#post bg3

[thesuprememe]

the Ascendant ensnares his Sun

[tynithia]

WIP Whenever, Wherever!

Here's a WIP preview of the next chapter of 'Never Be Mine'. A memory scene of Gale and Saera's fateful fight...

“I stand on the threshold of greatness and you would try to keep me grounded,” Gale yelled back.  Saera spun around. “Do you even hear yourself?” “I can hardly expect you to understand.” “What the fuck does that mean?”  “Come now, you think we are equal as wizards.” He almost laughed. “Please.” Saera froze, staring at her boyfriend of four years. She felt as if she had never known him at all. Looking down at her wizard robes, she saw nothing more than rags. She didn’t belong in their elegant room, because she was just a girl from a tavern who had worked herself to the bone to become a wizard. He, however, was a Dekarios, possessing the connections and generational wealth to be deemed a prodigy, even if he lacked the skill. He was right. They weren't equal. She realized she would never be good enough for his world. Worse than his arrogance was his pity. He didn't fear her talent, he looked down on it.

Oof. Since this story has A LOT of autobiographically moments, some of these scenes were very easy and very hard to write.

No pressure tags: @amoremagnificentbastard, @alliskit, @lolthwoven, @optimisticgrey, @the-font-bandit, @bladesingerlily, @denesmera, @dramatiquechipmunk, @buckynats, @worfs-glorious-hair, @fartasticdurge, @tavyliasin @spacesunderstairs and anyone else who has something to share!

[corvusalbus93]

WIP Whenever – Astarion & his Sister Reunite (+WIP drawing/sketch)

Continuing the post BG3 stories, another WIP from “Godsend”, set about 4 years after the game. In a previous WIP Astarion found out he had living relative in Silverymoon (Surprise in Silverymoon) and last WIP he revealed himself to her, having learned she is his younger sister (Astarion meets his Sister).

This time, after the initial shock, he has to explain where he’s been for 200 years and convince her he isn’t a monster.

Thank you @ranger-jahen for the timely tag. In turn I’ll gently tag @elceewunjo, @missfortunetherogue, @michanvalentine, @spillingteanotpermitted, and @play-me-a-durge

“Yes, of course,” she finally mumbled, almost as pale as Astarion by now. “There is... I mean, I live upstairs. More private. I... I just have to inform my staff I’ll be out.” She pointed to the other doorway, a slight tremble in her hand. “Just go up the stairs; it isn’t locked. I’ll be right there.” Her eyes drifted to the floor. “I’ll be right there.”

Astarion didn’t move, he just looked to his sister. Despite knowing him for years, Nizana found it difficult to figure out everything that was going through his head in that moment, what he felt. Hurt by her reaction, compunction for her tears – he seemed torn between staying and leaving altogether. But neither would help either of them.

Stepping softly, Nizana got over to him and grasped his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His gaze shifted to her, though he remained unmoving, an unspoken question in his eyes. Nizana merely nodded, nudging him towards the stairs. With one last look at his sister, who was still trying to regain her composure, the two quietly left the room through the back. It led to what was mainly a storage room for bales of fabric, but there was also the mentioned staircase leading up.

They found the door at the top unlocked as promised, and thankfully Calonwyn’s words had sufficed as an invitation to Astarion, who was able to enter without issue. Stepping into a hallway, they saw another door straight ahead, which was probably the actual front door. To their left was a kitchen and a second staircase to the next floor, while the doorway to their right opened to what appeared to be both parlour- and dining room. Decidedly the best place to wait.

While the furniture arranged around the fireplace looked cosy, it was fair to say both felt too tense to make themselves comfortable. Nizana’s eyes wandered across the books on display, several beautiful vases with intricate designs and a few plants during their last bloom as summer turned autumn.

What drew not only her but also Astarion’s attention were the paintings, and it wasn’t long before they spotted the central piece above the fireplace. It was of Calonwyn herself, and there were two other elves by her side. One was a man with curly black hair, while that of the other woman was straight and silver. It wasn’t exactly difficult to guess who they were, especially with the resemblance, and Astarion’s eyes were glued to it. Then he furrowed his brow.

“I don’t remember, but they seem familiar.” His voice was so low she wondered if he was merely thinking out loud.

“How are you holding up?”

Astarion blinked as if her words had torn him out of his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he confessed after a few moments, before giving her a smile that was probably more strained-looking than he intended. “You have to admit it’s a bit of a mess.”

She took his hands into hers. “Hey, she invited you into her home. That’s something.”

His smile softened. “You’re shaking, love.”

“I’m nervous too, you know.”

“Oh, I do; your heart’s been racing since we got here.”

Dammit; sometimes she forgot just how keen his senses were. “Sorry – that’s probably not been helpful.”

“I was just pretending it was mine.” They looked at each other, and both just started laughing, before Astarion pulled her into an embrace, kissing her on the forehead. There was still tension, but she felt him relax the longer they held each other.

“You think she’ll be coming up with a stake?”

“Astarion...”

“One of those big knitting needles will do in a pinch.”

Nizana gave him a squeeze. “It’s gonna work out.”

As it turned out, they had a few more minutes alone before they heard steps from the stairs. Nizana gave him one last encouraging smile, just before Calonwyn reached the parlour room. She had definitely shed a few tears but wiped them away, what little make-up she wore a bit smeared around the corners of her eyes. While she’d regained her composure, she was clearly still shaken, still taking it all in.

Calonwyn had stopped in the doorway, her eyes immediately searching for Astarion. Once she saw him, Calonwyn took a deep breath and entered but kept herself behind one of the sofas, fingers digging into the padding.

Eventually, after a few more moments of staring, she broke the silence. “This isn’t some kind of twisted prank, right?” she asked, knuckles paling. “You are... you?”

Nizana watched as Astarion took a cautious step towards his sister. “Well, I am Astarion Ancunín, and I was a magistrate in Baldur’s Gate two hundred years ago – before I was... turned.” His fingers tapped against the scars at his neck, and sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t remember much from the time I was alive. Not after everything that happened these last two hundred years. But then we heard your name, and... I just had to know. Hoped I might remember something.”

Calonwyn’s gaze softened. “What did happen to you? How did you become... this?”

This time Astarion hesitated, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. “As magistrate it was my job to hand down rulings in accordance with Baldurian law. I will not sugar-coat it, but let us say for now ‘lawful’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘moral’ – so, perhaps it is good you only have such early memories of your brother.” Calonwyn looked troubled by his words but didn’t interrupt. “Anyway, one day a ruling got me the ire of the Gur, who were as unwelcome then as they are nowadays in most places. A few of them decided to take matters into their own hands. Revenge, anger or perhaps to make an example – I cannot say for certain. Fact is they ambushed me in the streets one night. And they proceeded to beat me to death’s door. That is when I was approached by Cazador Szarr, the vampire lord of Baldur’s Gate at the time. He drove the Gur away, and as I lay dying, desperate, he made me an offer. To make me a vampire and prevent my untimely demise. Immortality. He conveniently left out the part where I’d be forced to serve him, not just a slave, but a puppet literally unable to defy his orders. By the time I learnt that and what a monster he truly was, it was already too late.”

“He’s kept you all this time? Controlled you?” It sounded as if the mere idea of it made her sick, as her eyes widened in horror. “What did he... make you do? What did you do?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“...yes.”

“I didn’t kill people for their blood, if that is what you fear. I wasn’t even able, thanks to Cazador’s commands. Rats and bugs are what I had to sustain myself – just enough to function.”

“And now?” Calonwyn swallowed, her eyes darting to Nizana, to her half-covered neck. “I mean, you’re here, so you must be... free.”

“I’m not a monster,” he was quick to defend himself, unable to keep a hint of acrimony out of his voice, a hand on his chest, right above his heart. “I don’t know what stories you’ve heard about my kind, but I’m not some mindless beast. I still think, I still feel. I need blood, yes, but I take what I need from animals, criminals and whoever we happen to be fighting. Never innocents – unless it is freely given.”

He was desperate for her to believe him and this was perhaps his only chance. When his sister’s eyes met Nizana’s again, the drow smiled and nodded, hoping it would help to allay her fears. That her grip on the couch eased a little seemed like a good sign.

But that left Calonwyn with another question. “Then what did you do all these years?”

Subconsciously perhaps, he took a step back, and when he spoke his voice was lower, or at least less agitated than before. “I stalked the streets and haunted the lower city of Baldur’s Gate to bring Cazador victims. It’s fair to say I lured countless to their demise – using myself, my body.” He paused briefly when he saw Calonwyn flinch upon realising what he meant. “When I defied Cazador or resisted, attempted to escape, made a simple mistake – or he was simply in the mood – I was punished. Ordered to submit to torture or compelled to torture myself. For hours, days – a year. And there is a lot your body can endure when you have already died.”

Even now, after he’d shared so much of his past with her, Nizana still felt her heart grow heavier with each word. It made her want to break that bastard’s bones all over again, or, since that wasn’t an option, pull her love into another hug, though she pushed that urge aside. Nizana silently prayed Cazador’s soul was suffering somewhere for all he’d done.

From what she saw, Calonwyn was experiencing a worse turmoil of emotions, her eyes shimmering, a hand now clasped over her mouth, fighting to keep her composure for a second time today. The tremor was back in her voice as well.

“You went through that for all these years? Is that how you forgot? Why you don’t remember your life?” She snivelled, quickly wiping her eyes, smearing her makeup a little more. “Do you really not remember me? Mother? Father?”

Astarion glanced at the painting. “No. No, I don’t,” he admitted, and not without some compunctions by the sound of it. “Everything before my death is but fog and dark shapes.”

“So, if you hadn’t come across me the other night, you would have moved on, and neither of us would ever have known?”

“Yes.” He looked at his empty hands, slowly closing them as he spoke. “For a time I did try to hold on to my memories and relived what I could in reverie. I thought it would help keep me sane. But in time it did the opposite. Constant reminders of everything I’d lost. Of who I no longer was and what I’d become instead. And I stopped. Stopped reliving, stopped holding on... I let them fade,” Astarion admitted, a hint of regret in his voice, his hands now clenched into fists. “Cazador worked to break us, me and the other spawn he kept, stripping us of everything that wasn’t useful to him. So, once I stopped fighting, gave up, it didn’t take long. It seemed easier to be numb, or as numb as I could be, towards everything I did and was done to me. By the time I finally regained my freedom, there was barely anything left beyond the night I died.”

Slowly Calonwyn nodded, processing his words. “All these years we thought you were dead. Gone. We thought your soul would be in the afterlife or even reincarnated by now, but now...” To Nizana’s surprise she came closer, actually walking around the sofa with careful steps. “Now you’re telling me you were in Baldur’s Gate this entire time? Enslaved? Suffering? And we had no idea?”

His sister sounded more aghast with each sentence, and Astarion looked away, now that she was maybe two arm’s lengths away. “Cazador liked victims that wouldn’t be missed, who no one would search for. People whose death wouldn’t raise questions or uproar. I was officially killed by out-of-town thugs, no family around, and I’d almost exclusively worked with humans who have such a short natural lifespan... and I suspect others who had known me in life weren’t frequenting the establishments I hunted in. At least as far as I know, no one ever recognised me. If anyone ever did, I guess they dismissed it as an accidental resemblance.” Even though Nizana could only see part of his face, she caught his bitter smile. “I was a pretty face with no real connections; I was exactly what he was looking for in a spawn. No one knowing was very much intended. Otherwise you’d be dead or would have been a hostage.”

“Did that happen to others?”

Astarion nodded, finally turning back to his sister. “Another spawn, Leon; he had a daughter. She was kept in the palace, away from the rest of us. Who knows what twisted plans Cazador had for her, but he did use the girl to motivate her father to great effect.” He cleared his throat. “So, if you’re wondering why I never wrote, there you have it,” he added in what appeared to be an attempt to lighten the mood, but the accompanying smile was very uneasy.

“You used to.”

“What?”

“Before you died, you wrote about once a year.” Astarion blinked, maybe surprised, maybe trying to remember, as his sister continued. “When we got the letter informing us of your death, I was actually waiting for yours. It was late that year, so I was excited when we got a letter from the Gate. And then we opened it and...” This time there was no holding back. Calonwyn was now weeping, her fingers trying to stem the tears escaping from her closed eyes, hugging herself with the other arm.

Nizana caught herself taking a step but stopped dead in her tracks. Should they do something? Comfort her? Or would any touch just make it worse? Nizana looked to Astarion, and he seemed equally uncertain, shifting his weight from one side to the other. For a moment he was reaching out but changed his mind, pulling his hand back again. They let Calonwyn get it out until she swallowed the last tears, her eyes red when she opened them. There was silence, with Astarion, eventually, being the one to break it this time.

“I... my grave was simple. And when I returned to it two centuries later, the headstone was overgrown and forgotten. I wasn’t sure if I had ever been mourned or was missed at all...” He didn’t get to finish that sentence.

Calonwyn closed what little distance there had been between them in the blink of an eye, catching them both off guard, but her brother especially. She wrapped her arms around him, face pressed against his chest, clinging to him as if she was holding on for dear life. And Astarion stared at her, arms spread, so much like when Nizana had hugged him for the first time years ago. Only this time he was quicker to return the gesture.

As soon as she felt his arms around her, Calonwyn started to quiver, a few muffled sobs escaping her. It was the final straw that broke Astarion’s composure. Nizana watched through misty eyes as they sank to their knees. She couldn’t see Astarion’s face, from this angle hidden behind his sister’s long curly hair, but Nizana saw how tightly he held her, how his hand cradled her head, fingers lost between the silvery locks.

Astarion finally had his answers.

It was meant just to be a quick, more stylised sketch... and now it’s almost a proper drawing. Not yet finished, but it will take me forever to get it done and I wanted to post something with this WIP.

As a final note, all WIPs and Last Lines are chronologically listed in my Masterpost under “Post BG3”.

[savage-rhi]

WIP Wed…some secret third option

Tagged once more by the wonderful @blossom-adventures I'd like to take a moment and thank you for continuing to hit me up with these. It's helped me stay the course on my writing. Like, when I get these particular tags, they remind me to stay focused. Thank you for helping me build better habits 🫂

Tagging but no pressure: @seradyn @sanathewolf @va1-kyrie @paintedscales @guildwarsgirl @hotpinktechno @mushr00mz00m @weskercoded @hauntedadagium @nemodoren @nemo-of-house-morningstar and if anyone else (mutuals or otherwise) want to share WIPS, art, etc. feel free to tag me anytime. I'd love to read and view your stuff!

I know context isn't needed, but I'm still writing for me right now until the depression wears off more. I've made progress on several fic WIPS over the weekend. I think the second wind from my finals has helped (getting a break from them at least), so I'm riding the wave. That said, I have my work cut out for me with editing.

My fiction writing of late has been one long stream of conscious thought, and while it's been freeing, it's weird AF. Like, I'm not used to this being a thing when I work on plot heavy material. It kind of brings me back to when I returned to writing fanfic in 2012-2013. Still, I'm gonna lean in with it and see what happens.

So, here's another WIP of the untitled BG3 fic I'm working on (at least a section that I edited that isn't all mnightshamallamadingdong'd 😂).

Untitled BG3 WIP

Valemor waited for no one.

By the time Astarion had dressed and returned to the streets, the city was already demanding pieces of him again: council reports, construction disputes, donor schedules, and a dozen conversations he scarcely remembered agreeing to have. Grief, thankfully, had to wait its turn behind a mountain of civic responsibilities. That said, he knew he wasn't at his best.

Every so often, he felt himself slipping back into autopilot and would start running through the grounding motions. Five things he could see. Four things he could—Gods, what was the point? Not here. Not when half the city seemed determined to occupy every corner of his attention at once.

He could already hear Sloan's contradictions coming back to bite him. In that moment, Astarion excused himself from a conversation about converting more of the sewage system into fertilizer for surface crops.

When he was far enough away to blend in with the inhabitants, but not so far that anyone important would come looking for him, he ventured toward the designated recreational area and leaned against an oak tree whose branches glowed with a faint blue light. His eyes lingered on it for a moment—another byproduct of one of Gale's students. He growled to himself.

Yet another reminder that he needed to thank the wizard.

"The last person I need to be thinking about right now, of all things," Astarion huffed to himself.

He crossed his arms and tilted his head back, his gaze traveling through the glowing branches and up toward the great crack that stretched across the entirety of the Grymforge Basin thousands of feet overhead. He could make out the faint outline of stars peering through the darkness and occasionally catch the scent of surface air drifting through the opening, temporarily chasing away the earthy aromas the Underdark was known for.

The sun would be rising soon, a few hours at most. Its light would spill through sections of Valemor, painting the stone in gold and amber.

Aside from being one of the basin's greatest logistical nightmares—between fortifying the crevice, preventing cave-ins, and shielding vampire citizens from stray sunlight—it was also the closest Astarion could get to the sun these days without suffering the consequences. And when the orange glow finally crested over the eastern edge of the crack, he and Sebastian had made a habit of watching it together from a safe distance.

His thoughts drifted back to the first year.

Back then, Sebastian had only recently returned to the Underdark after Cazador's defeat, replacing Leon as a member of the Hexad after the latter vanished. Astarion still believed Leon had met his end beneath the sun on his own terms. His siblings continued to debate the matter from time to time, but practicality told him there were few other explanations. There was no evidence, no body, no trace left of him that he was aware of.

His thoughts returned to Sebastian.

The two of them had walked on eggshells around each other in those days. Avoiding one another whenever possible and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise. Then one morning, they found themselves standing together near the crevice, watching sunlight spill across the basin.

Valemor had been smaller then. There were fewer buildings, and even less life, than there are nowadays, yet somehow the way those rays caught the stone and the fungal growths surrounding the settlement felt more radiant than anything that existed now. The light glimmered across the rooftops like dragon scales. And in that fleeting moment, something clicked between them. An understanding that transcended the hurt.

Mind Balming had not yet become commonplace. Halsin's clan had yet to uncover the lost texts that would eventually reshape their communities. Astarion and his siblings were still stumbling through recovery without a map, and even then, buried beneath all the misery, there had been a moment when Sebastian looked into his eyes, and Astarion thought perhaps redemption was possible. Not forgiveness, not absolution, but something close enough to keep moving forward.

The memory slipped through his fingers as he returned to the present.

Astarion released a slow breath and allowed himself to sit with the grief for a moment. He couldn't allow himself to drown in it, but a taste didn't hurt. It certainly couldn't sour his mouth more than wine did these days.

Gods, he really thought he had something—someone.

[nevermindigotthis]

[melody-loka]

🐇 You, me and our bunny 🐇

Commission for @/brandi-peach on Bluesky featuring Astarion, their durge Blythe and their bunny ❤️

Thanks for your trust with them >w<

Link to commission me⤵️

Melody-Loka (@Melody-Loka)

Check out Melody-Loka's commissions and portfolio! | I am Melody Loka, a 23-year-old French artist. I spend my time drawing characters from

[justabiteofspite]

Punctured Minds, Sharp Teeth

Chapter 3: Games with Fangs

Rating: Explicit/18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Astarion/Named Tiefling Fem Durge OC

Chapter Summary: Astarion tries to keep the tiefling children entertained while also dealing with a surprise visit from law enforcement.

CW: 18+ Sex, Blood, Gore, Sudicidal Ideation, Dead Dove Dark Urge related content, this chapter contains a blowjob, See AO3 for full tag list

Henri leaned into Astarion, playfully bumping his waist with her own, “Good. Would be rude for you to die now after I’ve put so much effort into keeping your undead self animated.” “Pfft. He’s rude now,” one of the kids brooded, arms crossed, “He had us play this stupid game where we had to find him. We looked for hours . How was I supposed to know vampires can climb on the ceiling?” To be fair, Astarion didn’t know either until about seven months ago, after Cazador and the tadpole were gone, and but he was happy to rub his newfound abilities in the face of this kid all the same. “You kept insisting we play a game,” Astarion said with an exasperated sigh, “You never said the game should be fair.”

Read on AO3

“Godsdammit.”

Astarion was muttering under his breath as he went through the icebox in his basement oasis, trying not to scream. “Find the Vampire” had been a halfway decent distraction for the children above as he waited for relief from Henri and Zevlor, but now they were hungry and tired and frankly, grinding down his last nerve. 

“Where in the hells…? Ah. There we are.” He pulled out a decently sized container that was marked “jerky.” At this point in the day, Astarion declared the snack good enough and just prayed that it wasn’t one of Henri’s “long pig” kind. She had, for the most part, kicked the cannibalism habit, a holdover from her days as Bhaal’s favorite child. But still, he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. Maybe he could choose one of the more annoying children to give it a try first and tell him what kind of meat this was before serving it to the others. 

“Astarion! Hey, Astarion!” 

“Oh for the love of-” Astarion slammed the icebox shut and headed back over to the ladder. “Someone had better be bleeding out again up there or I swear-” 

Mattis’ head peeked over the hutch entrance. “It’s that stupid Inspector guy again. He’s knocking and asking for your girlfriend.” 

Astarion groaned, rolling his head back. Just what he needed. “Again?”

Mattis shrugged, “He seems angry.” 

“I have yet to see the man not be.” Astarion waved Mattis to stand back as he came back up the ladder, offloading the bag of jerky to him. “Tell everyone to shut up and eat this while I deal with him, alright?” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Henri?” The curly haired one Astarion couldn’t remember the name of asked. “I think he’s scared of her more than you.” 

“You’re hilarious,” Astarion deadpanned, knowing that unfortunately this child was completely correct. He peeked out of the curtain making sure that the sun did indeed go down, only to hear the annoyance at the door banging again. 

“I know you’re in there, Miss Henri, I need to speak to you.” 

Astarion sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He glanced down at the carpet, double checking to make sure all the blood and viscera from earlier had been properly cleaned  before straightening up and opening the door. 

The new Inspector Cross who had replaced an annoyingly promoted Valeria was a grumpy tall dark haired human with a ridiculously large handlebar mustache over a small, irritating mouth. He also sported a monocle and a tightly shaved hairstyle that made his hair look like a crate. A caricature of a man , Astarion thought.

“She’s not here,” Astarion stated coolly, “She’s at some Harper event. You’ll have to call on her later. Preferably tomorrow at a decent time.” 

Inspector Cross’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Ancunín, this is not the time to play games with me. You’ve already caused enough trouble.” 

Astarion placed his hand over his unbeating heart, “My good sir, I have been a picturesque citizen and follower of the law. You’re the one who has been obsessed with everything I do.” 

The Inspector growled at him. “I had two witnesses who swore they saw you at the Crimson Palace the night it burned. Not soon after you and your “siblings” as you call them inherited the Szarr estate. Just in time for you all to collect the insurance funds.” 

Everything the Inspector was accusing Astarion of was absolutely true. Unfortunately for the patriarchs who desired Cazador's gold and palace, Astarion's now dead master had described him and his siblings in public several times as his children. Which meant, with some political maneuvering and legal footwork on Astarion’s end, he and his siblings did indeed end up with a windfall of gold. The insurance fraud bit was all his idea. Henri had joined him and after setting the place aflame, the pair had shared a bottle of wine as they watched the palace burn to the ground. 

Such sweet memories. 

“My dear Inspector, we’ve been over this already. Your witnesses were a drunk who also thought he was the god of fire and tried to run into said building and a half blind woman who couldn’t tell myself and Henri apart. She has horns and a tail, do you know how difficult of an accomplishment that is?” 

For a moment, Astarion thought he could see steam bursting from the man’s ears. “Just because the pair of you are so-called heroes doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.” 

“No one said that, darling. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to this evening.” 

The Inspector peeked behind him, seeing the gaggle of children for once sitting and eating and not causing too much trouble. “And what is this? Kidnapping now, are we?” 

Mattis snapped his head up, “No, you idiot. He’s just watching us cause people keep trying to kill us. Why don’t you do something about that?” 

“Now, Mattis, we don’t call enforcers of the law names in front of them. We save that for after they’ve left,” Astarion gently admonished, turning back to the Inspector, “But he has a point. Didn’t I read something in the papers about your team taking credit for clearing the rest of the Bhaalist temple? And yet we still seem to have them showing up on our doorstep. Interesting, don’t you think?” 

The Inspector paused for a moment, taking in the insults and beratement. He reached behind himself and pulled out a pair of manacles. “You’re going to need to come with me, Mr. Ancunín.” 

Astarion scoffed, “On what made up charge? You have to have cause, darling, or a warrant. I haven’t been a magistrate in centuries and I remember that much.” 

His voice started coming out unreasonably high as the Inspector also pulled out of his pocket what was clearly a large flask of holy water. “Now, let’s think clearly about this, Inspector-” 

The familiar steady tones of Henri’s voice thankfully cut in through the darkness. “Handcuffs? Really? Without me?” 

Astarion perked up. “See, Inspector? Your quarry has arrived.” 

The Inspector whipped his head around and Astarion stepped to the side to see a very alive Henri flanked by Jaheira and Zevlor. 

She’s here. She’s safe. 

Upon seeing the former Chosen of Bhaal, The Inspector’s eyes widened as he hurriedly tried to stuff the flask back into his pocket and reattach the manacles to his belt. Henri walked up to the door as the Inspector dropped the manacles with a loud clunk that reverberated off the brick. Before he could turn and grab them, Henri scooped them up into her own hand. “A gift for me? You shouldn’t have. And you’re here all alone again, I see. Still can’t get any of your Fist friends to join you on your crusade?” 

“Just because everyone else is too frightened of the pair of you to bring you to justice…” 

“Ah, a martyr in our midst,” Jaheira remarked, rolling her eyes, “Couldn’t possibly be because she is a hero of the city, has worked with the Duke directly, and that he likes her more than you?”

Henri tossed the cuffs to Astarion who caught them and set them aside. “Do we really need to do this right now?” 

“Yes, we do, Miss Henri.” The Inspector cleared his throat, put the manacles back on his belt, and clicked his heels together, “I am conducting an investigation about a number of disappearances around Baldur’s Gate.”

“And are these real disappearances or did you just drum up an excuse to harass any citizen that just so happens to have horns and fangs? Because I think Duke Ravenguard would be very interested to hear if it’s the latter.”

Astaron let out a low whistle. That’s his girl.

As the Inspector sputtered out an angry backtracking reply that Henri stood back to enjoy, Astarion’s mind drifted back to that time in the shadow-cursed lands where she had convinced half of their enemies to off themselves, vaguely hoping she could pull the same trick here. 

Yugir had to be her crowning jewel. Convincing him to kill his minions, his pet, and then himself, only to then recruit him later to fight Raphael and the brain. He still kicked himself thinking back to how stupid he had been, yelling at her to just kill the damn orthon when she was in the middle of saving him from the trouble of even drawing his bow. 

Then again, he was confused about his feelings back then and it didn’t help that Henri was incredibly attractive when winding up annoying asshats.

“Besides,” The Inspector paused to clear his throat after going on what sounded like a very obnoxious rant, “I’ll have you know my brother-in-law is a tiefling.” His face was somehow now an even brighter shade of red, shining with drips of sweat, “Now, as I was saying, several disappearances have been reported in this area. Given not your nature as a tiefling, but your other nature as it were, it is natural to check in on these things, don’t you think?”

Henri raised her eyebrows, “My nature as a venerated Hero of the City, you mean? So you’re here to ask for help in investigating these disappearances? Since last time there was a series of murders around the city, I was the one who solved the case and protected those who were targeted while the previous Inspector took all the credit.”

“Well...yes. Yes. Of course. You would probably have an intimate knowledge of places people could scuttle off to undetected.” He cleared his throat, glancing behind her. “Zevlor. Good evening. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything?” 

“Only about you, Inspector.” Zevlor looked to Henri, “He was at Cal and Dana’s earlier and I heard he gave them quite the difficult time.” 

“Oh, really now?” Henri turned back to the Inspector, her eyebrows raised and eyes wild. Astarion gleefully wondered if she was finally going to stab the man. But before she could do anything, Jaheira stepped forward. 

“If I may, we have identified a new threat today, Inspector. Another cult attacked the Harpers today. Since you did such a wonderful job clearing out the Bhaalists, your help would be… invaluable . And I do believe it is a solid lead as to the source of your disappearances.” 

Astarion suppressed a snort. But Jaheira’s patronizing tone still seemed to work for the Inspector, looking relieved as took the offer she laid out for him. “That sounds excellent, High Harper. I look forward to us working together, then.” 

“Great. Leave.” Henri said, staring daggers into his soul, “Goodnight.” 

The Inspector grumbled to himself as he left, keeping a notable wide berth of Henri as he did so.  

Astarion clicked his tongue. “Thank goodness you arrived when you did, darling. I-”

He was cut off by Henri jumping into his arms. Astarion lifted her and spun around, ignoring the sound of Mattis pointedly gagging in the background. Her lips found his own, their touch magically lifting the weight of anxiety that he hadn’t realized had been weighing him down all day. She gave his lower lip a small affectionate nip as he set her back on the floor. Remembering his audience, Astarion cleared his throat, “You missed another surprise unwelcome guest.”

One of the kids called out, “We sliced their ankle tendons!” 

“Really now?” Henri asked with a sparkle in her eye, “I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve pulled that off myself.”

Astarion rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes, it was very impressive that they all nearly got themselves killed.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, properly coming into the Fee with Jaheira and Zevlor behind her, “Everyone alright, then?”

“Not a scratch,” Astarion said reassuringly, threading an arm around her waist, and pulling her sideways into him so they were still facing the gaggle of children. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, right on the red flame tattoo that decorated it, sighing as he took in the smell of her, the ever present scent of campfire and amber mixed with the mouth watering metallic of her blood that steadily pumped through her veins. She was, despite these murder idiots’ best efforts, still very much alive and very much his. 

Henri leaned into him, playfully bumping his waist with her own, “Good. Would be rude for you to die now after I’ve put so much effort into keeping your undead self animated.”

“Pfft. He’s rude now,” one of the kids brooded, arms crossed, “He had us play this stupid game where we had to find him. We looked for hours . How was I supposed to know vampires can climb on the ceiling?”

To be fair, Astarion didn’t know either until about seven months ago, after Cazador and the tadpole were gone, and but he was happy to rub his newfound abilities in the face of this kid all the same.

“You kept insisting we play a game,” Astarion said with an exasperated sigh, “You never said the game should be fair.”

Jaheira came into the front door, holding a few envelopes. “These were in your mailbox out front. Hello, Astarion.”

“My dear Jaheiria, glad to see despite your advanced age, you haven’t collapsed into a pile of dust quite yet.”

“Ha. Nor you, my bastard vampire friend.” She handed Henri the pile, a deep purple envelope at the top, the handwriting in large obnoxious flourishes. It was immediately obvious to Astarion who the sender was.

“Oh gods, what does that wizard want from us now?”

“It’s cute how you still pretend you hate him,” Henri said, ripping the envelope open and scanning it, “Just says he wants to visit.”

“That man is going to drag us to Waterdeep himself, isn’t he?” Astarion whined. “Didn’t he want you to give some boring lecture at his academy?”

“You think a lecture from me would be boring?” Henri teased, “It says he hopes we come to Waterdeep soon as he wants us to meet someone very special to him.”

“No! Gale of all people? The same Gale we stomped around half of Faerun with? Someone fell for that endlessly babbling wizard?” Astarion grabbed the letter from her hand, scanning it over himself just to be sure.

“Henri is with you despite you being a vampire,” Mattis pointed out, “Though I guess being a vampire is kind of cooler than a wizard.”

“Excuse me, I would certainly hope so!” Astarion brought his hand to his chest, “The wizard didn’t teach you how to lockpick, now, did he?”

The group of children started to enthusiastically debate the matter among themselves.

“Yeah, but wizards can do big things like Walls of Fire. A wall of fire could kill like...twenty vampires.”

“Not if the vampires are fast! Astarion is pretty fast.”

“It’s more about if the vampires are stupid enough to chase you through a wall of fire,” Henri added thoughtfully, 

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Well, if Petras ever manages to clone himself…” 

The more the group of them talked, the more distracted Astarion was by Henri’s waist and beautifully framed breasts. He could feel himself start to stir down below with a need that required complete privacy and Henri’s clothing to be off. 

He turned to address the exhausted Hellrider, “Zevlor, my second favorite paladin, how are you and how quickly can you get these children home safely? As much as I adore the little munchkins, I’m afraid my evening is quite booked.” Astarion’s hand slipped behind Henri to squeeze her asscheek, her face immediately flushing a pinkish purple as she gently whacked his calf with the tip of her tail. 

“I don’t wanna go!” One of the young tieflings shouted interrupting them, “This is way more fun than home!”

Astarion rolled his eyes, “Yes, the misery of going to the warm, lovely house Henri and I bought for you. Life is tough.”

“But, what if I want to learn more about lockpicking? Or stabbing people?”

Henri, a sweet and kind soul with a much higher tolerance for children than Astarion, squatted down to the child’s level. “Well, tomorrow Dammon is supposed to teach you all about blacksmithing. You can’t stab people if you don’t have good daggers. And you can’t learn about making good daggers if you don’t sleep properly first. There will be plenty of other days you can come back and you can chase Astarion all over the ceiling. Alright?”

Astarion’s mind could not abandon the sexual shores he was currently shipwrecked on. He pulled Henri up as soon as the child joined the others. Placing his hand on her back, he trailed down her spine with his fingertips to the base of her tail. Henri shuddered, biting her lip as she suppressed making a noise. She smacked his arm and handed him the pile of letters. “ Behave, ” she hissed into his ear, “And keep these in front of you. You’re noticeable .” 

“You’ve never complained before.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Jaheira said to Zevlor, “Now that we know everyone around here is safe. I can catch you up on the day’s dealings as well. You missed quite the fight.”

“Did I, now? What a shame. You know, before the brain I thought my fighting days were through. Now it seems there’s some skirmish every few days.”

“Good. Retirement would suit you poorly.” Jaheira smiled warmly, “You still move like a young man on the battlefield. Very impressive to watch, from what I could see, when I was not killing mind flayers myself.”

“Really?” Zevlor sputtered, blinking quickly a few times, “You’re too kind.”

Henri exchanged a knowing glance with Astarion. He clocked the mischievous look in her eyes, the same when she had observed Karlach and Wyll dancing around each other.

Nope. Not tonight. Henri’s matchmaking hijinks could happen another evening when Astarion was trying to not grind on the letters he held as he made a shoo-ing motion with his free hand. “Yes, lovely, sounds like much discussion to be had out and away from here. Good night everyone, miss you terribly already!”

Henri smiled at Jaheira and Zevlor apologetically, allowing her potential next project to gather the children and file them out the door. The whole ordeal still took far too long for Astarion’s taste as he watched Henri wave at their departing young guests, “Have a good night! Thanks for keeping Astarion out of trouble.”

As soon as the little tykes were out of sight, and the door was safely closed, Astarion unceremoniously tossed the letters in the general direction of the counter, before his hands found themselves all over his beloved who was laughing. “I missed you too, gorgeous.”

“That was awful,” Astarion whined, already working to undo the buttons of her blouse so he could see her breasts, “You should never leave again.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Such a sin should not be let off lightly.”

Astarion could hear Henri’s heartbeat thrumming under her skin, see pink flush peeking through her pale blue skin. It wasn’t often that he was this clingy, possessive, and desperate. Something about the constant roundabouts of near death experiences, the lingering scent of the blood of other dead men on his lover, and his newfound freedom to explore whatever he wanted at times turned him into the best kind of feral monster, one under his own control to indulge or deny.

To his surprise, Henri put her hands over his own, “I’ll be more than happy to beg for forgiveness, but can I please have five minutes to put my things down and settle in properly? Don’t want to stick you with a dagger by accident.” 

Astarion pouted, but released his hold on her, allowing her to pull away from him. His hands went to his own clothing as he started to undress himself, tossing his tunic carelessly aside. “We should leave soon. Baldur’s Gate, I mean.” 

Henri looked up at him as she drew her daggers out from their spot by her thighs and set them down, her hands then working on her skirt, “I hope the kids didn’t work you that hard.” 

“I could say the same to you, darling.” Astarion looked at her pointedly, “I hope you’re not actually planning on taking on even more work while we’re here. We have other plans, remember? This sunwalker ring isn’t going to waltz in here and place itself on my finger, now is it? And remember how ill you were after the brain? I certainly don’t want a repeat of that.”

“I’m fine ,” Henri insisted, “And I wasn’t planning on taking more work.” Her gaze was unfocused as she tossed her skirt to the side and started to spin the Band of the Mystic Scoundrel around her finger like she’d gotten it at a two copper store and not a dangerous land of feral dinosaurs after outplaying a cheating djinn. 

Astarion stared at her, “But…?” 

“...But between the Bhaalists still out there and now this new group of crazies...shit, you don’t know about the new group of crazies, right.”

Despite Astarion’s request to discuss this in the morning, it was obvious Henri needed to get this off her chest now. So he listened somewhat attentively as she rattled off what had happened at the Harper’s, giving an impressive level of detail about the methods of killing and arteries hit. His sweet, bloodthirsty girl. One could apparently take Bhaal out of the Bhaalspawn but apparently not the knowledge or interest in murder itself.

“If they were only threatening us, the battle hardened and capable, I’d dump it on the Harpers and Hellriders and call it a day. But they are a threat to every tiefling in the city. That’s not a problem we can trust the Fist with, no matter how much Wyll and his father insist they’ve changed. Especially if they are under that asshole Inspector. And it’s my fault these groups are attacking anyhow, so...”

Astarion felt his chest ache at her words. One of Henri’s many lovely qualities was how protective she was and how much effort she put into keeping her allies and loved ones safe. Hells, it was one of the reasons why Astarion had first pursued her. But he learned far too late into knowing her that she carried with it a deeply ingrained sense of guilt and insistence on self sacrifice that was, well...they were working on it. There were certain difficulties to helping a disowned Bhaalspawn who was once fated to kill every living thing in the world feel like it was okay to be selfish.

Fortunately, Astarion was a professional at the art.

He gently covered both her anxious hands with one of his own, his other hand cupping her jaw, turning her gaze to focus on him, “You know what I think?”

Henri nuzzled his hand, “Hmmm?”

“I think that you have had a very long day and that you need to relax for once. How about we go downstairs, get you something to eat, take a bath, and with it...” Astarion wrapped an arm around her and pulled her forward and into him, “I seem to recall you saying something about forgiveness?”

Warmth surged through him as he could hear that playfulness he adored returning to Henri’s tone, “It’s best taken kneeling.”

“Is it now?” Astarion took a step forward, slipping his leg between hers. He tutted in teasing disapproval as he pressed his thigh hard against her core, “I thought we agreed you were done working for the evening.”

“It’s not work...fuck...” She let out the sweetest little whimper as he leaned forward and sucked hard on her neck, bruising it. His fangs scraped over her skin, yet to pierce her flesh as he teased her with his bite. Henri struggled to continue, “I’ve been thinking about you...in my mouth... gods , all day... please ...”

“Were you now? What exactly did you-?”

It was his turn to let out a groan as he felt one of her hands slip between them to place her hand around his cock, short circuiting the part of his brain that came up with brilliant retorts.

So instead Astarion went with, “You know what? I suppose you did say please....”

It took less than a minute for Astarion to pull the pair of them back towards the counter, pull his leaking cock from his pants and shove it into his kneeling lover’s gloriously hot mouth.

“Such a good, sweet girl.” There was no way he was going to last long. Not with Henri looking up at him like that, glassy eyes now black and ringed with maroon, as she sucked him like she was the one of them who didn’t require air to breathe.

Astarion grasped her horns, the perfect size shape and curl for his hands. Like they were made for him to hold onto as he sloppily fucked her throat.

Gods, she was perfect. This was perfect. He was going to come in her mouth and then devour her cunt like it was his last meal...

Somewhere in the haze of being driven to orgasmic bliss, the voice of Gale Dekarios cut in.

“Hello, this is Gale Dekarios, Professor of Illusion at Blackstaff Academy. I am utilizing this magic letter to ask if Henri is available to-”

“Her mouth is busy, wizard!” Astarion’s voice was strained as he slowed his pace just enough to shout over the sound of spittle and his lover moaning around him, “Call back in the morning!”

“Oh, for the love of-”

The voice thankfully disconnected. A tear-stained, panting Henri released his cock from her mouth with a pop, a string of spittle connecting her swollen red lips to his tip.

She grinned, looking up at him through her eyelashes, “Naughty.” 

“I am.” Astarion smiled down at her, caressing her horns with his thumbs before tugging her mouth back onto his cock. “Now, less talking, my love. We have a very long night ahead of us.” 

[theworldisadumpster]

Domestic Bloodweave HC

They sleep in separate beds in the same room like an old married couple on TV in the 1950s. This is for several reasons, both having their own special brand of not great to sleep with.

Gale

1. Gale never shuts up even in his sleep. Yes, he does randomly do the wizard finger and exclaim "ah ha!'

2. Not only does he lecture in his sleep, but he also has a tendency to wander, snack, and even cast magic while asleep too.

3. He can also get a little "mage handsy"

4. He rolls around a lot, and his joints crack loudly

5. Tara has claimed the other side of the bed and is very miffed if asked to move, especially after spending so long getting comfortable.

6. Has to have a little light floating above the bed.

Astarion

1. Will splay out all his limbs randomly, taking up as much space as possible.

2. Is cold as death and so enjoys slinking his cold feet under Gale's pant leg to fuck with him and pretend it was an accident.

3. Sighs a lot in his sleep.

4. Has to get up to pee constantly thanks to his liquid only diet.

5. Is a blanket hog

6. Prone to biting