#(verse: pending)

[a-crookedtouch-a]

@bloodxstarved continued from here Astarion was a bit frustrated. He disliked going out of his way for things that in his mind didn’t concern him. But this? Even he sensed the idiocy of charging in on a gang of known criminals? Thieves even? It ruffled him more than it should. “Yes, because making enemies of an entire guild seems like a terrible idea.”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy having to watch my back.” Anymore than he already had to that was. “Why don’t we just talk to them or better yet move right along. It is quite easy to pretend we didn’t see a damn thing.”

[apalestar]

@petrichorsoul cont'd from here

His arm taken back and held close. The other grazed over the bandage in inspection. The line of tension held taught in his spine. Legs crossed in a position entirely defensive. He conceded reluctantly the druid’s diligent hand had been required. The tadpole blunted his vampiric healing abilities. Gods only knew what an untreated wound would do to undead flesh.

“I could have handled this myself.” The lie came so easily. He was a lousy healer. “I suppose you will tell me to rest it.” He had to be useful. He had to remain useful. Otherwise he would be abandoned or worse. It was the way of the world in his eyes. Transactions and favors exchanged.

What did Halsin want from him?

“What do you know of my hardships?” His tone a barely contained hiss. Something sharp surfaced behind his eyes. Lingered there for a moment before it dissolved back under his mask of careless ease.

[apalestar]

A boon granted from the embrace of reverie was thus: though perception muted the elf’s awareness was closer to the surface than if held captive by sleep. More easily roused into a state of alertness when the meditative exercises were disturbed. Fortunate for both of them Astarion preferred the embrace of reverie over true sleep. He surfaced to full consciousness with the lightest of groggy gasps. Eyelids fluttered before they opened in true.

The edges of his senses dulled as they were by trance caught the fleeting sound of her warning. He rose with confusion etched into his visage. Dead? His mind struggled to connect the dots between those morbid, little habits and his state of being. “Dead? A bit late for that.” His demeanor carried a nonchalant air coupled with a brief exhalation of a laugh.

A closer inspection tempered that demeanor. Ill and pallid Breina appeared as though sickened and stricken with fever. A not so subtle clue of something very, very wrong. “Are you all right? You don’t look entirely yourself.” Haunted eyes he was intimately acquainted with. The very same expression reflected in his siblings’ eyes. A pinch between his brows as a lovely mixture of suspicion and caution overtook him.

For what was the question on his lips on the night of Alfria’s death?

Would she kill him too?

starter for @apalestar

Breina was settling down to sleep when she felt it. At first, it was an almost imperceptible narrowing of focus. Then she began to feel nauseous. Then, Sceleritas Fel was stood at the bottom of her sleeping bag, hovering eerily over his dozing Lady. That sensation she'd felt - the sickness, the tunnelling - she now knew it, with some practice, as the first sign of The Dark Urge coming forth to play. Someone was going to die tonight.

Fel's voice was positively giddy outlining tonight's plan, and as the bottom of Breina's stomach fell out, she only really heard half of his proclamation. Astarion. No. No, no, no. "It's for your own good, Mistress," said Fel, noticing the colour drain from Breina's face. "This... pact of yours must be broken. There is no need for you to hold yourself to it. I believe this will help free you from these awful little chains you've wrapped yourself in and allow you to... hm, feel yourself again."

She forced herself to her feet, grabbing Sceleritas by the shoulder and tossing him aside, determined to ignore the wretched little imp. One step, then another, then another, she found herself crossing their campsite like a determined troll fording a river. Every footstep fought her, but Breina fought back harder, more determined than the Urge to control her own limbs, until she could let gravity do the work and fall to her knees beside the trancing vampire. Would he be able to wake up? She hoped so.

Voice coming as rough as gravel, she grabbed Astarion firmly by the shoulders and shook him. "Wake up, damn it. If you don't wake up, you're dead, do you hear me?"

[woodblxssomcrowned]

Tried to get past some art block by doing random screencap redraws

Main and True Timeline!AU

[familyoftwo]

The young child walked down the street. Arms wrapped around himself to try and keep warm. Had he thought about what he would do when the sun went down? Of course not. All he had thought about was that he wanted to fly away from that house just like the birds did. So he had taken his small backpack and stuffed it with his most important things. Mostly toys. And then snuck out.

Now he was scared, alone and cold. Sniffling quietly to himself. Couldn't even find his way back home if he tried. And despite having left them on his own, he couldn't help but miss his parents now.

What was he supposed to do?

@milleansxmort

[apalestar]

There's a small, white cat pouncing up and into Astarion's lap. His fur is decidedly softer than most cats, but that's because he doesn't allow pets from most people. He brushes up against the other though, purrs, makes biscuits and then curls up in his lap. perception i guess to see if he remembers Sil from Sharess Caress / the city uwu

@seldariine

< History check: 12 >

Something was familiar about this cat. Astarion knew he'd seen it before. A foggy memory he couldn't quite access. Was the cat not quite what it seemed? A druid in disguise. The feeling was there, but no name came to mind.

He blamed it on the fact his memory was awful concerning the past at best. "Aren't you a sight?" He reached down to give the creature a scratch behind the ears. "Do I know you?"

[woodblxssomcrowned]

OC art prompts Day 1: Laughing

*whimsical soundtrack playing*

[mxthbladed]

@holyfurnace said: Royalty AU - Marriage Law - every royal must marry a commoner chosen by the advisor to keep the bloodlines clean (for Emily and Vaggie) Arranged Marriage Prompts

Of anyone that could've been chosen for the marriage law, she was the last person she could've thought of as being chosen. Yet, here was the royal guard, standing at her parents' door, asking for her to come with them as Princess Emily's chosen bride. As she was taken away, Agata glanced back to see her siblings at the window of their little cottage.

Once in the carriage and on the way to the castle, her heart was pounding. A woman in the carriage started to talk to her but Agata's thoughts were racing and she could only really listen, rather than speak in turn. As the woman said, when they arrived, Agata was immediately taken to a bath and scrubbed before being dressed in a beautiful gown, her hair being drawn up into an elegant bun. Once she was presentable, Agata was guided to the throne room and instructed to bow before Emily.

"Your highness, we have brought forth your bride from the village."

Agata's gaze raised hesitantly from the ground, glancing up to catch a proper look at Emily.

[apalestar]

A delightful sight he must make. Bits and pieces of leaves and twigs caught in his white curls. Clothing askew from a tussle in the forest. The further they traversed from the once shadow stricken lands, the fewer cultist they crossed paths with. Tonight, fortunate didn’t favor him.

“I was tending to my special dietary needs, if you must know.” He had been successful, but the poor soul he feasted upon tasted foul none the less. Caught him unawares whilst on the search for tamer prey. A small injury to his side to show for it. A sliver of blood trailed from the corner of his lips. His clothes splattered with it here and there from the struggle.

His body language careful so Halsin doesn’t try to intervene. The wound was so slight barely more than a sting. “I came across a little scouting party.”

@a-crookedtouch liked this for a lil thing!

"I've been waiting a long time for you." Halsin's grin echoed his relief upon spotting the other, arms outstretched for the briefest moment in a welcoming gesture before falling back to his sides.

"If I may ask, what exactly kept you so long? Are you injured?"

[whereheartscollide]

"It is a very nice dick...."

[malkaleh]

Tudor What If: Anne Boleyn Has Sons

‘The birth of her first son Thomas and then four more boys (and two more daughters) changed history and changed the course of the world.’

[apalestar]

A lot to ponder. The asking price was far below what Astarion had expected. A question remained of how much he could throw himself into such an act. How precious was it to him to reclaim that beating heart and the sunlight on his skin? To drink and eat the same foods as mortals. To never feel the gnawing maw in his stomach as he constantly does.

To be able to see his own reflection in the mirror. It was much to consider. Not that the consequences of being mortal again really settled in. The cons were there, but vampirism wasn’t something he was entirely happy with. A shite bargain made in the throes of death. “A very tempting offer. So how would you like to go about doing this precisely? I know everyone has their preferences.”

@apalestar asked:

Now that he knew Tareque was willing to use a wish spell a question remained. “Can this spell cure any curse?” He hoped it was rather obvious what curse he referred to.

"As far as I am aware," the lich answered honestly, looking up from the book he held on his lap while he levitated in his typical lounging position.

"If there is an ailment or curse it will not negate or revert, I have yet to encounter it."

Though, Tareque was near certain what particular one Astarion was not so subtly inquiring about. It would reverse the vampirism if that was what he other desired, but he couldn't help but question his mortal state afterwards. Would he retain any of his current abilities? Or would he be as any other elf. Curious, indeed...

[veloriaharmonia]

@honkaisteinrail

It had been early evening when Chessa got the call to come to the Outer Ring to treat a group attacked by bandits. It wasn't anything new for her, since she was one of the few willing to go out there who didn't already live out there, though she was told she'd need to keep things discreet.

Didn't need to tell her twice. She did recognize the women as she treated their wounds and checked for head injuries, but it wasn't her place to mention it.

Other than maybe a quick text to Tempera. But he could keep a secret, too.

She stayed in town after treating them, just talking with the locals and waiting to see how things went. When she spotted Lighter with one of them (and another nearby) she could see him saying something, then pointing to her and heading off on his way.

"How ya feeling?"

[apalestar]

@spiderwarden from here

A dagger pierces the wooden pole of her own tent - just near his head. A mace lifts into skilled hands to gauge her sanguine company - the offer of a smile while Minthara steps back and away from her tent. In truth she had been expecting his arrival, the only question was how would each make their approach this time.

"Come, Astarion, let us test your reflexes."

He hoped to get the jump on her so to speak, but the owl bear cub ruined his chances of that happening. Still Astarion didn't back down from the threat she presented. There were out for a little blood, not a slaughter. A smirk graced his lips. The daggers drawn into his hands. "A little dance? Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

Crimson eyes gleam in excitement. He twirled his weaponry in his hands. A charge once they were clear of any valuables, and of course their companions.

< Attack Roll ( Main ): 29 // hits > < Attack Roll ( Off-hand ): 26 // hits >

The first of his blows lands as does the next as he lashes out. The daggers purposefully only grazing the surface of her. He doesn't want their fun to end too quickly.

[apalestar]

@elkenbulwark

As little as the half-orc may think of him Astarion held some measure of concern over Ren. Not that he’d state it so aloud. Expressing himself in such a manner opened all sorts of vulnerabilities in his armor for someone to jab a well placed dagger between. Find purchase in his flesh. Dig and use it against him in much the same that his master did. Compassion and concern tools to be used against him when it suited Cazador. Any of that meant fostering a paltry of trust with the vampire; not many were want to do.

Fewer still would believe Astarion would prefer recurring visitors to his dinner table. A source relied on was better than the uncertainty of his next meal. Although the predatory instincts in him craved a hunt. Craved the messy evisceration of a foe or animal to sate his hunger.

What had Biv expected him to do before this? Starve? Likely. The barbarian made no secret his distaste of him. Sooner see him dead than wake for another day. He should have expected something so vile and disgusting from this offer. The bastard incapable of doing a task like a reasonable, sane person. Instead Astarion’s pupils widened a bit in horror. Not out of squeamishness, but instead the distasteful nature in which the blood was being poured. He did not run even if every fiber of his being said he should. He knew what that rage could do. Who it had hurt. Birvor blinded to things like friend or foe. And they were decidedly not friends.

He felt ill at the thought of even having to taste it. The manner of it wasn’t clean. It reminded him of the putrid rats covered in mites, infection, and their own sick. Which included drainage from their nostrils. How he swore to himself to never drink from something so vile again. He had standards. He could exercise them now. Doing so held consequences for he highly doubted Biv would appreciate his sensibilities nor even wish to understand them.

The festering maw of hunger in his gut sparked and coiled further at the smell of it. Astarion’s mind, however, squirmed and recoiled. He stretched his arm forth taking hold of the offering. Fingers coated in the overflow of crimson liquid. The bottle set aside on his table a top of a rag. Only then did he tentatively lap at the remnants on his fingers if only to forego a barbarian’s rage. He threw himself into the act even as it made him stick to his stomach. He repressed the urge to vomit. Retreated to a certain extent to that head space which promised solace from the world. To disconnect the acts of his body from his mind to make some more palatable.

The taste heated on his tongue unlike most flavors he had savored before. It burned further steeling his resolve not to even finish the jar. He’d wait until Birvor was away. Pour the contents out and find himself something more palatable like a doe or a stag.

Astarion regained his composure forced himself back to the present. Vomiting could come later. He could be disgusted for forcing himself to do something he didn’t want to do when Birvor was gone. “How generous.” He breathed through his mouth to chill the spicy heat on his tongue. “Next time just cut yourself like a normal person. I'll finish the rest later.”

@apalestar cont.

If the circumstances for his approach had been by any other means, the half-orc might have taken some petty pleasure in the way his mere presence put the pale elf on grimaced alert. Such was the curse of Corellon's children- to always have to twist and contort their perfectly smooth features to show any semblance of disdain while the orc creator's ilk wore his ire by default in the form of permanently furrowed brows, heavy frown lines, and jaws jutted in stiff, unrelenting loathing- a deep dived hatred that always lurked just below the surface with tusks serving as fins skimming upwards as reminders that it still swam and waited a Gruumsh gifted rage to emerge dripping its ugliest.

It took Birvor just as much effort to exhale slowly and smooth what little he could of his marble-made expression than it did of the elf to crinkle his, though he found shifting the tension to the tips of his fingers as they dug impatiently into the bracers strapped to crossed arms a viable substitute for keeping hold of his disdain for the other even as the only soft feature about him finally found full focus out from under a heavy brow beaten back. Hazel hues met with concerned crimson, however brief of a concern it was, and Birvor wondered if he'd simply caught the reflection of his own usually so well insulated worry over Ren in the rogue's gaze, because he couldn't fathom the other capable of more than worrying over where he'd get his next meal over the well being of its source.

It was certainly not a place of kindness that had coaxed him in to the other camp beast's den, and though he would have liked nothing more than show his own inner monster in some twisted territorial dispute with the curse afflicted elf, the threat of his brother's cold shoulder meshed along with the coupling of both the pain he imagined him in from too much mucking about with vampires, and the hurt that would come of finding Astarion with even a scratch, gave him enough pause to proceed with less violent measures. His fingers relented a bit of their pressure in favor of drumming impatiently. "Clear'ly got yerself a case've underestimatin' my genero'sty." And from his flat tone and rolled eyes, clearly he was keen to avoid having to explain himself more than he already had. His intentions were clear to him because rarely did they ever change. He would do anything for Ren. Even take a chomp from this insufferable fop-

His nostrils flared at the idea a mind flayer seemed more appealing than he did, but wasn't that a good thing? He'd take the compliment. "What's the deal then? Blood's blood, and I don't sees ya squeezin' it from a stone." He grumbled while watching the other gather a potion pot - empty and rinsed. Squinting at him, then the glass, he rolled his eyes once more before unleashing the tension trapped between his arms to reach out and snatch the glass, the heavy burden back to roosting on his brow. "Seri'us? Like a bloody cow?" Emphasis not intended on the 'bloody' though it fit well enough.

With a disgruntled shake of his shoulders, he gave the bottle a few turns in his hand as he inspected its depth and wondered how the hell he was supposed to just…bleed in it? But how-…? The obvious thought of knicking his palm came to mind, but he doubted both the yield and the annoying sting that would come from having to swing a halberd later. Urgh…well there was that other thing. The thing that left his face bloody after so many battles and that the others just assumed was him making a proper vicious mess of their enemies.

The air between them began to grow oddly thick - a notable change in the atmosphere that only someone in his direct proximity might detect, along with the spidering of veins that began to swell from his temples and across his face like a flush that refused to melt in under the skin while it bulged to a breaking point. A shuddery exhale into a sound like a strangled snarl accompanied the brief flit of his eyes to find and fix onto the source of his gathering rage. "Don't…run." The half-orc ground out, gritting his teeth so sharply that his tusks sunk in to his upper lip like the clamp of a bear trap prepped to keep the seething surge in him from escaping through a scream. Edging closer to that necessary release, his eyes briefly flashed over like hot coals, and the growing pressure in his brain caused his tadpole a moment's panic as it screeched itself as if encouraging him to do the same. After a moment more of edging the pressure, he finally swallowed the mounting shout down hard, and with it - the extra blood gathered in his head and his face that would surge to all the parts of his body to fuel a truly terrible tantrum simply released where it gathered and began to run…out of his nose.

Half dazed as the pressure levels in his head began to stabilize, he reached up after his chin was already properly drenched and covered one nostril with the ball of his hand while he edged the glass lid under the bloody faucet of the other. Only as the initial burst began to settle into a more reasonably paced nose bleed did his eyes roll back into proper place, bloodshot as they were. "Here-" As he felt the trickle drip it's last efforts, he tipped his head all the way back and blindly held out the mostly filled bottle, sticky as the sides were with a messy filling tactic.

[g-babout]

"have ....we meet before ?"

Death, a companion that has never once left her truly, a ever constant with how she travels. Lavender hues looked at the frankly taller woman with curiosity and weary.

@warriorsofcrimsonrealms