I'm trying to carve out a few hours here and there for some personal work at the moment. I have an urge to push into this guy and explore the world he's rooted in.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
The Burden of Your Wrongs 1 - Oh My God, They're Roommates
Something other than a giant, alien brain festers in the city of Baldur's Gate. From dead mean wandering the sewers, to soulless patriars scheming from their gilded palaces, something vile has taken root to consume all it touches.
To save a city that's deemed them criminals (and to save their own asses), these two losers must cheat, stab, and flirt their way to the heart of the rot and carve it out, piece by festering piece. And figure out what, exactly, they mean to each other.
And I'm back!
Fic on AO3.
In the end, disease finally finds you. Hits you like a log falling off the back of a semi-truck and punching through your metaphorical windshield to lay you out for weeks. Actual weeks. They got to drag your ass around in a cart. âTheyâ being mostly Karlach.
âAre you asleep, darling?â
âMmno,â you say.
Itâs too hot to do more than doze a little. Youâre splayed out on the groundâor in a pile of pillowsâsurrounded by the smell of herbs and basement.
âYou donât got to bring all the pillows, yâknow,â you say.
A page turns above your head. âThatâs generally the point of them.â
You wish you could strip down to your drawers, tits out, and try to vent yourself. Rather than stew around in your own sweat and funk. But Gale putters around right outside the tent and the flap is open in a vain hope of catching some straggling breeze. That and the pillow immediately under your head shifts as Astarion recrosses his ankles.
He sort of started doing that during the height of your fever. Since he runs cooler than a living body. Back before yâall entered Satanâs apparent ass crack of a heat dome, that meant he was kinda pleasantly cool. Now his poor shin is probably just soaking in your neck sweat as he reads.
âYouâd be more comfortable if you moved up, you know,â he says.
To his thigh. Where your head wouldnât be lying directly on his shinbones, but on his more muscled, and therefore softer, thigh.
âIâm good,â you say.
Heâs your friend. Like roommates. Yâall can chill around each other (not that you really been lucid enough for that to mean something, fucking every disease in Faerun hit you all at once). Yâall sometimes slept in the same tent (on separate bedrolls). But thatâŚis too weird. It was enough of a struggle bus for you to accept this.
He jostles you, deliberately.
âShall I call the bear for you?â Astarion says.
âHeâs just gonna tell me to eat something and move around.â
Which like, is good advice. Itâd do you some good. But the stupid fucking heat kills your desire for both.
Halsin followed yâall outta the Shadow lands. Rescued the kid-also-a-god, got the place on the very first baby steps on the road to not being a cursed death pit, and decided to come with yâall.
Mostly for your benefit, you think.
No one else from that clusterfuck slaughter at the tower opted to go with yâall. Jaheira said something about meeting yâall at the city, thank fuck. You donât know how you wouldâa looked her in the face for days and days after you got all her people fucking murdered. You was mind-controlled and shitâthanks, past therapy and also Halsin and his warm voice over teaâbut.
You wouldnât ever say any of that. The CIA couldnât water board it outta you.
You wonder if she guessed anyway.
A scrabbling outside. Then a small shadow scuttles through the open tent flap and Wesa ducks into the shade with a huff.
âYouâre supposed to knock,â Astarion says.
Wesa, bless her, snaps her teeth in his direction and trots over to you. And lifts up a dead bird in her hands. One with a bite-shaped chunk missing out the middle. Itâs suspiciously goblin-mouth sized.
âTribe!â she says.
You got no idea (some idea, you was in her head for a half a second) why that word bubbled up in her memory and no other. Brain injuries is real weird. But itâs been weeks getting carted around, her in the wagon beside you, reflective eyes shining out at you from underneath the blanket she done wraps herself in.
âYou got another pretty?â you say.
She nods. Spreads the birdâs limp wing out to show off the very admittedly pretty feathers. A shimmery green-blue. She holds it up to her hair, which is almost too short to braid things into, but sheâs managed various trinkets that click as she moves.
Sheâs surprisingly fastidious. Remembers basic care and skills. She donât wash like the rest of you doâseems to dislike water entireâbut she routinely scrubs herself down with as course of dirt as she can find. She smells kindaâŚgamey, up close. Not bad, necessarily, but something almost ferret-ish.
âBetter take it out to Gale to get it cleaned up,â you say.
She nods again. Murmurs to herself. Pulls one of the feathers off the wing and sticks the quill into her mouth like a country boy chewing on a grass stalk.
Then she looks over to the tent flap, to Gale outside. She grins. She donât speak but that one word, but if there ainât a whole sentence in that shit-eating grin grin she gives.
âTribe!â she says, which sounds vaguely like a threat not aimed at you, and ducks back outside. Hits full speed the second the sun touches her sensitive skin.
âIâve no idea why you tolerate that,â Astarion says.
You look over to the newest shirt on her bedding pile, recognize it as one of his spares.
You donât answer. Ainât nobody said nothing, but it was real obvious not a one of them was stoked when you suggested taking her along. Ainât none of them seem to like goblins. Your experience with them was pretty hostile. And the ones you met in the cult seemed to be a bunch of bullying assholes. But Astarion scrambled Wesaâs brains when he clubbed her over the head, and it didnât seem right to just leave her andâŚwell.
Part of you notes how careful they all is around you (imagined or not). Wesa does not care. Donât matter to her what you did. She brings you pretty rocks she finds. Neat little twigs. Anything shiny she scrounges off the ground. Then she tries to braid that into your hair (Gale offered the first time to do a magic cleaning on the little pile of bones she found). You been, unfortunately, too sick and sweaty for anything to work out.
Itâs selfish as fuck. But youâre so goddamned relieved for somebody you donât gotta feel bad around. (Thereâs some kinda psychology going on in you, isnât there.)
âTribe!â Sheâs found her target outside.
âOh, ah,â Gale says. So many emotions folded into those two noises. He volunteered the once. Wesa is a lot sharper than anybody seems to expectâshe picked up on a pattern. You canât see outside at this angle, but you can picture the pinch to poor Galeâs face as he gingerly takes the dead bird. âYes. Another contribution. How, er, fantastic.â
âTribe.â
âYes, Iâll get right on that. Ah. Thank you.â
âIts revolting,â Astarion says.
His breath reeks of iron when he comes in for the night sometimes. But you ainât in no position to be passing judgment on nobody. Not after everything. Especially not when heâs been propping up your head with his leg. So you say, âItâs just decorations.â
âFeathers I can almost understand, if a bit crude. But you know sheâll want to put the bones on your hair.â
You shrug. âPeople make jewelry and combs and shit outta bones. I seen jewelry here made outta shells. Ainât them just clam bones?â
He makes a sound. You know for a fact the man just rolled his eyes, even without looking. But he ainât got a comeback to it, and he holds his tongue when Wesa comes charging back in, rubbing at her exposed arms.
âWe gotta get more clay on her,â you say.
His next wordless noise is closer to a groan.
âSheâs sensitive to the sun,â you say. âI thought youâd get that, Mr. Vampire.â
âMr. Vampire-with-illithid-protection, thank you very much. I quite delight in basking in the sun.â
Heâs so fucking weird. Heâll let you lean on him (itâs not cuddly, itâs just a practical arrangement) one second. And then turn around and be the biggest fucking bitch you ever did see.
âHalsin did say I should exercise,â you say.
Laying prone for two weeks while your body tries to expel your spleen out your nostrils pretty much undid the progress you was making with Laeâzel. She been grumpy about it the whole time. Watching you as you recover, and you know sooner or later sheâs going to throw your own spear at you and demand a match and then systematically point out every, single thing you do wrong. And meanwhile, youâll be doing your best not to drop the goddamn spear.
âHe meant tottering around camp. Not playing in the mud with a goblin,â Astarion says.
Wesa crawls onto the pile of clothing she done scavenged up. She circles it a couple times, kicks at it with her back feet a few more times, before she settles down.
She tends to sleep when its hottest out, you noticed. Makes sense: her eyes are so big and reflective. Probably crepuscular. First it was just the extra blanket sheâd curl up on or under. Then one of your shirts showed up. And then one of Galeâs. Pretty sure sheâs got something from everybody, now, and you got theories on that.
âItâs sunscreen,â you say. Stop to yawn. âYou gotten anything good to eat, recently?â
It ainât exactly subtle what youâre doing. You kinda gave up on subtlety (canât trust it, canât trust you).
Astarion takes the bait, though. Partially cause he donât win this argument the handful of times it done come up, and partially because Wesa stares at him, eyes round and reflective green in the shade of the tent. Sheâs quick, you learned. Swipes little birds clean out the air. Bites them, too.
A rustle as Astarion sets down his book. He looks better than he did back in the cursed lands, in a lotta ways. The eye bags are faint smears and his skin is less cadaver gray. More shut-in pasty.
But thereâs a tightness to his expression, too, whenever you catch him unaware. One that wasnât there before. Yâall are coming up on the city of Baldurâs Gate, chasing down an army of brainwormed cultists and their two, remaining leaders. And the big ass, floating goddamn brain.
And Astarion? Heâs coming right back to the front steps of the man who enslaved him. That fuckface will be hunting him. Desperately, if that devil told you true (and everyone is pretty sure he did). Astarion will be in his reach. The last person, piece of a contract, that fucker needs to sacrifice to a bigger devil to gain unholy cosmic power.
Astarion knows this. He ainât said as much, but heâs a little quieter, these days. Actually volunteers to take watch. Complains pisser than ever over the smallest shitâhe nearly threw a knife at Karlach when he got a rock stuck in his shoe and she made some quip about it. He likes Karlach.
âAre you offering?â he says.
He ainât bit you sinceâŚthe inn. Before the inn. Since before you got your soul ripped out and it turned you into a fucking monster.
Astarion is your friend, and yâallâre closer than you been with anybody in a hot fucking minute. ButâŚyou kinda missâŚ
It was nice to be touched. Platonically! You ainât thinking of more than that. Yeah, itâs his lips and tongue on your neck, but yâknow, he also. Um. Held you.
You need to stop that. You care about him. Youâre the manâs first fucking friend (and that makes your heart wibble and cranks your blood pressure up so high you feel it in your neck).
You cannot ruin this. You cannot push anything. Leave him alone. Be his friend. Itâll take his mind off things. Right?
âI been feeling a lot better?â you say.
His gaze flicks to your neck. Man swallows. And thereâs the faintest trace ofâŚyou ainât sure. Something almost sad. Almost, wanting in some way. Until he buttons that down.
âThe cleric would stake me,â he says.
Shadowheart. Sheâs been cordial, but kinda distant. Has left most of the doctoring to Halsin.
You did that. You deliberately manipulated her (even if in part for good reasons). Yâall talked it over and she ainât mad at you. Not exactly. But that girlâs got trust issues, and she was starting to let you in, and you all but stabbed her. (You literally slit her throat.) (She got better.)
She justifiably withdrew. All you can do is give her space.
âI think youâd be fine,â you say.
There is something in his eyes. Echoes something around in you. He starts to bend down, and yâall will have to adjust positions because heâs flexible, but he ainât that flexibleâ
A scuff. A shadow falls over the opened tent flap. A familiar scent wafts inâreminds you of oil painting, for some reasonâand Wyll clears his throat.
âIf I may?â he says, cause heâs a gentleman and the last time Karlach busted in while you was alone, you was tits-out from the heat and you mightâa screeched and the whole camp came running.
âNo, you may not,â Astarion says. âWeâre both terribly indecent and in the throes of ecstasy.â
Wyll tentatively peers in. Spots the book Astarion set down. His expression brightens. âAh, The Dukeâs Escape. Is that the third one? Iâve only read the second and the fifth.â
âWell Iâm reading it now, and Iâve no intention of sharing. What do you want? Aside from pilfering my books.â
The books he pilfers from Gale.
Wyllâs brightness tamps down. He looks a lot older than he is. âWeâve caught up. Thought it best you come and see.â
New DND character alert! (Donât worry, Ruthieâs fine). I got inspired by Nott and Riz and had to make my own little goblin buddy.
Dugnat is a young goblin wild magic sorcerer from another time. They were kept in a living tomb by mysterious 40 foot tall âkeepersâ for over 1200 years. They were recently freed by the elf wizard, Roweena Horn. Dugnatâs memory is fuzzy due to their long stasis, but they do remember that they were banished from their village after a disastrous wild magic surge and taken in by orc followers of Beshaba, the goddess of misfortune.
Also, if anyoneâs interested in commissions for their dnd babies, feel free to dm me!
so glad i found the goblincore tag because it means there are people out there that are just as disgusting as me that i can look at amd appreciate and hopefully that means they'll appreciate me too
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
I would love to see some goblins maybe! They dont get much love :c Keep up the good work btw! I adore your writing and always come here when i need to relax or get some inspiration. You're such an amazing writer and you always manage to create such vivid scenes with just words! It's very inspiring ;u;
Yay! Goblins will always get love on this blog, donât worry! I adore goblins.Â
(Thereâs Skyrrik, and Kravik from Dâs story to keep you going)