#astarion fandom

[oonalovesastarionssimpleplan]

If your headcanon doesn't fit the character, screw it. Nobody is taking your headcanon away.

But some things just don't fit his story. For example: No one can claim that Astarion never felt sorry for some of his victims if there is the story about the 'Darling Boy' in the game. But If you want that for your headcanon, you can do it. Then live with the mischarakterization. But don't go into discussions about Astarion's story and claim that it isn't true.

That's why there's a difference between canon and headcanon.

And If u find out that some of your headcanons dont suit the story or the Charakter. Stop whining....it is what it is. Every one of us feels this way.

on astarion's mischaracterization

astarion fans can stop assuming every other bg3 player is an idiot who doesn't care to understand astarion's deeper meaning. god this is so annoying. especially if you think ascended astarion is "wrong". first of all, there is no good or bad ending, just different endings for those of different moral alignments. listen, please post your interpretations of astarion's story. but other people having their own interpretation of him is not incorrect. and some people not wanting to read too much into his life aren't "falling for his act," they aren't idiots. also, some people really don't care about astarion at all. so to them, he really is just a snarky asshole. other astarion fans who post their takes on his character that differ from yours or have an emphasis on his romance and sexuality are not "falling for his act". NOBODY in the fandom is "falling for his act". it's okay to say that people in his own life have done so, but real people who actually have played bg3 and interacted with astarion are all smart enough to not "fall for his act" beyond act 1.

saying he is the "most sexualized" is hilarious like... are you out here defending female characters this much? didn't think so. astarion is a sexual man, and obviously you can have sex with him in-game. and people are gonna continue to "sexualize" him (aka being attracted to him and partaking in sex with him) and write their smut and draw their fanart. and i mentioned female characters bc they are CONSTANTLY objectified and reduced to being sexual objects which is NOT what people do to astarion (or really any male character). most ppl who "sexualize" astarion are in fact aware that he has a deeper story and more to offer than just sex, they embrace him for his attitude and personality.

since when are we telling ppl their headcanons and fics are wrong?? why are we using condescending tones to talk down on ppl's headcanons and personal interpretations? now i'm seeing posts of screenshots of ppl's fics and headcanons and the person posting it is all "omg why does everyone think this about him?? they're all wrong!!" maybe bc that's just the relationship THEY had with him with THEIR oc in THEIR playthru. it really just gives off the vibe that you think you're right and you understand astarion soooo much better and everyone else is wrong and dumb.

tldr: stop assuming YOUR characterization of astarion is the "right" one and that every one else just can't seem to figure it out!

[coffeeanddonutscafe]

Astarion: The Longer You Look

At first glance, Astarion looks immaculate. That’s part of the trick.

Too beautiful, really the kind of beauty people make excuses for, just to be close to it. He’s charming in a way that lands softly at first, like velvet over glass. His beauty is deliberate   the soft curve of his mouth, the glimmer in his eyes, the laugh that never quite reaches them.  His voice, smooth and cutting. His laugh, elegant and a touch too precise   like it was rehearsed. Like he knows what you want to hear and gives it to you before you even speak.

But if you watch long enough, things start to slip.

His hair is too white. Not silvery or aged, but clean, like bone stripped bare in the desert. It never moves in the wind quite right   too soft, too neat, like it's mimicking how hair should behave. It never gets tangled. It never lies flat for long. It moves like it has thoughts of its own when wind touches it.  When he runs a hand through it, it falls back into place like water returning to stillness. Tav once brushed a strand from his brow and thought for a breath it didn’t feel like hair at all.

His stillness is the first thing that feels wrong. Not the poised stillness of a nobleman or trained killer   but something older, something that doesn’t need to move unless it chooses to. When others are tired or hungry or overwhelmed, he stands perfectly composed  and that stillness is unnerving. He doesn’t fidget. Never scratches an itch.  Doesn’t tap his fingers or shift his weight. Never adjusts the fall of his cloak unless someone’s looking. He stands too still, like something holding its breath. And there’s the way he moves   fluid, yes, graceful, yes   but sometimes too quiet. You don’t hear him unless he wants to be heard. You think he left the room, and then he’s suddenly behind you, eyes curious, mouth smiling just a second too late. His footsteps make no sound unless he's pretending they do.

He is beautiful in the way a statue might be marble-pale and impossibly still. His skin is porcelain, yes, but not in the romantic way. Porcelain like a mask. Smooth, but too smooth. Pores are nearly invisible. No freckle, no mole, no scar. Light sits strangely on it, almost like it’s being repelled. His skin doesn’t glow so much as it reflects the world like porcelain under candlelight, never quite warming. He’s always the same  eternal. Preserved. His eyes red, yes  they do not glow, not really. But they catch. Sometimes they glint in the dark with a glimmer that isn't natural light a sharp flicker, like a cat’s. He doesn’t just look at people   he studies them, like a predator choosing the softest place to bite. But where a beast’s eyes are wild, his are watching. Calculating. He never blinks too much. Never too little. Just enough. Too precise. Like he’s mimicking humanity. Like he’s remembering how people behave, and doing it by muscle memory, not instinct. When he laughs, it’s too smooth. No vocal scratch, no hiccup, no breath. Just sound. And when he stops laughing, it’s instant. Like someone cut a string.

When he’s hungry, everything sharpens.

His smile slows. His head tilts. His eyes track movement with eerie precision. His pupils narrow like a cat's. The red in his eyes sharpens to crimson. His mouth parts   not wide, but just enough for you to see the tips of his fangs, longer than you remembered, sharper. His nails   manicured and clean   lengthen at the edges. And his hands those lovely, elegant hands they twitch at his sides. They look like they’d tear through silk or skin without effort.

It’s in the little things the way his shadow moves slightly out of sync with his body when the torchlight flickers, the way animals stare too long or go silent when he passes.

And yet, people are drawn to him. Like moths to flame. He doesn’t just act charming he feeds off the effect it has. The admiration. The attention. The closeness. He likes to be seen. He likes being beautiful.

But the truth is: beauty is bait.

And the predator underneath is always watching.

But Tav… Tav sees it all.

And doesn’t flinch.

And that, more than anything, makes him pause. Because predators know when something isn’t afraid.

And he's never had that before. _________________________________________________________ I love thinking that Astarion is, in his own way, a bit uncanny—not in an overtly monstrous way, but there's something subtly off about him. It's the kind of thing you only notice after observing him for an extended period—something vampires rarely experience, since they're not often watched so closely for so long. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed <3 If you want to read some more, here's my MASTERLIST

[cozykali]

Heartbeats (Astarion’s POV)

I downloaded Baldur’s gate 3 and immediately feel for this sexy vampire the moment he tackled me to the ground and held a knife to my neck. I’m in act 2 right now (no spoilers!) and the brainrot is BAD. I’ve read some amazing period sex fics involving Astarion but I wanted to craft one from his perspective. Let me know your thoughts!

Master list can be found here!

Pairing: Astarion x fem Tav/reader

Rating: SMUT! NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Words: 4700

TW: (this fic is FLITHY), mentions of death and dying, biting (duh), drinking blood, period sex, blood kink, oral (fem receiving), unprotected P in V, kissing, fingers, stalking, multiple Os, passing out, blood-loss, mentions of past torture/trauma, tension, begging, fluffy ending, ‘who did this to you?’,

Notes: Tav and Astarion have been travelling together for a few weeks. No romance scenes have happened yet, but she allows him to feed on her nearly every night. She hasn’t seen his scars yet. Tav is on her period and it’s making her vampire friend go crazy. Tav has feelings for Astarion but hasn’t acted upon them. This story is told from Astarion’s perspective. Tav can be any race or class you want (probably not durge though).

Bonus: Check out this massive playlist I made inspired by Astarion!

The fading fire crackled softly; its once licking flames now reduced to gentle, glowing embers. A thin line of smoke ascends into the damp air that coats the earth in a delicate layer of cool dew.

Astarion lies beside the fire on his bedroll, flat on his back, with his arms slightly splayed at his sides. Most nights, he is grateful that he doesn’t need sleep like his companions do. He can immerse himself in the peaceful sounds of the night, meditate, slow his breath, and calm his mind without slipping into unconsciousness. This ability had saved his life on more than one occasion.

However, tonight is different. Tonight, he wishes for sleep to claim him. He longs to drift away and escape the torment of the spell unknowingly cast upon him by Tav. He turns his head to gaze through the soft light of the fire in her direction.

Tav is laying on her side facing the fire, her mouth slightly open as she emits soft snores barely audible over the crackling flames. But what troubles Astarion tonight is her scent. It wafts through the acrid smoke of the fire like a gentle breeze through a sail, sweet as usual, but it’s currently mixed with blood and musk.

Astarion has been avoiding Tav for the better part of two days now. Whenever she drew near, he held his breath and averted his gaze. He knew he must keep his distance from her, because the alternative would be ripping her apart, which would not win any favors with the rest of the party.

Tav has also been careful around him. She must know that he can sense her menses. Despite inviting him to feed on her each night for nearly two weeks, tonight she did not proposition him, nor the night before. Last night, his attempt to catch a deer had been futile, leaving Tav as his last meal.

Lying on his bedroll, Astarion stares up at the stars, after a seemingly endless eternity for an immortal being, he hears Tav stir slightly. He glances over at her curiously, hoping she doesn’t notice his gaze. She lets out a quiet groan, clutching her lower stomach before curling into a fetal position, her face contorted in pain. Moments later, she slowly starts to rise.

Tav stumbles to fetch a flask of water, guzzling it down greedily. Astarion envies her ease in quenching her thirst while his own thirst rages inside him. Before long, he senses her absence, her scent growing fainter. He debates whether to leave her to sort herself out, but the primal urge to hunt and stalk his prey cannot be ignored.

Rising slowly, Astarion follows her scent through the trees to a nearby stream. His movements are fluid and silent as he approaches her. Tav is kneeling in front of the water, wringing out a blood-soaked cloth.

"Seems such a waste to wash that delicious blood away, darling," Astarion's voice, silky and smooth as velvet, slices through the night like a dagger. Tav lets out a startled squeal, spinning to face him.

"Astarion!" Her voice cracks with surprise as she stumbles back, but his hand shoots out to steady her, his touch cool against the small of her back as he prevents her from falling into the rocky stream.

His gaze is locked onto Tav's eyes, wide with astonishment, her pupils are dilated so only faint rings of color remain around dark voids. With his keen elven senses, he can hear the rapid thrum of her heart beneath her chest. Releasing her gently, Astarion steps back, his posture graceful and poised.

"Sorry, my dear," he says, softening his tone to one less intimidating. "I was merely ensuring no creatures were stalking you in the night as you wandered off. There are far worse dangers in these woods than bears, you know?"

"You mean like you?" Tav's words are sharp, but Astarion detects the faint quiver of her bottom lip.

"I just prevented you from bashing your skull on those wet rocks, and this is the gratitude I receive?" Astarion scoffs.

"I wouldn't have nearly slipped if you hadn't snuck up on me, asshole," Tav retorts, pushing him in the chest, though his feet remain firmly planted.

"Oh, my, you look adorable when you're angry," Astarion can’t help but smirk at her.

Tav lets out a frustrated grunt, attempting to stomp away, but Astarion catches her arm before she can pass him. Confusion clouds her face as she searches for an explanation for his unusual behavior. The facade of his usual sassy indifference had vanished, replaced by a tumult of desire and longing.

"Are you here to bite me?" Tav's voice trembles, strained as if she’s fighting back a scream. "I thought you were better than that. You promised me you wouldn’t feed on me unless I asked you to."

Astarion reaches out and takes the wet cloth from her hand, the hunger gnawing at him like a demon. Shamelessly, he presses it to his face, inhaling deeply. His vision is blurred, his head swimming in the intoxicating scent of her body that lingers on the fabric.

"Astarion, knock it off! You’re freaking me out," Tav snaps, snatching the cloth back and tossing it into the dirt.

"Tav," he whimpers, hating the desperation in his voice. Slowly, he releases her wrist, turning away to pinch his brows in an attempt to ease the splitting headache caused by her overwhelming scent.

"What in the hells is wrong with you?" Tav's voice remains cold, but concern flickers in her eyes as she speaks. She feels sorry for him.

Astarion straightens his stance, clearing his throat. "I apologize that I disturbed you. I’m not thinking straight," he announces before turning to walk back to camp.

"Wait," Tav said, and he freezes.

"I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. That I haven’t asked you to bite me the past few nights. I know you must know I’m on my period," she admits, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I didn’t know how you felt about it. I can see now that it’s driving you to madness, but I thought ignoring it was the best course of action. It’s embarrassing, really, and I’m having terrible pains in my stomach."

Astarion closes the distance between them in two swift strides.

"It’s hard to see you like this, so crazed with hunger, and I…" Tav's words falter as Astarion gently places his hand under her chin, lifting her face to meet his.

"Shh, Tav, my sweet. You’re going to put me in a second grave," he murmurs.

To his surprise, Tav presses her face into his with a gentle kiss, and Astarion's eyes close as a deep growl rumbles from his chest.

Tav removes her lips, "I’m sorry that was stupid of me to…" but Astarion wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer, pressing her body against his. He kisses her ravenously. His sharp fangs scrape softly on her bottom lip. A sensation of an unraveling overwhelms Astarion as he kisses Tav. It's a mixture of desire, longing, and perhaps even a hint of vulnerability. This feeling is unfamiliar to him, stirring emotions he's long kept buried beneath his cool exterior.

She relaxes in his arms, sinking deeper into his kiss. Her hand reaches up to ruffle his soft white curls while the other slips under his linen shirt, exploring the ridges and lines of his abdomen.

As they momentarily break their kiss, Astarion feels a rush of dizziness. He gently brushes her hair away from her neck and nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. His tongue traces the faint marks on her skin, remnants of the nightly feedings he's had days prior. Despite the hunger clawing at him, he restrains himself from indulging further.

His hands, trembling with desire, slide down to the hem of Tav's shirt. He breathes against her ear, his voice a husky whisper, "May I?" Without a word, she responds by lifting her arms, granting him permission. In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt over her head, revealing her skin. Astarion’s hands cup her breasts. The soft sound she emits as his mouth finds her nipple is music to his ears.

"Please, I need to taste you." He pleas between nibbles and licks on her chest. He no longer feels ashamed by his desperation.

"Oh, Astarion." Tav smiles, "You look so pretty when you beg."

“Gods," he groans, then steps back to remove his shirt before kneeling to the ground in front of her, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight. "Tav," his voice is deep and soft, "I beg you." His hands reach out to grab her waist. "Let me taste you." He rests his forehead softly on her bare stomach. She places her hands on his and slides them down, encouraging him to remove her pants. Astarion is nearly trembling with anticipation as he helps her step out of her garments.

"Hold on," she stops him before he rips off her underwear. The bloodied rag that was freshly changed before he found her, was now soiled again with arousal and blood. "Should we find somewhere more comfortable?" She offers him her hand to help him rise back up.

Astarion feels lightheaded for a moment as he returns to his feet. However, as soon as he regains his balance, he scoops Tav up and carries her with remarkable speed to a clearing near the stream, where the ground is more sand than rocks. He lays Tav down on her back. He crawls towards her slowly, until his thigh is pressed firmly against her sex. As he lowers himself to kiss her once more, he gently hooks his other leg under hers and slides it up slowly, allowing her legs to part for him.

"Astarion?" She whispers to him when their kiss breaks, "You can feed on me tonight if you like."

He doesn’t even recognize the deep, feral growl that escapes his throat in response. "I was so hoping you would say that darling."

Astarion kisses his way down Tav’s stomach. She squirms at the feeling of his fangs brushing lightly on her ribs. He catches the waistband of her undergarments between his teeth and slides them down her legs to remove them.

He stops to hover over Tav for a moment now that she’s fully undressed. He savors the look she’s giving him through hooded eyes. Pausing, he appreciates the beauty of her bare skin splayed before him, relishing her scent before he consumes her.

"You’re too good to me, my pretty thing. I don’t deserve this, and I don’t deserve you." Astarion remarks before his head dips between her legs.

Astarion flattens his tongue and licks her once slowly, bottom to top. Tav tastes unbelievable. It still tastes like her blood, metallic and rich, but it’s enhanced with the flavor of her slick arousal, the must of her sweat, the flesh of her womb. If the blood in her veins is his water, his life source, the blood between her legs is like the finest of wines.

The hums and moans that leave Astarion's throat as he devours her are so animalistic, he can hardly hear Tav’s whines. He licks up every drop until she is clean then sticks his tongue deep inside her searching for more. His nose rubs in a side-to-side motion, pressed firmly against her apex, as his tongue explores.

"Oh gods, Astarion!" Tav gasps. He feels a slight sting on his scalp as she grabs a fistful of his silver curls while rocking her hips to match the speed of his tongue.

"I need more," Astarion rasps. His lips close around her bud He slides two slender fingers inside of her and starts pumping them in and out, coaxing out more blood. Her moans fill his ears like a siren’s song, adding to his pleasure. He can feel her insides tightening around his digits.

"Astarion. I…" Tav’s sentence is cut off by a wail of pleasure. He can smell the ecstasy flooding her blood, hear her heart pounding in her chest, and feel her body spasm and quake where he touches her. He doesn’t change the pace of his tongue or hand, dragging out her orgasm until she is panting and spent. He removes his fingers from her to lick them clean like a cat and notices a small trickle of blood leaking out of her.

"You may have just finished, darling, but I am not done yet. Nothing compares to the sound of my name cried from your lips, and I intend to hear it again." Astarion’s face dips back down to clean her folds. The amount of blood he can get from her body is not nearly enough to fill him. He needs to feed soon, a real meal, a pint of blood or more, not just a taste. But it can wait; the taste is too divine to stop.

Astarion hooks his arms under her thighs and flips onto his back, pulling her with him in one smooth motion. He grabs her hips as he forces her to a sitting position on his face, drinking her in. She shrieks and tries to pull away.

"Astarion, I need a minute. It’s too much." He releases his hands and stares up at her face with mid concern while she hovers over him. He tries to imagine how he looks to her right now.

"Can I ask you to be my mirror again, love?" He recalls the evening Tav found him looking at his empty reflection.

She studies him. "Your pretty face is absolutely covered with blood," she states. "Your lips are puffy and swollen. Your skin is thin and pale, paler than usual. Then there are your eyes…" she pauses, "they’re so red right now that they nearly glow in the light of the stars. There is nothing human, or even elf, left in them. They are the eyes of a monster."

Astarion grins wide, displaying his sharp fangs to her, "I am a monster, dear. Now can you please let me get back to consuming my prey?" His tongue extends from his mouth to lap against her swollen sensitive skin.

Tav tilts her head back and moans, exposing the full length of her gorgeous neck. Her back arches as she lowers herself onto his lips. Astarion grumbles in satisfaction when the taste of her dances on his tongue again. He grabs her thighs, in case she decides to pull away again, but instead she lowers onto him more, smothering him. She rocks against him, rubbing herself against his mouth and nose.

His lungs burn slightly, but he doesn’t need to breathe air to survive; it’s just a matter of an unconscious habit from before he turned into a vampire spawn. He needs air in his lungs to be able to speak, and it’s slightly uncomfortable if his lungs go without air for extended periods of time. He represses the memories of torture he had to endure over the centuries, where Cazador would deprive him of air for days just to watch him struggle. Astarion silently scolds himself for focusing on his lungs when his attention should be on the woman on top of him.

Tav bends her back further and places her hand on his waste to steady herself. Her hand brushes against the swollen bulge in his leather pants. His other primal urge is nothing more than an annoyance compared to his crazed lust to feed. But Astarion doesn’t protest when she starts to pet him through his pants as she continues to use his face like a toy. His pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight.

"Astarion!" His name sounds like a symphony when it exits her body. She collapses forward, cradling his head with her arms. He drinks her in, savoring all his senses. His hands run up and down her bare thighs that seem to burn with heat. She rolls off him and lands in the sandy dirt of the bank, lying flat on her back beside him. They breathe in sync, shallow and hard.

"Tav, I…" Astarion pants, still laying on his back. "I need to feed."

"I know, I told you that you could. It’s not enough, right? Down there I mean. I figured as much. Why didn’t you just go for my neck in the first place? Why starve yourself on tiny mouthfuls when you can just bite me?"

"The taste," he whispers, "It’s addictive. I can’t stop." He swipes a finger between her legs and places the pad of it against his tongue and groans.

"Astarion?" Tav rolls onto her side to gaze into his eyes. She places her hand against the puncture marks on her neck from his fangs. "Bite me."

Astarion rises to his feet. Stars briefly dance across his vision, then fade. He is again reminded of the throbbing of his groin and decides to remove his confining leather pants and exposes himself to her. It seems only fair to be as naked as she is.

Tav’s eyes bulge and her jaw slacks as she stares at him. She props herself up on her elbows and slowly opens her legs to him. The wanting look she gives him is the closest thing he’ll get to a reflection of his own eyes. He waits, tension coiling in his muscles in anticipation as he searches her expression for the words he longs to hear.

"Darling, I am supposed to be the one looking at you like a feast laid before me, but here you are, looking at me like I’m a fresh baked pie. I could practically wipe away your drool." He smirks down at her. His hand lazily strokes his length to tease her.

Tav's lips form the word "Please," her voiceless plea echoing in the quiet night.

"Please what, my pet?" Astarion teases, his voice low and filled with anticipation, as he listens to the rapid rhythm of her heart, quickening like a drumbeat.

"Please. I want you to bite me while you fuck me." Her voice deepens, her eyelids are heavy with lust. Astarion’s stomach flips, and he pounces onto her like a fox catching a mouse.

"Such a filthy little mouth you have." He tuts. While he arranges himself over Tav. It's a familiar position that they have practiced nearly every night since she invited him to feed on her, only this time they are skin to skin. His face lingers over her neck, his breath cools her blazing skin. The tip of his shaft is posed at her entrance. She bucks her hips in response, and he sinks into her partially, then withdrawals.

"You are mine." Astarion whispers into her neck. Pressing his lips to the partially healed wound from his last bite as he enters her again, sinking his entire length into her. Tav cries out in response, but he doesn’t move.

"Astarion, please," She whines. He raises himself onto the palms of his hands to look at her. Her eyes are glossy, tears are forming in the corners.

"Tav, Darling, you look so pretty when you beg." He echoes her earlier words. He wishes he could hold out a little longer to see how far he could tease her until she breaks, but his need to feed is too intense. He starts slowly pumping in and out. Her eyes close and her mouth opens wide in pleasure. She feels amazing, so tight, so soft, so wet with blood and arousal.

Tav places her hands on Astarion’s back and digs her nails in, only to pull away quickly when she feels the bumps of the scars she hasn’t yet seen. She opens her mouth to mention it but he quickly covers it with his blood stained lips. His tongue slips past her lips and moves with the same rhythm of his thrusts. She moans into his mouth as his pace quickens. Then he breaks her kiss to purr into her ear, ‘Do you taste yourself on my lips, beautiful? It’s delicious, isn’t it? You taste divine.’

Tav shivers beneath him and lets out a sob. His lips brush down her neck. Astarion snarls to expose his sharp, elongated canines then grazes them against her throat, ready to strike. His thrusts never stop, slamming into her repeatedly, as he finally sinks his teeth into her neck and sucks her blood.

"Oh fuck, Astarion!" Tav releases a scream and falls apart under him. Shaking and panting while grinding against him. He can taste the electricity of her climax surge through her blood as her heart beats with a steady rhythm, allowing the blood to flow through her veins until it reaches his mouth. Astarion feels a rush stronger than any drug, more enchanting than any spell or potion. Her walls spasm around him, while he slurps against her neck. He sucks her blood with intense force. Pinning her under him. He can’t stop.

After several moments of bliss, he notices she has gone completely still beneath him. It takes all his willpower to unlatch his fangs before he sits up quickly.

"Shit’." A wave of panic washes over Astarion as he inspects Tav. Her skin appears paler, almost gray. Her breaths come slow and shallow, and her heartbeat is faint and stuttering. Without hesitation, he scoops up her limp body and wades into the waist-deep waters of the nearby stream, gently lowering her in. The water feels warm against his skin, though he himself is generally cooler than most creatures. He hopes the temperature doesn’t send her body further into shock.

As he holds her in the water, Astarion's mind races with worst-case scenarios. He imagines having to speak with Withers to revive her, dreading the thought of explaining his actions to the rest of the camp. Tav won’t easily forgive him this time, he fears. He might be cast out or even killed. He curses himself for following her out here in the first place. She was right to avoid him these past few days.

Just as he begins to entertain thoughts of escape, Tav’s soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. "Star?"

Relief floods through him. "Oh, thank the gods, Tav. I’m truly sorry. I got a little carried away." He holds her tighter against his chest, feeling her shiver against him.

"Cold," Tav manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Astarion carries her out of the water and gently sets her down in a patch of soft grass. He hurries to gather their scattered clothes, helping her dress into her pants and shirt. He wraps his own rumpled white shirt around her for extra warmth, then puts on his pants before rinsing the remaining blood from his face in the stream.

Returning to her side, Astarion finds her hugging her legs, the color slowly returning to her face. "Let’s get you back to camp near the fire. I’ll wake Shadowheart to see if she can heal you," he suggests, wrapping his arm around her.

Tav turns to him, her voice airy and soft. "No, I think I'll manage until morning." Astarion kisses her forehead as she embraces him, her hands rubbing slow circles on his back.

"Turn around," Tav demands, and he complies, allowing her to view the intricate scars covering his entire back. She traces them with her fingers. "What happened to you?" Her voice carries a tone of pity, and Astarion swallows a lump in his throat.

"It’s a poem," He explains calmly. "Cazador did it to me. He took his time. I don’t know what it says."

"Oh, Astarion, I’m so sorry," Tav responds with compassion that almost irritates him.

"You’re sorry?" Astarion snaps, turning to face her. "I nearly killed you tonight, and you’re sorry?" He immediately regrets the sharpness of his words. "No, Tav, I’m sorry." Pulling her into him, he collapses to the ground, and she lays her head on his bare chest.

‘Astarion, I…’ Tav starts to speak.

"Hush," he interrupts, holding a finger to her lips. "Listen." He tunes into the sounds of the environment around them—the rustling of tree branches in the breeze, the chirping of insects in the reeds, the rushing of water in the nearby stream. But the sound he wants her to hear isn’t external; it’s coming from within him. After several seconds, she jerks her head up from his chest to meet his eyes.

"Did… did I just hear your heart?" Her voice is filled with astonishment. "You have a heartbeat?" Her brows furrow in confusion as she searches his face for answers. "Is that another side effect of the tadpole? Like how you can walk in the sun?"

Astarion smiles at her. "Yes, you heard my heart beating. No, it’s not from the worm in my head. It’s from you, darling."

"What? How?" Tav’s confusion deepens.

‘Well, when I feed, especially if it’s a big meal, my body must circulate the fresh blood throughout it somehow. And in case you weren’t aware, I’ll give you a little anatomy lesson. I need blood in a certain area of the body to give you a performance like I did back there."

She stares at him in shock "So your heart will kickstart when you're full, or horny?"

"In simple terms, yes dear, and I do feel both of those right now. However, it only beats a couple times a minute, not like a living creature. Have you noticed the color return to my skin, and that my temperature is at least five degrees warmer than usual?"

Tav smiles softly as she lays her head back on his chest in silence, waiting to hear a soft thump again. "I can make your heartbeat," she whispers.

"Well Tav, it seems my heart belongs to you now," Astarion sighs. "I’ve never felt anything like that before. I’m practically drunk on you right now. When I told you were my first bite, I meant it and now I can’t imagine drinking the blood of anyone else. Not like I have many options anyways, no one else is exactly offering me their neck." She smacks him softly, and he lets out a chuckle before his face softens with worry.

"I don’t think it’s safe to do that again, though," He grumbles. "I nearly lost you." Tav looks up at him with sadness in her eyes. "I mean I would happily bed you again," Astarion continues, "and I still wish to feed on you if you allow it, once you're replenished, but I think we should keep dinner and sex separate from now on."

Tav scoots up to kiss his neck. Then rises to her knees and straddles him. Her hair forms a halo around her face as she looks down at him.

"What is Withers there for if we don’t use him once and a while. Plus, we have at least ten revival scrolls in the chest at the camp."

His heart beats again, slightly harder than the last time. "Are you giving me permission to suck you dry? You filthy little pup." His hands grab her rear, and he squeezes. "How did I get so lucky? Getting abducted by mind flayers seems to have been the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"I mean, I've never felt anything like that either. When you were draining me of blood, I let it happen, I didn’t want it to stop. I was in a daze as I slipped away. To be clear, I don’t think the others will approve of paying 200 gold coins to Withers, or wasting revival scrolls that could be used during a fight, every time I come to your bed, but if it happens… I trust you to bring me back. I guess my heart belongs to you now too. Since it pumps the blood through me that keeps you alive and thriving."

Astarion inhales deeply. "Well in that case, darling," his hand reaches up to grab her neck and he pulls her head down so her ear touches his lips "I think you're beating me three-nil in climaxes this evening. And I intend to double your score at the very least, and maybe get a point on the board myself before the sun rises." He glances down and notices a blood stain seeping through her pants onto his. He realizes didn't put her underwear back on nor replace her blood rag when he dressed her earlier. "Also, it looks like you might need a little cleaning up again, my love."

END

[brabblesban]

A Throne of Roses

another brilliant piece from the amazing Leira Art!

Patreon | Twitter

[pursuitseternal]

F!Durge who is a Great Old One warlock with Astarion: 3. “I want to please you.” Preferably during the graveyard scene with her telling him that

“Please…”

UA Spawn x f!Reader | E | Smut Asks Prompts

CW: public sex, body worship, whimpering vampires

Kinktober Bingo: tittyfuck

A cool summer night… a single white star flower… and freedom.

Sweet, blissful freedom.

He lays on you, knee hooked inside your own, spreading you open so as to grind his hardening length against your sex. This time is different from your other trysts… this time, you look up at Astarion, his pale skin still damp from washing the remnants of Cazador’s bloodspatter from the battle. From the final act of vengeance.

You can hardly believe you’re here, on his grave in the dead of night. You would pinch yourself to make certain this was real, but the weight of his lean frame grinding against your cunt is enough to convince you. You’re here, and so is Astarion.

His body is everywhere, a crush of sinew as he presses you and spreads you into the dirt.

“My love,” you whimper, caged by his strength, his fervor.

“It’s you I want… all of you, every last piece of your heart and soul, your body and blood…” he raps, tongue tangled with yours, hand fisted in your hair. You can feel his hunger, his desperation, and after today, you wish nothing more for him than peace and freedom… and love.

“Astarion,” his name tumbles in a whisper from your lips as they work against his. “Lay back.”

“Why, when I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here?” you can hear his dripping confidence, feel his lips twisting in a conceited grin.

Summoning all your strength, your powers, you grab his shoulders and roll. He grunts, dust flying as your bodies tumble end for end once... twice… until he stops. The irony of where he lays, head of silver curls just brushing his headstone, it makes your heart stop. Those wide, red eyes stare up at you in shock and in awe. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he chuckles, hands now grabbing at your hips, his own resuming that slow grind up into your clothed cunt.

Your pointer finger presses over his cracked lips, dry from the salt of his tears today. “Hush, love,” you soothe, “you know what you want. Now I’ll show you what I want… I want to please you…”

“Excellent,” he growls, voice scratching his throat in rough and husky tones.

“I want… every part of me to please you,” you respond. Your voice is quiet, sweet. The movements of your body are in total control, trying to move with grace against the desperate buck of his hips into you. Your two hands cradle his face, your fingers thread through the damp silver hair at the nape of his neck. “Starting with these lips of mine, the ones that can’t help but whine and whimper when you touch me…” you breathe into his mouth, your warmth invading his chill, heating him as he cools you. Your kiss is gentle, tasting of innocence and affection, just the brush of your warm, fleshy, pursed lips on his.

You feel his breath hitch, the slightest gasp at the contact, as it breaks his streak of hunger with its adoration.

You grind, slow, torturous rolls of your folds over his leathers… and the slightest breath of a whimper from his lips snaps something inside you. You sit up, grab him by those limp ruffles of his collar and yank him upright with you. He snarls at your sudden aggression, lips pulled back to the right to bare his fang.

You trail rough, open mouthed kisses over his chest and stomach, hands tugging that old silk off his torso. Eagerly, he gives you aid, his pale skin pearlescent and luminous in the moonlight. Your breath catches as you slot yourself between his thighs. A creature of darkness, those red, unearthly eyes making your cunt clench with desire and your heart race with natural fear.

And you love it. You crave it. You want to tame the monster and please him until he’s nothing more than a purring pet nestled between your thighs… “My fierce… devoted… vampire,” you murmur, planting kisses down those etched diagonal lines of his hips. “So strong… so hungry… so free…” you continue, nuzzling the throbbing hardness beneath his pants. You can feel it stiffen, sense it twitch as you sniff it, kiss it, suck it barely through the fabric. Your teeth nip through the soft leather, earning you a low growl and a rumbling, “Hells, my love.”

“Does it please you?” You ask, nibbling him as he twitches against your lips through his pants.

“What do you think?” Astarion laughs breathlessly, his hands working to unfasten the straining gap. But, your hands stop him. “Naughty,” you chide him, bringing his fingers to your mouth to suck and nip those too. “You are figuring out what you want… you want me. And I, what I want is to please you. Not let me… allow me… to please you.”

You slink his leathers down just enough for his cock to emerge, hard and pulsing and ridged with those familiar veins that weave perfectly around his length. Barely stopping to wet your lips, you suck him in, the taste of salt and musk, that addictive flavors you know by heart now covers your tongue. “Hells,” he groans, leaning back on the ancient headstone. “You really are lucky I don’t need to breathe or you’d steal my breath, darling,” his silken voice catches in his throat, husky and deepening as you take him into your mouth. You want to feel him on every inch of you, your skin screaming to press against his smooth cool body.

It’s a desperation, a drive to satisfy him and please him as he has never been before. Your hands slip your breasts from the collar of your shirt, the buttons loosening to let them spill out. And all the while you bob your mouth up and down, letting his cockhead brush the back of your throat. His shaft is slick with spit, drenched from your lips.

Perfect.

The warm softness of your breasts cradles his cock as you press them around that slick shaft. Crimson eyes wide, his fang bites his own lip to give a trickle of his own blood down his chin. Gaze devouring the sight of you in his lap, he groans, hips bucking to thrust his cock up into your tits. With every plunge upwards, you suckle the weeping head of his cock. And it takes all your strength, your concentration, to keep your breasts pressing snuggly around him.

His nails dig into the dirt, clawing their way deeper in total… complete… ecstasy. “Love… my love,” he grunts, eyes wild with desperate need, blood trickling down his chin.

“Pleased?” You whisper between sloppy kisses on his cockhead.

“Very,” he snarls in reply, one hand reaches to yank the back of your head, fingers knotted in the small, fragile hairs at your nape. He pulls you forward, crushing your mouth to his. Copper and metal tickles your tongue as you taste his own cut lip. His hands lift the skirt of your gown, lining you up just right, cock pushing and pulsing against your soaked underthings. “Keep pleasing me… please,” he purrs, desperation tasting so sweet on his darting tongue.

You shift over his cock, a single pull of your clothing and she slots right inside your dripping cunt. Then, you ride him with abandon. There is nothing else in the world… no enemies, no threats, no tadpoles. Not even strangers spending late night vigils by their loved one’s graves. At least… you wouldn’t know. Not with the way you are keeping vigil on his grave. He fills you, buried to the hilt as you start to bounce. His nails dig into the crest of your hips, lifting and slamming you back down, matching the thrusts of his hips. He rolls them, matching your downs with upward snaps, thumb wandering into that sweet heated crux of your thighs to catch your clit. You hiss, grabbing his wrists. “I was supposed to please you, my love,” you hiss as he circles your aching, tingling nub faster.

“But making you come, watching you fall apart on my cock… nothing would please me more, darling…” he purrs, that voice no longer velvet as he huffs and growls, rough with his own exertions as he fucks you. Those arms wrap around you as he pulls himself to sit up, your body slamming down with wet squelches as you bounce on his lap. Only now, in this position, he can taste you, kiss you… bite you.

Fangs on your skin, buried in your neck… the ice and heat are nothing compared to the searing drive you have inside you to please him. To make him come undone, to love you and to feel your love in return.

It’s a warm whirlwind of pleasure and pleasing, of desire and disastrous mess as you come on his lap, and he fills you with his seed. As he bites your neck and slurps down your blood between ragged breaths once he’s come inside you.

You catch your breath, damp foreheads pressed together as he grips his hands into your ass. His cock is still hard inside you, warming now with desire and fresh blood. Hips lift slightly, a silent request for you to move more. Move again. And then his lips whisper one word against your own.

“Please.”

[oonalovesastarionssimpleplan]

CAZADOR'S Manipulation and how he shaped ASTARION

In this video, I explored how Cazador shaped Astarion and how his trauma influenced his worldview and the sense of self-worth.

This project demanded a great deal from me—testing my nerves, bringing me to tears, and pushing me to overcome myself.

It may not be perfect, but it’s the very best I could give❤ let me know what you think about it.

[kukichart]

ASTARION 💔

[lesfir]

I spotted something. Here

The same devnote for mortal and immortal Tav

on AA tag even lol okey. Interesting.

Oxford Learner's Dictionaries, Merriam‑Webster

How some BG3 devnotes looks like:

Making mistakes is ok. But constantly gaslighting while making those mistakes? That’s become a classic move for a part of the Spawn community, the fixers.

Not sure what else to say here. Practice makes perfect. As always — perfect bullshit.

A great example of a fixer-style "analysis": first they come up with their very crooked conclusions about Ascended Astarion, and only then try to bend everything in the text to fit those conclusions.

Here's another one, a classic.

BULLSHIT

They look at each other lovingly. Treating Astarion on the path of Ascension as not himself instead of as "free, honest Astarion with all his feelings" kills his character far more exquisitely than any "I love killing him" stake-guy in Act 1.

By the way, I loaded the Spawn ending. Look.

Spawn Astarion avoids eye contact, hiding himself and his gaze from Tav.

He hides his true self to please others. He’s used to giving that kind of look — to shut out all the pain around him and inside. Astarion himself is once again like in a coffin.

In addition. Check out what I can do.

Did you hear how Astarion calls Tav "Cheeky little pup"?

That’s Cazador speaking.

Astarion uses it on Tav because he’s used to hearing it and maybe even wants to be Cazador for them in Act 1. The word pup scares me. In the Spawn epilogue, he says "Cheeky" but restrains himself before the "pup" part — because he’s afraid they’ll see through him.

He's in the process of not becoming Cazador 2.0 — but that part of him is still alive. Good thing we can fix a potential Сazador with a couple of hugs and 18 Charisma, eh? :D Even that joke better than any fixer’s character analysis of Astarion ever could.

Because to fixers, there is no Astarion who, for the first time in 200 years, finds a partner with whom he can say "ours", "we" and receive that love in return. The one who never trusted anyone now proudly says he's not alone — and he's happy about it.

There’s only a "fix" — a "correct version" that the fixers need. And if it hasn’t been "fixed", then it’s automatically nothing but manipulation, lies and abuse. Anything left unfixed is trash.

That’s what truly shows attitude — Astarion as an object, not as a whole, complex person who is still Astarion on every path.

And on the Ascended path, he’s a free Astarion, Tav and Astarion love each other. That much is certain. That was the narrative arc for the Ascended Astarion romance from the beginning, it still is, and it will continue to be. The true tragedy of Astarion's character is having fixer-fans in his fanbase.

[orilaissancunin]

Beautiful art piece of Lorena and Astarion made by @mahtsazizi on Instagram

_____________________________________

Astarion’s voice trembles, stripped of its usual bravado. “You’re real. Sometimes I still can’t believe it.”

He holds her closer, their bodies entwined as he continues, his words heavy with the weight of centuries.

“I spent so long praying to every god I could name, begging for an escape from Cazador’s nightmare. Not one of them answered…until you. You saved me in ways I never dreamed possible. I finally understand…you were that answer. I love you, darling.”

Lorena cradles his face in her hands, her touch gentle and soothing.

“I’m here. I’m yours, Astarion. Always.” Tears glisten in her eyes as she whispers, “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”

He cups her face, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she closes her eyes, surrendering to his touch.

“You’re here now, my love. That’s all that matters.”

[themissuswrites]

A therapist's perspective: Astarion and Trauma therapy

So I made a post on reddit... So Enby_Geek posted an interesting thread a couple of days ago but sadly, reddit isn't letting me comment on it on either the main BG sub or this one. I thought this could be an interesting perspective from someone who works in therapy and how they would approach Astarion's trauma.

For full disclosure, in general, I thought Astarion’s portrayal is one of the best depictions of trauma I’ve seen in media, let alone a videogame, and weirdly enough, as a trainee counsellor or therapist, depending on your region, I’ve put some thought into this.

Before we get into this, let's clarify something. Therapy is only for people who are ready and willing to do the work needed for treatment to have a beneficial impact on them. Therapy only works for people who want to be there and who want to work to grow or recover.  This might be something they are implicitly or explicitly aware of, but the long and short of it is you need to want to go on that journey; no one can make you do it or do the work for you. 

Therapy isn’t advice giving, or talking at a client, it's also not about telling Astarion specific things to make him feel better, it's about working with him and supporting him to be able to do that himself. Therapy is about forming a working alliance to help your client, in this case Astarion, explore their thoughts and feelings in a psychologically safe space so they feel better, cope better, and are capable of growth. 

There are times when you have to challenge a client’s perceptions, of course, but I feel sometimes people misunderstand what therapy is intended to do; we aren’t giving advice or telling a client what to do. We respect their autonomy to make bad decisions, but help them understand the feelings, thoughts and behaviours that cause those decisions, but that’s a debate for a different subreddit, and I am not doing this on my main account 😛

General Observations

So, spawn Astarion (depending on player choices) sounds like he is ready or near ready to do that work when he says its time to start living again, and he drops a fair few pieces of evidence that show he is trying to work through and process what has happened to him and what comes next in his life. He’s getting used to having autonomy again, feeling safe and secure and starting to form attachments to the wider group and Tav or the player character, depending on how you play. Ascended Astarion not so much. Ascended Astarion is the embodiment of the cyclical nature of abuse and how destructive it can be both to others around you and yourself. He has regressed on any growth made during the game. A!Astarion probably isn’t going to ever recover or grow back from that because he has power, control and the autonomy he craved to make some terrible decisions, and those decisions probably don’t include self-reflection and keeping a journal... 

Case formulation: Astarion and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD)

Astarion, particularly his spawn incarnation, is the video game poster boy for complex post-traumatic stress disorder. He pretty much fulfils all the diagnostic criteria according to the ICD-11. Bear in mind, this list is not exhaustive, but Astarion arguably exhibits the following diagnostic criteria: 

Experienced or witnessed threatened death or sexual violence- becoming a spawn,  two centuries of torture and sexual slavery, being compelled to bring back victims and the loss of all autonomy and identity. Being kidnapped, tadpoled and then waking up in the middle of nowhere, it's a long list. 

Intrusive thoughts - flashbacks to Cazador, torture that seem to be re-experienced throughout the game, depending on decisions taken by the player. 

Issues with cognitive development- This one may be a stretch, but given Astarion’s youthfulness for an elf, he also demonstrates some cognitive issues that can be attributed to his prolonged trauma, such as issues with organisation and planning, which are usually seen in adolescence. 

Dissociative episodes during high stress- an obvious one appears to be that sex is a trigger that causes Astarion to disassociate.   

Self-worth issues- there are multiple points where Astarion voices or demonstrates the belief that his only value is sex or seduction. 

Issues with regulation - we see this with him using alcohol as a crutch, frequent anger, distrust and scepticism either at gods or his companions, to name a few.

Difficulties in feeling close to others or maintaining relationships- Act 1 Astarion is arguably avoidant of any meaningful connection and struggles greatly for some time in becoming comfortable with the concept of a relationship.

And that’s just a small start into the many, many issues of Astarion. So, with that in mind, let's look at possible ways forward for treatment and healing that could be for Spawn Astarion if Faerun had/has therapists. If I were Astarion’s therapist, I would be looking to utilise the Tri-Phasic model for trauma therapy or three-phase trauma therapy, as it seems best fitting for trying to work with the experiences of Astarion and his captivity. Across the three acts of the game, I’d argue that Astarion, in some ways, is following the model in his actions, albeit unwittingly and on a how-to process trauma speedrun... 

I’m not going to delve too far into EMDR or trauma CBT, but you can use these modalities with this trauma model; it all depends on the client’s needs and what they are comfortable with. 

Tri-phasic Trauma model Stage 1’s Safety and stabilisation (dealing with immediate threats)

This stage is about ensuring that Astarion is physically safe and helping him emotionally stabilise himself before starting to attempt to process what has been done to him. Trying to skip to telling the story of trauma generally only retraumatises.

In Act 1, Astarion, who has spent centuries being in peril, vulnerable and powerless with his identity stripped away from him is understandably terrified. As well as coping with the trauma of his slavery and having all free will taken from him. He now has the fresh trauma of what has been done to him by mindflayers, his potential recapture by Cazador at any moment and being marooned in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers that he now has to assess for potential threats with no clear insight into their motivations.

We see an Astarion who now has autonomy, and is now in an environment where, for the first time in centuries, he is not being exploited either by strangers wanting to use him for sexual gratification or tortured and compelled by Cazador. Now, while this is better than his previous situation, for someone who has experienced severe trauma, this shift can feel very emotionally destabilising and a even a trauma on top of trauma. While Astarion is physically safer. emotionally and behaviourally, he is likely to be much more unstable, and we see that at various points throughout the game with his dialogue and actions.

A key part of this stage is regaining control- both external and internal- ensuring the client feels stable and safe at first with help from the therapist, then gradually demonstrating stability on their own using appropriate tools. You are helping someone cope with moving from unpredictable danger to more reliable safety by collaborating with them to create an environment around them of stability, clear and open communication, comfort and, when needed, containment.

It's interesting to note that the Astarion we meet in Act 1 is convinced that only power and strength can secure safety, and the player character, if they choose to treat him with respect, can model the behaviours that allow him to feel safer, show more vulnerability later on in Act 2 and eventually turn down the chance to ascend later in act 3. By the player character's actions, they are disproving Astarion’s internal narrative that kindness is weakness, dominance is strength and asking for help is weak. 

Now as Astartion's hypothetical therapist, when it comes to building a therapeutic alliance with Astarion, to start, I would be working to build a strong, functional bond. This bond is based on trust, understanding and as well as the core conditions, empathy, congruence and unconditional positive regard. I am there to help teach my client about healthy attachments, how this is fundamental to building relationships, while modelling this behaviour in my interactions with my client by setting out what they can expect of me and our work together and the boundaries of that work. As part of our work in stage 1, I would also start to feel out what safety looks and feels like for Astarion as well as his goals for therapy, because that can be highly subjective, particularly when working with trauma.

What is considered safe by one client would not be considered safe by another, and when working through it, we clearly define the goals for therapy. It's not unheard of to have a client say something like Astarion does with “it's time to start living again”. The issue with that is that it's a fairly wide-ranging goal, so we would start examining what “living” looks like, address what is realistic and unrealistic and how it can be broken down into smaller, more accessible goals. It's not uncommon for trauma victims to sabotage themselves, either intentionally or otherwise, because their goal feels too much once they start getting into it.

A key part of this stage is helping to teach your client to self-soothe, and this is all a case-by-case approach. What works well for one trauma survivor doesn’t work for others. While there is essential diagnositic criteria, that doesn't mean there is a default experience of trauma, everyone can feel and experience it differently. Dissociation is a defence mechanism that is an attempt to self-soothe, and we see that happen on a few occasions to Astarion, so that is something for a therapist to be mindful of when working with him. While it is protective, it's also shutting down any sense of self, which is not good news. 

Some of the tools we can use for that are flashback journals, listing and detailing triggers and glimmers, anchors, guardrails (when talking about certain situations or topics that threaten to overwhelm, etc) and soothing lists. Grounding exercises can also be helpful such as the 3:3:3 method or yes, the dreaded mindfulness. As a therapist, you are attempting to teach the client the skills to “rescue” themselves when traumatic memories or triggers arise, without or with less and less intervention from the therapist when remembering traumatic thoughts, until they can cope with them. We are expanding their window of tolerance, we start small and build up their tolerance. 

I would emphasise this is not a short process and can take months or years to get through even this first stage. For someone like Astarion and what he has experienced, I’d say you would likely be looking at potentially years irl before he would be safe and stable enough to move onto phase 2.

Tri-phasic Trauma model's Stage 2: Remembrance and mourning (processing trauma)

At this stage, Astarion hopefully has the tools and techniques to rescue or soothe himself if need be when examining or discussing his trauma. At this stage we move our focus to processing what has happened to him while being more in control - he is less reactive to memories. This is where the intense emotions kick in, but the skills taught to the client in the first stage are there to keep the emotions tolerable as the client’s window of tolerance has now grown to be able to cope with what they are about to work through their experiences. Sometimes it gets too much and that's ok, we pace ourselves and move between stage 1 and 2 as neccessary until the client is ready.

The aim of stage 2 is to acknowledge the trauma, be able to tolerate it and take away its power. 

If you thought stage 1 was a complicated concept, when it comes to multiple trauma, there are a lot of layers to work with as you are working to address the trauma as well as the impact it has had on your life as the client. Here we are trying to help Astarion identify common themes that come up from his traumas, such as the loss of identity and autonomy, rather than give a blow-by-blow account of every terrible thing to has ever happened to him.

I think it's important for those unfamiliar with therapy to note here that trauma therapy does not require the client to remember and relive every traumatic memory. That is retraumatising, and while therapy is work, it is not meant to be an ordeal. The aim is to address the pivotal points that influence Astarion’s understanding of himself, his emotions, behaviours, thoughts and feelings. As a practitioner I would start with the least traumatic experiences and work towards the more traumatic over time. Again, working on slowly expanding that window of tolerance and modeling the trust my client should be able to expect of me.

You are only working with what the client can tolerate and you aren't pushing the client to reveal more than they are ready for, its always at their pace with the therapist intervening only if the client appears to be getting overwhelmed. 

As well as trauma, in this stage, you are also working with the client to address loss. People who have experienced trauma often feel a sense of loss, and therapy can’t undo what has been done; it can only help you live with it. It's ok for someone with traumatic experiences to mourn for the life they could have had, the damage to relationships, and experiences they feel have been tainted by traumatic events. There will also be strong emotions; it's pretty common when working with trauma for clients to have big feelings, anger, shaking, crying, and you would be bringing in the skills in stage 1 to help them pace themselves or soothe as they explore their traumatic memories. 

Tri-phasic Trauma model's Stage 3: Reconnection: reintegration and connection with others

Once Astarion can demonstrate he can keep himself safe, regulate his emotions with all these skills he’s learned, it's time to reconnect with the world, rebuild his sense of self and start building meaningful connections and relationships. You can see throughout the game that the more authentic and supportive you are with Astarion, the more genuine he becomes. 

With the support of the player character (and presumably his therapist), he can demonstrate that he can build relationships and care for others. He is less reactive, focused only on survival and can start integrating the trauma into his life rather than be defined by it. We unfortunately can’t take away trauma fully, but that doesn’t mean it destroys someone or they can’t have a fulfilling life. 

There is the person before the trauma, and then there is the person after the trauma who has learned to carry what has happened to them and reconcile that with their new sense of identity or self.

It's fairly common when working with victims of trauma at this stage to observe them to have newfound levels of compassion and maturity as they look ahead to moving forward past their suffering. We can actually see that happening with Astarion depending on the player's choices. Astarion grows from someone who can be openly scathing of his companions in Act 1 to coming out with lines in the epilogue such as: "They deserve happiness. We all do," and is sincere in that hope.

Returning back to the work of the trauma model, clients can take the work and skills from stages 1 and 2, and add that to what they have learned about themselves and their experiences and use it to live in the present and envision a future rather than being shackled by the past. Astarion is quite literally building a new identity and that is no small feat. It's also common here in the final stage for victims of trauma to grapple with relationships, some of which they might need to end for their wellbeing. For example, I don’t see Astarion keeping in touch with his vampiric siblings, at least not for very long, but that is a whole post on its own about family systems.. 

And that, is the abridged version of how we start to address trauma and dissociation. I feel you could write a dissertation on this and how trauma weaves in and out of pretty much all of BG3 and its characters. Hopefully its interesting to some nerds out there and I might do some more of these on the other BG characters.

I've had a few DM's from people with their experiences with trauma. Ethically, I can't be your therapist, but I can at least give you some guidance on what you should be able to expect from your therapist if you are living with trauma and want to take the next step on trying to work past it with the help of a competent therapist.

This article is a good place to start on what you should expect: https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/principles-good-therapy

[notmortem]

Happy pride month!!

He’s not canonically demisexual, it’s just a headcanon of mine :)

[mao-ancunin]

Fools fall part 3/9

Pairing: Astarion x M!Tav/Named Tav 

Summary/Setting: Spawn-Astarion headcanon romance and friendship scenes of hurt, healing and love. Taking place between act 1 and 3. Lots of banter and companion interaction 🤍 

Rating/Warnings: T / game spoilers, mentions of astarions past, Trauma and PTSD, flashbacks, panic attack. 

read the entire writing on:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62732383/chapters/160598794

Surrender

When Astarion had decided to let go, A mixture of confusion and joy overwhelmed him and underneath, something deep and buried rose. He was digesting the reality of freedom and of all the years of trauma that was now screaming to be dealt with. But for now he just pushed it aside, he wanted to be free and in love. Not bound by his past existence. Surely what they felt for each other could just heal it all. 

And so it felt for the first weeks at least. After Astarions confession about his failed plan of seducing and not falling, Astarion felt a warmth he hadn't in years. The time they spent  was fun, teasing and sweet like honey. Every so often he'd catch Maos sunlight eyes resting upon his face from across camp and Astarion would give him a warm smile, one he hadn't given to another person for gods know how long. Astarion was courting a handsome, infuriatingly kind man who checked in on their boundaries every time they sunk deeper into intimacy, with every kiss and touch, they made sure he felt safe. And the hugs were his favourite. 

They didn't know what they called their little thing, but Astarion was falling. Falling deep. And before he knew it he hit the ground of reality, to be met with the monster that was residing in his mind, the years of trauma that had never seen daylight, that had forgotten how to be loved. 

Astarion was feeling sharp and cold on that particular night. They had been spending the day treading through the deepest of the shadow curse, it was tedious and tiring. Tensions were high and food was in short supply. And so when Astarion had finally snapped at Mao, about something insignificant who in turn retaliated, sharp tongued in the same demeanour, The monster inside Astarion was unleashed, it started spitting accusations raging with words that didn't even make sense. He hissed and barked like a wild animal fending off a predator. After their argument had seized an uncomfortably loud tone he whispered under his breath, words cutting sharply: "you don't even truly care for me, I'm yet another damsel in distress to be saved, so you can play hero." He wanted to leave there and then, let Mao rot in the pool of insults, but something within urged him to stay. Silence drew over them, but Mao just stood there.

The tension of the stillness rose so high that the thread from which Astarion held on to tore. Something within him had hoped Mao would know what to say, how to make this situation and all the horrid words disappear. But his silence said all the vampire spawn needed to hear to do what he did next. 

“Well, Good riddance then, darling” he said nonchalantly, heels turning. He could feel tears already running down his cheek, but he dared not to wipe them, lest Mao see his vulnerability. Then he ran. 

Although he didn't need oxygen, his nervous system urged him to breathe in and out rapidly, until his face became numb and everything that he’d been feeling overwhelmed him like a violent crashing wave. He didn’t have an anchor, no rope to hold onto, no net to fall back into. His senses flooded, body tensing. He stumbled into the dirt, tasting earth mixed with his own blood on his tongue, surrendering to the ground. 

He let himself curl up where he fell, trying to catch a breath. sharp fingernails digging into the ground, trying to hold on to anything that would stop him from falling deeper into the darkness, but the smell of dirt and the grime were just a sensation that sent him spiralling even more. He started trembling while his mind revisited every moment of his journey from when he woke, cold as ice in a coffin clawing out through the dirt to be met by musty cemetery air. He heard the dreaded footsteps, accompanied by a staff. Cazador had finally caught up and found him. The master's staff came striking down onto astarions head, over and over. His body frozen and all there was left was to scream and beg for this to stop, for it not to be real.

[dramatiquechipmunk]

Catch Me If You Can - Last Chapter

The curtain falls, the final thread is sewn, What paths they walked, no gods had ever known. She bore the weight, he broke and chose to feel, Together now, what’s scarred may start to heal. Will love endure when silence haunts the bend? Or is this peace their bittersweet near-end?

Read the last chapter, titled Unforgettable here.

I will soon make a recap post with all the links, but in the meantime, hope you enjoy the closing of this story

And just look at this gorgeous render made by my incredibly talented friend @arafel0194. Have I told you today how awesome she is? If not, here's your reminder. Go check out her art and writing!

[jessiemeows]

Smooching

A/N: this is really stupid but I was in the mood to write something sort of cute, lmao. It has no plot, but is basically just a little scene I imagine happening with Amaya and Astarion bc of some screenies I took lolol. Maybe I'll rewrite this once I get to this part of my longfic, idk yet! I'm probably going to write something a little steamy in a few days because I haven't written anything like that in a bit! Lastly, this is unedited, so I apologize for typos or errors in grammar.

WC: idk i didn't check

TW: Mentions trauma with sex but ends very cute

Story:

Astarion lounged on one of Amaya’s new, plush stools, just outside her tent. With quick cat-like reflexes he caught a prayer sheet that threatened to fly away as the Rosymorn Monastery mountain pass winds began to pick up. He placed the sheet back on to the table, cluttered with Selûnite trinkets and holy relics, tucking it just under a golden moon-shaped brooch before leaning back against the table. With a dramatic sigh his gaze drifted over to Amaya where she was kneeling on the rug beside him, her eyes closed, completely absorbed in prayer.

He began to admire his fingernails, as he pushed back his cuticles trying his best to distract himself. After a minute, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Darling, could you please finish up with the praying? I’m extremely bored over here.”

“Play with Willow,” Amaya replied, not even bothering to open her eyes.

Astarion glanced toward the tent’s interior, spotting Willow- the black and white cat- curled up in a perfect loaf on the thin mattress he and Amaya had been sharing ever since they slept together at the tiefling party. The cat’s eyes were closed, and for gods know why, looked like she was praying too. He sighed. “You know she won’t let me near her unless you are already petting her.”

Amaya’s voice sharpened, and she cracked one eye open. “Then go play with Scratch and Nibbles. Or talk to someone else. Gale looks eager for a chat.”

Astarion groaned like a child. “Please don’t ever suggest talking to Gale as a form of entertainment for me again. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease hurry up. I’m begging you.”

“The more you bother me, the longer this will take. Give me ten more minutes. Please.” Her tone was firm, leaving no room for an argument and Astarion had already pushed her buttons enough today.

“Fine,” he muttered in defeat and picked up a dagger lying by the mattress. Willow’s eyes immediately shot wide open, her body tensed and poised to flee to her usual hiding spot..

“Relax, I’m not going to touch you,” he said, trying to soothe the cat. Willow seemed to buy it, as she shifted in her spot settling into a state of wary alertness.

He twirled the dagger in his hand, watching the candlelight glint off the blade. The dagger was a little dull, but he wasn’t in the mood to sharpen it. He turned back to the table, sweeping aside a few of the trinkets, and laid his hand palm-down, spreading his fingers wide. He started playing Five Finger Fillet, stabbing the knife rapidly between his fingers, pushing the tempo just to see how long it would take to nick himself.

Minutes slipped by before Amaya finally cleared her throat. He turned around, meeting her glowing crimson glare.

“We talked about this. No using my ritual dagger for your little knife games. You’re the reason the blade’s getting dull,” she said, but a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Astarion feigned his innocence. “Sweetheart, we really should write your name on this thing.i completely forgot this was yours.” Of course, he didn’t forget. He just didn’t want to walk all the way to his own tent to fetch another one. They kept only a few weapons inside the tent- Astarion slept nearest to the entrance and the weapons, since Amaya’s sleepwalking (and occasional sleep-killing) episodes made it safer for everyone.

She rolled her eyes but played along. “Alright, we’ll have a blacksmith engrave my name on it when we reach the city. But you’re paying for it.”

“If that’s what you’d like, Mayabear,” he replied, sliding off the stool and crawling over to where she now propped herself up against a pile of cushions. In the warm candlelight, she looked beautiful as ever, and the desire for the tiefling flared in him, sharp and burning hot.

“Is the praying over now?” He hovered above her, supporting his weight on his arms as he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck.

“Star, Halsin’s still awake and is looking at us. Not to mention, Gale could pop in any minute while he’s saying his goodnights,” Amaya whispered, her breath catching as his fangs grazed her skin, nipping at her.

“Let them watch. They could use a little excitement,” he murmured against her neck, breath hot.

She stifled a laugh. “If Gale catches us, he might actually explode… Besides, I’m still not feeling great.”

Astarion paused, concern then etched across his face and he shifted his weight onto his knees, settling beside her. “You still don’t feel well? You've been feeling this ever since the Arcane Tower in the Underdark. What if those Sussur leaves did something? You said they made you feel awful, given how you’re a sorcerer- who knows how they could affect you.”

Amaya shook her head, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s that. Sometimes I just feel… nauseous, especially after my bad thoughts, you already know this. It comes and goes, though lately it's been coming more often. Herbs help, and Restoration spells too. I’ll figure it out- you always seem to forget that I’m a cleric, and I know a few ways to feel better.”

She then glanced at him, a little sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind that we haven’t… you know, as much lately.” She started to pick at her fingers, but Astarion gently caught her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“I.… I don’t mind at all.” His voice softened, tinged with relief, and it was the truth. He truly didn’t mind. “Besides, we just had sex a few days ago. That’s more than enough to satisfy me,” he teased, nuzzling her ear. Amaya hummed, the sound low and content. This time he wasn’t sure if he was lying or not.

Amaya was the first person in centuries with whom he’d actually enjoyed having intimacy- with her, he actually felt present, in control. She was patient, careful with him, always asking if he was okay during their moments.Yet, he still never knew if the old feelings of lingering disgust would ever creep back into his mind- not disgust with her, but more so with himself.

Amaya also had her own demons, when it came to their intimacy. At times, he noticed the familiar dead look in her eyes and he would ask if they needed to stop, or how she occasionally dissociates when certain people try to flirt with her. He wished he could learn more about her past, beyond what she already told him or if she remembers anything without pushing her but that would mean sharing more of his own past. She knew the broad strokes about Cazador, but not the details. He wasn’t ready for that, not yet.

Despite feeling all of this, there was one thing he was certain that he wanted and he wanted it almost everyday; which was to kiss her and to snuggle with her, basking in all her warmth. 

“Do you feel well enough for a little smooching? In our… er, your tent?” He caught himself at the slip. “And after, I could read you some more Drizzt Do’Urden stories. I still can’t believe you know nothing about him.”

“I feel up for some smooching.” Amaya laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as she stood and offered him her hand. “And I know! The way you talked about Drizzt, I thought I’d remember at least one story! But it’s fun when you read it to me- especially with your silly voices.”

They ducked into the tent, lacing the flaps shut. Nibbles and Scratch scrambled in at the last second, curling up on their small bed next to Amaya and Astarion’s mattress, while Willow claimed her pillow by Amaya’s side.

Astarion kissed Amaya deeply, then paused, a wicked smile on his lips. “If you tell anyone about the voices, I’ll have to kill you,” he whispered, only half-joking, before trailing kisses down her neck, hoping for permission for a small snack.

Amaya chuckled. “You’ll never manage it. Besides, the three animals in here will defend me. But your secret’s safe with me… for now.”

Astarion grinned, pressing another kiss to her skin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

[brabblesban]

In which he finally convinces her to doll up.

Thank you @volk-ana

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter nine

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F! Tav 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 11.1k 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: blowjobs 😎; canon-compliant, non-graphic mentions of SA 😔 (Astarion 😭)

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: “Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

𝒶/𝓃: hello!!!!! apologies it took me so long to get this chapter completed. But it is finally done and I very much hope you enjoy it. Here's to chapter 10 taking me half the time to write as this one did. please let me know your thoughts down in the comments and I appreciate you all!!!

read on ao3 | masterlist

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Rin blocks out the sound of Astarion, positively incensed about absolutely nothing of consequence, as he follows her around the grounds of the Last Light Inn, complaining rather loudly for her tastes.

She sighs as she trudges down one of the dirt paths leading away from the inn and back towards their camp, the area thankfully empty as he strides just behind her at a clipped pace. 

“I stopped listening about five minutes ago, Astarion, when you decided to keep saying the same thing over and over again,” Rin says, annoyance sneaking into her words as she cuts a look back towards the angry vampire somehow managing to stomp elegantly after her.

“I’ll stop saying it over and over again when you realize that I am right.”

Gods, he could be so irritating. 

While their encounter with Ketheric Thorm went surprisingly well and no one dared to second guess them in their ruse of pretending to be True Souls, Rin still felt somewhat unmoored by it all. The plot was thickening with a quickness and intensity she didn’t care for; something that was only growing more and more sinister brewing just beneath the surface, and she isn’t looking forward to figuring out whatever that something might be.

There’s a very large part of her the longs to run—to simply disappear into the darkness and never return; to sprint away from all of this madness, the constant battles, the sharp malice of it all.

Her life may not have accumulated to very much back in Baldur’s Gate—little money, the occasional performance at a shitty tavern, the more-than-occasional odd job for the Guild—but at the very least it was predicable in its unpredictability. 

Sure, she didn’t always have the money that she quite desperately needed, but she always knew to expect the possibility of not having it. She always knew how to sweet talk her way into getting more time to pay her debts, how to charm the baker into giving her an extra roll or two, or when times were particularly tough, how to steal what she needed to without even getting caught (most of the time). 

They were skills she had honed over a lifetime of living on the streets and in the murky shadows of the Lower City, things that she had worked hard to perfect to the best of her ability in order to survive. If there was one thing Rin knew, it was how to work to the system.

Thirty-four years in and she’s yet to meet a magistrate while draped in chains, so she must be doing something right.

But the only thing she can dare to expect these days is the unexpected. 

And Rin is not a fan of unexpected things—unless said things happen to be a nice bottle of wine or a fancy necklace; though as far as she can remember, no one has ever gifted her much of anything.

“What exactly did you want me to do, Astarion?”

“We should have stayed longer,” he hisses towards her, eyes narrowed and lip curled menacingly. “There was more information we could have dug out. There were merchants we could have bought more weapons and potions from. There were plenty of things we could have done, and yet you had us running away scared. You even let those goblins fight for their lives instead of just killing them outright. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Clearly, she doesn’t see the issue the same as Astarion, because she couldn’t find a single problem with the plan. It was the sane, normal thing to do after such a covert operation. They were a rag-tag group of adventurers, not spies.

They had maintained their cover, eventually killed the goblins, talked to the decidedly awful Disciple Z’rell, and then got the hells out of there as fast as they could.

The memory of Z’rell searching through her mind draws a minute shiver to her form, the sensation of another tadpole clawing through her brain with a wave of energy and touching on the darker things she keeps hidden in the depths of her thoughts—old memories that were purposely forgotten, hopes that she had long given up on having, disappointments that had been left to languish in the corners like dusty cobwebs—had been very unwelcome, to say the least.

She hadn’t been expecting to have to defend herself against Z’rell’s invasion, and she hated having to use her desire for Astarion as a distraction, even it if had worked. 

It had left her feeling as though she had been stripped bare, like some raw part of her had been left exposed to salt.

She didn’t dare to show Z’rell any of the truly illicit memories, for the half-orc certainly didn’t deserve to see Astarion in such a way and Rin was not about to put his body on display for her, even within the relative safety of her own mind or for the sake of the mission. 

Thankfully, she had plenty of other memories to use to showcase her more…amorous feelings about him.

The memory of him crowding her up against a cave wall, the feeling of his lips on her neck as he kissed it seconds before biting in, his lips claiming hers for the first time in the forest clearing what feels like forever ago, his fingers removing her armor piece by piece in the Underdark as heat had begun to curl in her belly…she could, theoretically, probably go on for forever.  

Rin breathes out a frustrated breath, attempting to steady herself as she turns around to face Astarion with little thought, and he pulls up short to avoid running into her, stopping right before they collide.

“Here’s the thing. You are not in charge because you did not want to be, and so now I am. And as such, I made a decision to leave, and so we did. If you don’t like it, Astarion, then by all means, go march your way back to Moonrise and have a look around, if you’d like.” 

Rin is careful to annunciate her every word as her finger pokes in the center of his chest, eyes steely as she glares up at him. 

“But,” she continues, “in the event that you decide to not trot off back to that hellish place, can you please tell me how to possibly shut you up now? Because as much as I honor and appreciate your opinion, I am tiring of hearing it.”

Astarion casts a slow look down at the finger resting innocuously against him before dragging his gaze back up to hers, brow raised alongside the casual arrogance painted on his face.

Rin knows she couldn’t look any less threatening—camp clothes slightly wrinkled from where she had pulled them on hurriedly after bathing, her hair still slightly damp, and at least a full head shorter than Astarion.

Anger has never been her strong suit, she’s far better at using the written word as a weapon than she is at yelling, and she realizes she probably has all the intimidation of a hissing cat rather than something terrifyingly ferocious and beautiful.

At the very least, the letter she writes him later tonight will be properly vicious—or at least her version of it. She’s not sure she’s capable of the raw rage of someone like Karlach or the steel-sharpened vitriol of Lae’zel, but she can at least use several choice adjectives to describe him that she has no doubt will irritate him. 

“Well, if you don’t want to hear it then you shouldn’t make stupid decisions,” Astarion says through gritted teeth, claret eyes glaring down at her. “and if you want to shut me up, you’re going to have to make me.”

“‘Make you’? How old are you, ten?” She presses her finger into his chest harder as her patience thins, biting down on her lip hard in failed attempt to take a calming breath.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest even after a relatively relaxing bath, and Astarion yelling at her about it does not help one bit. She aches to wipe the smirk off his lips as her eyes dart down to them, the way they curve up into a maddening off-kilter smile one that burns itself into her memory.

The traitorous part of her mind, the one that won’t disappear no matter how hard she tries to banish it and instead only serves to grow stronger as if to spite her, taunts her to kiss him if she really wants to shut him up. 

No better way to rid his mouth of that self-righteous smirk than by giving his lips something better to do instead, after all.

She had thought after that night, the one where he had so coldly thrown her out while still in the haze of their shared pleasure, that whatever it was that had been growing between them would be no more. It had seemed, at the time at least, that he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Instead, Astarion had shown up every night since at her tent. 

And every single night, he’d ruined her.

It had become their new routine, apparently. Every night they start by the fire as they always do—talking, drinking, divulging secrets in one another; and then afterwards, he follows her back to her tent, sets her alight with his touch, only to leave when he’s done with her.

They make something that Rin thinks must be akin to love; although she’s never really made love with anyone else before, so what does she know?

Perhaps he simply fucks everyone like the way he does her.  

The Traitor in her mind is quick to point out the falsehood that statement, reminding her that he didn’t lay with her at first like he does now. At first, there had been no mistaking what they were doing—it was sex, pure and simple, between two people indulging in a mutual curiosity and need. 

Looking back, it feels like Astarion had barely even enjoyed their first few liaisons together, his actions mostly halfhearted and his mind barely present. 

Now, though, there’s a marked difference in the press of lips, each and every one meaningful and every caress upon her skin intentional during the house they spend lost in one another.

She could no longer call it just sex, at least by her standards.

Rin didn’t know what to think. 

And how could she know, when he comes to her and sends her into complete bliss with a touch that only seems to grow more reverent with every passing night, the look in his eyes when they twine together that of a fire only growing as if being fed by more and more fuel.

But no matter how rough or how gentle he handles her—his touch somehow both softer and more intense with each night that passes, no matter how passionate or sweet the presses of his lips are against hers are as they find their completion together—he never stays.

Astarion’s interests, it seemed, were only in her physical attributes.

She shouldn’t be surprised, in the end. She was nothing more than a half-rate bard whose skills amounted to little of importance, so she can’t quite blame him for not being interested in the rest of her.

She was no sagely wizard like Gale nor a noble warlock like Wyll. She patroned no cause like Shadowheart or Lae’zel, no matter how questionable Rin finds their worship and ideals. 

She has no greater calling, no reason to be; neither a paragon of good nor an avatar of evil. 

She simply exists, day to day, in whatever way she can make it through. 

Perhaps if she were someone greater, someone of skill or importance, someone of knowledge; he would want her for more than just nights of shared passion.

The thought rankles something in her, though it shouldn’t. People like her weren’t meant for much more, and she’s never done anything to be worthy of things like tenderness, affection, or love.

If she were, then surely everyone else wouldn’t have left her. She wouldn’t have been abandoned if she’d been worth it.

Rin has nothing more to offer anyone but simply who she is—and who she is has never, ever been enough for anyone to ever take a chance on.

She’ll just have to make do with what she gets when it comes to Astarion, though he’ll no doubt leave her like all the rest when he’s had his fill of her.

But in the meantime, she’d rather have him in whatever way she can—in whatever way he will let her have him—than not get have him at all. 

And so she gives in to that traitorous part of her brain, the one still whispering of all the ways she can distract him, of the limited chances she has to revel in his closeness, and makes her move.

“You know what, fine. You want me to shut you up? I’d love the honor.”

Rin flattens her hand against his chest and pushes before taking a step forward into his space. Astarion glances down at her hand once before gracing her with a very skeptically raised brow.

Slowly, Rin steps forward again and Astarion steps back; one step followed by another and then another as they walk backwards until his back hits the stone of the wall behind them, dirt and chipped rock crumbling onto the ground next to them.

“Many have tried, most have failed.” He’s devastatingly handsome with such a devious smile, and she almost hates the way it makes anticipation startle to life in her chest. Almost.

Rin keeps her hand where it is as a small smirk of her own forms on her lips. “Most have not been me.”

“Do tell, little bard, what is to be your perfect strategy, hm?” He’s teasing and taunting her again as his head leans down towards hers, eyes narrowed in challenge.

She’s not quire sure what sparks the idea in her head; but she blames it on her ever-evolving and only growing adoration of him—slightly painful to admit, despite being very, very true. 

Regardless of whatever the reason is, she takes her chance.

No time like the present, they say.  

“Maybe I don’t need to shut you up so much as I want to hear you say something else instead,” And for the first time, it’s her own register that drops, words hushed as her cheeks flush despite herself. 

Astarion is quick to catch on, a knowing glint sparking to life in his eyes as he gleans something in her own gaze. In an instant, Rin feels an arm come to circle around her waist, dragging her closer to him until they’re flush together.

“And what is it that you have in mind, darling?” Her skin tingles where his hand rests upon her lower back, thumb brushing teasing strokes that send her mind swirling with a rush of delight at his touch.

Rin runs her hand up, drawing it across the expanse of his chest with enough pressure to make sure that he can feel the drag of it until it finds its home around his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

She stays silent in the wake of his query, answering with only an innocent quirk of her lips before giving the path they’re standing on a quick, covert glance. She can see or hear no other being near them and, so long as they’re quick about it, she doubts anyone else will be coming this way. 

Hopefully.

“I must say, I’m intrigued. Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?”

“I guess it depends on what you think I plan to do.” She flicks her gaze back to his.

“I think that you want to—” Astarion’s voice cuts off and the smirk falls from his lips as Rin slides the hand from around his neck down his front and she lowers with it.

Rin looks up at him from under lowered lashes as her knees hit the dusty earth below her with a soft thump and she runs her hands up and down his thighs in teasing passes, thumbs pressing into the muscles of them intently.

He looks momentarily bewildered at the sight of her before him, expression going slack as his brows knit in surprise. Clearly, of all the things he expected of her, dropping to her knees on a decently well-trodden pathway wasn’t one of them.

For all the times he’s tasted her, Astarion’s yet to give her the same opportunity and she has plans to fix such a terrible discrepancy. He has no idea how long she’s waited to worship him like this—to touch and taste and learn his body as well as he’s studied her own.

She wishes that she had more time to make such an important scholarly pursuit, and the privacy of one of their tents would be vastly preferable, but Rin was nothing if not adaptable.

“Do you trust me, Astarion?” Rin asks. She’s waited patiently enough for weeks upon weeks upon weeks, she can easily manage another minute for a proper answer from him first.

He shivers just slightly under her touch as her hands still, and Astarion averts his eyes from hers for a moment before huffing a breath and returning her gaze.

“Stop asking me questions you already know the answer to.” The bite in his words is softened by their meaning, his swallow audible as he stares down at her, a veiled vulnerability shining in his eyes as they run over the planes of her face.

He’s flustered, and it’s an absolute wonder to see.

Her cheeks flush and her heart swells, despite that fact that she is technically still mad at him. Or at least she’s supposed to be. 

She can’t feel her agitation quite as keenly as she could a few minutes ago.

Rin had lowered herself onto her knees for only a few people in her lifetime, the act one she couldn’t say she had the most practice at. Men were always so typical, shoving themselves into her mouth without care until they reached their end; it was no wonder she rarely offered herself up in such a manner. 

But, Astarion—Astarion she knows will be different.

“I can’t promise to be the best you’ve ever had, but—”

“Don’t sell yourself so short.” Astarion cuts her off, his hand coming down to trace her jaw lightly as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes.

Rin leans her head slightly into his hand as it runs along the line of her face, turning slightly to press her lips against his fingers. “Is this alright, then? Will you let me suck your cock?” 

Astarion’s thumb brushes along the plush of her lower lip, and she takes the opportunity to open her mouth and nip at it playfully.

“Do you think you can take it, darling?” His eyes darken as her lips encircle the tip of his finger and she sucks, Rin relishing the almost imperceptible intake of his breath.

“I guess we’ll just have to see what I can handle.” 

“Well. By all means, then. Have at it,” Astarion says, eyebrows raising in smug challenge.

At his permission Rin’s hands jump to life, fingertips tracing up his covered thighs to hook into the waistband of his pants. She keeps her eyes on his as she slowly pulls them down, revealing his hardening length still hidden behind his underwear. 

She leans in to press kisses to the defined line of muscles along his hips, nosing his shirt out of the way as she runs her lips over the indentations of each and every one of them as she slowly traces her way down, moving ever closer to where his member twitches with every press of her lips.  

“I must say, our pretty little leader on her knees is quite a sight.” The words are meant to be easy, teasing; but the tightness in his voice belies any ease, his hips jumping as she traces her lips over the silhouette of him through his underwear.

Astarion chokes back a moan at the feeling and she smiles up at him, fingers playing at the edge of the final barrier between them before she begins to pull. Her fingers find his length once she’s freed it from his underwear, quick to run them down the velvet softness of his shaft as the deep green of her gaze meets the darkened ruby of his own once more.

“Only for you, Astarion.” Rin cuts off anything further he could have to say by leaning her head forward to press a searing kiss to the side of his erection before tracing her lips over his length.   

The first touch of her mouth against his cock has him exhaling sharply, one of the hands at his side coming up reflexively to rest atop top her head, fingers sliding through her curls as his hips jump.

She wastes no time as she licks a line across his slit, the heady saltiness of him hitting her tongue as she brings a hand up to grip him at the base, pumping him gently in her palm.    

“Does it feel good like this?” Rin swirls her tongue around the head of him, savoring her first real taste of his essence. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it, Astarion.”

His hand curls in her hair, brushing stray locks back from her face as he watches her mouth move along his length, tongue slicking across a vein before she finally wraps her lips around him.

“I assure you, you’re already doing a very, very good job.” He sags back against the crumbling stone facade of the wall as Rin takes him deeper into the warmth of her mouth, her hand pumping at the base of him as her lips work the rest that she doesn’t yet fit inside.

His praise sends a trail of heat straight to the core of her, pleasure of her own ebbing deep in her stomach as her thighs rub together. She leaves his length for no more than a second, adjusting her position on her knees before pressing more kisses to the side of him. “And this?” 

Astarion moans as her lips envelop him once more, sucking at his cock with hollowed cheeks as she takes him in, her hand moving in time with her mouth as she begins to bob her head.

“Decidedly perfect technique,” He’s practically breathless as he speaks, eyes closing as his head falls back against the wall behind him with a dull thud.

His moans echo off the ancient stone as she sucks and licks and kisses his cock, pouring every ounce of her wayward affection for him into this moment.

Astarion, she’s learned, doesn’t give up his iron-clad self control very easily; and Rin’s not going to let herself think about what it means that he trusts her enough to let her take care of him, even if it’s only like this.

It’s intoxicating to have him so utterly undone as she alternates her ministrations, each and every one only serving to push him further and further to the brink as she laves at his length, pleasure flitting openly across his handsome face.

She should tell him to be quieter, but she doesn’t have it in her to halt those beautiful moans and breathy gasps leaving his mouth, not when she revels in the sound of them far too much.

Rin pops off him to take a breath, tongue running around the crown of him before she renews her attentions, swallowing him down deeper and taking as much of him as she can fit into her mouth.

Dots of crystalline tears settle on her lashes as the head of him brushes against the back of her throat, but the ragged moan he releases is more than worth it, another bolt of heat surging down to the place between her legs.

She’s lucky she cares nothing for her reputation, because being found on her knees in front of her most dubious companion with his cock shoved deep down her throat would most certainly ruin it. 

“Such pretty noises you make, Astarion,” She hums as she pops off his cock, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his length as she breathes in another lungful of air. “Please don’t stop making them.”

The hands in her hair tighten as her mouth envelops the head of his length again and he whines, Rin once again savoring the tang of him as she sucks before taking him back into her mouth, deep again as he slides against her tongue.

“Fuck, darling—” She breaths through her nose as his thighs quiver, making sure to keep her mouth moving back and forth on his cock. “Don’t stop. Rin, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

Sweetheart. It was a new one from him, one that she finds that she likes. 

Quite a lot. 

He breaks off as Rin hollows her cheeks once more around him just as his cock hits the back of her throat again, stray tears breaking free to run down her cheeks and she can barely breathe with him like this in her mouth but can’t seem to find it in her to care. 

The thrill of finally being able to taste him and to bring him to the edge of pleasure is one she knows she would do anything to feel again, the weight of his cock nothing short of exquisite in her mouth.

She gives him a final suck and Astarion comes down her throat with a wanton moan, hips bucking as his brows crease and he cries out his completion, the sounds of his ecstasy nothing short of beautiful as they ring off the rock and stone and dirt around them.

Rin swallows his come down as his body quivers and his hips rut into her, the hands in her hair tightening into a vice grip as he rides her mouth. 

He tastes as perfect as she knew he would as words fall from his lips in a torrent—a chorus of praise, moans, and the occasional elvish word or phrase she doesn’t understand all flowing freely from his lips.

Rin lets him ride out his orgasm however long he pleases, a deep satisfaction coursing through her as she watches the pleasure painted across his features until his hips begin to slow and air he doesn’t need finally begins to return to his lungs.

“Dear Gods—” Astarion groans as his eyes open as the hands in her hair loosen  and he stares down at her, one of them migrating down from her curls to her cheeks, softly brushing away the tears that have tracked down the planes of her face.

She pulls off his softening cock slowly, taking in a much needed breath of air.

“Do you still question my decision making skills?” Rin licks off a stray drop of his come from her bottom lip before she smiles.

“Absolutely; and if this is the treatment I’m going to get every time I do, then I think I’ll have to disagree with you more often.” Astarion’s still catching his breath as he replies, but it doesn’t stop a wolfish grin from spreading across his face.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Astarion.” Rin gently tucks him back into his pants, patting his hip with a smirk before she rises back up to her full height, knees aching slightly with the motion. “If I did that every time we had a disagreement, I’m not sure I would have much time to do anything else.”

Astarion has an arm wrapped back around her waist in a mere moment and she’s pulled close again, the one hand still in her hair curving around the back of her head to tilt her face up to his own.

“Then maybe you should try to be less difficult, dearest.” His hand runs down, caressing the curve of her bottom before sweeping back up and around to hover at the front of her pants.

His touch sends a spark of heat down to her neglected arousal, Rin taking a steadying breath as she braces her hands on his chest. “If I were less difficult, you would be bored.”

Astarion chuckles as his fingertips dip below her waistband, more heat curling deep in her core as they quickly slip beneath the band of her underwear, intent to find the wetness that has settled between her thighs.

He wastes no time gliding them through her folds, running them up and down her center as Rin gasps, Astarion’s eyes intent on hers as he slicks his fingers with her arousal before finding her entrance and sinking two of them inside her with ease.

“I see I wasn’t the only one enjoying myself,” Astarion groans at the evidence of her own lust he finds waiting, pushing his fingers deeper.

“Far from it, Astarion.” She moans as her head falls forward onto his shoulder, eyes drifting shut as he curls them once, twice; her limbs tightening as he seats them fully inside her.

It would be so easy to let Astarion bring her to brink and push her over into euphoria, no doubt only a few quirks of his fingers and she’d be gone, clinging to him with every ounce of her strength as he makes her come. 

But she doesn’t want it to be about her. Not right now. 

Despite the breath that rushes free and the soft whine she lets out as Astarion pumps the fingers he has buried in her, the desire almost painfully hot in her core; Rin reaches one of her hands down to grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away from where she wants him most.

She’ll take care of herself later. She certainly has plenty of material to think about.

Astarion sends her a questioning look as he slips his fingers out of her, Rin’s hand still on his as she guides him out of her leggings. “Is there a problem, sweet? Need something else inside of you instead?”

Rin huffs a soft laugh as she intertwines her fingers with his, squeezing his hand. She fears that her expression is entirely too open as she looks up at him and her lips quirk into a smile, but it’s too late for her to take it back so she commits to it, letting a tiny bit of the feeling that’s been growing inside her show on her features.

“I just—it doesn’t always need to be about me. Take your pleasure and enjoy it. You don’t owe me one back, or anything silly like that.”

Astarion stares at her as his expression clouds with confusion, but the hand in hers doesn’t weaken, his grip still strong and sure. 

Rin stands up on her tiptoes, lips seeking his cheek as she bestows a light kiss upon it before whispering, “Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

She steals her hand back, the slide of his skin against her own slow as she takes a step away from him, sending a little wave his way before she turns and walks back towards camp, leaving Astarion to stare perplexed at her retreating form.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Astarion sits perched on his favorite rock in camp, handsome and brooding, no doubt the perfect portrait of a mercurial and mysterious vampire to anyone with eyes who chose to look his way.

Or he would be, if anybody in this damn camp would pay any attention to him.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff as he directs his gaze towards the small group of idiots that are now his companions; a preposterous notion that he even considers them to be such. 

They make their merry by the fire, passing around a bottle of what is clearly a very strong whiskey if the faces they pull after taking swigs of it are anything to go by.

He can imagine the smell of it, smokey and stout, and is very glad to have a goblet of wine beside him instead. 

Whiskey was all fine and good and certainly had its uses, but it lacked the elegance of a fine wine; no whiskey ever as smooth on its own as a delectable vintage feels gliding over his tongue and down.

It’s a chilling thought that he’s been in such close contact with these fools for months now, Astarion learning all their little intricacies whether he wants to or not. 

Yet, he doesn’t find himself hating the growing familiarity quite as much as he did at the beginning. 

He knew his siblings, of course. But that bond was different, one forged by mutual fear and shared pain. He didn’t know what kinds of books they liked to read or what their favorite sweets had been. Instead, he knew how each of their screams sounded and how their bodies had looked torn apart under Cazador and Godey’s punishments, flesh rent from bone.

No, he firmly knew more about this merry little band of imbeciles he had been thrown together with than the six souls he had known for years and years and years, with one individual in particular standing out above the rest.

Astarion, it seems, now knew more about Rin than he had ever cared to know about another person in over 200 years. Useless, meaningless information she’s offered up about herself seemingly at random and without purpose or prize. 

She was a complete and utter fool.

And yet, he drank up each and every tiny piece about herself that she gave him as though it were her blood, flowing free and pomegranate-sweet from her neck. 

Astarion knew her favorite flowers—a hard choice, according to her, but she tends to favor the perfect, happy purple of the crocus a little more than the rest. 

He had rolled his eyes at this, swiftly informing her that flowers were essentially no more than useless, pretty things with little substance; and had earned himself a very sound swat upon his arm.

He knew her favorite foods—any sort of sweet berry at midsummer, along with a nice loaf of bread and perhaps some butter or cheese. 

Her taste in food was pitifully simple, though Astarion supposes a life on the Lower City streets didn’t usually imbue people with a terribly complicated palate for the finer delicacies life had to offer.

He knew that Rin did not know her father—only that he had been an elf come to the city on some sort of business from a far away place and Rin her human mother’s only token of remembrance from an affair she only wanted to forget about, and one she eventually did forget about when she left Rin to fend for herself.

She knew nothing of the Elvish ways and customs, nothing of the language that should sit so naturally on her tongue.

The knowledge that he could say anything he wanted to her in their language and she would be hopeless to ever understand him is one that tempts him in a variety of ways that he doesn’t indulge, lest his mind find its way heading into dangerous territory.

He knew that she’d had no sweeping romances with tender touches and soft sighs—only quick nighttime flings helped along by pints of cheap ale from equally cheap taverns and that while they had perhaps filled a need, they tended to leave her feeling more empty and decidedly less than, in the end. 

Astarion all too well understood that particular feeling. He hated that she had ever felt the same.

He readily ignores the inkling in the back of his mind warning him that he, perhaps, is no better than the others when he leaves her every night staring up at him, poorly concealed disappointment etched across her pretty face.

Uselessly, he also knew her favorite color—the deep, turquoise blue-green of the Chionthar on a clear day at noontime, naturally, when the sun sparkled off the undulating current of the water. 

It could never be anything quite so easy as simply ‘the color blue’ with her.

Astarion himself had long forgotten the color of the river, having only seen it as the darkened muddy blue-black of the midnight hours for centuries now.

Rin had been utterly shocked when she asked him for his own and he had told her he didn’t have one.

“You don’t have a favorite color? Astarion,” She had said aghast, drawing out the syllables of his name as her bright eyes had widened in surprise. 

He had no use for frivolous things like favorite colors. 

What colors, exactly, was he to have had the time to enjoy?

Certainly not the darkly stained, ornately paneled woods of the chamber he used to entertain his victims; or the gaudy, overly saturated reds and too brightly shined golds in that room meant to invoke opulence and luxury, yet another layer designed to further lure them into the fantasy he provided.

Nor the watery yellow glow of torchlight against the dull, muddied brown of wet cobblestones as he led whoever had been chosen that night back to the Szarr Palace, charming and seductive as he promised them his body and their control over it. 

There was nothing beautiful about the metallic shine of a silver cage in the kennel, dotted with the rusty brown of dried blood, though whether it was his own or belonged to one of his siblings he never really knew.

How was there to be any joy found in color beyond the allure of the deepest burgundy wine as it filled up his cup to help dull his mind as he lowered himself to do the things his mark that evening wanted of him, mind drifting to focus on anything else as he did whatever he needed to do in order to survive.

Astarion grimaces, throwing back another swallow of his wine as the thoughts leave him tinged with the sickly yellow-green of disgust and the feeling of shame: a blistering, burning, glowing red.

At first, right after the Nautiloid had crashed and he had escaped the closeness of that dreadful pod, his chest having constricted at the tightness of it around him—it was just another cage in the end, wasn’t it? Just another leash for him to be collared to—the riot of colors in the bright light of the sun had hurt his newly sensitive eyes as he had hid in the shadow of the wreckage.

It was only once he had realized he wouldn’t be burned to a crisp in the sunshine, a wonder in its own right, that he began to take notice of them all. There were far too many colors and all of them were so…so saturated; all the different shades and intensities unbearably overwhelming.

From the small green leaves of the scrubby trees, to the brown grains of sand, to the grotesque purple of the Nautiloid and the soon-to-be rotting corpses of mindflayers—terribly, horribly overwhelming.

She was overwhelming to look at when he first saw her, too. Shining eyes of emerald green, warm skin thoroughly kissed by the sun, dark blonde curls gleaming in the unbearable brightness of the light. That awful outfit she wore that marked her as none other but a bard, albeit one with terrible sartorial sense. 

Rin was the first person he had set eyes on in the sunshine in over 200 years and he had hated the very sight of her. 

She had been a clash of colors, all dreadfully uncomplimentary to him, that he shied away from the sight of. Colors like that were never quite so bold in the darkness that he was so used to, their vivacity dulled by dancing firelight and the shadows of night.

She was too brilliant to bear the sight of, utterly casual and downright flippant, too unbothered by it all to be trusted—though, he knows better now; and looking back he can see that her confidence was all nothing more than a well-executed performance on her part.

He still doesn’t feel bad about holding that knife to her neck as he had dragged her down into the coarse sand with him, the scent of her scarlet blood still rich despite it drying against her cheek, dots of it mixing in with the freckles that were scattered across her cheeks like the tiniest of constellations.

Perhaps that was his first mistake in all of this, allowing himself to get so near someone so dazzling and warm. It was like playing with fire—dance too close to the flame and you were bound to be burned. 

And going up into flames was something Astarion could not afford. 

But now, slowly, the color has begun to come back to him little by little and he could start to appreciate again it for the first time in centuries.

The precise cornflower blue of the sky on a cloudless day or the deep violet of it at twilight as the stars wink to life. 

The way sunlight dappled onto the ground through a forested canopy to illuminate the all the tiny flowers that grow up from the ground in a rainbow of colors—purples, pinks, yellows, blues. 

The myriad of all the different greens that he could now truly behold: the dark, bountiful leaves of a fern, a fragile spring green stem of a flower, the lush and verdant shade of her eyes.

Astarion still didn’t have a favorite color. Not really.

But he was coming around to the idea of having one.

A laugh carries across camp, melodic and light and lovely, dragging him from the depths of his musings over to where Rin sits by the fire, their companions all floating around her like moths to a flame.

He absolutely hates the way they all look at her. 

He can see it on their faces, a blatant adoration that she somehow seems to completely disregard for reasons he can’t fathom, instead intent to spend her time with him of all people.

But he cannot blame them, after all, because he’s no better. Just as desperate for her attention and her closeness, it seems, if the way his feet kept finding their way to her tent night after night was anything to go by.

Astarion wonders sometimes if they can see the very same hopeless look on his own face as he gazes upon her, despite how well he tries to hide it. 

Rin leans against Halsin as she laughs, cheeks flushing at whatever it is the oversized elf says to her. Her curls are unbound, falling freely around her tonight in a wave of shining gold to her waist and he wishes he could bury his fingers in the strands to feel the softness of them for himself. 

The druid does nothing to dissuade Rin from the circle of his arms as he claps a hand on her shoulder before sliding it down to the small of her back, smiling at her a touch too friendly for Astarion’s liking and a stab of something hits him straight in the chest.

Jealousy.

He has no claim to her, of course. He’s not made one and has no plans to. But the sudden thought of her underneath Halsin—or any of them, really—has his jaw clenching tight. 

The other elf is attractive and strong, no doubt a good lover; and the thought of the warmth he could so easily provide her that Astarion cannot churns his long-empty stomach.

He can see it all too easily, imagining Rin so very pretty with cheeks flushed pink and body inviting as Halsin leans over and takes her sweetness for his own.

He can see Rin on her knees, looking up at the druid with the same look of affection in her eyes that she had given him earlier that day as she had tasted him.

Or perhaps the worst thoughts of them all—Rin telling Halsin all the inane things she would normally bother him with; Rin playing tiny bits of melodies and sweet little songs on her lyre for Halsin while he whittles by the light of the fire; Rin writing the druid letters that she would then hide poorly in his tent, ensuring they can always be found and read and replied to— 

He was spiraling, and he needed to stop.

Astarion shakes the thoughts away with a frown, bringing his goblet back to his lips for another sip. He doesn’t know why she favors him so, why she allows him into her orbit when there’s a group full of others who would so readily take his place, all of whom would no doubt treat her better than he has. 

He wouldn’t blame her, if she sought after any of the others.

Certainly not after that night, the one where he had made her undress before him for his entertainment and then kicked her out of his tent when she was still wrapped up in the afterglow of what was a very intimate evening.

Perhaps too intimate.

His chest gnaws at itself at the thought of the way he had handled it all.

Astarion had lost count of how many times he had undressed in front of others, so many of their faces blessedly long blurred by time.

He had unbuttoned and unlaced countless of his shirts, pants, doublets—a liar’s allure painted upon his features as he gave whoever it was a show, forever the night’s entertainment for his quarry. 

Yet, he had made her do the same.

He had enjoyed it, too. He had enjoyed watching her undress solely for him, piece by piece, her gaze piercing his own as she reveled in his attention on her.

She hadn’t said no or objected to it. But he could see the challenge in her eyes just as easily as she could see right through him and his attempt to gain back his precious lead in their little game, the perceptive little thing. 

A strange feeling—remorse—settles itself in his chest as he watches her from across camp.

The remorse only grows the longer Astarion fixates on it, leading to more and more questions that he doesn’t have the answers to, the weight of them near unbearable upon his scarred shoulders.

The crushing reality was that his plan was crumbling bit by bit, like a tiny pebble crushed under foot; and the worst part about it was that he was finding it harder and harder to care. 

Rin has made it abundantly clear that she is on his side.

He’d seduced her, had won her sword (mediocre skill notwithstanding), and had long secured her dedication to his cause.

By all accounts, his plan is practically complete where she’s concerned.

All they needed to do now was get back to Baldur’s Gate and—well, he wasn’t quite sure what would come after they get back into the city, Astarion was still a little fuzzy on the details of it all, but she’d help him figure it out when the time came, of course. 

Rin was aways helpful when it really mattered.

So why is it that he can’t stop with the first part? Even if he were to decide to stop sleeping with her, he wasn’t particularly concerned that she would suddenly turn on him. 

He has no reason to find his way into her bed now; no reason other than his own selfish, deep-seated desire for her company and attention and affection.

Rin catches his eye in a poorly timed glance of his own, and smiles so full of a sickening fondness—nose crinkled and flushed cheeks—at him.

Faster than he can follow she’s out of Halsin’s embrace, gracing the druid with a playful smile and a pat on the shoulder before she saunters over to where he sits perched on his rock, limbs unnaturally loose as she pads closer—drunk indeed.

Astarion doesn’t miss the way the light from the fire limns her figure from behind, setting her aglow in a halo of golden-red as she finds her way over to him, something in his chest warming as she nears.

She sways slightly when she stops before him and he can smell the rich tang of the whiskey on her as she sends him a mischievous look that has his lips already quirking up at the corners. 

“You,” she pokes him in the chest to add an emphasis that he did not need. “Should come join us”

“And you,” he refrains from poking her back in response, though the thought amuses him. “Are drunk.”

Rin takes a step closer, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning forward, slotting herself between his legs and blithely ignoring the glances the motion garners from their companions.

Astarion’s eyes widen at the blatant display of affection, taken aback by the ease of it as the scent of her surrounds him—honey and flowers and all around loveliness. 

On anyone else he would hate the perfume she wears, but on her it smells nothing short of wonderful; tempting him to bury his face into her neck and breathe her in.

Her hands play with the hair on his neck, as they always seem to, delicate fingertips running through the waves and he resists the urge to lean into her soothing touch.

He can feel multiple sets of eyes upon the two of them, voices lowered into whispers as the group no doubt gossips. The nature of his relationship with Rin is far from a secret, he’s drawn too many beautiful sounds from her lips for anyone to be unaware of their trysts. 

Astarion secretly revels in the idea that they are quite possibly jealous of what Rin gives to him; something that none of them have ever received from her. 

So let them see, then. 

Let them see that it is him who she seeks out, his arms the ones she wants to find herself in, his lips the ones she wishes to kiss.

Astarion’s arms find their way to her waist with an uncomfortable ease, hands settling along the indent of it as his thumbs run up and down her covered skin without thought, dragging her closer between his legs until their faces are mere inches from one another’s, only the rock beneath him stopping her chest from pressing fully against his own.

“I’m not drunk enough, I fear.” Rin cocks her head to the side with a smile, as she whispers covertly to him. “Maybe, if you come share a drink with me, we can fix that.”  

Astarion allows himself the temptation to brush an errant curl away from her face, the lock just as soft as he knew it’d be, before matching her tone. “Don’t be such a lush, dear.”

“Oh, come on, Astarion. I know that you enjoy a good drink as much as I do. And I promise, the whiskey is good.” 

He swears that he can hear her breath hitch as his fingers accidentally brush against her cheek, her eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise as he tucks the curl behind her ear.

“Oh, I’ve got no doubt of that, my dear,” He chuckles, a corner of his mouth turning up without his permission. “If it weren’t, you wouldn’t be quite so tipsy in front of me.” 

“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Rin tuts, pouting. 

The way her bottom lip pushes out and her eyes widen under lowered brows is, dare he say, cute; and he can’t help the inward sigh that he’s now been relegated to thinking of a beautiful woman something as absurd as cute. 

It’s a blow to his seductive charm, surely, to use such a word to describe her; but all of the other adjectives he’s thought of in the past seem to had fled his mind under her spell when she looks at him like that. 

What in the absolute hells has she done to him?

“Pouting? Really, darling?” Astarion drawls, the hand he had used to tuck her hair back now brushing openly down her cheek in a touch that has her face heating to a most becoming shade of pink.

Rin instinctively leans into his hand and he resists the urge to cup her cheek, suddenly possessed by the want to draw her face closer to his.

“You don’t have to come drink with me at all, of course.” Her voice takes on that same tone it had taken on earlier, intention dripping from her words like the thickest of honey as her she bites her lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. “We can always go find something else to do instead. Just the two of us.”

The pink of her tongue peeks out to wet her bottom lip, soothing the place where she bit down upon it, and if Astarion hadn’t been paying attention already, he certainly would be now.

“Oh? Just the two of us?” He teases her, his other hand moving to curl around her lower back to pull her even closer, Rin curving herself into him, and Gods if the feeling of her against him didn’t feel like heaven. “What do you have in mind? A game of cards? Or, perhaps we should practice our calligraphy together, hm?”

Rin leans in to let her lips brush against the tip of his ear, Astarion barely holding back the shiver that threatens to break free as her hands comb through his hair and she speaks low, “I can make you feel good again, Astarion. If you want me to.”

Her words bleed with affection and genuine sweetness, and Astarion finds it very difficult to say no to her when she asks like that.

His mind flashes back to earlier, the image of Rin on her knees as she had waited for his answer, hands poised at his waistband streaking through his mind along with others as his stomach tightens. 

Her perfect lips wrapped around his cock, the feeling of coming down her throat, drops of diamond-like tears tracing down flushed cheeks, his hands buried in her hair.

How she had told him to take his pleasure and not worry about hers. A very sweet sentiment that he deeply appreciated for reasons he very much didn’t want to think about at the moment.

‘Thank you, Astarion, for letting me give you something for once,’Rin had said. 

As if she didn’t already give him plenty.

He’s thoroughly enjoyed being at her mercy, her touch always soft and gentle while she asks for permission. It had been so many years since he had indulged in wanting to be touched like that, and having affection heaped upon him by someone so eager to please him has quickly become nothing short of addicting. 

“Oh? And do tell, how you plan on doing that?” Astarion lets his fingers drift slowly up her spine, enjoying the way her body presses harder into his and her breath catches, the sound lovely.

“Follow me and I’ll show you,” Rin whispers as she steps out of the circle of his arms, swaying slightly as she does, and Astarion’s brows knit together in consternation.

She grabs his hand, and Astarion swears the feeling of hers wrapped around his could scald him, every nerve in his body set alight by that innocent touch.

He allows himself to be lead to her tent, content to follow after her with hands still connected; but there seemed to be a single glaring issue standing in Astarion’s way that he was apparently now unable to ignore. 

She was quite drunk tonight. 

Too drunk, according to a newer, still unfamiliar voice in his head. 

It’s a step too far for him now, or at least it is where she’s concerned; a step that, granted, months ago he wouldn’t have batted an eyelash at taking. 

All the better if they were too drunk, it only made his job easier in the end.

But Rin’s not like that, she’s not a mark and she deserves so much better than being taken advantage of in such a state, even if for his plan or his own personal desires of her. 

She would be so easy to please like this, with the alcohol addling her mind. 

And oh, how he could please her. 

He could so easily touch and kiss and fuck any thoughts she may have about Halsin or any of the rest of them right out of her mind, ensuring that his name is the only one that falls from her lips.

She steps through the flap of her tent, her hand still holding his, and once he’s inside she’s turning again, wrapping her arms around his neck as she balances up on tiptoes, staring earnestly into his eyes. 

“I’ll do whatever you want, Astarion. Just tell me, I want to know more about what you like.” She sways again, and his arm wraps around her waist to steady her as their bodies press together.

“Let’s get you lying down, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to say such a word earlier, but it had slipped out of his mouth as he had hit the burning, white hot peak of his pleasure at her worship. 

Astarion finds, though, that he likes the way it flows off his tongue when directed at her. 

It fits her well enough, in his opinion.

He lets Rin drag him to the ground until her back is against her bedroll and he hovers over her, staring down into hazy green eyes as her curls spread around her. She’s a vision like this, and he memorizes the sight of her without thinking to, his eyes moving to capture every inch of her before his mind even realizes what he’s doing and can tell himself to stop.

“And now, Astarion?” 

She waits on a bated breath, waiting, as his eyes finding their way again to her lips.

Kiss her. That voice in the back of his mind is nothing but a traitor as it whispers to him, knowing full well he can’t give in to such dizzying impulses like that on a whim.

He knows better than to allow himself to kiss her. Because once starts he won’t be able to stop.

It would be so easy to fall into her, to kiss her into utter oblivion and lose himself in the body she so readily offers. To forget all about his pathetic life if only for the little bit of time they steal away to spend together in temporary bliss.

But it always comes back after. 

The memories, the reality of who is he and what he’s done, the feeling of his skin crawling in the aftermath of so many hands that have touched him without permission.

Her touch is different, but when he’s been touched thousands of times by thousands of people, it all seems to blend together in the end no matter what he wants—even if hers is the only one he wants to think about and remember the feeling of, thoughts of her consuming him even with just a gentle brush of her arm against his.

“And now, darling, you sleep.”

He doubts she’ll remember much come morning, the whiskey burning through her veins hotter than a flask of alchemist’s fire; but Astarion finds that he wants to be remembered, if only by her, just this once.

Wants her to remember their time together the way he always will. If they survive this, even when he has his freedom and is long gone to wherever it is he wants to go—he will always remember. 

He ignores the stutter of loneliness that pangs in his chest as he imagines ever so briefly what his freedom will look like when he’s on his own with no one else around.

It would certainly be quiet. Perhaps even peaceful. 

He would be able to spend his time however he wished it in the solitude, not a soul around to bother him with foolish chatter unless he went in search of such a thing. 

Strange how the thought of it doesn’t hold the same appeal that it once did.

A hand running along his cheek draws him out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the present as Rin looks up at him, eyes soft and yet somehow still managing to pierce straight through his un-beating heart as she studies his features.

“I meant it, you know—what I said to you that night. You don’t have to fuck me, Astarion. You can come sleep with me and we can just lay together. Or even just talk. I know my conversation doesn’t mean much, but—” She cups his cheek in her palm, the tenderness of it threatening to burn him to cinders. “It doesn’t have to be just about sex between us. We’re friends too, aren’t we? Friends can simply enjoy each other’s company and presence and take care of each other, can’t they?”

She’s babbling, words falling out of her mouth freed by the whiskey; but the innate truth he hears in them threaten the remaining bits of resolve that he has left.

Astarion’s not quite sure who she’s trying to convince—herself or him—but his determination wanes regardless, like a thread pulled too tight and on the verge of snapping.

But it wasn’t just about the sex, and if it’s not just about his plan, then what was it about?

He’s fairly certain friends don’t typically know each other’s bodies as intimately as they do, or know how beautiful they look as they fall apart, or find themselves craving nothing more than to simply exist with the other near.

Friends probably also don’t think about each other in the depths of the night when they’re cold and alone and hurting, the thought of the other a shining light in the eternal darkness of their existence.  

Astarion, though, has never had any friends that he can remember.

With more gentleness than he would prefer, Astarion removes her hand from his cheek and rights himself to a kneel, his knees finding their home on either side of her hips. 

He holds her hand within his own, turning his attention where he cradles it in his palm. Her hand is smaller than his, several calluses along the places where she holds her rapier and her quill, fingers still decorated with the ink she must have used earlier to write him a very scathing letter.

He had briefly considered tearing the letter to bits, the words contained on the piece of paper properly irritating and, in Astarion’s opinion, practically libel, but he couldn’t do it; instead relegating it to the pile where he keeps all the other useless slips of parchment from her in a neat stack hidden out of plain sight in his tent.

Her letters were, after all, the first tangible thing anyone had given him since he was bestowed with his sanguine hunger, his dark curse. 

And whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s so far been unable to find a valid reason to rid himself of them, useless though they may be.

Before he can catch himself, he’s leaning his head down to the hand he holds within his own, and with a damning softness he brushes a kiss onto each of her ink-stained fingertips where they had touched his face, lips light against them before placing a final, reverent kiss in the center of her palm.

She’s looks as though she’s not even breathing when Astarion raises his head to stare down at her, her hand still clasped in his own. 

He can hear the beat of her heart, drumming loudly against her ribcage with a rhythm he’s become so very familiar with, and he can smell the ambrosia of her blood as it soars through her veins.

Even in the darkness he can see the pink of her cheeks and the freckles that dust over the tops of them and he’s half-tempted to count them, wishing to brush his fingers over each and every one of them, if only to feel his skin against the sunny warmth of her own.

But it’s too much, and he’s spiraling downdowndown again into the depths of somewhere he’s not yet ready to be, and so he needs to leave. Needs to leave for the same reason he has to leave her every night, despite the weakness that has him indulging in anything and everything else she’ll afford him.

He has no other choice, for when she speaks such innocent words to him, offering him the simple solace of rest so full of a tender, blossoming affection, he’s filled with a want so heavy it threatens to drag him under.

Because if Astarion allows himself to give in—to know what it would be like to be warm, comfortable, safe—he knows he would never be able to go without it again.

Warmth, kisses, attention, kindness—all heaped upon him without wanting anything in return. No money, no favors, no motive other than her pure wish to spend time with him.

It’s a good thing his heart no longer beats, for if it did, Astarion has no doubt that she would be able to hear the rampant sound of it in his chest just as he can hear her own.

He rests her hand back down, letting it settle across her stomach as he swallows down the torrent of things that threaten to break free from him, Rin looking at him with a confused sort of wonder, as though he were a puzzle she was trying desperately to fit the pieces of together in her mind.

“Good night.” He stands to leave, movements as quiet as the night around them thanks to the unnatural grace he possess, before turning toward the tent flap. “Sleep well, my darling.”

He’ll allow himself that much, at least; for what was the harm in letting himself indulge in getting to call her his own just this once, if only to see what it feels like?

“You too, Astarion.” He turns his head briefly at her whispered words and meets her eyes, something molten and unguarded smoldering in her gaze as she watches him leave.

He can’t bear the sight of it a moment more, another utterance from her all it would take for him to succumb to his most secret desires—things he can barely stand to admit to himself—and so he turns his head forward and walks back out into the darkness, letting the honest and true longing that has been slowly burning him from the inside out finally consume him.