#astarion not even deigning to answer

[wiltedreamofbaldursgate]

Still one of the funniest interactions so far. The comedic timing? Unparalleled.

[justporo]

Bedroom Hymns

If you thought Astarion was done with you with how you look wearing nothing but his shirt, you are very much wrong. In fact, Astarion is only just starting to enjoy himself as he finally has you where he wants you - on his lap, writhing desperately.

PART 1 | MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: I don't even know what to tell you anymore. This is roughly 6k of just smut and me losing my shame writing said smut. I hope you enjoy - and someone take me out back for overwriting this. Apparently it needed to be let out.

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, blood kink, nipple play, slight edging light dom/sub dynamic, light predator/prey dynamic Wordcount: 6k ~~~

You gazed upon your lover and soulmate beneath you, how he was kneeling under you, some of his curls twined around your fingers. Breath and a feeling for reality were still blissfully eluding you. If you had thought that he’d been a heavenly body descended from the skies eternal to bless you with his presence it now seemed you had switched places.

His crimson eyes were bright in the low light, almost glowing and the way he smiled at you - tips of his fangs visible and the corners of his mouth curled up so far - showed this kind of wild joy one really only felt when indulging in some of the most carnal pleasures. And there was awe in the way he looked at you, like somehow he couldn’t believe his own personal goddess had come and stretched out her hand to him, ever so benevolent.

You felt ethereal, eternal.

And thankfully Astarion was fully devoted to you, a firm believer and frequent worshipper at the temple that was your body. Ready to offer you plenty more pleasure. He’d see that prophecy fulfilled - for his own sake and yours of course. You couldn’t wait to see it all unfold.

If you could have stayed forever in this perfect moment, you would have. But a few things kept dragging you back to a less sleek and paradisiacal vision.

Astarion’s fingertips still digging into your backside, the burn of his handprint there and the dizzy feeling swirling through your head were the testament that he had indulged you plentily. The visible bulge in the thin sheets that were precariously draped around your lover’s waist and its occasional throbs in the meantime were the prophecy for a night long not over.

When you dragged on some strands of the vampire’s hair he answered you with a low growl, eyes darkening. And the kisses he had been trailing along your thigh turned into letting his teeth scrape - he was a predator after all, only allowing you to play with him as long as he deigned it satisfactory. The tables could be turned onto you quickly and the thought made your whole lower body clench.

Maybe you liked this rougher, realer version better than any possible divine vision. Maybe you craved the broken perfection that allowed for your continuous fall into corruption. 

Neither of you were saints. But he’d given you so much of him already. But In turn he demanded the same devotion now. More than just a humble offering to show your dedication to him now.

Thankfully, you were more than prepared to offer him everything.

You let him caress your thighs a bit more while his fingers kept kneading your behind, but then you tugged on his hair harder than before, dragging him from his source of enjoyment which he commented with another growl.

“Stop playing with your food and fucking take me, Astarion”, you demanded, voice only slightly shaky, making your own heart race anxiously with the bold words and your core throb in desperate need.

It earned you another slap onto your ass right on the same spot where another had landed before. That and delight reflecting on Astarion’s face for you so openly stating what you desired. Meanwhile your butt stung deliciously and had you bite your lip.

“If you want me inside of you, my heart, then be a good girl and sit”, he replied in a low, almost rumbly tone, practically barking the last word, and with his hands on your behind nudged until your still wobbly legs gave in by themselves.

You saw the open challenge in his narrowed ruby eyes and you weren’t fully decided if it was more threat or promise, but you were enticed anyway as you let yourself obey to his barked command.

The muscles in Astarion’s arms flexed as he let your body slide down along his torso slowly. His hands wandered up from your butt, to your hips, gradually wandering up over the sides of your body while you were coming down on him.Your thighs spread apart on their own while you felt your own heated skin brush against the smooth and cool body of the vampire.

It just felt natural like this: letting your legs open for him, straddling him and feeling how much he craved you immediately as you sank down with a blissful, lewd sigh spilling from your lips. Astarion’s eyebrow and cock twitched in delight as he heard that.

Meanwhile your eyes didn’t stray from his for even a single moment. Nothing in the world could have ripped you from this view: Astarion’s pupils dilating while you sank onto his lap until the black almost blotted out the vibrant red of his irises.

Your limbs still felt weak from the forceful orgasm just moments ago but your body was completely and utterly helpless when it came to Astarion. You already felt lust coil in your abdomen again, when you settled down onto him, legs splayed as far as possible. Your hands had wandered from his hair to his shoulders, holding onto him with a soft trembling.

When you sat comfortably on his lap only the sheets were between his eagerly twitching erection and your obscenely wet and swollen core. His dick strained against your folds and his arms around you tensed at the sensation of finally getting to experience some friction. Immediately it made you grind your hips into him, desperate to feel more than just a taste.

The mixture of your wetness and his hardened length already starting to leak in anticipation of what he was about to unleash onto you quickly had the thin fabric between you drenched and cling to his cock as you already began losing control over your movements and the last of your humility.

Your head lolled back and your hands clenched onto his shoulders with a noiseless moan leaving your throat. The first time he’d made you come tonight had already nearly made you burst into a million pieces. You weren’t completely sure how you’d survive another one.

But gods, you were so eager to feel him.

And even more than that you wanted to please him. Wanted to give him what you had experienced just a few moments ago: pleasure so intense it made you forget anything but your own desire and the body of your lover pressed against you. You wanted to make him feel that again and again until he would have forgotten everything that had come before you. You wanted to be his path to salvation if possible.

You were positive you could do it. And you would devote your whole self -  body, heart and soul - to make up for all the pain he was made to suffer.

His shirt in the meantime had ridden up on your upper body while you had slid down against him. It was bunched between the two of you now. Your breasts pressed against him, your nipples already pleasantly peaked, but still covered by the linen.

While you kept slowly grinding against him, Astarion’s hands slid up from your hips over your back and then slid around your torso to cup your tits from below: perking them up by pushing them up and together with his palms. You hummed contentedly as you enjoyed the view of your own daunting cleavage through the loose lacing of Astarion’s old camp shirt as you looked down. Something about seeing yourself like this was adding majorly to your already heightened senses and lust.

When the vampire noticed that he wasted no time pushing further while lifting up his hips a little so you could more tension down there too. He pushed you so far, your breasts squished so hard it stung pleasantly, that it made you squeal in delight.

And you heard a very similar noise coming from Astarion, almost purring for you, as he began playing around with your boobs more. He let them jig down then squeezed them again, letting his thumbs wander to rub lazy circles over their peaks until they were even more clearly outlined, the fabric spanning over them when he tugged the shirt tightly over them.

Your hands sank down to grab onto his arms, fingertips indenting on his biceps and feeling the muscles move slowly under your splayed fingers.

A violent twitch of him between your legs - that your own body quickly responded to - and a breathy moan spilling from his lips had you snap your gaze back from your tits to Astarion’s face. It was filled with admiration as he kept toying and gazing at your boobs that felt deliciously heavy with lust.

Your senses were so heightened, your whole body so tense you were acutely aware of everything you felt: his fingers on your boobs, his cock pressing against your feverishly hot core that couldn’t wait to finally take him, how his own skin started to warm up to your own body that was almost radiating heat from the intense lust you felt.

“I love how your tits look in my shirt, darling,” Astarion whispered breathlessly, mesmerised by the very thing he spoke about. He didn’t seem like he ever wanted to stop

You laughed softly at that. The way he said it sounded almost too innocent for what you were engaging in. 

Then his eyes wandered to you, open and wide. As if he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“I love how you look in my shirt, Tav,” he mumbled softly, his face full of desire and yearning for you - and love. And somehow his honest, genuine words combined with how your name rolled off his tongue instead of one of his usual pet names, made you way more flushed and flustered than the fact that you were currently indulging in your most animalistic pleasures without restraint or shame like you’d never done before tonight.

Your own love for him was overflowing inside your chest as you watched him gaze at you with love and admiration in his red eyes. You moved to cup his face softly and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

Astarion welcomed you with open lips and a pleased sigh. You kissed him slowly and lovingly, letting your fingertips wander over his cheeks and then over his sensitive pointy ears. He sighed once more and deepened the kiss, letting go of your breasts for the time being to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer against him.

The kiss didn’t stay slow and innocent for long. Once his tongue slipped into your mouth and you were aware how your already teased boobs squished against his upper body, you bucked your hips once more with a moan, grinding against his cock again.

That seemed to remind Astarion of the unfinished business. The vampire hissed when he felt you shift against him again. There might not be much longer before the teasing would make him lose the rest of his sanity.

The mood had shifted again to something simmering and burning hot and bright. But you knew his honest love for you was burning just as hot as your desire for you.

“This shit has to fucking go”, the vampire growled as he tore away from the intense kiss. There he was again, the predator that existed under the thin veil of civility. And you loved how at times you saw it slip, experiencing Astarion letting go a bit off his own reins.

You trusted him fully that he knew exactly how far he could go.

Without further notice he wrapped one of his arms around you beneath your buttocks to lift you up. With his other arm he awkwardly tried to rid himself of the now pretty drenched sheets that were still partially covering him. His impatience made him lose some of his usual dexterity and he cursed under his breath when he couldn’t get rid of the godsdamned thing clinging wetly to his lower body.

You tried to help to kick it away with your feet and you both had to chuckle at your desperate and awkward tries to finally get it away from him in a small moment of hysteria caused by both of your emotions running high and the tension being as taught as a bow string between you.

This wasn’t one of the performances Astarion would have acted out months ago when you had started sleeping with and slowly falling for each other. This was nothing but honest, desperate need for each other and the just as desperate clambering to finally get there.

You threw each other an amused look, your face flustered from the stupid situation and Astarion shaking his head at his own uncommon clumsiness with a small grin.

Then he finally set you down again, his dick now firmly pressed between your bodies, finally free of restraints.

You moaned when you felt him hard against your naked stomach. With your one hand on Astarion’s arm again you let your other hand immediately wander to his hardness, the tip already glistening with wetness. You wrapped your hand around him as tightly as possible with your bodies so tightly pressed against each other already and gave his cock a few tentative strokes. Your thumb stroked over his soft tip and over the wet beads there, pressing down firmly and then spreading some of the slickness around, making the vampire almost whimper from how you handled this sensitive part of his body. His reaction was so visceral that even his balls tightened in response to your confident caress.

Astarion in the meantime pulled up his shirt on your body until he had bared your breasts, the cold air hitting them and their sensitive buds at their peaks making you gasp and shiver. His thumbs went to your nipples again, started teasing them, twisting them, similarly to how he had done before but now with newly found vigour. And the fact that there was full skin-on-skin contact now only amplified the rush you got from his playful caresses tenfold.

You arched your back for him, whispering his name like a psalm, zealously wanting to offer yourself up for him even more, wanting him to indulge in you. Your head rolled back in pleasure as you also rolled your hips and tried to grind against his hard cock, helping with your other hand to make it slide along your clit and your core. The tip diving into some of the wet heat, receiving a taste of what it could be like if only he finally sank into you.

You heard Astarion growl deep in his throat at the sight of you losing all shame for him, desperate to feel him and to be appreciated by him - his own personal succubus. His length kept jerking while you worked for every tiny piece of delicious friction you could get.

The vampire observed how you writhed on his lap, like you were his own personal siren. Every sweet moan that spilled from your lips another part of your irresistible siren song that beckoned him farther and farther still, wanting him to give and take everything. He watched as you flipped your hair back to ground against him even more eagerly, biting your lip, your hand not currently teasing his cock gripping his shoulder for more hold.

Astarion’s eyes glazed over from the pleasure becoming almost too much already, his lips curling up in a senseless smile of pure bliss as he was positively aching. He’d been so patient and enduring and his whole being yearned to be inside of you, to finally have you clench around him while he earned his well deserved release. But he was still urging you on, wondering if he could make you reach another peak before he did.

“Darling, hold my shirt up for me, would you?”, he pressed out breathlessly while you were still grinding yourself against him. You obeyed without even thinking about it, slowly letting go of Astarion’s hardness to do as he asked.

“Good girl,” he purred and praised you with a smirk and one eyebrow jumping up, while his hands slid over your spine: one stayed on the small of your back, the other wandered up further, over your neck until he could curl his fingers in your hair to get some good grip. And then the next time you rolled your hips up against him, he pulled your head back by your hair and with his hand on your back pulled you even closer so he had you arching your back almost painfully. Now your breasts were perfectly presented for him and were held immobile against his torso. You kept tugging his shirt up further.

“Do you want me to take your shirt off?”, you asked breathlessly and felt your whole body flush just from the way your lover held you - fully at his mercy now. Your legs were already shivering from the impossible pose: held and hovering, falling but somehow secure.

“Gods, no,” Astarion groaned with an edge of desperation in his tone and loosened the hold on your hair a little so you could look into his eyes. “I want to smell you on it after I’m done fucking you”, he explained, his voice breathy from lust, eyes half-lidded.

And then without further warning he tugged on your hair again, hard, and went down on one of your offered up breasts. He sucked on its peak, his sharp teeth grazing the delicate skin around it. You whimpered helplessly, your hand on his shoulder gripping even harder, probably leaving marks by now.

While he was sucking and now even biting, drawing just enough blood so he could taste you, he lifted you up enough until his dick could slide along your wet folds and easily slid to your entrance. Your legs were trembling as you felt the tip of him teasingly sink into you just the barest bit.

The pain of Astarion dragging on your hair and biting and sucking on your tits while you felt the head of his cock agonisingly slowly sink into you, finally, had your eyes roll into the back of your skull. A moan of yours slowly became something between a plea and a scream while ever so slowly he let you sink down onto him until he was buried to the hilt within you.

You bit your lip in a desperate attempt to keep some control over your body but after the long and slow buildup just the feeling of Astarion finally inside of you made your core clench around him forcefully.

The vampire kept suckling on your breasts and the dribble of blood he had going there, just a few drops already being enough to make his cock inside you twitch from how exquisite you tasted on his tongue. It only made you clench harder around him.

You whimpered in desperation and let go of the fabric you had still been holding up to have both of your hands claw at Astarion’s back now. In response your lover lifted his face from where he had been latched onto your sensitive skin to laugh softly and haughtily. You felt it lightly but deeply shake through his and your own body.

“I have barely done anything, my love, and you’re almost already coming for me again,” Astarion whispered and clicked his tongue - the fucking bastard.

Then he licked up a single drop of blood from your breasts. It made his cock twitch again in response to that while Astarion hummed in arrogant satisfaction. It made you think of something.

While his hands had you almost immobile you couldn’t resist spurring him on a little more. He had you captive, his prey. But you felt you could tease out the hunter, the predator a little more.

“Well, how about you do some more then, love?”, you asked with an edge of passive-aggressiveness, knowing that your tone already would get the better of him.

You both knew that he was a massive tease and that he delighted way too much in riling you up whenever and wherever possible, no matter the circumstances. Only when it was the most appropriate time to get going did he take his precious time to get to the point. So you would just try and coax him until his already dwindling patience would snap.

Already, Astarion was grumbling at you and he yanked on your hair harder again - how pleasant.

But you also had an ace up your sleeve. Using the little space you had for moving, you willingly clenched down around his cock again while you lifted your hips just a little before letting them slam down again. That earned you a disgruntled groan but you felt how he instinctively had started moving his hips with yours when you did it again. He couldn’t resist you anymore - not with how desperately he was craving you.

And now for your trump card. You moved your head just a little, bringing his attention to your neck that was already conveniently bared and ready for him, just like the rest of your body. And then there was your thundering pulse that had been making you feel dizzy for a while now but sped up even more as you anticipated what was about to happen.

You heard him grunt, obviously immediately understanding what you offered him. He wouldn’t let the opportunity pass, of course he wouldn’t. Not if the pretty morsel was presenting itself so beautifully and enchantingly on a silver platter.

With your hair still in his grip he leaned closer. He deeply inhaled your intoxicating scent that was intensified by the blood pumping through you amplified by your desire. His other hand moved to your butt now and began to squeeze, giving you more room to move and helping you lift up your hips a little with every roll of your body as you began riding him slowly.

Just a moment later you felt his lips on your throat, kissing it open-mouthed, caressing it with his tongue pressing flatly against it, directly over where your pulse was fluttering even faster now, knowing what was about to happen. Merely an instance later you felt the sharp sting of his fangs breaking your skin and then the cold, but titillating sensation of Astarion taking your blood. His hand slid from your hair to the back of your neck, holding it steady for him while the whole sensation brought newly known waves of lust over your body.

You heard his pleased and feral groans as he drank your blood in generous gulps while he gripped your ass harder and you slowly sped up the pace of you grinding onto him.

And then you felt another pleasant sensation while you slowly lost your breath and mind moving on your lover: you could feel his dick inside you physically grow harder as he drank from you and jerk viciously in rhythm with every gulp he took. Your blood giving the vampire a surprising amount of vigour while it also made him noticeably more feral.

The sounds that spilled from your lips became lewder by the second as you felt all of it once: him hitting deep and hard inside of you, his hands gripping you, your breasts jigging with every slam of your hips and the dizzying cold slowly and pleasantly spreading from your neck through your body while your fingers dug into the vampire’s shoulders until you almost felt like you were drifting out of your own body from the pleasure.

With a jerk and some obvious internal struggle Astarion ripped himself away from your neck, his fingers at its back digging into your skin. He slowly released their grip on you, joining his other hand on your butt, so you could take a look at his face. His gaze on you was intense, a few curls had fallen onto his forehead.

All while he kept fucking you relentlessly: now with both hands on your behind it was him dictating the pace, lifting your hips up again while slamming into you with rolling of his own hips.

His eyes were impossibly wide, pupils dilated as much as possible. Some of your blood was dripping down his chin but he didn’t even care, he had only eyes for you and how you almost had lost all your senses already, being taken by him like this and with newly found energy and vitality from your delicious, nurturing blood. And he realised your ploy.

“And here I thought you were only offering out of the goodness of your heart, you little vixen,” Astarion mumbled while he watched your eyes roll back again as he picked up the pace. You were in no state to even answer anymore, the only things leaving your lips were heavy breaths and senseless moans.

But Astarion wasn’t having it. He slowed down until he was thrusting frustratingly slowly.

“Tell me what you want, love,” the vampire demanded, slowly lifting your hips up until he had almost fully withdrawn from you. You only whimpered in desperation in response. Astarion stilled fully, holding you there, in suspense, his gaze boring into you.

“Darling, speak to me,” he said, his voice teasing as he smirked at you. How he was even capable of doing that while he could have just been buried deep down inside of you was fully beyond you. You only groaned in frustration at him, clawed at his back as if mad, needing him to just keep going.

He snorted, still letting you hover right above his cock now -  and didn’t move an inch: “Don’t make this harder on you than it has to be, sweetheart.”

That made you break. “As if that was even a possibility, Astarion,” you chuckled breathlessly, feeling hysteria bubbling up inside you

The vampire just answered with a chuckle and then let you pounce down on his dick again, immediately having you claw at him and moan again from the sensation of being filled completely by him within an inch of your life from one moment to the next.

“So she does speak after all,” he teased you with a low laugh vibrating through both of your bodies. Thankfully he kept up a steady rhythm now.

“Now, - tell me - what you - want!”, the vampire pressed out between each thrust. Obviously he massively overestimated your ability to form even simple sentences when he fucked you like that.

“Harder,” you simply uttered breathlessly. Astarion hummed in approval while a grin split his lips, baring his fangs to you once more.

“So it obviously is a possibility,” he replied smugly. You groaned angrily and bucked your hips while clenching around him, making him moan in return. As much as you loved to hear him talk, you would have liked for him to pour that energy into how he was thrusting into you.

But you quickly regretted your insolent behaviour when he suddenly grabbed you and threw you onto the mattress, shortly being withdrawn from you. You gasped and caught yourself with your elbows, but the bedding was soft enough anyway.

Astarion prowled closer to you, his gaze that of a predator closing in on his prey once more. Then as he moved your legs up with his hands he eyed your throbbing core that was desperate to welcome him again. He positioned his hips and his glistening hard length between your legs.

You thought he was just about to make your wish happen with how he pressed up your thighs to spread you for him. But as you looked at his face you found him gazing at you, his messy white curls falling into his face, crimson eyes glinting in awe at the sight of you while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your legs.

“Look at you, my darling,” he whispered as if to himself. But when he continued his eyes locked with yours: “Look how beautiful you are.” He emphasised his words by squeezing your thighs with his splayed fingers.

He practically moaned the words as he pushed your thighs a little further and finally began to sink into you again.

His mouth was agape as he leaned forward over you, making your legs bend towards your head as far as your exquisite body allowed. His eyes were glazing over with lust and a sound you could only describe as a purr rumbled through his chest as he slowly buried himself into you again until he had bottomed out.

“Look how well you take me, love. My good, good girl.”

You gasped at his praise, eyes wide as he spelled out exactly his thoughts for you. He leaned further over you and grabbed your wrists to pin them down beside each side of your head. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips then, your ankles crossed, trying to hold him deep inside you.

It earned you a loving smile, an approving hum. But then Astarion withdrew from you slowly again.

“You’re so good for me,” he mumbled and then slammed into you so hard again it made you yelp. “And so ready.”

“My beautiful darling”, Astarion continued, eyes fixed on you while he thrust again, making your breath almost catch in your throat as you kept staring at him with eyes wide, mouth open as he kept telling you just how much he adored you.

His eyes were soft as he slammed into you unyieldingly, nothing but praise leaving his full lips while he sped up the pace and you felt it wouldn’t take long anymore. Not with how he had kept teasing you, how he had made you work for every inch gained.

You lost all ability to do anything but let your body arch towards his more and clenching around him in eager desperation while he kept going: both with the praise and the thrusts.

“You’re so perfect, Tav, my darling.”

“Can you take me a little harder still?”

“Yes, my good little pup.”

“Look how eager you are, you little fox.”

“You’re a goddess, my love. My goddess.”

You felt yourself lose yourself, your legs already starting to tremble with how tense they were as you felt the orgasm creep up onto you. Meanwhile Astarion’s eyes didn’t leave yours for a second while he hovered above you. Every detail of his perfect face imprinted permanently into your memory: the soft laugh lines and around his eyes and crinkles around his crimson eyes, the perfect aristocratic nose, the soft, full lips he occasionally bit down on as he too kept losing himself in you, showing his pronounced canines. You could have gone forever with tiny details you would never forget in this lifetime - or the next.

All while he kept fucking you unrelentingly and unapologetically.

And neither would you forget how it felt, how with every deep hit within you you partially lost yourself and how you let yourself be taken willingly.

Then he let go of one of your wrists to let a hand wander between your bodies, the pad of his thumb easily finding your clit despite how closely your bodies were pressed together already. And it gave you the opportunity to lift one of your hands to his face and cup it - while he kept going. His head fell a little lower and some of his soft, white curls were tickling your face lightly.

The way he fucked you so hard while he looked at you with those loving eyes was such a stark contrast but it just felt right like that. It made for the perfect mixture. It assured you that now matter how deep and long you’d fall, he’d make sure you find your way back again. And that you’d do the same for him.

Then, when he sloppily started to swipe over the tender bud between your legs, you knew this was about to become your end.

Just for a few moments his gaze strayed from yours, looking at how you were still in his shirt, a sign of how you belonged to him. How you were his and his alone. He’d never forget this image: you coming undone beneath him while his old, dusty shirt was bunched up over your bared breasts, being drenched with the sheen of sweat that by now covered your whole body.

There was nothing on his mind but you and how you made him feel. Becoming almost too much, it was almost as if he could feel his undead heart start beating again.

And he didn’t stop, locking eyes with you again. His words became more incoherent slowly and you noticed from how his pace became a little unsteady that he was about to lose himself completely as well. The muscles in your legs and lower body were tensed so much that it started to hurt but just added to the tension building up inside you. You were ready to snap at a moment’s notice.

“I love you, Tav,” were his lasts words of praise as he slammed into you a final time and you felt his cock twitch violently inside of you announcing his savage orgasm.

“I love you,” you moaned back as - in time with him - you felt how you lost the last of yourself as well. A long wailing moan, exclaiming his name once more towards the heavens left your lips as you felt yourself dissipate into the aether.

He kept fucking you through waves of pleasure making both of you shake while he spilled himself inside of you, his head falling to the crook of your neck where he moaned your name again and again - a continued credo of his devotion to you and only you.

And when nothing of it was left but shaking, trembling bodies and heavy, gasping breathing Astarion slowly lifted his head from your neck and withdrew from you. With a groan he rolled off you and he sighed deeply. One of his hands reassuringly remaining on your body at all times.

None of you were able to formulate a complete sentence again but with still softly shaking hands he pulled down his shirt over your trembling body and then pulled you to his naked chest.

You were thankful for the opportunity to snuggle up against him, legs already tangling with his. Pleasant exhaustion and deep, unyielding love was all you felt as you were lying in his arms. And Astarion felt very much the same as he began to slowly stroke your back.

A whole eternity later it felt like, he spoke again: “I guess you should wear my clothes more often, my love. What comes of it has proven beneficial for the both of us, don’t you think, sweetheart?”

You simply hummed in approval, still way too worn out from how “beneficial” this all had been for you.

“You’re forgetting to use your words again, darling. You should try it sometime, it gets you far in life,” Astarion replied sassily when you offered nothing more in response.

You growled in annoyance and grabbed a nearby pillow. When Astarion was about to keep teasing you, you whacked him straight in the face with the plush thing, causing him to hiss and curse at you.

“I love you, Astarion. And now shut up, you noisy vampire!” you scolded him and tiredly let the pillow drop off the side of the mattress.

Astarion huffed at you.

But then he pulled you in closer to him, pressing his cheek to the top of your head as he closed his eyes.

“I love you too, my little rascal.”

The smile on your lips stayed there when you slowly drifted off to your dreams - and even until you woke up again.

~

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

[unreadpoppy]

send nudes

Raphael x Fem!Tav (modern AU)

Summary: Raphael is bad at sexting

A/N: This was based on a conversation i had between @flamemittens @sky-kiss and @sassyandsodone

Tav had finally manage to get the phone number of the man she had had a crush on for some time, Raphael. And although he was charming in real life, he text messaged as if he were in the 1800’s. 

Raphael: Tav. 

Come to my house at the eighth hour of the night. Let us enjoy a good merlot. 

Raphael.

Tav: You do know you don’t have to sign your messages, right? I know it’s you.

Raphael: Tav.

Are you coming or not. Answer immediately.

Raphael.

Tav: 🤦‍♀️I’ll be there in a sec. 

In the following months, he had gotten slightly better at not sounding like someone’s grandpa, but there was still room for progress. One time, while she was at work, Tav nearly choked on her coffee when receiving the following message. 

Raphael: Little mouse, bestow upon me that delicious mortal form of yours in pictorial format. 

Tav spent a good five minutes looking at their screen. Was Raphael asking for nudes? Then, another message appeared. 

Raphael: Perhaps if you were to grace me with your naked form, I would deign to reward you with a similar favour, pet.

Somehow, the follow up was even more confusing. She decided to consult with their friends.

Tav: Guys, help me. Raphael sent me some messages that I can’t understand

Lae’zel: I always knew you were stupid, but not understanding messages is a new one

Wyll: You are still talking with that guy?

Astarion: Don’t judge her, dear Wyll. You have had your history with…questionable partners. 

Wyll: 🙄you’re one to talk

Tav: Anyways, he sent me some messages but I’m having a hard time understanding them. Can you guys decipher it? 

Gale: Sure thing, Tav! Send them in and we’ll see what we can do. 

*Tav sent a photo*

Astarion: …

Wyll: …

Gale: …

Karlach: Is he… is he asking for nudes??? 

…

Meanwhile, Raphael’s phone was suddenly taken from his hands. 

“By the hells, what is wrong with you, Raphael?” Haarlep asked exasperated. “Just say send nudes and be done with it.” 

“I cannot be direct about this sort of thing, or else, where is the fun?” He tried to reason. 

Haarlep put a hand on their face and sighed. “You’ll never see tits if you keep talking like this.” They showed the screen to Raphael. “Look! The poor thing hasn’t answered in 10 minutes. I don’t think she even understood what you sent.”

“Tav is perfectly capable of understanding my way of talking.”  Haarlep typed something and then hit send. 

“Done. Let’s see if this works.” 

…

While Tav’s groupchat was becoming a mess over the screenshot she sent of Raphael’s conversation with her, she received another message from him. ‘Speaking of the devil’ she thought. 

Raphael: Send tits for cock. 

Tav immediatly forwarded that to the groupchat.

Tav: Karlach was right. It was nudes. 

Karlach: KNEW IT!

Shadowheart: Why is he suddenly so direct?

Gale: You’re not going to send him nudes, are you? You’re literally at work right now! 

Tav: That’s none of your business, Gale. And idk, Shart. Anyways, gotta go now, byee

Tav made a quick run to the bathroom and sent a picture she already had on her phone. It was a bit old but it would do the job.

*Tav sent a picture* 

Tav: I can’t send one from right now, but I’ll hope you’ll be satisfied with this 

Raphael: My, my, I am quite satisfied. You have a plentiful bosom, little mouse. Very well, here is your reward. 

*Raphael sent a picture*

Tav felt the blood rushing to her face when looking at his messages. She’d only hope she would get home soon. 

Raphael: As much as I would enjoy to continue this lovely conversation, I am afraid I have to leave. 

Tav: We can continue this once I get home.

Raphael: Of course. As you know, roses are red, violets are blue. I'm into poetry, but I'd rather be in you. 

Tav barked out a laugh from inside the bathroom. 

Tav: Oh sweetie, we’re gonna have to work on your sexting once I get there. Till’ later, bye.

Raphael showed his phone to Haarlep. “What is ‘sexting?’”

Haarlep threw themselves on a nearby bed, dramatically putting an arm to cover their face. “You are impossible.” 

[helloporcelain]

Retrouvailles

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Astarion/Tav (gender neutral) Rating: Teen Tags: Reincarnation (Tav dies/Astarion doesn't), au-ish, Astarion's POV, oneshot.

Summary: “Until the day you draw your last breath, they will always return,” the god warns you. “And you will always find them. But they will never be the same, and they will never remember you.” Note: I got a little brainworm after seeing this lovely fanart by @cheesy-cryptid.

Read on AO3 if you prefer

–

Long ago, when you were a slave, you used to pray. 

Beneath the lashes that were etched onto your flesh, you would pray. When your master abandoned you to the cruel clutches of starvation, you would pray. And on the evenings where your exhaustion was so heavy you nearly died under the weight of it all, you would still pray. You would pray tirelessly, and in as many broken tongues as you knew, and to as many gods as you could remember. Yet none deigned to answer your pleas.

Many centuries later, you pray once more.

This time, Velsharoon, the archmage of necromancy, the patron of liches and god of the undead, embraces you. 

–

You’re not sure if this is a dream. 

“Little love,” you murmur. “You should be resting.”

They sit on a bench in your garden, a willowy figure tending to the belladonnas and foxgloves you planted for them when they became too frail to stand on their own. Water spills out from the pot as their fingers tremble under the weight, splashing at their bare feet and brushing the edges of their tattered cloak.

“Even the prettiest flowers die,” they hum in response. 

You watch them for a while with fondness — then you realize that this isn’t real. 

“Are you a memory?” you ask.

“I am always myself,” they answer. 

They pluck a blossom from the damp earth by the stem and gesture for you to join at their side, and when you draw near, they face you; yet you cannot see them, only the wilted flower that they press into your hand. 

“Tell me, Astarion. Will you scoop the pleasure of existence out from the soil with your fingers? Will you have your fill until you are so full, you overflow?” 

– 

They gift you many paintings, each one a magnificent attempt to capture you, but you are never satisfied. They’re all just replicas , you complain, beautiful, pale imitations!

But the years pass on by, and vanity doesn’t hold as much sway on you as it used to. There is an old saying: time leaves its mark not on the faces we see, but in the hands we hold. 

You long for those changes, to prove that you have shared this messy life with your darling.

Your fingers stay smooth, and you feel just as strong as you were when you first met them all those years ago on that fateful day out in the wilderness. And though you can’t see your own reflection, you know it remains unchanged. 

In contrast, they bear the unmistakable signs of age: silvery wisps of hair, wrinkles tracing the counters of their eyes, and bone thin fingers. You think they are exquisite this way— that they are more beautiful than they have ever been– and you make sure to whisper this into their ears every time you make love.

Oh, they don’t believe you for a while. You’ll find me frightful, just a withering old thing next to you, they joke once, trying to hide their insecurity. 

But they grow to accept their aging body– it is, after all, a gift that very few are fortunate to receive.

Occasionally, in the presence of strangers who think of you as their protégé, or sometimes even their son, they playfully call you their ‘little prince’. The nickname grates on you, a reminder of your unchanging curse, but you never voice your displeasure. Seeing them smile is just enough for you. 

–

One winter’s season, just shy of their 700th year, they fall ill. 

Nothing unusual for a person of their age, and certainly nothing a carefully concocted potion can’t remedy. 

You kneel at their bedside, tenderly propping them up against the velvet headboard, tilting their jaw back to sip on some darjeeling tea. You raise the back of their delicate hand up to your lips and press a gentle kiss against a vein. 

“Little love, I’m going to visit the cleric. I won’t be long.” 

“Little prince,” they cough, smiling weakly at you. “I’ll see you when you get back.” 

You have no reason to believe that the gods will claim them before the sun even gets a chance to rise.

–

You pray that they understand. 

“Until the day you draw your last breath, they will always return,” the god warns you. “And you will always find them. But they will never be the same, and they will never remember you.” 

You’ll wait a thousand lifetimes for them – you’ll love them regardless of the form their soul inhabits.

“When your time eventually comes– and it will come, vampire– you will not join them. Your soul will be bound to me, tethered for eternity. You will never know rest.”

You’ll forsake the afterlife, if that’s what it takes to allow you a glimpse of your beloved.

“Are you absolutely certain?” 

You’ve never been more certain of anything else in your life. 

“Bring them back.” 

You pray that they forgive you. 

–

Twenty five years and sixteen days pass.

It’s not as though they would be born again as an adult and delivered onto your front door step immediately— you understand this, but at some point, you wonder if the notoriously capricious god has forgotten all about you. 

But one day, you sense their presence, just as Velrashoon said you would. Something compels you to Neverwinter – and you follow that feeling without a second thought. 

Not knowing when you’ll come back, you lock up your home and bring only what is necessary for the journey there. The voyage by boat takes roughly fifteen days to reach land and you can’t wait to get off the ship; the seas are unforgiving and on the nights you do come out of your cabin, you strain your eyes out over the waves, wondering who they will be in this life. 

Neverwinter is true to its name – there is an otherworldly warmth in the air that reminds you of them, even during the nighttime, which you welcome. You missed the heat of the sun while they were alive, but you longed for it even more after they passed away. 

When you reach the city, you should be in awe – and in any other lifetime, you would be eager to explore it. But today, you’re frantically racing to find them. Your feet lead you to the front door of an assuming little bookshop tucked away from the busy streets.  

If your heart had a pulse, it would be racing – it would be threatening to burst out of your chest. You push through the front doors, the bell above sweetly announcing your arrival, and search around the crowded shelves and stacks of books. No one stands out – until you notice someone perched at the top of a ladder, rearranging a few volumes.

It’s them.

You know it’s them.

“Ah, hello! I’ll be down in a second. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Yes.” A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “I most certainly am.”

–

In this lifetime, they are human. 

You visit their bookshop often – you purchase a humble manor in the city and you come in every week to search for a new book.

Every book is one that they once cherished, and every week that you return they greet you with unbridled excitement, curious to see which book catches your interest this time. 

Truth be told, you’ve read these books a hundred times over, and they all go onto a shelf in your new home, patiently waiting for your sweet to finger through their pages again. 

It really doesn’t take long for them to fall in love with you – humans have always fallen prey to vampires the easiest, something about being so fragile makes dangerous creatures like you so alluring. They tell you that they’ve never experienced a love like this, and you lie and tell them that you never have, either. Your second life with them is more or less like a fairy tale, picturesque, sometimes even boring in its loveliness. Still, you adore it all the same.

But they’re human, and humans only live so long. 

–

I’ve missed you so much, darling, you confess in your third life together. 

They are a nomadic bard in this life; just a wild, untameable bird when you first find them with a traveling troupe in Waterdeep. You will never wish to lock them in a gilded cage so they go where their heart pleases, and most of the time, you follow. Your sweetheart is a wanderer – and you fly along with the winds of their dreams.

They laugh, having come to expect your flair for the dramatic. 

I’ve only been gone a few days, Astarion.

A few days too long, little love. 

– 

In their fourth reincarnation, they are born a bastard to a vicious pirate king.

You feel them around fifty years in, but don’t actually manage to track them down in the Moonshae Isles until their eightieth year – it never occurred to you that they would be thrashing around in the seas. It's not exactly your preferred territory to be adventuring in, but it certainly offers a change of pace.

The way they first greet you with a sword to your neck reminds you of the time you once held a dagger to theirs. Ah, such fond memories. This variation of your darling is one that you secretly cherish the most – the one that just cannot seem to stay away from trouble.

It’s easily one of your most exciting lifetimes, despite the fact that living amongst the ocean is one of your worst nightmares. It’s a true weakness of yours, one that you are willing to brave only for them. 

“Such a strong and fearsome vampire,” your love teases, on a night where the waves are particularly strong and you can’t stand up straight. “Yet the water terrifies you so.” 

Their life begins with the ocean – how fitting it is that it ends with the ocean too, screaming and struggling amidst the violent tempest, their existence reduced to bubbles as they plummet like an anchor to the sea’s depths.

You barely make it back onto dry land with your life intact. 

Even if you knew how to swim, you wouldn’t have been able to save them anyway.

–

It takes a hundred years for you to find them in their fifth life. 

It’s never taken this long, and you go slightly mad trying to keep yourself busy while you wait for that phantom tug in your chest. 

When you do find them, they’re a paladin, hardened by loss. They don’t tell you about it, and you never ask.  

Every reincarnation of them after their first form has been unfamiliar with the version of you that lies – up until the night you decide that you just need to share the burden of your profound secret.

There is an excruciating loneliness in keeping it all yourself, and though you are well aware they won’t — can’t — remember, you long for them to grasp the depths of your love. You want them to understand that your devotion spans the abyss of time, that it transcends the limitations of flesh and bone, that your eternity means absolutely nothing without them.

However, you’re just not brave enough to admit to your beloved that you have lived four lifetimes with them now, but you are able to tell them a half truth: that you were lovers, that they were reborn, and that you brought them back.

They are furious, which you expected, but they are also completely inconsolable; that, you are not prepared for. 

“How dare you?” they sob, their words fraught with anguish. “How entitled you are, Astarion, to think you can play as a god.”

"Little love. Please— I’m so sorry.” 

You don’t know how to apologize for this, you just do, over and over. And it doesn’t matter, don't you realize that good intentions never matter? Their cries carry the agony of a soul caught in a never-ending cycle – a suffering of which you had a hand in weaving. Nothing in the world brings you more pain than having to witness them crumbling, wishing that you could take back something you simply don’t have the power to. 

Once they’ve finally calmed down, they make a request: “I want to see it. Take me to my grave.” 

You bring them to their first resting place, thinking that it will help them. 

They don’t leave you, but their despondency settles like a boulder on their back. They don’t have the heart to muster a smile at you during your inadequate attempts to console them, and you often find them staring out of the window, fixating on the garden beyond. 

“You water the plants too much,” they say one morning. “You’ll kill them faster that way.” 

And sometimes, when you kiss them, they respond, but their gaze is glassy and distant, as if lost in another plane entirely. It’s a familiar expression, one you stopped wearing a long time ago. 

Your chest feels like it’s being ripped open. You’ll sooner die than let them go through this again – you promise that this is their last life, that their soul will know peace. It’s not a lie, you tell yourself, if you believe it.

–

You call on Velsharoon countless times in the years that pass. You get on your knees to pray and pray, as you did centuries ago. You offer your soul every time, imploring to him that you have no use for it now, that he may grab it if he is content to – and you beg him to please, please allow for your love to finally rest. 

He does not answer. 

But, you also don’t feel them anymore. 

Nothing pulls at you. There are no whispers in your consciousness, no echoes of their presence reverberating through your chest. There is only silence. You wonder if Velsharoon simply became bored, after all this time, and has decided to cut you from the strings that tie you to them. 

Relief mixes with your sorrow, like a strange potion you have to choke down.

Eventually, you decide that you want to open a gallery – you don’t plan on staying in one place anymore, but you also don’t want to let go of all the things you cherish. And even if you did have a permanent residence, there would be no one left to appreciate the things that make a house a home. 

So you get to work and fill it to the brim. 

Everything they ever loved graces the halls of your exhibition. The jewelry that once adorned them sit on silver trays, protected behind glass. The luxurious robes you draped upon them are now pinned on mannequins; ancient books from centuries past lie open, their yellowing pages forever open on their favorite passages, never to be turned again. This gallery becomes your shrine, the only way to show the world that you loved something once.

Then, it is all too painful to bear. 

You leave it in the hands of a trusted curator, corresponding with her through letters and sending her any new treasures you find during your travels that might suit the gallery. You leave Baldur’s Gate.

Time stretches on, each day merging into the next. The days turn into weeks, and then into months, as hundreds and hundreds of years flow by faster than ever. You dedicate your life to seeing everything the world has to offer, crossing into different lands and learning new languages and occupying yourself with pretty new lovers. You don’t keep track of what year it is anymore, but soon it’s the age of lightbulbs and airships and the world is alive in a way you’ve never seen before – it’s spectacular.

You are so empty, and you wish more than anything that you were dead already.

Velsharoon told you that your time would come, and the morbid curiosity of how you will go is the only thing keeping you from sitting in the sun on your own.

– 

One year, you find yourself returning to Baldur's Gate on a whim. 

You haven’t seen your gallery in what seems like forever, but you have kept a close hand on it all this time – you’ve passed it down through the family, so to speak. Upon your arrival, the newest curator is practically tripping over themselves to greet you. They marvel at your uncanny resemblance to your great, great-grandfather – strong genetics, you tell them.

The hallowed halls of your life's memories stretch out before you, pristine and frozen in time. As you absorb every detail of every item, the reality of your age weighs heavily on you, and you find yourself feeling more ancient than you ever have. You get a sense that this lifetime might be your last – that perhaps Velsharoon is warning you.

That’s when you hear it - the voice that has haunted you through so many lifetimes. 

You tell yourself that you merely wish to see what they look like. 

Just a glimpse. 

It’s curiosity, that’s all it is. 

Then you’ll sell the gallery and never step foot into Baldur’s Gate again.

Their attention is fixed on the very first painting they had ever gifted you— their favorite one, the one that captured the sadness in your eyes so well. You’re nearby, concealed behind a column, pretending to admire a statue before you. Their hair veils their face as they study the portrait, and the longest of minutes pass before they finally move on. 

You attempt to turn away just before they reach you, but your nerves betray your reflexes and your shoulders collide. When you finally lay eyes on them, it feels as though a musket has pierced your chest. 

This time, they look as if they've been plucked straight from their first life with you, not a single strand of hair out of place.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

A breathless moment lingers between the two of you, and then, a smile ghosts their lips. It’s an echo of a smile – a déjà vu so uncanny that it would unsettle you if you didn’t know any better.

“I’m sorry... Have we met before?”

“I’m afraid not.” 

"I can't quite put my finger on it," they muse, their brows furrowing in thought. “But there's something remarkably familiar about you." 

“Hmm… that portrait of my handsome ancestor might provide a clue," you suggest, pointing to the painting. "Though – I am also the owner of this gallery."

“Oh!” They look at the painting with alarm, then back at you, chuckling. “Yes, perhaps that’s it. My husband brought me here many moons ago, and I’ve continued to visit whenever I return to the city. It is such an enchanting collection. You’re wise to keep it in the family.” 

Husband. This is the first incarnation where you've seen them with a spouse. Ah, it appears that Velsharoon has, at long last, granted them respite from you, and is revealing it in the cruelest way… you always knew he had a depraved sense of humor. 

"Your husband has an impeccable eye for beauty," you complement, making no effort to hide the way your gaze lingers over their body.

“Yes…”

They turn away from you with a faint blush creeping up their neck, eyes drawn back to the painting.

“He did have a deep appreciation for the arts.”

You hold your tongue, understanding that fate is tempting you once more. 

“It’s really not the painting,” they say, this time with conviction. “I know you. I don’t know how I know you. But I do.”

It’s time to make your exit , you chastise yourself, trying to recall the promise you made to them centuries ago. 

Ending a conversation with a complete stranger and walking away would be the most sensible thing to do – you’re an aristocrat, and who are they to you? You have many lovers waiting for you, scattered in different homes across Faerûn – you’re a vampire, you should have a restless appetite for both adventure and wanton delights; you should be reveling in your eternal existence, savoring it with the kind of ravenous abandon that mortals can only dream of. 

And yet, you are also simply just a man. 

Perhaps your love was correct when they thought you fancied yourself a small god. In the grand tapestry of your existence, you ask yourself – what difference does one more thread make for a soul already condemned to damnation?

Well, there’s one thing you know for sure – you've always possessed a remarkable talent for deceit. All it takes is one look at the face that you once loved so much, and it seems that you truly cannot remember the vow.  Yes, now that you think of it – perhaps it was all just a melancholy dream… 

“I don’t know you, my dear. But I would love to.” 

[brabblesblog]

Ch 14: For love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave

Astarion has ascended, and she has stayed with him. Life in the Crimson Palace isn’t as idyllic as it seems. Is there a chance for their relationship to go back to how it was? Or is it too late for the Ascendant and his consort?

This series is about Ban, my Tav, and the Vampire Ascendant. Will be angst and smut, with sprinkles of fluff.

This fic is a softer take on Ascendant!Astarion and of the changes he undergoes after the rite. Can Ban handle the change, and if a chance came, would she choose to run? And can the Ascendant win her back in time? Inspired by the concept of vampire wives and that IGN interview with Larian that discussed the ascension.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

The rescue attempt goes off with some hitches.

Read on AO3.

Masterlist.

The morning light was streaming through the window when Astarion looked up to see Gale walk into the room. His tressym followed, fixing Astarion with a stare that felt a little too penetrating for what was, in his not-so-humble opinion, essentially a glorified cat.

“Are you ready?” Gale asked, leaning on his staff.

“Indeed.” Astarion’s tone was surly, an attempt to mask his weariness. He had maintained the mental link with Ban until she had fallen asleep. Even now a part of him cradled her mind, soothing her through the worst of the torment.

Astarion belatedly realized that he was not only exhausted, he was hungry and having difficulty concentrating. He’d only had one meal since arriving in Waterdeep, and between maintaining the mental link for so long and his state of stress, the lack of sleep and blood was noticeable. Today, he was especially glad that the sanguine hunger no longer tormented him, but blood helped him maintain his strength, kept his mind clear, and gave him energy. Energy he desperately could have used today. Grumbling, he picked up Woe.

“Do you need me to reiterate the-”

“Gods, Gale. Do you think me so stupid I can’t remember your frankly rudimentary plan?” Astarion waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s just go.”

Gale exhaled. “Here.” He stepped forward, holding out a small pouch.

Astarion hesitated before gingerly accepting the proffered bag with some suspicion.

“Healing potions. I prepared two. One for her, one for… potential mishaps.”

Astarion tucked the pouch away. “Thank you.” The words came out in an awkward drawl, his discomfort in expressing gratitude obvious.

The tressym kept staring at Astarion; he glanced down at it, fidgeting under its piercing gaze. “If your claws and teeth matched the enormity of your judgment, cat, then I’d perhaps be interested to hear what you have to say.”

“Tara,” Gale chided gently, though he wasn’t surprised she disapproved of the Ascendant. Gale had told her everything; she was fond of Ban and she’d rather liked when Ban had stayed with them.

She fixed Gale with a long, hard stare before turning to leave, flicking her tail haughtily as she went.

“Sorry,” Gale shrugged.

Astarion didn’t deign to answer, although he was privately rather affronted by her judgment. Damned cat.

Gale led Astarion through Waterdeep, heading for the Stedez mansion. It was far smaller than the Crimson Palace, though no less imposing. Astarion stayed a few steps behind him, mind still connected to Ban’s. As they approached the mansion, she kept slipping in and out of consciousness. He could see through her eyes each time she awoke, the visions merely feeding his rage.

“They should be asleep,” Gale mused. In theory, it would be easy to sneak in undetected, free Ban, and slip back out. But he wasn’t sure if Astarion was willing to let this affront go unpunished. He wasn’t sure if he was willing to let it go, either.

“Well if they aren’t,” Astarion hissed, his eyes glinting with a devilish glee that bordered on madness. “All the better.”

Gale stood in front of the large door of the Stedez mansion, steeling himself before knocking. He was disguised as an elf. Astarion hid nearby, invisible. All part of the plan, and yet Gale couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. It had been more than half a year since he had done anything remotely close to this, and he wondered if he was still capable. These days he was a professor, not a warrior, his life revolving around his students and books.

And sometimes Ban, he thought ruefully. The time she’d spent in his tower had been special.

Gale turned his attention back to the matter at hand as the door creaked open.

A tall, scantily clad servant eyed Gale curiously. Just like Cazador, Vel Stedez’s public persona was that of an affluent, if eccentric, nobleman. As such, the mansion rarely received visitors.

“Greetings,” the servant said, “You seem… lost. What can I do for you?”

“Is this not Saer Vel Stedez’s abode?” Gale offered his most winsome smile. “I’m here on behalf of the Blackstaff Academy. Saer Vel and I have corresponded about his most generous donation, for which the Academy is very grateful. In fact,” Gale held up an index finger, “I am here today to discuss a ball the Academy wishes to host in his honor!”

The servant hesitated. No instructions regarding visitors had been given today, but her vain master would most certainly want to hear about this. Gale noticed her moment of indecision and pressed his advantage, stepping forward so the servant was forced to open the door far enough for Astarion to very carefully slip inside, a small whisper of air the only sign of his movement.

“I- of course, saer,” the servant conceded. She beckoned Gale in, and he stepped over the threshold, shivering involuntarily at the chilly temperature inside the manse.

Gale noted that the house was eerily reminiscent of Cazador’s - and Astarion’s - iterations of the Szarr Mansion.

Dark marble floors and mahogany walls lent a sense of ominousness, thick curtains blocking out any sunshine that threatened to shine through. The air was stale, cold and tomblike, as if the mansion was frozen in time.

Astarion noticed the similarities too, stifling a snort. At least our marble is white. That had been Ban’s idea. The thought caused a pang of worry; he pushed it away quickly. Moving past Gale and the servant, he headed deeper into the mansion, taking the first set of stairs he found leading down.

Meanwhile, Gale let the servant lead him to a study.

“Saer…” the servant began, fishing for his name.

“Er. Dammon,” Gale said, cursing himself for not thinking up a name ahead of time.

“Saer Dammon,” the servant continued. “Kindly wait here while I inform the master of your arrival.”

The prospect of meeting the vampire lord alone made Gale a bit anxious, but he nodded. It was a possibility he hadn't wanted to contemplate too closely when they had planned this, but if all hell broke loose he knew he would be able to handle one vampire.

He hoped Astarion got to Ban fast.

The dungeon smelled putrid, like sewers and rust and congealed blood-

The iron-rich scent gave Astarion a longing for blood - a now-unfamiliar craving, all but forgotten after all this time. It caught him by surprise. He hadn’t hungered for blood, not since the rite, but the smell of it reminded him of just how exhausted he was. Some blood would be the perfect thing to perk him up. He sighed, shaking his head, and pushed on.

The dungeons were unguarded, just as Gale had surmised. After all, Vel’s coven lacked crucial information: the Ascendant didn’t need to be invited in to enter a domicile.

His eyes scanned the dimly lit dungeon, searching for Ban. He spotted her in the furthest cell and rushed forward with preternatural speed. As he reached the cell, Gale’s concentration broke; Astarion’s hands and body became visible again.

Ban? He tried to nudge her mind, and felt her stir.

The sight of her chained to the damp wall, her body sagging onto the filthy floor, broke his heart. Ban was mostly unharmed, though those cruel silver manacles had severely burned her wrists. He’d seen more than his fair share of torture, of course, but seeing it done to her brought forth a wave of indignation so strong it instantly became wrath.

How dare they. I will burn this entire mansion and everyone in it to ash for this.

He pulled out his tools, nimble hands working at the lock of the cell door, but it took longer to pick than it should have, owing to his trembling fingers.

Astarion heard a satisfying click and pushed the door open. Ban’s eyes opened and took a moment to focus, finally settling on him. He rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“You’re okay. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. Words he’d spoken before she’d told him she loved him for the very first time. Words she’d told him the night before the rite. Always meant, always realized.

Ban merely nodded in response, slumping tiredly into Astarion’s arms. The movement caused her wrists to drag against the manacles and she gasped. He looked up at them, frowning, assessing the locks.

“Let me get you out.”

He reached for the first manacle, fingers moving across the surface of the silver. It made his skin sizzle, his fingertips burning where they made contact. The pain was sharp, but pain wasn’t new to him; he ignored it. He quickly worked one manacle open, then the other.

Ban’s hands fell to her sides; they'd gone numb after being held up for so long. Astarion firmly rubbed her arms to encourage blood flow, avoiding the burned parts of her wrists.

“Ban.” When she didn’t respond immediately, concern flooded him. He tapped her face hoping to rouse her, to no avail. Reaching into the pouch Gale had provided, he took out a flask and uncapped it. “Drink,” he urged, his eyes locked on her as she complied.

He gave her another once-over, noting that her complexion looked better. But not enough so. He fingered the cap of the remaining potion, debating. He could have her drink it now, but what if she needed it later? She could barely move, but he couldn’t risk using their last potion yet.

Determined, he reached a decision.

Ban watched with dazed eyes as Astarion lowered himself to her, cradling her head and tilting his head to bare his neck, a gesture that needed no words.

She obliged, fangs sinking into the scars Cazador had made centuries ago. She drank ravenously, her instincts taking over.

Astarion felt the icy numbness begin; the tips of his ears and his fingers started to grow numb. In spite of the situation, he felt a flood of contentment fill him. Ban had so rarely bitten him that even in this filthy dungeon, the joy of nourishing her was immense. Exhausted as he was, though, it didn’t take long for his vision to start to blur and his heart to flutter. He lifted a hand to her shoulder, a gentle reminder to stop.

The memory of the first time he bit her came to him unbidden; he couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his face.

Ban immediately stilled at the touch, pulling her fangs out of his flesh. After a light swipe of her thumb to clean up, she leaned back.

“Sorry. I jus-” She looked down at her shirt, at the tear where the stake had been shoved in. “I still can’t believe I’m alive…”

Astarion felt only relief suffusing his being. He cupped Ban’s cheek and leaned in. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but he hesitated. We don’t have the luxury of time.

“Let’s go,” he said, “It’s daytime. Most of them should be asleep.”

Ban followed Astarion out of the cell, but paused as his words sunk in - most?

“You said ‘most’.”

He sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately I suspect the master of the house to be awake.” Gale’s plan, after all, had hinged on it. He explained the plan to Ban, retrieving Woe from where he’d dropped it in his rush to free her.

“You expected Gale to - to distract Vel?” Ban was incredulous. Gale, really?

“Well- who else? Would you rather it be me doing the talking while Gale snuck around?”

She conceded the point. Gale had always been atrocious at stealth.

“So we have to kill Vel.” Ban spied a chest near the entrance of the dungeon; she opened it to reveal her pack and her sword. She dug through the pack, tossing out various unneeded items, then slung the now-lighter pack over her shoulder. She kept her sword in hand.

“I’m not displeased by the notion?” Astarion smirked. “But I didn’t exactly promise Gale I’d save him either, you know.”

“Ass.” She tried to smack his arm but he dodged it easily, his laughter pealing a little too loudly for the situation they were currently in. “If anything, you should be thanking Gale for coming with you.”

The laughter died and Astarion turned solemn. “He’s here for you. If he had his way I would be staked somewhere and you’d be in his arms.”

“Perhaps.” Ban shrugged. She looked at her husband, noting the taut expression and the tense set of his shoulders. “Problem?”

He took a moment to answer, gathering his thoughts. “I’m… envious of how easy it is for him to get you to confide in him. How easily you confide in all of them.” To trust them.

Astarion knew that Ban loved him the most; he did not doubt that at all. But did she truly trust him? It wasn’t something that would return without work from the both of them, he was perfectly aware, and yet the feeling was there. Jealousy, poisonous and foul and always lurking in his chest.

Before Ban could assuage his fears, they were back at the entrance hall.

“Do you know where-”

The question died in Ban’s throat. There was a disturbance in one of the rooms, going by the sounds emanating from it. They both rushed forward; Ban shouted for Gale, trying to ascertain his current state. Once again, Astarion found himself resenting the wizard.

The door was ajar; Ban rushed in to see an elf being held down by Enxisys and Miaxisys. The elf looked up at her, and she realized it was Gale. He was on his knees, his staff on the ground in front of him.

Astarion, right on Ban’s tail, halted for a different reason. Enxisys and Miaxisys were holding onto Gale, but their gazes were fixed on Astarion, numb expressions entirely too familiar. It brought forth a wave of memories, recollections that he had been pushing away - hiding from - since the rite. He forced them down as best he could, focusing on Vel and the situation at hand, but he wasn’t wholly successful.

“Look who decided to join us, hm?” Vel said, rounding on Ban. She immediately leveled her sword at his chest.

“Not another step,” Ban growled.

Vel laughed, raising his hand, Rhapsody in his grasp. “See, I knew the wizard would come to save you,” he said, pointing the dagger at the disguised Gale. “What I didn’t expect-”

Four more of Vel’s spawn came in behind Ban and Astarion as their master spoke, blocking their retreat.

“-was you, Ascendant.” The words were spat out, the contempt unmistakable.

“If you thought I wouldn’t come for her-“

“Oh, no! I know you’d come, eventually.” Vel snapped his fingers and the four vampires blocking the door closed the distance, crowding Ban and Astarion from behind. “That was the whole point.” He waved his hand indifferently.

“But I honestly expected you to make someone else do the grunt work first. I didn’t consider the fact that you might be able to… circumvent… some of our kind’s more peculiar quirks.”

“You know perfectly well I am stronger than you could ever hope to be, and yet you didn’t consider the possibility that I could enter your home uninvited as well?” He laughed without humor. “I can circumvent whatever the hells I damn well please, Vel. That includes your miserable existence.” He took a step towards Vel. Immediately the four spawn reacted, surrounding Astarion.

Ban weighed the situation. Seven vampires - well, six spawn and a vampire lord - against Gale, Astarion, and herself. Manageable, but not without risk. Especially with Gale held down and Astarion having given her so much of his blood. She would have laughed if it wasn’t such an ill-timed moment.

Rapidly, she reached a conclusion. She squared her shoulders and shot Gale a meaningful look.

Get ready.

Almost imperceptibly, Gale nodded.

The three of them glanced at each other, the long months of fighting as a unit resurfacing with ease. Everyone braced.

It all happened in an instant.

Ban dropped her pack and activated giant form, greatsword rising as though to cut Vel down. She knew she would miss - and indeed, as she swung Vel dodged effortlessly - but it was enough to draw Enxisys’ and Miaxisys’ attention. Their grip on Gale eased as they hesitated, torn between their obligation to protect their master and holding Gale down.

It was all Gale needed. He rose, Markoheshkir in hand, and called lightning. It struck the twins, Vel, and one of the four spawn near Astarion. The spawn did not get up.

Astarion seized the opportunity, turning to one of the remaining spawn and blighting him. The spawn crumpled, meeting his second death.

Ban raised her arms for another strike at Vel, the arc of her sword cut short when a blur of motion passed in front of her. Astarion lunged at Vel with inhuman speed, pinning him to the ground and shoving his fist into Vel’s mouth.

He turned to Ban with a pained expression. Astarion had seen the way Vel’s spawn had looked at their master; had known that look.

“Wait!” he panted. Vel was thrashing and biting, but the Ascendant was unaffected, holding him down without effort, his other hand pinning down the arm holding Rhapsody.

The four surviving spawn froze, unsure. If they made a move, they would be overwhelmed by the wizard and the consort. If they didn’t, and their master survived, he would punish them for it…

“Ban.” Astarion’s pained expression deepened into anguish. “Let them do it. Let them do what I should have done.”

“Can they? Won’t he compel them not to hurt him?”

“Not if we cut out his tongue,” Astarion’s voice was severe, rough with emotion.

Belatedly, Ban and Gale realized why Astarion had his fist in Vel’s mouth. Ban nodded, stepping on Vel’s weapon hand so Astarion could let go. Gale picked up Woe from where Astarion had dropped it, his face somber.

Astarion pried Rhapsody from Vel’s hand. He pulled Vel’s offensive tongue from his mouth and severed it with one quick slice, tossing it to the side. Vel’s wordless screams should have been satisfying. But he felt no joy - only a pang of regret, of shame. Rhapsody fell from his grasp just as swiftly as he’d used it. The last time I cut someone with that dagger… He shuddered at the memory.

This should have been how it went for me. With his friends present and his siblings at his side, working together to end their master’s life.

Astarion pulled away from Vel’s face to kneel beside him, holding his chest down, breathing hard. He turned to the spawn. They stared at him, still uncertain.

“Go on,” he urged, “Take what should be yours. What should have always been yours. Your freedom awaits.”

Freedom. He offered Ban a sad smile.

It should have always been yours as well, my love.

Ban’s response was a small, sad smile and a flood of warmth through their connection.

Vel’s spawn seemed to be recovering from the shock. They approached one another, quietly discussing Astarion’s offer amongst themselves. One of the spawn, the drow male who had helped abduct Ban, murmured an apology to her.

But neither Ban nor Astarion noticed. The only thing they saw was each other, eyes locked as they shared their emotions through their bond. Astarion’s mind was in turmoil, a dark maelstrom of conflicting, stormy thoughts that threatened to envelop him. Endless waves of rage, fear, regret, shame, and sadness were swirling, building upon the other until they were very close to overwhelming him. Ban could feel that he was on the verge of panicking.

She quickly sheathed her sword and approached Astarion, offering him a hand up, pulling him into an embrace.

Astarion let Ban pull him up and into a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she held him. He wanted to sob, to finally say I did the right thing, but he knew it was too late for him. He’d hurt her, he’d murdered his siblings, he’d driven away his friends and sacrificed all seven thousand of those poor souls.

But as Ban had drawn him up, she had turned her back on Vel. Had lifted her boot from his wrist. Had caused Astarion to let him go.

Movement over Ban’s shoulder drew Astarion’s attention. He saw Vel rise lightning-fast, Rhapsody in hand, poised for a strike, blade already arching down towards Ban’s back.

If I can be enough for only one thing, I hope it will be saving her.

With every ounce of strength he could muster, Astarion shoved Ban to the side. He felt a flash of relief as she was flung across the room, out of range of Vel’s swing.

As it had sunk into his former master’s back, Rhapsody sank into Astarion’s breast.

Into his heart.

[catsharky]

I've just discovered your Rolan x Tav comic.

It's SO neat and accurate, in matter of deign and details!

In case you don't mind, of course, I have some questions you maybe have answered before:

What software do you work with? What kind of pencils do you use? How do you manage to set so neat and clean results? Do you need many references for that or is just a gift you have? How many years have you been drawing to achieve those results?

I don't mind at all! And I don't believe I've answered any of these questions before, at least not since I started doing my comics.

For software I mainly use Clip Studio, though I do also use PaintTool Sai (v2) for certain things that I feel it does better. All of my Mass Effect comics are lined in Sai, for example because things like armour have a lot more inorganic shapes and require long, sweeping, unbroken lines, and I like the pen stabilization in Sai far better than CSP's for that sort of thing.

For how long I've been doing art, I've been at it basically nonstop since I was 9 (so 20 years now, jeez). I was in an art program throughout highschool, went to college for art/animation for 4 years, and I'll have been working professionally as an animator for 8 years in May! So there's a lot of practice there for sure.

And yeah, I use a ton of references. Usually a good chunk of the time I'll spend on something is just collecting or making the reference material I need for it.

I'm putting the rest under a read more because it's pretty long:

(Tumblr keeps eating my formatting so sorry if this is a little scuffed)

Because I'm normally working full time and doing this stuff in my free time after hours and on weekends, if I know I'm going to be drawing something a *lot*, I'll usually put together some kind of reference for myself in 3D so I can take some of the brainwork out of it and get more out of my evenings even when I'm feeling fried. It also means I put as little extra strain on my wrist as possible because I injured it a number of years back and it gets angry at me if I go for too many hours in a day.

But to give you an example, for Ember I have a Sculpt of her head that I can use to reference any angle I want, or to draw directly over top of for tricky angles. How I draw her isn't quite 1:1 to the model, but it gives me a base structure and landmarks I can build on top of.

My basic workflow is to take the angle I want, draw over it using the model as a guide (while picking and choosing where to stay true to it and where to say fuck it and do what I want), then I get rid of the 3D and do another pass, tweaking and redrawing anything I'm not totally happy until I'm satisfied with how it looks. I draw Ember with a slightly softer, more rounded face than the model has, for instance. Just because something looks right in 3D doesn't always mean it looks right once translated to 2D and I don't care if something is technically "correct" if it doesn't feel right or isn't conveying what I want it to properly.

I'm also always checking reference screenshots to make sure I'm in the right ballpark of how something should look. I actually have a wall of photos next to my desk and while I didn't put them up for that purpose, it has come in surprisingly handy for quickly checking face or hair details when needed. I also just have a big folder of screenshots and other saved reference material.

I don't have a problem noooo~ 😅

Additionally, if my art has a background these days, there is a 100% chance that's a 3D set I built in Blender because I hate drawing backgrounds, but I do like building them in 3D.

Here's two examples: the area around Astarion's bed, which I built out of some of the in-game assets like a lego set (this was a pain in the ass, it probably would have been faster to just build it from scratch based on screenshots 😩) and a closet I modelled for something that's still a WIP.

I'll get the angle I want, have Blender generate some linework from it and then grab a basic render of it to slap into CSP so I can draw the characters over top of it.

And as for brushes: the main brush I use in CSP is just the default 'Real G-Pen', with opacity effects turned off and these pressure settings: (I like to keep it simple, and I have a bit of a heavy hand so the altered pen pressure just helps me get a smoother taper). I change up the stabilizer settings depending on what I'm doing. Lower for things that need short, quick lines like hair and higher for most other things.

For Sai, I use a 9B pencil I found a number of years ago on Deviantart (I think?) and I wish I could link you to the original post I got the settings from, but Deviantart's search is... bad and I'm unable to find it again.

I hope that answered all your questions! If not, feel free to ask more!

[scarredwithcruelintentions]

chapter 5: a lament for all things lost

Find the master list here!

CW: Shadowheart being a bitch, overwhelming bad feelings and emotional manipulation

W/C: 3,173

A/N: I am on a ROLL people!

After an unsuccessful hunt, Astarion had given in to the pleas of his distracted mind for rest, though he was hard pressed to find any. He laid awake the rest of the night and into the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning with the blaze of his desire and weight of his guilt. After so many long years of numb, performative intimacy, he was unaware he still possessed the ability to feel arousal. It caught him completely off guard, feeding the roiling cacophony of his emotions.

The feeling had been pleasant, wanted even, when he disassociated it from his body’s natural reaction to the many forced liaisons of his past, but - therein lay the issue. Lust, pleasure, physical intimacy: it was all steeped in profound disgust and loathing learned over two centuries of abuse. He felt ashamed for watching you unknowingly, guilty for taking pleasure in it and, worst yet, revolted by his own body’s response. It had not truly been his body since Cazador turned him, and he found himself woefully unprepared to take accountability for his actions and their consequences.

Lost in the morass of his increasingly loud distress, he hardly noticed when the darkness gave way to dawn. It was not until he heard groggy voices and the telltale clanging of cookware being handled without care that he realized just how much time had passed. He groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face, hunger pains making themselves known at the mixed scents of his companions wafting along the gentle breeze.

Before long, he caught your sweet fragrance in the mix and focused in on it, ears pricked for the soft sound of your voice. You declared today to be a day of rest, claiming that everyone needed to gather their strength for the coming fight with the goblins.

He heard Shadowheart’s derisive snort.

“You just need a day to recover from volunteering yourself as the leech’s dinner.”

You did not deign to respond to her, but she must have seen something wounded in your expression, and it only fueled her line of teasing.

“Lover’s quarrel? Already?” He could hear the mocking smile in her voice and was grateful for his absence from the conversation, lest he slit her throat then and there for her cruel jest.

“We’re not lovers,” you snapped gratingly, “and I was not his dinner. No doubt he found another, more filling meal.”

He recognized his own words from his first feeding as Shadowheart continued to bait you with her snide comments.

“Sounds as though you’re green with envy, friend.”

He heard a dish clatter to the ground and her indignant shout alongside the placating words of the rest of the group, gently coaxing you to ease your grip on her throat.

“Lay off the wine, friend,” he heard you snarl. He smirked with undignified pride.

You presumably stood, addressing the rest of the group.

“We are all exhausted and spread thin by the never ending bloodshed and horror we have been burdened with. By all means, if you wish to join the slain tomorrow, be my guest and ignore my wisdom. But, if you wish to live, to fight another day, you will heed my words and rest. Does anyone else dare question my orders?”

He could almost see the seething expression contorting your delicate features in his mind’s eye.

“Good,” he heard you growl into the answering silence. “Now that’s settled, I’m off to find some peace away from you lot of squabbling children.”

He listened to the grumbled complaints and scandalized murmurs of the rest of the group as the sound of your bare feet across the packed earth receded until it was out of earshot. 

“How unlike our vampire trollop to leave his favorite lady companion wanting,” Shadowheart sniffed before she, too, left his hearing radius.

He repressed a pained whimper, the vacuous cavity of his chest constricting with grief and renewed self-loathing at her words. 

I will never be anything more than Cazador’s painted whore.

He could no longer smell your comforting aroma on the breeze. ______________________________________________________________

Astarion wandered along the riverbank in the dappled light of late afternoon, thoughts consumed by the ever growing storm of his hatred, fury and terror. He chose to embrace his vampiric nature for the time being and neglected his habit of breathing, the lack of your sweet, floral scent causing a cavernous emptiness to yawn within him.

He passed the oak tree from which he spied on your bathing the previous night and winced. He really should find you and apologize for his deplorable behavior, let alone confess his sin, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet. The swirling vortex of his mind disallowed his focus to reach anything beyond self-deprecation.

As he meandered aimlessly, he registered the melodious sound of a string instrument somewhere in the distance and chose to follow it. Some ways away, he found you sitting in the shade of a massive elm, plucking the haunting melody he’d heard you humming last night. Your voice accompanied the music, rich and sad, singing in a language he did not recognize. It evoked a wistfulness in him for a life he never had, and he stood back to listen to your song.

The final verse came to a close, and he was struck with a vague sense of unease at repeating his actions from the night prior, so he cleared his throat and made his presence known. You startled, looking warily in his direction until you realized who it was, then rolled your eyes in exasperation.

“Sorry to bother you, my dear. I heard the music whilst I was out for a stroll, and found myself captivated. That was stunning,” he murmured, “and terribly sad.”

You shot a cold glare at him before heaving a heavy sigh and relenting.

“It was a lament for all things lost to the passage of time.”

“Such as…” he prompted.

“Life, love… innocence,” you finished in a small whisper.

He felt a pang of deep sorrow reverberate in his chest.

“And the language?” he asked, unwilling to broach the clearly sore subject. You had not pressed him until it had become absolutely necessary, so he thought it only fair to afford you the same respect.

“Olde Elvish,” you answered plaintively.

“I wasn’t aware bardic schools taught Olde Elvish,” he responded, surprised. “I thought it extinct.”

“My mother used to sing it when I was a babe. It always moved me to tears, and one night, after my father’s untimely passing, I picked up her lyre and began to pluck the tune from memory. She taught me all she knew from that night onward,” you sniffled. “I never studied formally as a bard. Everything I know was handed down from generations of musically inclined Weave wielders.”

“I…” he floundered, at a loss for words. A feat not easily accomplished when it came to him, you continued to prove an exception to the masses.

“Why are you here, Astarion?” you groused, looking at him shrewdly as you swiped a thumb beneath your eyes.

“May I?” he gestured at the space next to you, asking for invitation to sit.

“Answer me first,” you bit out.

“I… I wish to apologize for my ghastly behavior yesterday evening.” He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the wave of cowardly discomfort at his honesty. “You must understand, I have been conditioned to fear closeness, vulnerability. All it’s ever gotten me is a knife in the back.”

He opened his eyes at your watery sigh to see you patting the space beside yourself. He joined you graciously, extending his legs and leaning back against the trunk of the sprawling elm.

“And you must understand that I do not mean to repeat the mistakes of all those before me. None of us do. We are in this fight together, whether we like it or not, so we must learn to trust one another.”

Ever the pragmatist, he could see the toll being a leader had taken in your eyes, along with the weary burden of words left unspoken. He had a feeling you knew just what it felt like to be fundamentally deceived, and his chest constricted with empathy. Another foreign feeling only you had thus far been able to rouse in him. He felt compelled to continue his track of truthfulness, and decided to tell you about his hunt gone awry.

“There is something more I must tell you…” he began uncertainly.

You gave him an expectant stare.

“I… happened upon you washing. Last night. When I went to hunt.” The words came out stilted, feeling weighty and wrong in his mouth.

A charming flush bloomed across your delicate face, scarlet tipping your ears and working its way down your bosom. Your eyes and mouth were round with embarrassment, and for a moment he feared that he had made a terrible error in judgment.

And then you cackled, wild and full, and he found himself helpless to do anything other than chuckle along with you. You flashed a blinding smile at him and raised an inquisitive brow.

“Oh? And did you enjoy the show?”

At the reminder of his arousal, the scalding sensation of shame erupted over him in a vicious surge.

“What does it matter?” he snapped, a remorseful sigh escaping him at your affronted expression.

“This is what I mean, Astarion!” you shouted, gesticulating furiously, “You flirt, you tease, you share your burdens with me, and then you brutally shut me out! Every time! What is it that you want from me, because I’m quite tired of the neverending headache of your mood swings!”

“It’s not as if you’re any better!” he yelled in answer, temporarily losing his grip on the brewing storm of vitriol in his mind. 

You reeled back as though struck.

“Bloody unbelievable,” you muttered, tucking your lyre under an arm and abruptly standing to leave. “I’ll never get any fucking peace.”

His hand shot out to grab yours, fear of losing the sanctuary you provided making his movements instinctive. You whipped around, expression murderous and preparing to scream.

“Wait,” he exhaled shakily, “Just…wait. Give me a moment to compose myself.”

You shook his hand loose, but remained in place, glaring at him.

“Forgive me,” he whimpered, staring at his knees. The proverbial floodgates burst in spectacular fashion, and he was quickly overwhelmed by the torrent of negative emotions that bled from them. He shook with the might of the onslaught, startled by the salty tang of his own tears. It only made him tremble more hysterically, a surely pitiful sight.

To his utmost surprise, you set your lyre down and knelt next to him, taking his face in your hands. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort, another whimper escaping him. 

“Please don’t touch me,” he whispered, voice scratchy and quivering.

You withdrew your hands instantly, instead quietly asking, “What would you like me to do?”

“Will you play that song for me?” he asked in a pathetic warble.

“The Lament for That Which Is Lost?”

He nodded imperceptibly, and was immediately rewarded by the soft, sad strum of the lyre. As your voice joined in, he allowed the deluge of feeling to swallow him. He was lost in a sea of emotion, finding his many old acquaintances: shame, dread, rage, envy, hatred, terror, bitterness, apathy. Worst of all was the grief that wracked his body with violent sobs, guilt and regret for the countless wrongs he’d committed, anguish for all the wrongs committed against him.

However, he also encountered many of the new feelings you inspired within him: delight, sorrow, compassion, jealousy, warmth, guilt, desire. While not altogether positive, the feelings you’d introduced him to were a welcome reprieve from the centuries’ worth of misery he’d become accustomed to, and he grabbed onto them like a life raft as he waited out the crux of the storm. ______________________________________________________________

Slowly, ever so slowly, he came back to the present moment and focused on the hypnotic sound of your voice. He knew not what the words meant, but he didn’t need to in order to feel the devastating sense of loss that they carried. Your soft lilt reverberated in his chest, and he took a deep breath in, filling himself with the sweet, musky aroma of your skin. It helped to ease the tide of his agony back into submission, and he opened his eyes to watch the last of your performance.

He found himself enraptured by the beauty of you, eyes closed and immersed in the music much as he had been, the tracks of your own tears carrying smudges of kohl in spidery lines down your face. You were the kind of beautiful that he would have brought back to Cazador were the circumstances different, and it caused his chest to twinge with resentment. You sung the last line and plucked the closing chord, voice wavering slightly as a final tear began its slow descent over the planes of your face.

When you opened your puffy eyes, you gazed directly into his. It felt as if you were looking into the darkest parts of his soul, and he fought the urge to shy away from you. In an act of uncharacteristic bravado, he swung his legs around to sit on his knees facing you. He gently removed the lyre from your grasp and leaned it against the trunk of the great tree. 

He reached out tentatively with both hands, holding your face the way you’d held his the night before. Your cheeks blazed in his palms, and an involuntary shiver ran up your spine at his cool touch. You blinked slowly as his thumbs swept the remainder of your tears away, smudging the wispy tracks of kohl in the process. A throaty chuckle escaped him as he took in the smeared stains of oily blackness on your skin, and you leaned forward to be closer to the sound.

“Your laugh is music to my ears,” you whispered, eyes full of tender promise.

He inhaled sharply and gravitated toward you, running a delicate thumb over the swell of your bottom lip, delighted when they parted in a breathy gasp. He could feel the damp warmth of your soft, panting breaths against his face as he leaned closer still, the saccharine scent of jasmine blossoms and orange peel and you so heavy in the air around him that he could taste it.

Just as the space between his body and yours shrunk to an infinitesimal degree, the sharp pain of his hunger returned with a vengeance, and he could not hide his grimace, nor the wince of discomfort that escaped his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concern laced in the tilt of your brows, small hands coming to encircle his wrists.

The moment broken, you leaned back, removing his hands from your face. It was all he could do not to follow your scent and bury his fangs in your throat.

“The hunger,” he groaned, “it’s inescapable.”

“When did you last eat?” you whispered, eyes round with worry.

“The night I drank from you,” he gasped, the pain wracking him with a shudder that forced his eyes shut.

“Feed from me,” you murmured, his eyes snapping open in exalted bewilderment, sure he’d misheard you.

“What was that?” 

“Feed from me,” you said again, louder this time.

He salivated at the memory of your blood across his tongue, wanting nothing more than to be filled with your life’s essence, to be emboldened by it. Then, he remembered the coming battle.

“I can’t,” he bemoaned, “You need your strength for tomorrow.”

“As do you,” you responded, gaze resolute.

“Are you sure? Here… now?” he asked once more, voice wavering equivocally with the fog of hunger hanging over his mind.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you nodded in assent.

No sooner had the words left your lips than Astarion’s mouth was at your throat. He hadn’t even given you time to brush your hair aside and bare your neck to him, so starved as he was. With a harsh cry, his fangs pierced the tender skin over your jugular, tongue immediately darting out to lap at the blood spilling from the wound.

He paced himself this time around, both for want to savor his meal as well as that of your safety. He could tell when the initial daze from the bite wore off, your blood taking on a richer, more full-bodied flavor. It almost had a fattiness to it, and it quenched his thirst in a way nothing else had ever been capable of.

Before long, he could feel your body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He hadn’t drunk enough for bloodlessness to be the cause, though he worried nonetheless. It would be so like him to push past the discomfort and hurt you, taking from you the way he had been taken from…but there was work yet to be done in the way of gaining your trust. He was about to pull away when he tasted it - the syrupy flavor of your desire. A low sigh pushed its way past your lips, a sound inaudible to all but his keen ears.

Now, this I can work with. This I can exploit.

He continued to drink, the honeyed taste of you heavy on his tongue. He paid close attention to the way your body responded, quiet whimpers and little shivers steadily giving you away. Your hands clawed at the earth beneath you, pulling up clumps of grass and clods of dirt with their ferocity.

Inevitably, your shivers of delight became shivers of cold, shock setting in and ruining the atmosphere. Hunger mitigated, Astarion begrudgingly pulled back, replacing his mouth with the pressure of his hand to staunch the bleeding. You retrieved the amulet from your pocket with a shaky grasp, whispering the incantation into your cupped palms. Its magic washed over you in an instant, heat and color returning to your cheeks.

“Thank you, my sweet,” he murmured, making a show of licking the last of you from his lips.

You averted your eyes bashfully, lively flush deepening.

“Don’t mention it, dear Star,” you mumbled, eyes widening at your slip.

After a moment of shocked disbelief, a devious grin split his face.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that, darling. Could you repeat yourself for me?”

“I said ‘don’t mention it’,” you spoke up.

“Not that, the last bit,” he replied, expression smug when he caught the sheepish look on your face.

“Dear Star,” you whispered, avoiding his eyes.

“That is indeed what I thought I’d heard. Rather sentimental of you for a ‘headache’, is it not?” he purred, referencing your earlier words.

“I’m plenty sentimental, Rogue, and you know it well.”

“Of course, my dear. I only kid,” he intoned, softening his smile as you lifted your face.

He watched as your embarrassment faded and you returned his smile, something hopeful hidden in the depths of your eyes.

I’ve got you right where I want you, darling.

[whatacaitastrophe]

Everything Has Changed - Chapter 1

Previous Chapter: Prologue

Chapter Song Inspiration: "As It Was" - Harry Styles

Chapter Warnings: none

Spotify Playlist: Here

Chapter 1: Gravity's Holding You Back

“You know, when I first decided I was going to Asha, it never occurred to me that I would be camping again.” Astarion mused with a disgruntled sigh. “I really didn't think this through.” 

“At least we have horses, this time.” Fallon pointed out, patting her own horse’s neck gently after dismounting. Her feet hit the ground with a soft thud and she surveyed the clearing they’d chosen to stop in for the evening. “I think here will be fine. I feel like we haven’t seen another soul for miles.” 

“That could as equally be a bad thing as it is good, though, we all know that.” Gale added cautiously.

Astarion and Fallon look at each other in surprise when Gale speaks. “I’ll– I’ll be sure to be extra thorough when I do my rounds before dinner.” Astarion assured him, failing to mask the surprise in his tone, and Gale just nodded in response. 

Since Mystra dropped Gale on their doorstep a fortnight ago, the ordinarily overly-talkative former wizard had become the exact opposite. The first couple of days were the strangest, when Gale didn't speak to anyone at all. After that initial shock-induced mental breakdown, Gale was near catatonic to the point that there were moments Fallon was not entirely sure he was breathing. Questions were met with a nod or a shake of his head if the question could be answered by “yes” or “no,” but anything beyond that was met with a blank stare (oftentimes at the space on the wall behind Fallon or Astarion’s ears, never looking them in the eye). It was not until Tara appeared the evening before they left that either of them heard Gale’s voice again. 

“Where is he?!” Tara had shrieked at Fallon like a distraught mother. Startled by the presence of the tressym, Fallon did nothing other than point to the guest room with her mouth open. 

“Did you know Gale’s cat could talk?” Astarion asked with a chuckle. 

“She’s a tressym,” Fallon corrected automatically, following after Tara. “And yes, I did, but she never deigned to speak to me the last time I saw her.”

“Gale Dekarios! How dare you leave your mother’s house like that! You don’t say goodbye, you don’t leave a note; you just up and disappear without a word!” Tara was sitting on Gale’s chest, batting him aggressively with her paw over the exact spot where the scar from The Netherese Orb lingers.

“Well, at least he didn’t just do it to you,” Astarion whispered with amusement and Fallon swats his bicep. Astarion frowned at her. “Oh, are we not joking about this yet?”

“Not right this second, no!” Fallon hissed quietly, her eyes never leaving the scene in front of her. 

“Your mother and I were worried sick, and then, when I show up in Elysium to ask that witch where you are, she tells me you’re gone! The way she said it, too, you would have thought you died. I’m not proud of the threats, the begging, I had to resort to just to find out where she’d taken you to. Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Mr. Dekarios!”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Gale apologized quietly. 

“Yes, because not saying goodbye or leaving a note is absolutely the correct thing to do when you don’t want someone to worry. Honestly, boy, you’re smarter than this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you will be when your mother hears from you,” Tara scolded, turning her attention to Fallon and Astarion in the doorway. “You have a sending stone, yes? Bring it here so this idiot can call his mother.”

Tara was all tough love with Gale, but it worked. After the tressym departed, Gale began to at least verbally respond when spoken to, but it was rare he contributed to conversations Fallon and Astarion were having. Most of the time he kept to himself and just read. Fallon honestly was not sure if his silence was because he thought they didn't want him around, or something else entirely. Admittedly, she hadn't taken the time to ask. It wasn't that Gale’s presence was unwelcome, but it was certainly awkward, and that awkwardness was only punctuated by Gale’s relative unresponsiveness. 

At least Gale made up for his awkward silence by doing all the cooking. It was a task that Gale truly enjoyed, something he’d made known the last time they traveled together, so Fallon didn’t feel like they were taking advantage of him by letting him do it. Plus, she had a feeling he was fairly desperate to be of some use to them since he no longer could do magic. 

The surprises continued that evening while they all sat around the campfire, consuming the meal Gale had made for them, when Gale spoke again. “I– I wanted to thank you. Both of you,” he starts, setting his fork down on his plate. “I know I’ve been rather quiet as of late. Finding words in the wake of what happened has been shockingly difficult. On top of my grief, I suppose you could say I was embarrassed by the way Mystra just…dropped me at your doorstep– which by the way, I can assure you that I did not ask her to do– because out of all the people I hurt in doing what I did, I hurt the two of you the most.” 

Gale averted his gaze from the two of them to stare into the fire, and Fallon immediately took the opportunity to steal a look at Astarion, who looked as shocked as she felt. Before either of them can say anything, Gale spoke again. “Bringing me to the two of you, specifically, Mystra knew it would hurt me. I suspect she knew it would hurt you, too, and for that I apologize. Still, that wasn’t the part I was embarrassed by; the part that made me feel ashamed of myself: it was the way the both of you were so quick to protect me. From her. From myself. You didn’t even hesitate when considering whether or not to bring me along on this journey. After all I’ve done, it would have been all too easy for the both of you, especially you, Fallon, to throw me into the streets of Baldur’s Gate and wish me the best. Or the worst. That’s what I deserved.”

Fallon responded with a noise of disapproval and opened her mouth to interject, but Gale raised his hand to stop her from speaking. “My point is that, despite all I put you through, you’ve shown me an incredible amount of kindness and given me far more grace than I’ve even allowed myself; and for that, I’m very, very grateful. I have no illusions that all I’ve done is suddenly forgiven just because you helped me, but please know I plan to earn that forgiveness in whatever way I can.” 

Silence fell between the three of them again, but it’s already a far more comfortable silence than what they’ve experienced for the last fortnight. “Can I speak now?” Fallon asked, but she also didn’t wait for anyone to tell her yes or no before continuing. “You’re right, Gale, you fucked up. You really fucked up, and I can only speak for myself here when I say this, but you’re also right that I haven’t forgiven you yet,” The wounded look on Gale’s face tugged at Fallon’s heart, because he’d clearly been expecting this. It didn’t make Fallon feel guilty for being honest with him, but it did make her sad that even Gale had come to think so little of himself that he believed he didn’t deserve basic human decency. 

“That said, what Mystra did to you…I don’t care that you went to her and asked her to take away your immortal status, or that you chose to sever your connection to her and The Weave. The way she went about it, and the way she made you choose between immortality and magic altogether, was unnecessarily cruel. I’ve always thought Mystra’s use of the extreme to get what she wants is unnecessarily cruel; ever since she sent Elminster to tell you to detonate yourself to earn her forgiveness. Wizard or not, you never stopped being a human being, and therefore you never deserved her cruelty. You did not deserve what she did to you simply because you hurt me or because of any other mistakes you’ve made where Mystra is concerned in the past. For that alone, there was never a world where I would have left you behind.”

Astarion reached over and took Fallon’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “As someone whose fate was once tied to a different kind of cruel master, I agree. I can’t say I will ever understand what Ao was thinking when they made that one a goddess.” A weak smile appeared on Gale’s face. “Thank you, both of you. Even if I haven’t yet earned your forgiveness, hearing you say I did not deserve Mystra’s cruelty still means a great deal to me. As does your gesture of sanctuary and your company.” 

The rest of their meal was punctuated by small talk, but at least they were all talking. In Fallon’s opinion, small talk was infinitely better than the awkward silence they’d all been suffering through for the past few weeks. Once they finished, Fallon dismissed herself to go wash up before bed, leaving Astarion and Gale behind, and alone together for the first time since Gale arrived. 

Astarion watched Gale closely as the former wizard moved about the campfire, cleaning up after the meal. If he’s being honest with himself, Astarion hadn't completely decided whether or not he believed Gale is as sorry as he says he is. The god version, well, demi-god version of Gale reminded Astarion a lot of Cazador. Perhaps not as evil or sadistic as Cazador had been, but that same conniving air to get what they wanted, with little care to who got hurt in the process, was certainly present. It was the same sort of manipulation Astarion once employed on victims of his own, back when he was forced to do Cazador’s bidding. “Speaking for myself, I haven’t forgiven you yet, either.” Astarion drawled once he was certain Fallon was out of earshot. 

Gale stopped moving and smirked. “I was wondering when you’d say something,” he replied with a shake of his head. “We may not be terribly close, but I’d like to think I do know you well enough to know when you’re biting your tongue.” 

“Well spotted, wizard– oh, sorry. Old habits.” Astarion wasn’t sorry, and he suspected they both knew it. 

“Whatever it is you were waiting to say until Fallon was gone, you’d better say it quickly. She hates being cold, so I can’t imagine she’ll be gone long.” 

Gale’s verbal hit lands, and Astarion’s blood boils at the subtle reminder that Gale knew Fallon as well as Astarion did, and that the man also had her once. Not only that, but that he’d had her first. “Do you remember when we found Scratch near the goblin camp? Fallon immediately invited the dog back to our camp and told him how to find us. Was having a dog around practical, given the situation we were in? Of course not. A dog was another mouth to feed, another living being to protect. Still, Scratch came back to our camp and joined our little party and we dealt with it, because Fallon said so, and helping a creature that couldn’t help itself made her happy. Though it goes without saying that if Scratch had ever harmed Fallon back then despite her kindness, none of us would have hesitated to kill the beast.”

Gale’s body went still as Astarion spoke. “When I look at you, all I see is another stray dog that Fallon insisted on bringing home. I don’t particularly want a dog, but I was never going to deny her so now I have to deal with you being here whether I like it or not,” Astarion stood up and walked over to Gale. While he does not tower over Gale like Halsin does, the height difference is certainly enough for it to be intimidating when Astarion wants it to be. He subtly bares his fangs at Gale. “And if Fallon’s new dog bites her or causes her any harm whatsoever, I will not hesitate to put it down. Do I make myself clear?” 

To his credit, if Astarion’s threats made Gale nervous, it did not show on the other man’s face. “Message received.” Gale nodded as he stepped away from Astarion and continued to clean up the remaining dishes he used to cook. Gale started to leave to take the dishes to the nearby stream for cleaning, but he stopped walking just a few feet away from the campfire. Then, of all things, the ex-wizard laughed softly. “You left out one very key part of that story in your very thinly-veiled threat, Astarion.” 

“Oh? And what part was that?” Astarion asked curiously. 

Gale turned back to look at Astarion with a smug smile on his face. “You may not have wanted Scratch in camp at first, Astarion. However if my memory serves me correctly, on the nights Scratch was not curled up at Fallon’s side, he could be found curled up beside you. Fallon may have brought him home, but you secretly adored him as much as she did.” 

With that, Gale walked out into the darkness with a torch to do the dishes. As Astarion watched him walk away, an unexpected feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. If he didn’t know better, Astarion would say Gale Dekarios had just flirted with him; but Astarion does know better. Doesn’t he?

“What the hells was that?” 

Chapter List

[flame-cat]

tell me about your tav boy

alright, but it's your funeral

Gale: Now that we're all acquainted, I had something I was rather curious about, and do feel free to spurn me of any further inquiry if you feel I'm prying too much. >What is it? Gale: That medallion of yours interests me greatly. Remarkably powerful magic, from what I can tell, and believe you me it is very easy for me to tell. I don't suppose you might tell me what it is? >That's none of your business. Gale: Of course. Very well. Far be it from me to stick my nose where it isn't wanted. Though, I do have to ask, and again please feel free to stop me if you'd rather not answer, but... do you even know what it is? >(Deception) Of course I know what it is. It's mine, isn't it? (NAT 1) Gale: ... Right. Of course. Well, in case you don't know what it is- though I know you do, rather, in case maybe you'd like to investigate any further capabilites that it may have that you may not already be appraised of- I would be happy to volunteer my services in examining it for you. With your express permission of course- I would never deign to try something underhanded towards someone I owe my life to. It would be most uncouth. >Don't touch my stuff. Gale: Understood. In that case, just let me know if you change your mind. I am ever at your service.

-- LOOP 2 -- Gale: Now that we're all acquainted, I had something I was rather curious about, and do feel free to spurn me of any further inquiry if you feel I'm prying too much. >You want to know about my medallion. Gale: Well... yes, indeed I do. You wouldn't happen to want to share what it is? >No. I'm not even sure I could. You might not believe me. Gale: Oh, I can believe quite a lot, I assure you. Though if you'd rather keep it to yourself, I will respect your wish for privacy. >Maybe I'll tell you in time. Gale: Then I shall wait patiently for when the time comes. Now, shall we be off?

like shadowheart and her artifact, nix woke up with a medallion in their pocket. said medallion is a simple circle with an hourglass in it, the bottom half full. once, as they lay dying by their own hand, nix saw the hourglass flip, and then suddenly they were back on the nautiloid a tenday ago.

the artifact was a gift from the emperor, one even he does not know the full power of. he found it on a thief he ate, and never quite knew what it was for. he considered it a good luck charm, and so ensured it found its way into nix's pocket.

it is, in fact, a powerful Netherese artifact, a Talisman of Kronos. it is far more ancient than either of them know, leftover from a chronomancer's myriad experiments. it allows the user to rewind time if they die. this is the only reason nix remains alive today.

here are more excerpts from a conversation they have later with astarion:

Nix: You're not nearly as hard to read as you think you are. I always knew there was something going on with you. Now I know what, and if the need arises, I can react accordingly. >What exactly would the "need arising" entail? Nix: Well, for one, I understand your earlier reticence towards helping strangers. Nix: I've been there myself, I tell you me. When the world turns a blind eye to your suffering, why should you care what happens to them? Why be a bleeding hero when no one ever bothered for you? Nix: But personally, I was miserable like that. I realized that even if my bleeding heart would get me in trouble, even if I got hurt, I didn't really care. I just wanted other people to be happy. Nix: Or maybe that's not quite true. Maybe it's something less kind and selfless. Maybe I'm just afraid of what will happen if people don't like me. If I don't just roll over and beg forgiveness. Nix: Say, what do you think? >If I didn't know you better, I'd say the latter. But no. Fool that you are, it's the former too. It's both. Nix: Yeah, I think so too. Nix: We can always grow from where we came from, but it never quite leaves us.

--

Nix: I was a tiefling born to human parents, and with draconic blood to boot. I was... something of a prize, an oddity to show off. Nix: My mum had some... prior relations, so... that probably had something to do with it.

--

Nix: That's just the thing, I know I'm lucky. Not a day goes by where I take it for granted. But I also wasn't lucky for a very long time. Nix: I know how it feels to be abandoned, to see other people have fortune smile on them while you're stuck wondering if freezing to death in an alley would be a mercy or not, if anyone would notice your corpse stinking up the place or just nudge you to the side, not a care who you were.