarion huffed out a soft sound of amusement and Tar'eons eyes softened.

"Doesn't mean I won't try every time." He kissed him again, the press of lips gentle and warm as he grasped his own aching cock, pressing and sinking himself into his lover slowly, breathing in the shaky exhale that escape the vampire before kissing away the pinch in his brows. It took everything in him not to move, to not give into the Urge that skulked around in the back of him mind that wanted blood, wanted tears, wanted to tear into marble flesh.

This wasn't his. This, Astarion, Astar, would never be his. This belonged to him. Not his Father, and not his Urges.

He buried his nose in white curls and shuddered out a breath, inhaling rosemary and citrus, allowing it to cleanse the rottenness inside him. Astarion may use the concoction to hide the smell of death than clung to his undead body, but Tar'eon found comfort in it. It smelt like home. What he imagined home could be. What it once was. Fresh and fruitful.

"Gods..." Astarion's voice warbled. "Just- move." The plea was unmistakable in his tone, nails biting into his back, the skin beneath his cold hands riddled with scars of the past. Even when adding his own crescent moons into his flesh, it felt like healing. Like he was being abolished of all sin; forgiven.

I've paid my penance. Let me keep him for myself, Father.

Tar'eon banished the voice of a younger, more foolish man. There was no forgiveness to seek. Not for this. Not for love. He would never ask permission to love, again. He tilted his head and ducked his chin, catching Astarion's lips in a passionate kiss and letting the past slip away in favour of indulging the present before him. He wanted to be here for this. There was nothing in the past that could compare to this moment. To his life now. Maybe...it was okay to leave it forgotten. Maybe, he didn't need to know the truth, as much as he craved it.

He soaked up Astarion's soft sounds as he rolled his hips, slow and deep, breaking the kiss and burying his face in his neck, not wanting to tempt himself into muffling a single noise in favour of kissing him stupid. He wanted to hear everything. He didn't want to hear Astarion perform this time, to sing like a pretty bird. He wanted to hear his raw vocals, relish in the cracks and imperfections of his voice on the brink.

"Don't," Astarion's fingers tangled and pulled taunt dark strands. Tar'eon groaned. "Don't treat me like I'm fragile. Please. Give me-" He choked softly, but Tar'eon didn't draw attention to it. "Give me everything. My sweet, sweet darling devil, give me all of it." There was a breathless note twisted into his words, begging for it even as he permissed it. Tar'eon shivered, squeezing his tail tighter around his lovers thigh as he raised his head to look at the vampire, loose white curls splayed out against dark dirt and ruby eyes blown and shiny in the moonlight. He looked like an angel...

He knocked his forehead against his, sighing softly.

"I want to treat you kindly. Like you deserve."

"You always do. And I know you always will." Astarion tucked dark strands behind the tieflings ears, caressing the shells of them with a small smile. "I trust you."

"Gods..." Tar'eon closed his eyes and swore softly. Well, wasn't that it then? Whatever he wanted, he would have. Anything he could give him, would be his. Anything he owned, already belonged to him. Astarion's trust was all he needed in return for everything.

He nuzzled into his palm, the scent of the earth stuck beneath his usually perfect nails. He smiled and kissed the lines of his hand with reverence. These hands held his heart in a vice, but he was grateful that it was him who did so. That he could trust him to hold it, to be gentle with it. He kissed the pads of his fingers, cradling his left wrist in his larger hand. In another life, he might have snapped it for the sheer pleasure of it. He parted his lips and took the fourth finger between his teeth, canines clamping down around the base. Astarion hissed, jerking at the sudden, sharp pain.

"What're you-?!" Tar'eon pulled back, licking blood from his canines and looking down at Astarion.

"Trust me a little further." The vampires eyes widened at the request, reminded of his own words. Even that far back...Tar'eon had trusted him. His undead heart threatened to kick to life from the tension alone. Trusting anyone who made you bleed was objectively stupid thing to do...but love made fools abundantly. In pairs. Slowly, he nodded and Tar'eons weariness melted away, eyes softening as he released his slim wrist, hot hands grasping at his hip, his waist, the burning heat of his desire unable to be ignore any longer.

Astarion's hand fell to his shoulder, eyes focused on the imprint of teeth, the broken skin around his ring finger. He wondered if it would scar. It was the first scar he didn't mind the idea of keeping.

He gasped as he was pulled impossibly closer, legs spread further apart by the sheer width of the tiefling's body, his fingers digging into impressionable flesh and hard muscle as the man loomed over him, somehow enveloping him in his shadow even in the dead of night.

"Ph virdulq myirz," His eyes, like Avernus and Cania shrouded in darkness, burned just for him. "Xe dajy haf." It was the last thing he whispered before he bore his weight down onto him, leaving not a single inch of skin untouched as he buried his face in white curls, dragging his hips back and slamming them back into his.

The greedy hands were back, but there was an underlying feeling care, of being almost precious like a jewel, even as claws dug into his pale flesh, possessive and desperate to leave their mark. Pleasure sparked up his spine, arching into the other as the sparks ignited into flames, burning up his neck, his ears, down his chest. The moan that escape him was guttural and raw, head tilting back and eyes falling shut as his cock drove deeper into him, raking blunt nails up the expanse of his shoulders.

There was little else he could do when completely blanketed by the massive man, enveloped in his heat, being warmed from the inside out. He grasped at his back, feeling the ridges of his body, the scars, thick and thin, the burns...He held two lives within one body, full of forgotten stories, and Astarion had the honour to hold it, to embrace it. What an honour it was.

He reached lower, fingers snaking around the tieflings tail, grasping it tight and relishing in the low growl that vibrated through them both. Tar'eon didn't slow his thrusts, even if it pulled the appendage taunt in Astarion's hand, body trembling faintly above him. Astarion smirked, a fang peeking out from his top lip as soft noises were fucked past his lips. He tilted his head forward, burying his nose in the tiefling's neck as the man refused to relent, claws leaving faint red welts down his stomach. He could hear the harsh thumps of his heart, the erratic beat, all that sweet blood burning within his veins, turning his skin a delicious pink. He always smelt the sweetest when excited like this. So close to the scent of him post-battle.

Tar'eon reached up with a moan and cupped the back of his head, encouraging him to bite, to pierce his skin. Take his life essence from him as he took his pleasure from Astarion. He would make sure Astarion never went without, would never hunger - not for anything. Love, blood, pleasure, he'd find a way to satiate his every desire with his body and heart alone.

Astarion didn't clamp down on the offering though. No, he brushed his lips against his jugular, pressing cold kisses down the expanse of his throat. Tar'eon was more than a meal to him. More than a means to an end. He was so much more now.

"Please." But he supposed he couldn't say no to such a pretty plea. It was hard to say no when he was shaking above him, thrusting against that special spot that made his toes curl. He wondered how long he would last. If he'd hold off until he gave the word. It was a tempting idea.

He didn't pierce so much as ease into the flesh, feeling skin and muscle give away to his fangs, tasting the sweat on his tongue before the blood as the tiefling inhaled sharply. The gentleness only hurt more, radiating heat and pain around the stinging wound, burning hot like his dry throat. Tar'eons hips stuttered and he was forced to slow, dragging out every agonising inch of pleasure as they rutted against each other, Astarion thumbing along the bumps at the base of his tail. He drank deeply, letting the blood wash over his tongue, over his lips and down his cheeks, the angle messy. Usually, he only had to worry about making a mess of Tar'eon and the poor mans bedroll, but the droplets he missed now dripped onto him, cooling as they slid down his cheeks, his chin, slipping down his neck.

His whole life had been controlled, perfection expected of him, every moment performed like he was an actor on a stage, prim and proper and appealing...It felt good to be messy. It made him happy to know the scent of Tar'eon would stick to him like a second skin even after he washed the blood away.

He pulled away from the wound with a soft sigh of pleasure, looking up at the tiefling who looked back at him with wonder. He couldn't even question why he was looking at him like that though, too happy to think clearly. He grinned, teeth still coated in red, the lower half of his face streaked with dark blood. There was no shame in those shiny ruby eyes, and Tar'eon cupped his cheek, admiring the expression of pure bliss on the man before he crushed his lips to his, wanting to understand how on Toril his blood alone could make him look so debauched and angelic at once.

Astarion groaned against his mouth, releasing his tail from his grasp so he could clutch at his ribs, clawing his way up his shoulders, aching to be crushed beneath his weight, to shatter in his arms and be put back together. He was close, only growing closer, and he craved the release. Craved the collective ecstasy he had never cared for before. He wanted to die and be reborn a man worthy to stand at his side.

Tar'eon broke the kiss with a curse, lips red with his own blood as he panted above him. Astarion knew the man was unravelling, burning up inside, trying so hard not to fall apart for his sake. He guided him back down and licked across his lovers lips with a hedonistic moan.

"Keep going. You're so close, darling..." He rocked back into him, urging him on, encouraging him to get him just that inch closer to the edge. Tar'eon moan was rough, a hoarse rasp as he buried his face in the vampires neck, his pace growing uneven, sloppy, but he didn't relent. He shuddered out a groan as Astarion's legs squeezed his hips, teeth brushing against his pale neck, aching to litter Astarion in lovebites.

The vampires breathing was growing laboured, cock throbbing between their stomachs as he felt the wave rushing up on him, digging his heel into the back of Tar'eons thigh. He grasped at his nape and gave a sound closer to a dying animal than a man, head falling back as he waited on the precipice, canines scraping at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, a hot tongue cleaning away tacky blood.

"Gods, just do it." He begged, voice cracking as he fisted dark strands, his eyes threatening to roll back into his skull as his orgasm finally peaked, pleasure crashing over him as his cock jumped, spitting stripes of cum between their stomachs, smearing between them as Tar'eon clamped his teeth down on his neck. Astarion's choked sound of pleasure gave way to a weak keen he'd rather die than admit to, skin splitting beneath sharp canines.

"Fuck," He groaned, blunt nails threatening to split skin in return as the tiefling moaned, finally stuttering to a stop. Astarion shivered he felt it, the hot release, the dead weight that came upon him, the grip of his tail growing lax as he pried his teeth from his neck. Astarion could feel blood leaking from the wound, but he didn't move to staunch it, his hands relaxing against the younger mans back, smoothing down and wrapping around the small of his waist. Keeping him there.

They were silent a while, both focused on catching their breath, on soaking up their post coitus bliss. Eventually, Tar'eon shifted, raising himself up just enough to look down at Astarion.

"Are you...okay?" He asked softly. Astarion only realised now that he had lost the twine holding the top half of his hair back, likely from his tugging, dark strands tickling the vampires face. He considered the question, and after a pause to sit with himself, sit with how he felt in that moment, he smiled.

"Yes...I am." He knew it wouldn't always be like this, as much as he wanted it to be. There would be bad days to come, days he wouldn't be able to stand being touched, or days he'd asked for it for all the wrong reasons...but right now, he was okay. He was happy. He felt like he had reclaimed something he lost. The notion that sex could be more than just an orgasm, more than a chore or a tactic.

Such a simple thing to most, but to him, it was special, to know that for himself. To experience it. To know Tar'eon cared enough to make such he wasn't regretting anything afterwards. How many people had bothered to ask, once it was all over?

"How do you feel?"

"I don't think I could put it all into the right words if I tried." Tar'eon chuckled and tucked a curl behind the vampires ear. "But...I know I'm happy. Right now, I'm beyond happy."

"You better be, that fucking hurt. Why do you let me do that to you, Gods..." Astarion stretched his neck, grimacing before he smirked. "There's something deeply wrong with you, you know that, dear?"

"Mm. I happen to have a leech I take everywhere with me. He's quite troublesome." Astarion barked a laugh and Tar'eon smiled softly, admiring the creasing around his eyes. "I guess it's my own fault though. I'm too attached to let him go hungry."

"Oh, poor you. Is that why you had to bite me so badly? Trying to make the score even, darling?"

"No...I just thought it would look better than his." Astarion's eyes widened and he reached up to the fresh wound, brows furrowing.

"What- what do you mean?"

"Oh. Right. You can't see yourself." Tar'eon remembered and blushed a little as he shifted to sit back, pulling out with soft hisses from both of them, Astarion huffing softly at losing his own personal heater. Tar'eon was quick to distract him though, closing his eyes and prodding at the connection. Astarion lowered his hand from his neck as he sat up with a small groan, his lower back aching. He accepted the gentle prodding and allowed him to show him what he meant.

A flurry of images of fang marks on the side of his neck came to him, melding into one. Cazador's bite - he supposed he should have known it was there, but he hadn't realised how dark it was on his skin, how noticeable. He remembered struggling against the pain the night he turned him, wrenching his head away and having to endure a second bite. No wonder the marks looked so dark and deep, he'd only made it worse by struggling.

Then, the image fell away, replaced by the vision of his blood-covered face, and the deep red bite now on his neck, a perfect ring of teeth with the impression of eight canines, the bottom four covering the dark marks. He looked at Tar'eon with round, surprised eyes as the connection faded.

"You...I hadn't realised. Or, I suppose I never thought about it."

"I hope I didn't...overstep." Tar'eon looked away, looking embarrassed and even a little guilty. Astarion scoffed and took his hand, dragging him back down onto the ground with him so he could curl up on his chest.

"You didn't." He was being honest. Cazador's mark only made him think of pain, of misery. Tar'eons made him think of the all the good things to come. Of the happiness he found with him. Of love. "I know your intentions are different. You aren't trying to own me."

"Gods, never. You're your own person, Astar. From here on out, you make you own choices, and you live your own life." He assured, reaching for a discarded item of clothing, his shirt, to help wide the mess off Astarion's cheeks before it got hard and flaky. "Getting to share mine with you is simply a blessing I'll work to deserve."

"Gods, if anyone doesn't deserve the other, it's me. Don't sell yourself so short. I thought I had standards before, but you've definitely made me raise them."

"You deserve nothing less than exceptional." Tar'eon smiled and kissed his curls sweetly. "I want to be exceptional. For you."

"I don't need you to be. You're fine just as you are. Murderous tendencies and all." He chuckled, resting his cheek on his chest and looking at the grave before him, his doublet hanging over half the stone.

All he could read now was Astar Ancun, 229 - 468. It fit well enough, he supposed. He turned his nose into Tar'eons chest, basking in the quiet. In the warmth of his body. In the silence of the graveyard, the only thing that could be heard was their breathing. The cool earth beneath them was grounding as they laid there, Tar’eons arm wrapped around Astarion’s waist.

After a few minutes passed, Tar’eon moments from drifting away into slumber, Astarion shifted and spoke.

“You know what we should do?”

“What?” Tar’eon asked, voice husky.

“We should burn his palace to the ground. Wipe it off the map.” Tar’eon raised his head up, looking down at Astarion who’s eyes were focused on the sky above, only breaking away from the stars to look at him.

“…Is that what you want? To watch it burn?” Tar’eon whispered, brushing his hair from his face ever so gently, unable to help glancing down for a moment to the ring of teeth marks on the side of his neck. How long they'd last, he had no idea. There was a chance they wouldn't be permanent, considering Astarion was a vampire, but...he was the child of a God. Who knew what was possible between the two of them.

“I do. I- I want to burn his existence from this city. I don’t want anyone to think of him again. I want him to…die in every possible way. To be forgotten, like I was.” Astarion swallowed hard, looking back to the sky as he blinked rapidly. Tar’eon smiled sadly and caressed his cheek softly.

“Okay. Then we’ll burn it down. Before dawn breaks, we’ll go, and we’ll strike a match. We’ll watch it disappear for good.” He pressed a gentle kiss to his brow and laid back down beside him, taking his hand in his and resting it over his heart, thumbing over the small wound on his ring finger. “For now, lay with me. I want to hold you.”

“I…want you to hold me too.” Astarion whispered, turning back into his chest. Tar’eon smiled softly, wrapping him up in his strong arms. Astarion sighed softly, nuzzling his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Maybe. But I’ll catch up with you one day.” Astarion chuckled softly. After all, Tar’eon was an endless well of love. Astarion was still learning how to fill his own, but he felt like he was finally making progress. When Tar'eon needed it, he would gladly share what he could to fill his well back up.

For now though, he was happy to let Tar'eon keep pouring into his as not to overflow.

#astarion x dark urge #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion x male tav #astarion x mc #astarion bg3 #bg3 tav #astarion #baldurs gate tav

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marvelgurl789fanfics · 6 months

Text

New World (one-shot #1)

A/N: Karra is my Dark urge Tav (Check her out here https://www.tumblr.com/marvelgurl789fanfics/733491072755466240/my-dark-urge-tav-karra-a-63-drow-with-ascended?source=share) these one-shots with Karra and Astarion are going to connect but you do not need to read them all for them to make sense. feel free to leave ideas of what you would like to see and username, so I can give credit for the idea. sorry the beginning of this one going to be long setting up my head cannon world.

Karra Info:

Hight: 6'3"

Weight: 200 lbs.

Race: Drow

Class: Fighter (Campion)

Description: she is a bigger built women with a muscular frame. Her right eye is violet, and her left is a deep red. Her skin is a medium gray with a slight purple tint to it. her hair is a wave light gray that goes to her mid back.

Rated: M (+18 Smut/ will make cut when it starts if you want to skip)

-NEW WORLD-

Five years after Karra became the Absolute in the name of her father and his beloved Consort. Times he hated he didn't have control over her because of the damn tadpole she still possessed, but at other times it made life even more amusing. But here they were in their palace they had their thralls build right outside Baldur's Gate. Gods know he wasn't going to stay in that Bastard Cazador's horror house, in fact once they took control, he had the whole place torn down. he wanted no trace that Cazador ever existed.

Here Astarion was sitting on a nice plush chair in his office that Karra dubbed his throne, Scratch was laying asleep at his feet. Astarion was lost in thought of all that happened since he was taken on the Nautiloid. They had five companions that have become very useful in the end even when He and Karra got their happy ending. Lae'zel and Wyll were worthy generals in their thrall army. Gale was very smart even if annoying but he made enchanted bottles so he could keep blood and not have it spoil, along with many other useful items. Then there was Shadowheart she was good at taking care of the more political side of their rule when he didn't feel like attending to it himself. There used to be another a tall red tiefling he forgot her name; she burned up the day they took control. (A/N: for the record I love Karlach)

With a heavy sigh Astarion got up from his chair careful not to wake the dog, as blood thirsty as his Bhaal-babe was she had a soft spot for the dog. He would never admit it, but he had a soft spot for the creature as well. He walked down the luxurious hall of his home. Thralls bowed their heads as he passed by, he made his way to the stairs at the end of the hall that led under their palace to Karra's playroom that he had gifted her a little selfishly. he loved spilling blood as much as the next but it's just a crime to get blood on the nice, polished marble floors. Once he was at the iron door at the bottom of the stairs, he could hear the screaming of Karra newest victim that the door was barely muffling. He opened the door the strong smell of blood filled his nose, yes with the ascension his untamable hunger was gone but the smell could still make his stomach growl.

His eyes landed on the beauty coved in blood who only wore an oversized shirt that barely covered her panties. Ever since Karra embraced her true nature, she barely like wearing any clothes and while Astarion loved the view he rather not have others seeing what's his. Here she was she was straddling a poor human woman under her as she drank all the blood from the women that wasn't pouring out of the many cuts on the women body, the women's screams quieted down as the light of life left her eyes. Once the body went completely limp Karra ripped her fangs out of the flesh with a gleeful giggle looking down at lifeless body under her. Astarion gave her a moment longer to enjoy her kill, he did love to see her so happy in her element.

"Darling, you seem to be enjoying yourself" Astarion finally spoke to notify her of his presents. Karra turned her head to the voice of her love with a crazed blood lust look on her blood-soaked face. "Yes, I have been, have you come down to play with me?" Karra asked as she stood and approached Astarion standing a whole head taller than him. "I would my love, but it looks as if you already broken all your toys I have gotten you" Astarion said looking at the human corpse and the pile of flesh and bones in the corner of the stone room that he couldn't make out what it once was after her fun.

"I'm sure we could find a new toy somewhere in the palace" Karra purred wrapping her blood covered hands around his neck as she pressed herself against him. while he hated that his nice silk clothes were now stained with blood but at the moment he couldn't seem to care with her looking at him with her lustful eyes. "Or we could play another game, pet" Astarion said while he gently pushed her back until the back of her thighs hit the stone slab table that she would sometime tie her toys down on while she played.

Karra sat on the edge of the table like Astarion wanted, he stood between her thighs with her on the table they were now face to face. Astarion ran his hands up her waist slowly lifting her blood-soaked shirt so he could feel her cool skin, leaning into her lips but before their lips met he tilted her head and lightly licking the blood off her cheek. Karra growled slight frustration of being denied a kiss. Astarion smirked at her reaction while he finished licking her cheek clean, then giving her what she wanted and met her lips in a heated kiss. His tongue pushed through her lips with no resistance and met hers, earning a pleased hum from the drow. she was so strong, and many feared her looming presents, but with a simple kiss he could have her puddy in his hand it made him feel so powerful to have this woman who could destroy worlds wanting him.

her hands gently pulled at the hairs at the back of his neck causing him to growl into the kiss while their tongues fought for dominance. Karra knew she would submit to Astarion in the end but she still like to play with him, she knew Astarion loved the playful fights she always put up too it always made thing more exciting. Astarion broke the kiss much too soon for Karra's liking but didn't get a chance to complain as she felt his lips at her neck lightly nipping her skin but not breaking it. She felt a familiar shiver of delight as she felt his teeth teasing her skin. "I do love when you're being a good girl my pet" Astarion cooed in her neck nipping a bit harder but still refusing to break the skin. "please" Karra wined at his teasing wanting nothing more than to feel the delicious pain of his fangs in her neck.

-Smut skip if you would like-

"Please what, my sweet darling" Astarion teased once more. "Bite me" Karra said quietly, Astarion would usually play he didn't hear her but she was being so good for him he let it slide this time. his fangs bit into her neck where he left his mark when he turned her and gave her his gift of eternal life. He was slightly worried her blood would lose its flavor once her turned her but if anything it made it all the more addictive. Karra moaned as he drank from her, one of Astarion hands moved up to grope her breast causing her to let out another wanting moan. With much reluctance he released her neck with a light hum leaving his lips. "you're always so sweet my darling" Astarion said pulling the ruined shirt over her head tossing it off to the side.

His fingers played with the hem of panties slowly pulling them from her, Karra lifted her hips making the job of stripping her easier. Once she was bare before him, he took a step back to admire his pretty pet, his hands gently holding her thigh open where he once stood so he could see all of her. Karra leaned back on the table putting all her weight on her elbows as she looked longingly at him. "I want to see you too" she purred. Astarion smiled unbuttoning his silk doublet slowly loving how her eyes burned hungrily at him, once upon a time someone looking at him like that would have made him sick, but with Karra his blood thirsty love he never wanted her to stop looking at him with that lustful look of hunger only he could satisfy. Throwing the doublet to the ground it was already ruined with blood, his undershirt quickly followed suit. Stepping back between her tights kicking off his leather shoes as he did. Astarion pulled her hips to meet his, she could feel his excitement through his perfectly tailored pants.

"I want you now" Karra purred now laying flat on the table arching her back with want for her love the only man that could handle her and her urges even encouraged her urges. "Easy pet you will get what you want, you just have to keep being a good girl for me" Astarion told her as he leaned down on her his words agents her breast, Astarion took the dark gray bud into his mouth suckling on it a bit roughly the way he knew she liked while his hand played with other. Karra moaned from the affection he was giving her body and she hugged him close to her body as she purred for him. Astarion moved to her other bud giving it the same attention as she grinded her hips against his, his pants now soaked with her want making him groan loving how her body so easily reacts to his touch.

His hands moving to her hips holding her down making her release a groan of frustration, kissing down her body getting closer to her core where she needed him the most but pulling away before granting her wish with a teasing look on his face. unlacing his pants looking at the lust crazed drow before him, discarding the rest of his clothes. "you ready my love?" Astarion asked lining himself up with her soaked core. With a nod and a whimper from Karra, Astarion entered her with a pleased sigh from both. she always felt so amazing wrapped around him, as soon as he bottomed out he started trusting slowly too slowly for Karra liking and he knew it. "More please" Karra panted bucking her hips to his to encourage him but his teasingly slow thrust didn't stop. "Beg" Astarion simple ordered her with a devilish smile on his face, Karra hated to beg if she wanted something she would just take it who would stop her but under this beautiful elf she would give anything if he would just give her what she needed what her urge craved from him. "please, please Astarion faster. harder." Karra cried wiggling her hips to his again to get her point across.

"you are perfect my love" Astarion purred in her pointed ear, giving her just want she wanted thrusting into her hard and fast holding onto her hips as leverage. Karra hands moved to hold onto his forearms to ground herself losing herself in him, cries of pleasure and his name leaving her lips mixing with his low grunts. Karra began to feel the knot in her core staring to snap. "close please" left her lips as her head fell to the table. "let go my pet" Astarion said as he moved to lick and nip at her collar bone, at his words Karra let her release take her sending bolts of lighting down her spine feeling it in her toes and finger tips. her quivering core sent Astarion to his peak shortly after her filling her with his seed, pulling his softened member out of her picking his undershirt from the floor and slipping it on his tired drow and putting his messy pants back on.

-Smut end-

lifting Karra in his arms and started carrying her to their bedroom. it could be almost comical him carrying this large drow woman, and it would be imposable if it wasn't from his vampiric strength. Karra wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his chest sleepily. "Don't get too comfortable you need to take a bath and clean off the blood before you can touch our bed" Astarion said as he reached to top of the stairs. "but I'm sleepy" Karra mumbled nuzzling her face into his chest. "I know my love but I think you ruined enough expensive silk today, but you can rest in the tub as I clean you up" Astarion said earning a happy hum from the drow.

#tav x astarion #astarion imagine #astarion fanfic #astarion x dark urge #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you

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