#astarion x my oc: raven

[anacdoce]

Wip whenever

Thank you for the tag @amoremagnificentbastard 🖤 your wip was so heartbreaking 😭

I spent some time thinking if I should share something or not this week. I've started a new chapter, but I'm feeling that all I have written is just puuuuure shit. Shit and sad times. And since I'm doing a break from sharing those, it's getting difficult to decide what to put here.

So I'll leave a small snippet of a lighter scene. Nothing special, but well, it is what it is.

No pressure tags: @saucy-scribbler @roguishcat @xxnashiraxx @bhaal-battle-beer-bard @xxnashiraxx @loserscardigan @songofthelarks @dramatiquechipmunk @poetsiren

[windssong]

My Beloved Ghost and Me // Astarion x Original Tav

series summary: Haunted by a past that refuses to quiet, Summer is forced to step up during a time of great turmoil for her group of tadpole invested companions. As they make their way to Baulders Gate, relationships and spirits are tested. Yet, the love for a certain Pale Elf rises above it all.

CHAPTER 1 - The Camp Ghost

chapter summary: After a night of drinking away her problems, Summer is determined to makes things right. The universe has a funny way of showing her how.

word count: 5k+

warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon violence, talks of past abuse, death, grief, slow burn, eventual smut

series masterlist

authors note:

ITS FINALLY HERE! Chapter 1! My baby! I’ve been working on this for a while and it’s finally done. After waiting over a year to play bg3 again, I picked it back up to go through every difficulty mode and beat them all. And so far it’s brought back my hyperfixation for the game and Astarion of course.

This series focuses a lot on my original character and her arc along with Astarions. It follows the main storyline but I start off this series near the end of act 1 going into act 2, with some deviations of course because it’s my fanfic and I’m having fun with it.

Feedback, likes, reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated. Thanks for reading!

—

The Knight stood in the corner of her tent, pulling a sword from his neck.

The candle burned eagerly beside her bed, casting shadows across the walls. The flames illuminated a scene she was all too familiar with.

Summer watched him through half moon eyes. Strands of golden hair covered her lids like lightning strikes across the sky. Her body was completely frozen, she could not move. No matter how hard she fought and clawed at invisible hands holding her down, she laid there, stuck between a dream and reality. Watching, for hours never ending.

The Oathbreaker stood like a gargoyle against the wall. Two shining sapphires piercing the darkness through his golden helmet, unblinking. The curved blade glowed a misty maroon in his hands. The sword as long as his entire body.

There was no blood pouring from the wound in his neck this time. On those nights, she’d wake screaming. Shadowheart or Tav would be the ones to check on her afterwards. A quick restoration spell and a heartfelt speech from their leader later, and she was back to a lonely tent staring at the spot where the phantom once stood.

But tonight, there were whispers. Whispers so quiet the wind took the words away with it, mistaking it for itself. Summer could still hear them.

“Carry.” He was humming the word over and over again. The repetition grinding like teeth against her ears. “Carry.”

There was a slight tingle running down her arms. Her fingers gripped the dirt below. She was waking up.

He spoke louder. He sounded so young. Too young. “Carry.”

Her eyes popped wide open, hands trembling, dirt filing her nails. “Go away!”

He slammed the curved sword into the ground. “Carry!”

She woke to the sound of arguing outside her tent. A ray of sunlight highlighted the now empty corner of her room. Her arm was outstretched toward a faded apparition. Dirt fell from her hand onto the blanket slipping off her sweating body. The Knight was gone and morning had come once again.

Summer sighed in relief. Ever since a tadpole was forced inside her skull, the dreams had only gotten worse. But at least it was over, for now. She winced at the pounding in her head, instinctively gripping her chest.

She swore she’d lay off the wine last night. She had camp duties in the morning after all. But they saved the Emerald Grove and the Tieflings after defeating the Goblin camp leaders.

Why not join in on the celebration?

Well, her companions did the saving. Summer sat back at camp tending to a wound on her thigh that had no business being there. If only she were quick enough to block the Goblins blade. But she could not spare any efforts towards the defense when Astarion was in the crossfires of a poison arrow aimed straight for the heart. There was no time to react to the Absolute Goblin swinging his weapon from behind as she pushed Astarion out of harm's way, barely missing the arrow herself.

The Greatsword left behind a black glow around the wound as the Goblin sliced through a weak spot in her armor, right above the knee. Summer ended them right there with a mace to the head, nearly stumbling to the ground before Shadowheart caught her.

Shadowheart’s healing did nothing to close the wound. There was magic preventing her from doing so. Potions helped with the overwhelming sickness she was afflicted with, but didn’t heal the injury either. Summer demanded her companions leave her at camp while they went on one last mission to rescue Halsin. Hours later, they came back bloody, bruised, yet smiling or complaining about the guts stuck in their armor as the Druid trailed behind them. Summer tried to smile back. Her body fought against it.

Thankfully, Halsin was able to heal the injury. Unlike their shared tadpoles. He successfully removed the magic that was preventing the wound from healing on its own. But it was painful and a scar remained. He said the phantom pain could continue to linger for some time. He wasn’t sure how long, maybe forever. The wound was deeper than they both expected. The dark magic was unfamiliar to him, though it was eerily similar to shadow magic. He had no idea how the Absolute follower got their hands on such a special blade.

It belonged to her now. The Greatsword ran 5 feet in length. The hilt was sturdy and the blade made of an unfamiliar substance. A unique pattern of rings ran down the middle of the sword. Each ring connected to the other, and each glowed different colors when in combat. She wondered how that worked. And how the Goblin was able to wield such a heavy weapon. Even she struggled to. But it was a good blade and she’d get used to it.

When she was young and in training, one of the first lessons she learned was to name her blade. If you wielded a weapon in battle, you needed to give it the proper respect it deserved, or else the sword would begin to spite you. Swords bonded to you, much like your Oath. Treat it as you’d treat that Oath. That was the only custom from The Sundrop Circle that she still used to this day. The rest, well, the rest could rot in all Nine Hells.

Countless names popped into her head. “The Monster Slayer. No, too generic. The Black Glow. No, it turns multiple different colors. The Astarion Protector.” That one got a small smile out of her.

And there it was. Another reason she chose to drown in the bottle last night.

She remembered seeing Astarion walking out into the woods. Out into the clear night, some ways away, and a few moments later, their leader followed him. And she knew what that meant. She’d seen the way they flirted, back and forth on the road. Or when Tav would rush out of Astarions tent, skin having lost some of its color, a satisfied smirk on the vampire's face as he watched him go.

It was hard to tell if what they had was real or not. Astarion didn’t seem to like Tav, or most of them half of the time. Or did he? What was real or wasn’t was hard to decipher. It still hurt either way. She couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly why.

What a silly thing it was. Even a mere brush of a feeling could have you stocking up on bandages to hold against a bleeding heart, no matter how small the cuts.

So, Summer drowned whatever those feelings were in a drinking game with Karlach and of course, Karlach had won.

She briefly recalled attempting to sing with Alfria afterwards, but that must have gone over as badly as it sounded given the broken Lute laying beside her.

“Shit.” Summer sat up, cradling the instrument in her hands. Alfria’s instrument. The strings hung off the edge, detached and the wood splintered and peeling off. It smelled like ale. Summer cursed, reeling over the mess she had made that she couldn’t even remember making. She would have to make it up to her.

But this was her old teacher's instrument. Lihala’s Lute. It was priceless. How could anyone ever make up for something so irreplaceable now smashed to pieces?

“I’ll make this right.” She was determined. Instead of replacing what was once lost, she would mend it all together. “There has to be someone in the Underdark or Shadow-Cursed Lands who could fix this.”

The group were preparing to enter the Underdark first thing tomorrow morning if all else failed today. Tav, Gale, Lazel and Shadowheart were already at The Rosymorn Monastery, still looking for anything that could help get rid of the worms in their skulls. Although the Dream Visitor was trying to convince them all otherwise. Summer now had to deal with three entities crowding her head at night.

Gods, it was nearly a month into their journey and she was already dragging them all down. It didn't help that she stayed behind at camp more than any other person in their party. She still went out adventuring with her companions, but those precious moments were becoming more and more fleeting. Her injury was a reminder of that.

“Behind.” The Knight hissed the word a few nights ago. Blood spit through his teeth and out of the jaws of his plate of armor. “Behind.” She woke up sobbing then. No screams this time, just bitter tears.

Summer peered down at the spot on her thigh where a fresh scar formed underneath her pants. She had a new scar to match the burn scar on her chest and across her face.

Maybe it would be better if she never joined this group. She was dead weight at this point. She’d only slow them down.

—

The Camp Ghost, Astarion had officially declared her as one evening during their first week together after the Nautiloid crash.

She knew he was a Vampire the moment she saw him, that part was obvious. He would beg to differ. But she didn’t want to scare him off, so she ignored his red eyes and handed him his dinner. He accepted it without sparing her a glance. It was a sad meal of stale bread, dried meat and funny looking carrots. But it was the best they had at the moment. She caught the disgusted curl of his lips before he quickly covered it with a smile. She returned to her spot under the shade of a tree, mind wandering to other places.

“Absolutely delectable.” He said. Before he dug in, or pretended to, he stopped himself. “Wait, who handed me this?” His gaze landed on the Wizard already halfway done with his food.

“Don’t look at me.” Gale said.

“Wait, look at me.” Karlach said through a mouth stuffed with bread, smiling as wide as she could.

Astarion grimaced. “Wyll, maybe you should’ve killed the poor girl instead of leaving us with whatever this is.”

Wyll glared at him, still not fully trusting of his new champion.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, I was only joking. Mostly. Will someone with a shred of dignity left give me an answer?”

“The Sun,” Lazel stated plainly. She was standing at the edge of camp, watching for enemies. “They prepared your meal.”

Astarion tracked the evening sun as it made its way toward its hiding spot for the night. He looked back at Lazel, then it clicked. “Oh! Of course.” Astarion drank in the remaining sunlight before it faded away. “Thank you bright orb. You’ve never done me wrong. Never even gave me a sunburn. I’m honored.” He put his fingers to his hand playfully, as if his skin was sizzling to the touch.

Shadowheart looked up from her empty plate and rolled her eyes at the obvious joke. “Lady of Sorrows.”

Lazel narrowed her eyes at the Cleric, then at the Rogue. “Are your ears full of blood, Elf? I was referring to Sunny.”

At the mention of the nickname, Summer came to her senses, lost in thought while the conversation revolving around her played out.

“It’s Summer.” She corrected her. That nickname was reserved for one person to use and one person only. But she knew she meant no harm.

Lazel returned to her spot at the edge of the trees. “My apologies, Summer.”

“No worries.” She smiled softly.

“Ah, yes.” Astarion turned his attention to the woman sitting on the log behind him. “Of course it was the Camp Ghost.”

Summer cocked her head to the side. “Camp ghost?”

Shadowheart flinched and looked down at her hand for a brief moment before shaking it off like nothing happened. “What are you going on about now?”

“You’ve never heard?” He leaned in closer as if to tell a frightening tale over the fire. “Every camp has one. Where there’s a campsite, you’ll find a ghost. Whether it’s moving your things to different locations, or mysteriously handing you a bowl of food, they’ll be there. Without you even noticing.” He looked over at Wyll who decided to join the rest of them at the campfire. “What about you, Warlock? I’m sure you know much more about the dead than I do?”

Wyll raised his eyebrows at one. “Maybe that’s a question best answered by Withers.”

Astarion deflated at his words, hands motioning towards the undead sitting by himself away from the rest of the group. “I’d rather be haunted by our camp ghost forever than speak to him.”

“He’s not that bad.” Wyll said.

“He speaks in riddles. Of course he's that bad!”

“Withers is very wise, Astarion.” Gale said. He stood up, mouthing a quick thank you towards Summer. “It would do all of us some good to take his words with extra care and consideration.”

“What the Wizard said.” Karlach chimed in. “I wasn’t listening but what he said is probably true.”

Astarion put his head in his hands, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m surrounded by a bunch of weirdos.”

“Get used to it.” Tavs voice echoed through the tree line. He walked past rows of makeshift tents. Their new companion, Scratch, was running between his legs. He returned the long sword he was practicing with onto his back. “Because whether you like it or not, us weirdos are your only chance at stopping you from turning into a Mindflayer.” He tapped on his temple.

Lazel gave him an approving nod.

Summer saw in real time Astarions ability to slip into another facet of himself with such ease. He sat up, looking down at his nails. “Of course, of course. Lead the way, hero.”

The Padalin was satisfied with his answer, stepping towards the plate of food Summer set aside for him. He picked it up, and Astarion moved to the side, expecting him to sit down beside him. But he brushed right past, sitting next to the only other Paladin in camp. Summer tensed up. He gave her a sweet smile, then dug into his meal.

Astarion didn’t let the disappointment in his eyes and shoulders last long. He yawned into his open palm, waving everyone a goodnight before disappearing inside his tent.

—

In that moment, Summer and Tavs' roles were solidified within the group. She became the Camp Ghost and he became the leader and Hero.

It was hard not to compare him to the Paladins she’d trained under before. Back then she was too naive to know that honor was dying, and her masters made sure she was the one that delivered the final blow.

But she saw the compassion and sense of duty in his everyday actions. The way he saved those refugees, a poor widow from a hag, and sliced down enemies left and right.

Even in the quiet moments.

He let Astarion feed on him to get stronger, and listened attentively to Gale's endless array of knowledge. Him and Wyll would confide in each, and occasionally dance the night away. He woke early in the morning, practicing the sword daily with Lazel and repeated his Oaths as a Padalin and to his God. He’d take time to feed Sketch and the owl bear cub with Shadowheart, and was currently 2 kill counts ahead of Karlach in their own challenge. And lastly, she saw it in his steady hands handing her a cup of water after one of her night terrors.

He was the kind of Paladin Summer dreamed of becoming as a child. The ones she witnessed save her people from the evil that ransacked her small city and took her and her brother in to train under. The same kind that eventually destroyed that very city and her entire world along with it.

Summer had seen plenty of heros fall. She wouldn’t let that surprise her again.

Before she could stand up and start the day, in a swift motion, hands popped through the entryway of the tent. “What in the hells is this!?” The vampire shook the book in his hands as if it were the one doing the talking. “When I said I wanted more books to read, I didn’t mean one full of the worst jokes to grace all of Faerun.”

Summer grinned at the vampire's annoyed tone. He was holding a book she had since she was a child. A Guide to Humor and Light. Written by the infamous bard Fenya The Laugher. After being cursed by a hag to wander Faerun with fits of uncontrollable laughter, she wrote this book over 50 years ago in hopes of making others laugh for more lighthearted reasons than her own curse.

She remembered spending hours learning all the lines from the book. Most nights, she’d try to memorize every joke and recite them to her family the next day. Her mother sometimes found her sleeping with her head glued to the pages. It was a nice memory. “It’s a special book. I think they’re funny.” She thought about it for a moment. “At least some of them.”

Astarion huffed. “Then you are a lost cause if I’d ever seen one.” He pulled the book towards him, she could see his legs through the tent flaps and hear the sounds of fingers flipping through paper. His hands came back through, pointing to a specific line on the page. “What do devils say when in times of trouble?”

Summer remembered this one. She gripped her throat as if she were choking, the other hand grasping for air. “Helllllps!” She gasped, dragging out the L’s. That always make her brother laugh.

Astarion popped his head into the tent, an annoyed look on his face. “You sure know how to make a fool out of yourself. Yesterday was no exception.”

“Are you okay, by the way? I didn’t mean to push you into Karlach like that.”

“You saved my life and you're worried about me?” He bore a quizzical smile. “Your concern is… sweet. But unnecessary. Even though it did feel like slamming into the side of a mountain. Well, I suppose it was either that or an arrow to the heart and I can’t really complain about avoiding that.” His body was halfway through the tent by now, one leg outside and one in.

Astarion looked down at the spot where she was cut. It looked like he was about to say something, his mouth opening and closing quickly. But he stopped himself.

An awkward silence filled the tent. Summer swallowed dryly. She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder at the broken Lute. “How badly did I mess things up?”

He tapped his finger against his chin, pretending to be in deep thought. “The details are rather tedious. Karlach wouldn’t stop blaming herself for what happened all morning. I so wish the others had taken me with them.” He looked out towards the open wilderness behind him. “On second thought, breaking into a temple full of Githyanki sounds like an awful idea.”

Shit, it was already the afternoon. She’d slept in longer than she had wanted. “What was she worried about?” Summer braced herself for the inevitable, clawing at her pants out of pure shame. Her scar stung in anticipation.

Astarion grinned. “Apparently you told the crowd you were going to hit a high note never achieved before in all of history. Then you stumbled over that bard's tail and on top of her poor little instrument.” He paused. “She stormed out of camp after that.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, a habit she tried to grow out of but never could. “I’m guessing I didn’t make it back here on my own last night?”

“Of course not. No, Wyll carried you off. Like the sweet Prince he is.” He held his hands together as if he were praying.

Summer made a mental note to go and thank him for that later.

“I wouldn’t count on him remembering such a silly thing. Everyone was as drunk as you were by then.” He said as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She groaned and ran a hand down her face, swiping away wisps of loose hair. “I overindulged. Big mistake, clearly.”

“I know the feeling.” He smirked, wiping off imaginary blood from the side of his lip with his thumb. “No mistakes. Clearly.”

Summer swatted away images of Astarion holding Tav in his arms. Lips against lips and teeth against skin. “So, I take it you didn’t like the book?”

“Or course I didn’t!” The vampire spawn flipped through the pages again. “Look at what you subjected this beautiful mind to. I’m pretty sure my tadpole nearly died and I along with it.”

“You mean I found the cure?” Summer jumped up. Her head was still pounding and her scar stretching in pain, but she continued the theatrics. “From a middling joke book? I’ve saved the day!”

Astarion shut the book with a dramatic thud, setting the book in her hands. “Unbelievable.” He mumbled. His cold fingers brushed hers for a moment. She hoped he couldn’t hear the slight increase in her pulse.

Astarion turned to leave. “You're very lucky I had company last night, or I would have woken you out of that drunken slumber and made you watch as I burned it. One page at a time.”

And just like that, the pulse weakened. “And why would I let you do that? Drunk and all, I would’ve just pushed you away. Again.”

Astsrion stopped, his ruby red eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Huh. I’d like to see you try. Again.” And then he was off.

And she was alone. The corner of her tent shimmered with a past light. She could see endless dreams playing out over and over in her head. She remembered all of them.

Maybe it was a sign? A sign she should crawl back into her bed, finally face the Knight haunting her after all these years. Try and become worthy of standing toe to toe with her fellow companions. Find the beating heart within her that stopped long ago. The heart that used to protect and lead with everything she had.

But the thought crippled her. She stood frozen for some time, in her little space, thinking of a curved blade driven inside soft flesh. Summer didn’t want to face it. She didn’t want to remember any of it. But every night, it came. He came. Even the tadpole wouldn't allow her to escape that.

Then, Tav's voice called for her from outside. They had returned from the Rosymorn Monastery. She wondered what new information they had now.

Summer set the book by her bed and hurried to put on her clothes. She winced while pulling her light armor over the scar. It was jagged and thick. It ran from the bottom of her hip to the top of her knee. A line of white flesh that was forever. She forced herself not to focus on the mistake and attached the broken Lute to her back, along with her new Enchanted Sword.

When she finally joined the others, she found Astarion standing next to Tav, his Spidersilk armor glistening in the light. She admired the way he soaked in the sun. His smile reached his ears, his arms outstretched, welcoming the warmth like a hug. Astarion had not known that feeling for 200 years. She’d never seen anyone look more alive and grateful for it.

Tav turned towards his fellow Paladin, extending a smile. His red hair fell in a wave of curls, reaching the base of his neck. It was already covered in dirt and grime. “Good. You're awake.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. I take it you enjoyed yourself last night. I know we did.” He said without thinking, his gaze lingering on Astarion. His cheeks turned a light shade of red. His brown eyes flashed with panic. “I mean I did. I did enjoy myself. By myself. With myself.”

Astarion smirked as their leader stumbled over his words. Summer was desperate for a change in conversation. “Did you find a cure with the Githyanki?”

Tav cleared his throat. “Not exactly.” He motioned toward Shadowheart and Lazel arguing quite loudly in the middle of camp. Halsin stood over them, trying to keep the peace. It looked like Shadowheart picked up a new weapon. It was glowing a soft, radiant light. “This way. We have much to discuss. Lazel has chosen to defy Vlaakith.”

Summer looked over at Lazel in shock. “What in the hells happened while I was out?”

“A lot. And so little at the same time. We are no closer to removing these tadpoles from our minds. But, I trust Halsin. Moonrise Towers is where we will head to next. It’s the only way.”

Tav took notice of the broken Lute strapped to her back. “Isn’t that Alfiras? What happened to it?”

Summer frowned. “Yes it is. I was a drunken fool all night. I don’t even remember breaking it.”

“I heard she stormed out of camp very upset last night. I thought it was the wine. Looks like I was wrong. Why’d she live it with you then?”

Summer shrugged. “I have no idea. But I’m going to fix this. I have to.”

Astarion laughed. “You’re going to spend what precious time you have left before you violently turn into a Mindflayer by fixing a broken Lute? For someone you barely know?”

She looked at him with daggers in her eyes. “It was my fault. So, yes.”

“Enjoy wasting your time then.” He waved her off.

“I will.”

Tav stopped for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Slight change of plans.” He said.

“How slight?” Astarion asked.

“Well, for one, you’ll be staying behind again. I need Summer on this one.”

Summer raised an eyebrow at the Vampire. “You sure? Wouldn’t want you wasting so much precious time. Isn’t that what you were saying?”

“It’s fine by me.” Astarion said, tapping his foot against the dirt. “I deserve a break. And that my dear, is not a waste.” He grinned, turning his attention to the argument nearby.

“And Summer,” Tav put his hand on top of her shoulder as Astarion left. He met her eye to eye. “I know you don’t like talking about it. But your oath.”

Summer wished the ground would swallow her whole. Her jaw clenched. “No, I don’t. Why?”

“Hold your head high, Summer. You shall be an Oathbreaker no long-”

Warm blood splattered across her face before he could finish his sentence. She heard Astarion shouting to take cover.

He shoved her to the ground, covering his entire body over hers as a rain of arrows came crashing down around them. Before any of them hit her, a wall of ice was cast around the three of them.

She could hear the shuffling of feet, animals barking and gnashing their teeth and spells being thrown left and right. Swords rang and shimmered in the sunlight. The yellow hue from her weapon reflected off the ice. She looked up at her own reflection. Blood ran down her face and clung to her hair. Some even fell on the broken lute attached to her back.

Astarions hands enveloped her head protectively, as if he didn’t notice the wall of ice surrounding them. His eyes were shut tight, body pressed up against her own. He held on so tightly she felt the pressure from his cold fingers against her forehead. It was cold all around them.

“Astarion?” She called his name.

He opened his eyes. The vampire hesitated, then quickly removed himself from her back. “That was close.” He said, breathing out deeply. He took a step back to get a better view of the wall of ice that had saved them. Arrow heads poked out to greet them from the other side. “Way too close.”

Summer felt the blood drying on her face. “What just happened?”

Astarion gasped. “Oh shit.”

She followed his gaze, turning her body a few degrees before coming face to face with a dead body.

Summer had seen too many dead bodies to count during her travels. From the innocent, the evil, the everyday citizen, her own friends whom she failed to lead to safety all those years ago and lastly, her own brother. But it never got easier. You just learned how to deal with it.

Blood pooled into Tavs eye sockets. An oasis of death swam in those lifeless pupils. The arrow had pierced his skull, right in the center of his forehead. It was an instant kill shot, made from a highly skilled archer. She could still see his eyelids and lips twitching.

There was so much blood she was drowning in it. It was suffocating her. “Shadowheart! Halsin! We need you! Now!” She shouted, voice rough and full of dust.

The battle had ended as the ice came down around them. Water soaked her pants and gloves where she sat next to his dead body. The little pools of melted ice took on a violent, red hue.

The Druid stepped over his own vines two dead goblins were stuck in. “Oh no.” Halsin knelt beside Tav's body, checking for any sign of life. His head fell. “He’s gone.”

Astarion paced back and forth. “We knew that already! So what are you waiting for? Bring him back!”

Halsin hesitated, but continued to channel everything he had onto their leader. His magic illuminated Tav's entire body.

Karlachs face was cloaked in pain. “Soldier?” She spoke to the lifeless body. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Lazel bent her head in reverence.

Scratch and The Owlbear cub were sniffing at the dead bodies spread across the campground.

Wyll pulled his blade out from a Worgs skull. “An ambush. Goblins. It looks like they got what they came for. Revenge.” He looked down at their leader, eye cloudy.

Then, Tavs head began violently shaking back and forth.

“What in the hells?” Astarion took a step back.

The tadpole managed to wiggle its way out from the back of his eye, landing in the pool of water below.

“Fuck you!” Karlach yelled. She swung her fiery axe in a wave of fury. The tadpole became mush underneath her strength.

Gale came into view, staring at the dead parasite. “I’m afraid it will take more than a simple healing spell to bring him back.” The top of his quarterstaff burned like a torch. “It takes a great deal of magic to cast a spell as difficult as raising the dead.”

Astarion whipped his head around. “And who asked you? Last time I checked, you were lounging around while we handled all the fighting.” The vampire looked him up and down. “Not a speck of blood on you. How disappointing.”

Gale held up a finger. “I’ll have you know, I saved both of your lives back there with that ice wall.”

“Not quick enough to save three.”

The Wizard took a step closer. “You are-”

“Enough!” Summer shouted. Astarion and Gale looked down at her, both shocked. She bit the inside of her cheek again, forcing herself to stand and take the lead. “We need to focus.” She looked to the two healers. “Is there really nothing we can do?”

Shadowheart and Halsin shared a knowing glance. She spoke first. “Our magic isn’t strong enough. If he were still clinging to life, then yes, we could. But things work a lot differently when you're dead.”

“She’s right. Messing with the natural world always comes with a price. And death is the highest one to pay.” Halsin suddenly stopped casting his magic. “I fear he may be too far from my reach to pull back. And if I did, he wouldn’t be the same.”

Astarion clenched his fists. “So, that’s it then? Unbelievable.” He cursed under his breath. “All those efforts? Just poof? Gone?”

The Oathbreaker looked past the group of solemn survivors, down by the small stream they set their camp next to. An idea popped into her head. “Of course.” She breathed, running past her companions.

“Where is she going?” Karlach asked.

Wyll joined Halsin and Shadowheart as they knelt beside their leader. “To speak with Withers.”

Halsin closed Tavs eyes gently. “A good idea. Out of everyone, he may be able to help.”

Withers sat on a rock by a steady stream. Fish swam over his bony feet. He was staring down at them. Summer stood in front of him, hands on her hips. She tried to ignore the taste of his blood in her mouth. Or was that hers? Probably both. “Can you bring him back?”

The undead looked up at the figure shrouded in a storm of determination and crippling uncertainty. “Does thou not know?”

“Know what?”

He looked at the dead body from across the camp grounds. “Thy leader has returned to his God.”

Summer's eyes froze. “No. That can’t be.” She could see old friends staring lifelessly up at her from the water. She kicked a rock into the stream and they disappeared, along with the fishes. “Make him come back. I know you can contact him. Do it.”

Withers hummed. “Thine anger is understandable. But thou should know, he is at peace. He does not want to return.” He stood and walked the path up the stream bed. He eventually disappeared into the line of trees.

Summer was left speechless. A growing panic ran through her. She gripped her chest. Her scar burned over her breast and the other on her thigh.

The Oathbreaker forced herself to appear steady and calm while the others watched from afar, unknowing. But all she could think about was the blood in her mouth, and the Knight with a curved sword in his throat whispering, “Carry.”

She could hear him in the wind.

—

CH 2 - coming soon

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 66 - Welcome Home

Chapter Summary: Church fights to defy the Raven Queen's compulsion. But with his decision comes consequences.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 343K+ words; Chapters 66/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

Church’s shadow blade manifests before he can stop it — splendid, sharp, and wicked. He recoils to prevent it from narrowly grazing the elf’s trancing form.

“You’re… mad!” Church whispers, trying to disperse the spectral weapon. It doesn’t obey. “That’s not what I agreed to do!”

“Oh but it was,” the Raven Queen replies softly.

For a moment, Church finds himself back in her garden, gazing up at her porcelain mask as she recites the terms of their pact. 

“Secondly, you will be my blade in the night, cleansing the land of Shar’s Shadow Curse…

“…and the undead trapped within.”

Her hand is warm in his, even as electricity courses through his bones…

Church hears a whooshing in his ears as he falls forward, straddling Astarion’s prone form with his blade pointed down towards the vampire spawn’s chest.

Fuck! No! Nonononononono!

There’s a nudge at his mind, and Church recognizes it as Tavi attempting to break through, to no avail. 

“Shit — no!” Church gasps. Why won’t his body listen to him?!

His vision begins to tunnel with single-minded focus, adrenaline pumping through him as he watches the blade’s shadows spread up his arm towards him. 

“You must prevent the ritual from happening,” the Raven Queen insists. “You heard the cambion. This spawn is the missing ingredient. Destroy it now, and the ritual will never be completed.”

“What the fuck?” Church breathes aloud, struggling to hold back his own arms. “No! Hells no…!”

“Every life has its natural end.” the Raven Queen continues. “No sooner, no later. And yet there are those who seek to prolong it unnaturally, whether for themselves or for others who they subject to undeath… 

“As I told you before, this is a kindness, my child. The ultimate kindness. Or would you see this soul used as fodder for a vampire lord’s ascension into nigh invulnerability?”

“I’ll stop the ritual!” Church insists, his desperation and strain rendering him nearly incoherent. “Astarion and I will stop the ritual together! He doesn’t need to die! I won’t let him die—!”

“The spawn doesn’t simply wish to stop the ritual,” the Raven Queen reminds him. “He wishes to claim it for himself.”

“He just wants to survive! He wants to be free!” Church grunts. “Is that so bad?”

“Yes,” the Raven Queen says simply. Coldly. “It is.”

The blade feels magnetically drawn towards the spawn’s heart, and Church can feel it beat like a drum. Or is that his own?

“S-stop—!” Church beseeches her, gasping as his hands twitch momentarily downwards. He frantically switches tactics. “Astarion! Wake up!”

The elf’s eyes fly open from his trance, blinking up at the tiefling with bemusement. 

“Well, hello,” Astarion smirks at him from below. “Looking for a cuddle?”

…and then he finally spots the shadow blade trembling above his chest, and his smile falters. 

“Oh dear,” he says in mild surprise. “Darling, I’d hope we’d have a discussion before bringing knifeplay into our arrangement…”

Church feels the Raven Queen’s presence in the tent with them, ever-watchful and unimpressed.

“My protection does not come free, child. Do you wish to keep it?” she asks him softly.

“Yes, but…!” Church thinks to her, agonized as he fights her will. 

“Then fulfill the terms of our pact,” the Raven Queen says gently. “I promise you, child. It will be fast. It will be painless. It will be a mercy, compared to what his master will do to him. And your reward will ensure that you survive to save the world.”

She sighs as her warlock continues to struggle against her will. His duty. “So. Do you wish to uphold our pact?”

“Not like this,” Church whispers, fighting to keep the blade from Astarion’s heart. 

“What’s going on?” The elf frowns in true alarm now, and Church knows that somehow, he’s stealthily readying his own dagger that he keeps by his bedroll. 

“A pity,” the Raven Queen says softly. “I give you wings, and you pluck them off. I give you a nest, and you tear it asunder. Alas, I suppose you don’t need me after all.”

“Wait!” Church gasps as he feels her presence peel away from his mind. “Wait, no…! No!”

At the very least he manages to dismiss the blade, but that relief gives way to a chill that rattles through his entire body, his vision tunneling. 

“Darling what the hells was that about?” Astarion hisses, grasping hold of Church’s hands as they fly up to claw at his own face. 

Church opens his mouth, twitching painfully as he fights off the shadows that vie for control over his tongue. 

“I need… help…” he chokes, and out of his mouth puffs black smoke.

Astarion’s eyes widen as he attempts to keep the rest of his face composed. 

“Oh… fuck,” he utters. “Oh darling. Oh no.”

[orilaissancunin]

Astarion’s Birthday Gift

•NSFW

•Female OC x Astarion

The day had been full of laughter and warmth, a celebration of Lorena’s life surrounded by those she held dear. But as the evening approached, Astarion’s eyes gleamed with a secret, a promise that tonight would be a night for them alone, to share in the intimacy that only they understood.

As the last guests departed, he led her to their private quarters, his hand gently guiding her. "I’ve got one more surprise for you, my love," he murmured, his voice low and rich with anticipation.

Lorena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What’s this? You’ve already spoiled me with so much today. Just being with you is gift enough."

Astarion’s smile deepened, his eyes filled with affection and something darker. "Ah, but darling, this is a gift for both of us. You deserve something special—something… more intimate." He handed her the delicately wrapped box, his fingers brushing against hers as he did.

Lorena took it, her gaze flickering between the box and Astarion. Her smile was playful as she opened it, revealing a stunning black lingerie set. "Oh? What’s this?" she teased, her voice a sultry whisper. "Astarion, are you sure this isn’t more for you than for me?"

Astarion chuckled, his laughter like velvet. "Well, darling... I can't help it if I love seeing my wife in something exquisite. So I can have the pleasure of taking it off you later... with my teeth." He flashed a grin, his tongue darting out to lick her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

Lorena’s blush deepened, her heart racing as she giggled, both embarrassed and excited. "You’re impossible," she whispered, but there was no denying the warmth in her chest. "But I’ll try it on for you."

She stepped behind a divider to change, her anticipation mingling with the tenderness she felt toward him. When she emerged, the room seemed to hold its breath. Astarion stood frozen, his gaze devouring her. His eyes darkened with desire, and his lips parted slightly as if he might just lose control.

"Mmmm..." he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. "Darling, you are utterly perfect. You look divine. Now come here, I’m feeling ravenous." He took a step toward her, his arms open. "I know it’s your birthday, but I think it’s time I open my present."

Lorena’s heart fluttered, and she smiled, a mixture of excitement and affection. "Mmm, I would like that very much," she whispered, moving into his embrace.

Astarion pulled her close, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was slow and deep, as though savoring every second. His tongue slid against hers, coaxing a moan from both of them as they melted into one another.

But as their kiss deepened, his hunger for her surged. In one swift motion, he pushed her gently but firmly to the ground, his eyes gleaming with intensity. She gasped in surprise, her body flush with the thrill of it.

He hovered above her, his face inches from hers, a low growl escaping his lips. "Mmmm, my darling… I can’t wait any longer." His voice was rough, full of passion, as he began to trail kisses down her neck, his lips burning as they moved lower, across her chest, and finally, to the delicate fabric of her new lingerie. He lingered there, savoring the view of her, his touch adoring yet insistent.

She moaned softly, her body arching beneath him, her heart racing in sync with the fire that burned between them. Astarion continued to kiss her, every touch making her feel as if he were laying claim to her—body, mind, and soul.

"Mmmm…" Astarion growled softly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Tonight is about us, Lorena. I’ve longed for this moment… to show you just how deeply you are loved."

As he kissed her deeply again, his hands moved over her, his fingers tracing the lines of her body, pulling her closer with an urgent need. "By the time the sun rises, you will know every part of me. My heart, my soul, all of it wrapped around you. You are mine, now and always, in ways only we can understand."

Later, as they lay together, their bodies still entwined in the soft aftermath of their love, Astarion’s voice was a gentle murmur in the quiet of their room. "Darling," he said, his tone playful yet full of yearning. "How would you like to go skinny dipping with me under the stars? So I can make love to you again, in the moonlight, and let the heavens bear witness to how much I adore you."

Lorena smiled, her heart full of love and contentment. "I would love nothing more."

And as they left their room, stepping into the night, the stars above them seemed to shine a little brighter, as if they, too, were watching the two of them—two souls bound together, forever and always.

_____________________________________

Fully clothed once more, they arrived at a small, secluded spot by the river, the beauty of the night wrapping around them like a warm embrace. "Here we are, darling," Astarion said, his voice smooth and inviting.

“It’s gorgeous,” she replied, captivated. The stars sparkled like diamonds overhead, and the moon’s glow bathed them in a silver light, as if the night itself had conspired to create this moment.

He took her hand, drawing her close. His crimson eyes glimmered in the starlight, filled with warmth and longing. "My darling, my love, my mate," he said softly. "You’ve given me everything. More than I ever thought I could have. You deserve to be adored and cherished. You’ve brought me back to life."

Tears glistened in her eyes as his words sank in. “Oh, Astarion…” She felt overwhelmed by the depth of his affection.

He leaned in and kissed her, a gentle touch that quickly deepened into something electrifying. She melted against him, responding to his passion, their kisses swelling with desire. The world around them fell away, and all that mattered was the heat sparking between their bodies.

With molten desire coursing through him, Astarion began to undress her, each button undone heightening the anticipation. When they were finally bare before each other, they stepped into the river. The cool water wrapped around them, sending shivers up her spine.

Submerged, their bodies glistened as they moved together. Astarion reclaimed her lips with urgency, teasingly biting her bottom lip. A hint of blood trickled, and he licked it away, savoring every drop. “Delicious,” he murmured, lost in the taste of her.

His mouth found her neck, exploring the spot he cherished. “I could never tire of you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. As he nipped at her, he drank from her, delighting in her essence. Each sip made him feel more alive and complete.

Eventually, he carried her toward the beach, laying her down on the sand. "You’re breathtaking," he said, his eyes filled with admiration. He captured her lips once more, igniting a fire deep within her.

As she tangled her fingers in his white curls and traced his ear, he let out a soft groan, his desire growing. "Oh... darling," he gasped, arching into her touch. "You drive me wild."

“I need you…” he whispered, his voice thick with longing.

“Then have me, my love. I am yours,” she replied, her heart racing.

He slid his lips from hers to her neck, savoring the warmth of her skin beneath his mouth. The gentle curve of her neck invited him to explore, and he placed soft kisses along it, trailing down to her breasts. He took his time, his gaze lingering on her soft curves, mesmerized by how her chest rose and fell with each quickened breath.

He cupped one breast in his hand, feeling the weight of it against his palm, and leaned down to take the sensitive nipple into his mouth. He nipped gently, and then sucked and her gasp was pure music to his ears, a sound that fueled his growing desire. She arched her back, pushing herself toward him, urging him closer and closer, as if she were a flame and he the moth drawn to its light.

As his fingers wandered lower, trailing down to her center, he murmured, “Mmm… you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” His voice was low, teasing, promising.

“Yes…” she breathed, every part of her aching for more, yearning for his touch.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he said, the words wrapping around them like a warm blanket as he slipped two fingers inside her, filling her with pleasure. “Oh, Astarion…” she gasped, a potent mix of joy and desire flooding through her.

"You like that, don’t you?" he teased, a playful smirk dancing across his lips, the thrill of control evident in his gaze.

“Yes… yes…” she struggled to reply, completely lost in the waves of bliss that rolled over her, drowning in ecstasy.

"I want you... I need to feel you," she confessed, urgency lacing her words as she clung to him, desperate for more.

“Anything for you, darling,” he replied, his voice thick with raw need. Their bodies shifted, breaths mingling as he positioned himself between her legs, pumping himself, once, twice. Then he entered her slowly, his movements deliberate, filling her completely in a way that stole her breath away.

A soft sound escaped her lips as he moved deeper, their bodies melding together in a perfect rhythm of need and desire. He reveled in the sensations, feeling her warmth enveloping him, pulling him in, and he surrendered to the intoxicating sensation of their connection. It felt as if the world had faded away, leaving nothing but their shared pleasure.

“Come on, darling,” he urged, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down her spine. “I want to hear you scream for me.”

Heat coiled within her, tightening like a spring, pushing her closer to the edge. “I’m so close…” she moaned, every nerve in her body alive, buzzing with anticipation.

He quickened his pace, urgency driving him as they moved together in a passionate dance, the rhythm of their bodies echoing the intensity of their desires. Nothing else mattered; it was just them, lost in this beautiful moment where pleasure reigned supreme.

With one final, powerful thrust, they both soared into ecstasy, their bodies erupting in bliss. “Yes!” he shouted, filling her to the brink, the sensation washing over them like a tidal wave. She reveled in it, every fiber of her being exploding with pleasure, and she screamed with delight, surrendering to the overwhelming rush.

Waves of pleasure crashed over them, each surge pulling them deeper into bliss. Astarion held her close, feeling her body tense and release beneath him, surrendering completely to the overwhelming pleasure they created together.

As they basked in the afterglow, Astarion wrapped his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her skin against the coolness of his own. In the aftermath, they both laid together, breathless laughter mixing with soft whispers as the stars watched over them.

“Happy birthday, indeed,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face, his fingers tracing along her cheek, savoring the moment as he kissed her mouth gently. In the quiet of the night, beneath the stars that bore witness to their passion, they lay there in a full embrace. Both sighing in contentment, both filled with so much love for each other.

[scrapsovereign]

Kinktober Day 18 - Body Worship

Prompt List

Word Count: 3.1k - ish (I swear I didn't intend for it to be this long)

Pairing: Fat Female Reader/OC x Ascended Astarion

Rating: Explicit

Additional tags: Astarion is kinda soft but also kind of a dick, internalized fatphobia, maybe some feeding....maybe???, slavery, masturbation, is it body worship if HE makes YOU do the praising?, vampires love fat girls those are the rules and I didn't make them up

This work is HEAVILY inspired by “A Night With The Ascendant” by PursuitsEternal, the brain rot set in when I started to daydream about what it would be like to be Astarion’s pleasure slave and it never let go

(posted with LITERAL MINUTES to go before 12am PST bahahahhaahha)

“Come along now, don’t dawdle, girl. Let’s not keep the master waiting.”

You barely register the raven-haired man’s clipped words. Your feet covered in silk slippers pad along the cool marble floors, calves aching as you try to keep up with his pace. The attire (if it could be called that) of fine gold chains and gossamer chafes and stimulates the sensitive parts of you underneath the beautiful, buttery silk robe that covers it as you move along. 

He leads you through a labyrinth of hallways that twist and turn, some in various stages of renovation and repair. While great care has been taken to preserve the craftsmanship of the halls, the decor is significantly different from one area to the next. Rich burgundy and mahogany are replaced with ivory and gold, heavy velvet window treatments to block out the sun being replaced by airy chiffon. 

Not at all how you’d expected the place to look.

The act of assessing your surroundings as you walk swiftly behind the pale, raven-haired man quickly drains your energy reserves. Your head spins as you reach a set of doors at which he turns around to face and address you. 

“You are to address the master as ‘master’ or ‘my lord’. Do not speak unless you are spoken to. If you displease him, you risk the fate of your mortal life ending in a giant bloody puddle on the floors. I advise against this, as this was the fate of your predecessor and I don’t much feel like cleaning up that sort of mess again. When your time here is done, you will exit these doors and wait for someone to collect you and bring you back to your room. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” you lie, struggling to keep yourself upright. 

He grunts in approval, turning to knock a pattern on the set of doors, the anticipation of what’s behind them making your empty stomach lurch. 

“Enter.”

You are hardly given a moment to collect yourself and take a steadying breath before you are thrust in front of him. He follows closely behind you as you make your way to a  desk before a panel of glass windows, the sheer curtains ruffling gently in the midday breeze. 

An elf with attractively mussed silver curls peers down through reading glasses at a large, musty tome- one of many crowding the surface of his desk. He scribbles furiously with his quill on a scroll you cannot see, stopping only once to refresh the implement with ink before he continues. He worries the corner of his lower lip gently with an elongated canine, hunching over to squint as he re-reviews the passage in the ancient book before him. 

“The girl you summoned, my lord.”

He gives you a cursory glance of bored indifference before he freezes, slowly trailing his crimson gaze up your curves to really, fully take you in. 

Your eyes meet with his for only a moment before you remember yourself, looking down obediently to the floor. 

Away from the face of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

You jump at the sound of the book being slammed shut, cringe at the forceful exhale made through his nose as he rises from his desk. Adrenaline sets your heart hammering in your ears, your senses made sharp once again. He makes his way over to you and you flinch where you stand, using every last bit of your willpower to stay still as he raises his elegant, manicured hand. 

Not to strike your face, but to caress it. 

“Gods below us, what have you done to her?” he snarls at the raven-haired man. 

“She was…larger than described, so I thought to lean her out a bit before she was presented to you,” he sputters, his voice thin and reedy. 

The hands that hold your face in his tender grasp are warm- similar to the sunlight that streams in through the room’s large, open glass windows. 

“I never ordered this,” the elf snaps, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Tell me darling, when was your last meal? What did they serve you?”

“Last night- a few bites of roast chicken and a handful of vegetables…my lord,” you add quickly, your face heating with shame at almost forgetting to address him properly. 

He scoffs, the displeasure radiating off of him in waves as he inspects you. 

His touch, however, remains gentle. 

“Hardly enough to sustain one’s self. For how long?”

You look up at the raven-haired man again, seeing the sweat that is starting to form on his brow. “Since I arrived a tenday ago, my lord. The same meal, once every day.”

The elf’s jaw twitches in response.

“I see. We should still have the dried, smoked tuna and the salted salmon in our stores,” the elf states, removing his glasses and placing them on the desk with care. “Do you remember the dish that…he would prepare for our mortal guests when they were ill? Have the kitchens prepare it and send one of the staff to bring it to us.”

“It will be done, my lord.”

“Oh, and Dufay?”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Your meals shall be limited to one goblet, once per day for a tenday. Starting now-”

“Master, I-”

“Starting. Now,” the elf growls, and you swear that you see his red eyes glow…though you might be hallucinating in your hunger. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, and begone from my sight before I change my mind.”

The raven-haired man gives a single bow from the hinge of his hips to acknowledge his orders. He disappears from sight, as quiet as a whisper of smoke. 

Your heartbeat begins to race as you realize you’re now alone…with him. 

The man that had chosen you as homage in place of coin or crops from his lands. The man that, according to Dufay, had reduced the person brought to him before you to nothing more than viscera and blood. The man who was rumored to be the only and first day-walking vampire, his powers bought and paid for with the sacrifice of 7000 tortured souls. 

“He’s lucky that I need him to run the damned place, and between us I think he knows it,” he confides in you, the warmth of his hand moving down to the column of your throat to rest on your pulse. “On to more pleasant matters. What’s your name, pet?”

You almost don’t say it, and when you do, it comes out as a trembling whisper.

He repeats your name, his velvety drawl wrapping around you in a cocoon that soothes your ragged nerves. 

“Pretty,” he comments with a cock of his head to the side, pulling his hand away. Your chest aches at the loss of his touch, the world seeming a little less bright as he distances himself from you, setting himself down in a plush chair by the fireplace. 

“Come to me.”

You move obediently towards him, your legs wobbling like a newborn fawn with every step forward. A dull headache sets in as you ponder what’s going to happen next. If any of the tales you’ve heard are true, your fate has been sealed as a lamb sent to slaughter. You make up your mind to endure the last few moments of your life peacefully- with what dignity you have left after you’d been isolated, starved, then dressed up and trotted out before him.

He giggles then, the high-pitched sound of his odd laughter piercing your chest. 

“Poor darling. I suppose you’ve heard all sorts of stories about me, haven’t you?” he inquires, reaching out to gather your hand in his. Your heart soars with his touch, filling with that addictive, intoxicating warmth. He guides you into his lap and nestles his head against your breast, sighing with contentment. “What’s the thing that’s shocked you the most?”

Oddly enough, it’s not the fact that he could be a vampire. It was an open secret that the lord that previously held these lands was one himself. 

No, there’s another fact that’s sitting at the front of your mind, something far more personal.

“That you would agree to accept me as tribute.”

A young tiefling woman appears then, silent as a ghost as she sets a side table before you. She catches you staring at her as she sets the table and winks at you, revealing a bowl of steamed rice with bits of pink salmon over the top. She pours a honey-colored liquid into it from a teapot, setting it down and disappearing before you have the thought to thank her. 

The elf reaches over and picks up an oddly-shaped spoon resembling a miniature ladle, gathering a little bit of everything into it before he raises it to his mouth.

Your eyes are drawn to his plush, soft lips, blowing on the contents of the spoon to cool them down. Heat pools low in your belly as you imagine how they would feel on yours, how sweet they might taste. 

“Eat.”

He raises the spoon to your mouth and you consume the strange, delicious contents with hesitation- aren’t you supposed to serve him? Isn’t this supposed to be the other way around?

“This dish is called ochazuke. You could say it’s an old family recipe,” He begins before cooling another spoonful and raising it to your mouth. “Good, no? It should give you some strength back.”

After a few more spoonfuls consumed in tense silence, he speaks again. 

“Why do you believe yourself to be unworthy?” 

You look down to the floor, away from him. 

“My lord, I’m sure that there were prettier-” Your speech is interrupted by the eating utensil shoved in your mouth, not leaving until you swallow its contents down. 

“Any idiot with eyes can see how lovely you are,” he intones harshly. “Try again.”

The compliment goes straight between your legs in spite of its delivery. Your mind races through the fog of lust that threatens to set in, trying to find the best way to hedge around the owlbear in the room. His broad, lean chest has enough width to accommodate you, but isn’t he feeling cramped for space? Aren’t his muscular thighs complaining from having you atop his lap?

You accept the last of the savory and sweet rice dish, your courage returning with your body’s renewed vigor. 

“It is because of my size, my lord.”

He chuckles, leaning forward to politely set the utensil aside, next to the bowl.

“And there it is. I believe you deserve to have a little fun for your honesty, no?” He purrs, ensuring you are gathered in his arms.

“Hold on tight to me, little love.”

You yelp with surprise as your lord stands, lifting you as if you weighed nothing, carrying you out of the room. 

“Where are we going?” You ask impulsively, cringing inwardly when you realize you’ve spoken out of turn. 

“A place where I can teach you a lesson,” he says with a bit of a growl. You bite down on your lower lip, feeling your pussy clench in hopes that it’s the sexy kind. “ Alright then, here we are.”

The double doors in front of you open with a wave of his hand, your lord carrying you over the threshold of one doorway, and through another. The decor of the rooms matches that of the rest of the new renovations, with the elevated staples you’d become accustomed to in your time here. Silken fabrics, plush imported carpets, painstakingly crafted furniture- and you’re guessing that by the size of the innermost room and the presence of the massive, 4-post bed that this is his personal bedroom.

As you near the bed, your legs squeeze together and your clit twitches when you spot the silken fabric tied around the posts. Is this how he’s going to teach you a lesson? By tying you up and having his way with you?

He chuckles then, a low, dark sound of amusement as if he can read your thoughts. “Maybe another day. I have a different activity in mind.”

You enter his wardrobe, a room that is easily the size of your family’s meager home in Tumbledown. He sets you down to stand in front of a large ornate mirror, coming up behind you, pressing the warmth of his body against the thin silks of your robe.

It is then that you notice what is unmistakably his erection pressed against you, poking at the small of your back. 

“We’re going to play a game,” he drawls, the heat of his breath against the nape of your neck making a shiver run through you. “You’ll look upon yourself and name what you like. If you can list at least ten things, I’ll give you a reward of your choosing.”

“Yes, my lord,” you assent, already wondering how bold you can be with your prize.

“Let’s give it a go then, hmm? Untie your robe for me.”

Your trembling fingers hastily undo the knot at the front of the silken robe, resisting the temptation to look away when his deft fingers slide it off your shoulders. 

The sharp inhale from the man behind you and the twitch of his hardness pressing into your back does not go without your notice. 

You meet your own gaze, slowly acknowledging the sinful vision of golden chains and jewels artfully draped around your figure. The deep v neckline of the gathered, gossamer silk gown you wear above the layer of body jewelry splits over each leg high on the hip, teasing a preview of what it hides below. You’d never thought in your wildest dreams you’d wear anything that resembles this. It must be custom-made, the way that it brings attention to the right places, hiding the spots you feel insecure about.

A small smile forms at the corners of your mouth- whoever picked this out knows what they’re doing. 

And If you’re being honest? You’re a little turned on by how sexy you look. 

Your lord takes a deep inhale, as if he’s caught the scent of something addictive in the air. 

“Don’t keep a man waiting,” he leans in, rumbling the words inches away from your ear. “Tell me what you see.”

You start in safer, known waters at first. “I like my eyes, the makeup that the maids put on really brings out the color.”

“And my freckles, even though I used to get teased for them when I was a kid,” you add with defiance, squaring your shoulders, standing a little straighter. 

This pleases your lord, your heart beating a little faster when a smile graces his lips. 

Encouraged by this, you continue. 

“I like…how I look in the dress that’s been chosen for me,” you say, letting the words fall from your lips without a second thought before you have a chance to doubt yourself. “I like the way it shows off my cleavage, it makes me look like I have legs for days.”

“Indeed you do,” he breathes, your ears picking up the sound of fabric rustling behind you. “Go on then, what else?”

“It shows off my arms, which I’ve always liked,” you admit, proud of the strength you’ve built over the years. “And the curve of my calves.”

“And what of the curves that your dress disguises?” He asks, his voice a low, seductive purr. “Take it off.”

The command to fully reveal yourself is the key you need to unshackle the chains of shame that have held you back. You loosen the ties that keep the dress held in place, letting the fabric fall away from you, pooling on the ground at your feet. 

You have three more things to name but many more reveal themselves, a veritable galaxy of discoveries waiting to be called out. 

“I like how shapely my rear is,” you observe, your eyes widening in shock as you feel the warm, velveteen rod that pushes up against it in mutual appreciation. 

“As do I, but I’m quite certain you’re aware of that by now,” he laughs, his amusement giving way to a lusty groan as you feel his cock glide across the curves of your backside. 

You watch the rise and fall of your chest, admiring the shape of your nipples pebbled underneath the gold chains that frame them. You ponder how appropriate it is to mention until you spot him reaching into his coat pocket, opening up a small vial you suspect is lubricant. His kohl-lined eyes squeeze shut in relief as he empties the contents, begins working his arm up and down on his length. 

All decorum has officially left, flown out the window now that he strokes himself, giving you the courage to speak your musings out loud. 

“I like the shape of my nipples,” you declare boldly, a glint in the mirror catching your eye as you speak. 

Following the glimmer, your attention is drawn to the apex of your thighs, stealing your breath away. Your labia is swollen with desire, your cunt dripping clear, slick juices of arousal down your thighs. A whimper escapes from your throat as you see your clit twitch, the enlarged nub begging to be touched- worshiped by the man pleasuring himself from the sight of you- ALL of you. 

“I like how my…” your voice cracks and goes dry- Gods, are you really about to say this out loud? 

“I like how my…pussy looks, wet like this and ready for you, my lord.”

Strong arms grasp at you and whirl you around. He captures your jaw with his thumb and forefinger, forcing your chin up to look at him, to meet his burning ruby gaze.

“I have a suggestion for your reward,” he rasps, his body trembling as he speaks. “I’d like you to watch me lick that delightful cunt of yours clean and make you cum with my mouth and my fingers, and then watch you bounce on my cock in front of the mirror.”

He licks his lips, his eyes fixated on the wetness between your legs. “And by the looks of things, I’d say that's what you want as well.”

“Yes, my lord,” you admit breathlessly, “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

“Good.”

His lips mash yours in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. His tongue thrusts itself forcefully between your lips, and when you submit to him, the sinful moans he sings into your mouth are the sweetest song you’ve ever heard.

A sharp object in his mouth catches the bottom half of your lips, creating a small cut that he noisily sucks at. He wrenches himself away and you whine from the loss of him, leaning forward into the space he previously occupied.

“Ahhh…delicious,” he groans obscenely before pushing you backwards onto a wide tufted bench centered in the mirror’s view, falling to his knees before you. He grasps on to your hips and drags you to the very edge, wrenching your thighs open. 

“One more thing, pet- I want to hear you call out my name when you cum.”

You nod with gusto in response. “Which is, my lord?”

He pauses to give you a rakish, dangerous smile before he leans down to taste you, devour you.

“Astarion.”

[unreadpoppy]

Fic recs

In light of some stuff I saw, I decided to make this post to briefly talk about some fics I really like and recommend them. All are BG3 related and most are Raphael. Also, there's some authors that write a lot of great fics, I'll try to keep one fic per author or else we'll be here forever (but definetly go check everyone and their other works out!)

...

Cheerful Oblivion by @sassyandsodone - Read the tags before reading this but Love me dark stuff, the writing is amazing (legitimetly gasped at a few points) and the mix of Tav not remembering what happened and the dehumanization aspects were the cherry on top. It

I Don't Think About You Anymore (But I don't think about you any less) by @sky-kiss - This fic put me in a lot of different feels, ESPECIALLY SAD (which i do like, love when stuff makes me feel) and the ending was unexpected to me but it made it all worth it. Shed a tear or two

Devil's Debauchery by ChildofYugotth - One of the first fics I read on the Raphael tag, the first chapter lives in my mind rent free for many, many days, and I really like how the three chapters kinda go like regular raphael, haarlep and then ascended fiend, like a progression. Also read the tags.

Fallen in Flame by @cambion-companion - Love the dynamic between the two characters and how their relationship developed and the conflicting feeling that Tav has of like, being an aasimar and dealing with a devil

The Devil that knows you by @timesthatneverwere - Cat!Tav was not something I knew I needed before reading this. The relationship between Tav, Raphael and even Haarlep in this one is VERY interesting to me (and has lowkey inspired me some times) and I love seeing Raphael keeping secrets and manipulating people (also i have to mention, this fic gave us the mephisto fuck chamber)

Let the dream begin by DiscordsMuse - POTO inspired, this has hit me in the feels with relating to Morrigans struggles of feeling rejected, and honestly, Raphael as the Phantom was amazing.

finirà bene by @inaconstantstateofchange - A Halsin/Astarion/Tav one for a change, this is such an interesting and heartbreaking concept, but there's also this sense of mystery that I think is really well done. Also, beware the ANGST

Her soul will burn all the way down by khapikat222 - Read the tags, another dark fic that I loved, and this one had this manipulation and fucking with someone's fears that I really liked. Also, props to the author for making the lullaby fit, it was a great cherry on top.

Baldur's gate 3 infernal oneshots by @hrefna-the-raven - chapters 1-4 are a little story between Raphael and Tav that I really liked. The dynamic of raphael being more protective and the cat and mouse analogies were really fun!

The Intimacy of Pain by @bearhugsandshrugs - This is an Abdirak/Tav fic which I found so delightfully good, like the descriptions of how Tav was feeling and the mix of pleasure and pain were really well done

The Devil's Hour by @adarlingwrites - Also one of the first fics in the tag that I read, and what made me like OC x Canon, love the complicated but also interesting to read relationship between Fortune and Raphael, and another aspect that I really liked was Fortune's relationship with art and her parents being brought up like (like idk why but those two things really stuck with me)

Sweetening the Deal by @adevilyoudo - I have to admit that I'm a bit behind on some chapters BUT it's a great work, love seeing this side of Raphael of trying to convince Tav to take this deal (and in a way, almost confusing her even more) and I loved to see the side of the Emperor constantly being in Tav's head, I think it really conveyed well how that feels like when playing the game

The Devil You Share a Room with by @djmorn - Really fun concept and the shennanigans between the two in the beggining, when Tav is reluctant to share a room with Raphael, was a delight to read and really really fun.

Damaged by @dark-and-kawaii - This is a Rolan/Tav one, it's dark but it also tugged at my heart in a sad way, with Rolan feeling all these things and doing what he does because of the abuse he suffered and Tav also trying to understand that. Like aaaa it just, it's some good stuff this fic

Who's the Daddy by Follyfall - This fic is the definition of fun and a good time, I legitimetly laughed a lot while reading it. The writing is fun, the concept is hilarious and the relationship between Raphael, Tav, Haarlep, the baby and Wyll is really really fun.

...

Also, keep in mind that there's A LOT of amazing writers in the bg3 community and i haven't read every single written work in the tags ever, so feel free to also reblog and add reccomendations of your own, or make your own post!

[tragedybunny]

A Soft Caress As Cold As Death - NSFT

༺Summary༻

Astarion and Serafina break into a shop for a little frisky fun. It turns out to be a coffin shop and Sera gets a kinky inspiration that involves one of the coffins and Astarion putting his vampiric nature to use.

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ Kinky Roleplay, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex

༺Word Count༻  1835

༺A/N༻ 

This is a freaky little idea I've had for some time now and finely decided to say "fuck it" and write it down. A super big thank you to @icybluepenguin my beta and partner.

If you like what you read, comments are always welcome.

Read on AO3

They’d finally made their way to not just a town, but a city. A real one, not a collection of buildings scattered at a crossroads. Not that they weren’t able to live comfortably on the road - but even with an enchanted tent, it was nice to find an inn every once in a while. This town didn’t just have an inn though. No, this was a town with a market, thriving silver trade, walls, and an inn to accommodate merchants who thought very highly of themselves. 

Astarion and Serafina had produced enough gold for a private suite of rooms at the back of the first floor of a three-story building, behind the lively common room. Although Astarion had grown more comfortable over their time on the road staying in places he didn’t have total control over, he still preferred an easy exit. Though truthfully a warlock and vampire could handle most of the twist and turns life threw at them. The amount of gold they had collected on their adventures didn’t hurt their acceptance at inns either. 

The innkeeper had been happy to accept their monetary offering and let them keep their nocturnal schedule. They’d decided to stay a couple of days and enjoy the little luxuries of the place. Tonight, they’d decided to stroll the town at sunset and take in the last hours of the market. The last of the stalls had closed and the streets were emptying, the people heading home or to the less savory establishments. Sera and Astarion walked arm and arm through the increasing quiet. 

They had been sipping red wine as they strolled through the pleasantly warm air, not too hot and not too cool. Astarion glanced down to find Sera crimson with a flush that ran from her cheeks to the tempting flesh exposed at the top of her bodice. He suddenly found himself ravenous in many ways. With a quick glance around to ensure no one was watching, Astarion  tugged Sera into the nearest alley, pushing her against a wall and kissing her fiercely.

He was rewarded with a moan into his mouth as his tongue claimed hers. Drawing back, he let her catch her breath. 

“What was that all about?” she panted as he listened to her pulse race and smelled her arousal. 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” He brought his leg between hers, positioning his knee against her warm mound, her sharp inhale making his cock twitch. “You little temptress, walking along looking good enough to eat. You were practically begging me to fuck you in the streets.” 

“Astari-” Sera tried argue but he silenced her by grinding himself against her, leaving her speechless. 

“That’s what I thought. Though I must admit the local guard may frown on this. What to do?” 

Glancing around, he found them fortuitously close to the side door of the shop they were leaned against. “One moment, my sweet.” 

The thing that Astarion loved about Sera was that she was always up for a bit of fun and harmless mischief. “Hurry before my sultry charms cool.” 

With that bit of encouragement, Astarion had the lock picked in no time and pulled Sera behind him into the room. Their eyes didn’t need any light to see the crowded back storeroom they found themselves in, but Astarion wished Sera couldn’t see it. They were standing in a room full of coffins. Surely the amorous mood was about to be doused. 

“Well, this is different,” Sera said airly. 

Astarion felt relief flood him all the way down to his now throbbing erection. Well, they did fuck on his grave once, so really, this wasn’t any worse. Wrapping her in his arms, Astarion pulled Sera close and thrust himself against her. 

“Come now, you little minx, this is the sort of thing you can’t resist.” Even Astarion cringed a little bit at that. A room full of dusty coffins was not thrilling or sensual.

Sera hummed thoughtfully for a moment and he could tell something was going on in her mind. “Now that you mentioned it…” 

She trailed off and he could feel the warmth of a flush flooding her skin and smell her arousal. “Yes, darling.” He nipped her ear playfully to encourage her. 

“Promise you won’t be upset.” 

Sera was squirming against him and by now Astarion’s cock was so painfully straining against his pants that he would have promised her just about anything. “With you? Never.”” 

“You know how when you lay completely still sometimes it’s like your dead-dead?” 

“Hmm, yes?” Rarely was he ever completely lost in matters of sex but Astarion could confidently say he had no idea where his beloved was going. 

“What if you were to, maybe…” It was truly adorable listening to her struggle to get her little fantasy out. “Lay down in one of the coffins and don’t move?” Her voice made a fetching little squeak at the end of her words.

For a moment Astarion was lost – while he’d had his vampirism fetishized, that horrible drow woman for one and a few unfortunates from his days with Cazador, he’d never had it occur with his more corpse-like attributes. Admittedly if it had been anyone else he might have been gravely offended. But coming from the love of his unlife…who leaned back against him and sighed deeply and prettily, her bosom rising and falling hypnotically. The hells with it, she could have what she wanted. 

“You want me to pretend to be dead?” But he was still going to make her work a little for it. 

She was silent until he once again thrust himself against her. “Y-yes!” she spluttered.

“My dearest Sera, what a delightfully dirty little game. Now tell me, which coffin is the most appealing for this scenario of yours?” 

His acceptance had restored her confidence and she pointed to a lavish cherrywood number on a table not far away. It looked newer, maybe even a custom job awaiting it’s occupant. And they were about to defile it. Deliciously scandalous. 

Without another word, Astarion released Sera and hoisted himself up into the wooden box. The inside was plush and actually quite comfortable. For a moment he had worried he would be assaulted by memories of being buried for a year, but none came. Perhaps his time with Sera had truly chased all that darkness away. 

“Close your eyes,” Sera breathed and Astarion almost moaned. 

Crossing his arms over his chest he closed his eyes and lay perfectly still. To anyone else he really would have appeared a corpse. With anticipation, he awaited what his love would do now that he had fulfilled her request. And then Sera’s deft fingers began to tug at his trouser laces. 

It took all of his will power to remain deathly quiet and keep the game going. He felt the brush of cool air as his cock sprung free but it was very quickly replaced by the warmth of Sera’s enchanting tongue. His hips twitched ever so slightly as she licked along the length which earned him a scolding noise from her. Gods, this would be harder than he had expected. 

A few more teasing licks allowed him to settle in, concentrating on the pleasure, to resist the threatening movements or noise. Until she suddenly took the whole of him into her mouth and then Astarion dug his fingers into the skin where his hands rested. 

Sera was merciless, taking him up to the hilt. The press of her tongue against his hardness created a torturously sweet pressure. Up and down she bobbed, every movement causing a spark of pleasure. Astarion could see her perfectly in his mind perfectly even if his eyes were closed, including that bliss filled look on her face that would sometimes send him over the edge all on it’s own. 

Just when he was sure he was at a precipice, she released him, turning him out of the warmth of her mouth into the shocking cool of the room. He’d been thoroughly soaked by her ministrations and remained achingly stiff. 

“What an irresistible sight,” Sera purred, her hand wrapping around his cock for a couple of quick strokes before letting go. 

The coffin shook for a brief moment and then he felt the weight of her settle across his thighs. Heat flowed from her where she’d hiked up her skirt leaving only her small clothes between him and her skin. His normally slow heartbeat was now thundering in his chest. Even without breathing, he still would have been gasping any other time. 

Warm fingertips trailed over his face languidly, brushing his sensitive ears which twitched involuntarily. Those fingers took their time, tracing his chest, finding his stiffened nipples beneath his shirt, and circling his abs before coming ot rest on his waist. The feather-light touch turned into a grip and Sera thrust forward, impaling herself on his cock.

There was no amount of will power that could help Astarion then and he released what he hoped was quiet whimper.

“Hush,” Sera commanded, rolling her hips to make it as excruciating as possible to obey. 

By some miracle, he was able to quiet even as she began to ride him more urgently. Once again he dug his fingers into his shirt, sure he was puncturing nail-shaped holes. Sera enveloped him, wet, hot, and tightly clenching him. Her body was perfection, a bliss he’d never know a match to. 

Her thrusting hips brought him closer to inevitable ecstasy, every movement a new wave a of pleasure. With the small noises coming from his love, he could tell Sera herself was close, even if they didn’t match her usual exuberance in this setting. Soft moans, and eager sighs escaped her. 

Her pace quickened and Astarion’s end threatened. But he valiantly fought against it, determined to see Sera completely satisfied by their game. Even when he felt her fingers slip between them to seek the pinnacle. He buried a fang in his lip instead and swallowed the blood that spurted into his mouth. 

With a desperate writhing, Sera spasmed around him and let out a strangled gasp as she finished. Her hips continued to rock until Astarion could hold himself no longer - crying out and filling her with his seed. 

As he felt Sera settle down onto him, head resting against his chest. he allowed his eyes to open. She was once again pleasantly flushed and her pulse raced with exertion. But it was her eyes that were hazy with a mixture of pleasure and affection that made his undead heart leap. 

“Did that fulfill your sordid little fantasy, my sweet?” He purred. 

A sassy smile lit up her features. “It was exquisite, but what more could I expect from my beloved little freak.” 

“Careful, I’ll have you lying still next,” Astarion teased back, kissing her head and nipping her ears. 

From the sound she made in return, Astarion was going to need to hope the shop owner did not return before dawn. 

[geekusfemme]

What if?

*******************************************************

Full story on AO3 — Wattpad 100k+

Astarion x Female OC

Rating: Mature

Summary: What if Astarion was betrayed by the Dark Urge and handed over to the Gur Hunter? And what if another kind of hunter saved him and set his life on a new course, one that would ultimately lead him to cross paths with those who had abandoned him? This story aims to give Astarion his own hero's journey separate to the main party, and will run parallel to the canon story in which Durge will be an antagonist.

*******************************************************

The forest lay quiet, bathed in golden light filtering through dense canopies that arched like ancient cathedrals over the narrow dirt road. The clip-clop of Gandrel's pony disturbed an otherwise tranquil woodland, his cart rolling steadily as he adjusted his reins, his attention largely on the road ahead. Behind him, in the cart's shadow, lay a large cage cloaked in heavy canvas, edges bound tightly with rope. Gandrel's eyes flicked occasionally to the side, cautious, as if sensing something amiss in the quiet.

In his periphery, a dark shape loomed, slinking from the undergrowth. A giant direwolf, fur like tarnished steel, padded up beside the cart, its massive paws silent on the earth. Astride the beast sat a young elven woman with raven-black hair, braided and woven with feathers. Her ice-blue eyes held him in a gaze as unwavering as her mount's. She wore a mix of leather and fur armor, each piece worn and shaped by use, the rough sinew of her life in the wilds. In her hand, a bow rested, almost lazily, but her body remained taut, poised as if she could spring from her seat at any moment.

Gandrel steadied his voice, though his grip on the reins tightened. "Greetings, friend - if friend you may be," he called out, keeping his tone cautious yet amiable. "I am Gandrel. May I know your business with me?"

The woman inclined her head slightly. Her expression gave nothing away, yet something about her presence prickled at his instincts. "Greetings, Gandrel. I am Ashara. My business with you will depend on what is contained within that cage of yours."

Gandrel glanced back to the covered cage, feeling a sudden surge of unease. Though he masked it, a shiver crept up his spine. Guiding his pony to the side, he stopped, watching her with wary eyes. She made no move to approach, but the direwolf's amber gaze was fixed upon him.

"It holds no beasts of the forest, if that is your concern," Gandrel replied, choosing his words carefully. "Only a prisoner, one I am taking to Baldur's Gate."

Ashara's expression didn't shift, but her posture did, almost imperceptibly; her bow was suddenly, dangerously, taut, the arrow aimed directly at him. "People are disappearing up and down the Sword Coast," she said, her tone sharp as flint. "I've been hired to investigate. You will show me this prisoner. Now."

Gandrel forced a placating smile, raising his hands slowly. "Please, do not mistake my intent. The prisoner I carry isn't one of your missing innocents. He is vampire spawn - a creature my tribe tasked me with capturing and delivering to Baldur's Gate."

Ashara's gaze never wavered, the bowstring taut in her grip. "Nevertheless, I require you to show me this prisoner."

Reluctantly, Gandrel clambered down from the cart, moving slowly to avoid provoking her further. He reached for the ropes holding the thick canvas in place, fingers steady but betraying a flicker of resignation. With a swift motion, he pulled the covering free, revealing the cage's occupant.

—♤—

Ashara's gaze sharpened as she took in the unusual features of the elven man in front of her: red eyes like garnets gleaming beneath the tangle of his silver curls, pale skin sunlit, but without the burns that would afflict a vampire. He was on his knees with his hands bound behind his back, a strip of twisted cloth silencing any cries he might have given. A rope wound tightly around his neck, the other end of which was passed through the bars of his prison and tied to a metal ring in the bed of the cart.

As he caught sight of her, the elf strained against his bindings, muffled sounds slipping past the gag as he glanced between her and Gandrel with urgent desperation.

Gandrel held up a hand, intercepting her questions before she could voice them. "I understand the confusion," he said, his voice calm yet resolute. "I was also taken aback to find a vampire walking freely in sunlight. But make no mistake - his immunity only serves his deceit. He used it to win the trust of a band of adventurers."

Inside the cage, the elf shook his head furiously, his eyes flashing with fierce protest. In a desperate effort, he scraped his gag against the bars until he managed to free his mouth. Though Ashara searched for telltale fangs, he kept his lips firmly pressed - a gesture that did not escape her notice. She hesitated, her gaze sharp with suspicion, yet unwilling to accept Gandrel's explanation outright.

"Please, listen," the elf gasped, his voice smooth yet strained, an accent polished with nobility. "This Gur is lying through his teeth! My name is Astarion, and I'm a magistrate from Baldur's Gate. I was kidnapped by this thug, who most likely intends to ransom me. Free me, and I'll see you richly rewarded."

Ashara studied him, noting the regal, carefully groomed air about him, the elegance of his speech, his clothing - though dirtied - was finely made. She looked back at Gandrel, suspicion flickering in her gaze. "Proof," she said quietly, her tone brooking no argument. "Show me proof of his nature beyond mere words."

Gandrel's expression flickered as if with hesitation, but he nodded in resigned acceptance. Climbing up onto the cart, he took hold of the rope tied to the elf's neck and pulled it taut, dragging him toward the back of the cage despite his furious writhing. Tying it off, he produced a key and moved to the cage's door, opening it and stepping inside.

Ashara watched, a prickling unease creeping up her spine as he seized the man by the hair, forcing his head back with a relentless grip.

Astarion snarled, his voice venomous. "Unhand me, you filthy bastard! What are you - no!"

Gandrel ignored his protests, gripping Astarion's lower jaw with his other hand, forcing his mouth open to reveal sharp, glinting canines, gleaming in the sunlight like a predator's trap laid bare.

"See?" Gandrel murmured, his voice low, yet something in his eyes seemed troubled as he looked back at Ashara.

All pretense vanished from Astarion's face, twisting his elegant features into something feral as he jerked his head, his fangs flashing as he snapped at Gandrel's hands. The hunter barely flinched, releasing Astarion with an eerie calm, stepping back as if accustomed to such wild resistance.

Gandrel's voice was devoid of sympathy. "I take no pleasure in this, spawn. It would have served you better to be truthful."

Astarion strained against his bonds, spitting like a wild cat. "Go to the hells! I'll tear you to pieces for this, Gur."

Ashara felt a chill crawl up her spine at Astarion's abrupt, vicious change. He'd gone from a desperate prisoner to something far more dangerous, a predator wounded and cornered. Still, her voice was steady when she spoke to Gandrel, watching him as he locked up the cage and loosened the rope tether, giving Astarion just enough freedom to slump back onto his knees.

"What will happen to this vampire once you've delivered him to your people?" she asked, her gaze flicking to Astarion, now panting heavily, his eyes wild with fury.

"What do you think? They'll kill me!" Astarion cut in before Gandrel could answer. The fear in his gaze stirred something reluctant in her, as he pleaded, "Look, I'm sorry for lying, but I haven't done anything wrong. I wasn't going to hurt anyone, I swear."

Gandrel's expression hardened, his voice now cool, a wall built from old wounds and memories. "That may be so these past few days, but you're wanted for more than just being a vampire. You helped steal away the children of my tribe. My own included."

The words fell like stones, each one a blow that left Astarion frozen. He flicked a nervous glance at Ashara, his composure wavering. She caught the tension in his shoulders, the flicker of shame in his eyes, so brief it could've been a trick of the light. But when he looked up, anger masked his face once more.

"I didn't have a choice!" Astarion's voice rose, a bitter edge cutting through it. "Cazador ordered me to take them, and I had to obey. All his spawn have to obey - you know that damn well, Gur!"

Gandrel's face hardened, but a flicker of pain crossed his eyes, so brief Ashara almost missed it. "Willingly or not, it makes no difference. You know what happened to those children, and you will tell us."

Astarion looked away, jaw clenched. "You want to know what happened? They're probably dead by now." His voice was low, resignation tainted with anger. "Nothing I say can change that, and I won't apologize for something I couldn't control."

The weight of Gandrel's sorrow settled heavily in the silence between them, and his jaw tightened, a haunted glint in his eye. "Then my people will have their vengeance... one way or another."

Astarion scoffed, a hollow, bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Killing me won't change a damn thing."

Gandrel turned to Ashara, his eyes weary but resolute. "Now that you've seen my prisoner, am I free to continue on my way?"

She glanced back at Astarion, who had slumped back against the bars, head bowed as though each breath was an effort. A faint sense of guilt stirred within her, but she forced herself to nod, her voice quiet. "Yes... your business with this man is your own."

Astarion's head jerked up, his eyes ablaze with fury and betrayal. "Damn you!" His voice cracked, the anger veiling something more fragile. Then he fell silent, a hollow figure against the iron bars.

Ashara straightened, stroking her wolf's thick fur as she gave Gandrel a respectful nod. "Onyx and I apologize for detaining you, Gandrel of the Gur. May your journey be swift and your burden light."

A weary smile ghosted across Gandrel's face as he climbed back onto the cart, his eyes softening as he inclined his head. "And so too may yours be, Ashara."

She nudged Onyx to step aside as Gandrel took up the reins, his cart lumbering forward along the winding path. But as they passed, her gaze fell back to the figure in the cage. Astarion was watching her, and in his eyes, she caught a shimmer - a trace of something unguarded, unfeigned. A plea that was all the more startling for its sincerity.

"Please..." he whispered, his voice a fragile thread, breaking under the weight of despair. "Help me."

She tore her gaze away, her chest tightening as a pang of guilt twisted within her. Beneath her, Onyx sensed her discomfort, and gave a low rumbling growl of reassurance as they slipped back into the forest.

Beneath the cover of trees, she dismounted, letting her thoughts drift as she resumed the task she'd abandoned earlier - skinning the deer she'd taken down just before Gandrel had passed by.

Onyx settled beside her, his watchful eyes fixed on her with a calm assurance as his voice echoed in her mind.

"You feel guilt over the vampire. Waste not your sympathy. His kind are known for cruelty and deception. His fate is one he surely deserves."

Ashara paused, turning to run her hand over the thick fur along Onyx's neck. "I know. But something about seeing him caged like that - so desperate for freedom - it reminded me of you. People said you were a monster too." She gave a half-smile, her eyes softening. "And I'm glad I didn't believe them."

Onyx's muzzle curled into a canine grin, his teeth glinting. "As am I, my friend."

She sighed, tracing the line of her blade over the deer's pelt. "I know I shouldn't get involved-"

"Then don't." Onyx's voice was calm, grounded in a wisdom that often tempered her impulsive nature.

"But maybe we could free him and let him go somewhere remote and far away from people?" she argued, more to herself than to him. "Like that owlbear we rescued from hunters?"

Onyx scratched an ear, tilting his head thoughtfully. "A vampire is not an owlbear, Ashara. If he is freed, he will remember every slight, every indignity. And he will eventually return to civilization, hungrier and more cunning than before. Do you truly wish the blood of the next innocent traveller he meets to be on your conscience?"

Ashara felt the weight of his words and lowered her gaze, her resolve weakening. "No... you're right."

Onyx's voice softened as he leaned his head against her arm. "If you choose to free him, his fate is your responsibility. You would have to ensure he never harms another innocent soul. And that would mean keeping him close and watching over him."

She glanced up, startled. "What... like a pet?"

A rare bark of laughter escaped Onyx, a sharp huff that made her smile despite herself. "No, not quite. I do not think he would take kindly to that title."

Ashara grinned, feeling slightly foolish at her assumption. Then, a spark of curiosity glinted in her eyes as she remembered. "Oh, how did I do back there by the way?"

Onyx nuzzled her cheek affectionately. "You handled yourself well. You were confident, respectful."

"I wasn't too aggressive?"

"For a man who captured a vampire? I think you showed just the right amount." His amber eyes gleamed approvingly.

Ashara gave a small, proud smile, her hands resuming their work. But even as she focused on the deer, her thoughts drifted back to the prisoner. Those crimson eyes, filled with anguish, haunted her. And as the forest wrapped around her, she wondered if she could truly let that plea go unanswered.

Like what you're reading? Check out the full chapter in the link below.

[jessiemeows]

Lost & Found

Prologue: Waking Up in a Tadpole's Nightmare

A/N: Hello! This is just the prolouge so its sort of short, the actual first chapter I plan to post in a week or so! It depends because I'm writing a little christmas thing after the events of game so it may be the week after :). Basicly the story is how I see things went down in the game between my OC Durge Amaya and how they both fell in love 🎔

Pairing: F!Durge, OC (Amaya), Tiefling, Selunite Cleric X Spawn Astarion

Rating: 18+!!! mentions of violence, blood, corpses, death, basically durge things if you know how that character is

WC: About 900

A/N again: I've only recently gotten into creative writing again in the past 5 years, until the last 5 years I used to write 1D fandfic's when I was 14-16 lol. So if there are any grammatical issues, spelling mistakes, or more, I'm very sorry!

------------------------------------------------------

Story:

Corpses littered the landscape, a grotesque carpet stretching as far as the eye could see. The earth was saturated with blood, the grass strewn with chunks of flesh like obscene ornaments. Above, the sky loomed a deep, foreboding crimson, as if it had absorbed the lifeblood of the millions massacred below.

Each step through the sodden grass sent lightning bolts of agony through her legs, up until her arms. Fever gripped her body, and sweat beaded on her skin despite the bitter wind. A thunderous laugh rolled across the sky, its echo piercing her skull. As her gaze dropped to the blood-soaked ground, certain bodies caught her attention- strangers whose faces tugged at her memory. One in particular made her heart stutter: an elf with silver curls. Tears spilled down her cheeks unbidden.

The vision twisted, and suddenly moonlight bathed Amaya's skin as she knelt in the middle of a dark forest. Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw an ethereal figure approaching- a pale elven woman with raven-black hair, dressed in white and midnight-blue robes adorned with silver patterns and moonstones. The woman's touch on Amaya's cheeks felt like moonlight made tangible, her warmth spreading like starlight through Amaya's body.

"I know you're scared," the woman whispered, her voice as gentle as a summer breeze, "but you are so much more than what he made you. Be who you are meant to be."

Before Amaya could speak, the woman dissolved into shimmering moondust. Her eyes snapped open to harsh reality- she lay sprawled in burning sand, the merciless sun beating down on her face.

Hours had passed since she'd crashed the mindflayer ship onto the Sword Coast. Pain pulsing behind her eye where the tadpole writhed. The beach around her was rather grim: bodies strewn across the sand, the nautiloid's wreckage still smoldering. As she sat in the hot sand, she grasped at the fragments of her identity- Amaya hadn’t a clue who she really was. She knew only a few simple details: her name was Amaya Othzál, she served as a cleric of Selûne, and she had to return to some place called Baldur’s Gate urgently. A place she believed she called home.

Rising unsteadily, Amaya approached the nearest corpse. A wave of nausea struck her, retreated, then returned with savage force as she touched the body. Her blood seemed to boil, and her lips twisted into an involuntary smile. Horrified, she tried to suppress these dark impulses, but her body rebelled. Pain sliced through her wrist as if carved by an invisible blade. The nausea intensified until she retched, her skull threatening to split from the pressure building within. Time stretched like taffy as she fought for control, each second an eternity until the episode passed.

Questions plagued her: what kind of person could she have been to smile so cruelly at a person who never should have died? Why was her body rejecting her so much when she rejected these sick thoughts? Was it the tadpole? Or was it something much worse? Her hands trembled as she collected a map and a few gold pieces from the corpse. With no answers forthcoming, she turned East, leaving her questions scattered in the bloody sand behind her.

-----

Astarion huddled in the shadows, a fugitive from the sun that should have burned him to ash. Confusion clouded his thoughts- he'd lain exposed to daylight for unknown hours, yet survived without the expected agony. He remembered a human woman on the beach, her words garbled in his memory like a broken music box. His instinctive flight had saved him when the nautiloid's monstrosities claimed her life.

From his hiding place among the wreckage, he watched the brain-creatures stalk their territory. Then a woman's soft, raspy voice cut through his deliberation, the familiar cadence of a speak-with-dead spell reaching his ears. He sneered at such foolishness- until her voice rang out again: "FLAGRA!" Radiant white magic flung from her fingertips, incinerating one of the brain-creatures instantly.

He watched, transfixed, as she dispatched the remaining monsters with brutal efficiency. Despite one of the brains clawing at her, she moved like a dancer, her daggers finding their marks with deadly precision. Recognition flickered in his mind- she'd been among the three women he'd glimpsed on the tentacled freaks ship while trapped in that accursed pod.

The tiefling captivated him. Her freckled skin, though pale, held warmth; dark curls escaped her ponytail to frame a face that could command attention with a single look. Those eyes- large and expressive- could doubtless bend the strongest will. Her horns set her apart from others of her kind, dark brown with tips that glowed like embers.

"A pretty little thing," he mused, imagining how Cazador would have coveted such a prize- rare enough to turn rather than merely drain. The more he looked at her something began to stir in his dead heart, a warmth he hadn't felt in centuries. He shook off the distraction, focusing instead on strategy. She was wounded, vulnerable- perfect for extracting information. Steeling himself against the sun's glare, he darted up the path, tracking her limping form as she made her way toward the Chionthar.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

A Quiet Love

A Gale x OC fic for the amazing @frostfall-matches as thanks for the many matchups via my main account @shadow-wolf-03, hope you enjoy!

Apologies to my fellow Astarion lovers this is a Gale fic don't worry though the next one is an Astarion fic

Raven never thought that one day, her favourite scent would become the smell of old dusty library books, but here she was, reveling in the scent of her lover, who smelt exactly like old dusty library books.

He had his left arm around her waist, holding her close as he held a book in his right hand. A mage hand hovered above the book, ready to flip the pages. His long brown hair tickled her cheek whenever he shifted, earning little giggles every now and then.

His dark brown gaze always remained fixed on the letters scrawled upon the pages, but the gentle stroking of his thumb upon her waist let her know he was still paying attention to her. She rested her hand on his, leaning against his chest to listen to the rhythmic thrumming of his heartbeat as she tried to keep up with Gale's reading speed. Her body, however, had other plans. Her eyelids kept trying to shutter close and her head kept drooping on occasion, much to Gale's concern.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to sleep, my heart? You seem very tired." His deep husky voice flowed like a melody to her ears. "You don't have to stay up with me."

"No, I'm fi—" A yawn cut her off and she shook her head vigorously. "I'm fine."

"It doesn't seem that way to me." Gale set the book down after bookmarking it and gently pushed her towards their shared bed. She reluctantly obliged, another yawn taking her over as she flopped onto the bed face first, causing her to nearly eat the sheets. Gale slipped into the sheets shortly after, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before pulling her back into his embrace, nuzzling into her silvery hair.

She burrowed into his chest, feeling its gentle rise and fall with each breath he took, a reminder that he was still alive, that he still had a future ahead of him, that he had chosen to share this future with her. The orb no longer hummed like it used to before Mystra sealed it away, but the scars remained, a permanent mark of his former hubris.

Gale's fingers gently carded through her hair, his legs tangled with hers as he cuddled her like there was no tomorrow. Raven smiled, fingers tracing along the length of his arm as she let the sound of his heartbeat gently lull her to sleep. She could feel his lips ghost over the top of her head and he whispered something she couldn't quite make out.

"Hrm?" She mumbled, rubbing her eyes. Gale only chuckled softly, then snapped his fingers to reveal a starry night sky hanging above them. She knew it was only an illusion, but the sight still mesmerised her.

The stars twinkled just like the real ones and suddenly Raven was back on the road with her companions, camping just outside the city of Baldur's Gate. She'd been lying next to Gale, not too dissimilar to what she was doing right now, but back then, the thought of blowing himself up to destroy the brain was still very much present in Gale's mind.

She remembered the argument that had broken out between them that night, with him wanting to sacrifice himself and her wanting him to not do that. She couldn't understand why he couldn't see how much everyone needed him, her most of all even if she refused to admit it, and that no one wanted him to blow himself up just to save the city.

"You don't need to blow yourself up to destroy the brain. It's such a foolish sacrifice for a problem that can be solved in other ways."

"But what if there's no other way?"

"We will find a way. I promise you that."

She'd refused to lose someone so precious to her, refused to let him see himself as a tool, and refused to let him be used like one. That night was the first time she had uttered the words 'I love you' and it had stolen her breath away, her heart thundering in her chest as she waited anxiously for Gale's response.

He'd been just as taken aback, fumbling for words to say as his face flushed in embarrassment, and settled for returning the favour. His 'I love you' hadn't come out as smoothly as hers did, but that didn't mean it had any less weight. Those words washed away all her fears, giving way to relief and joy that he truly felt the same way.

She'd never yearned for someone before, not until she stumbled upon a magic hole in a rock that contained possibly the most awkward wizard she had ever met and said wizard had somehow made his way past her apathy, revealing the young mischievous soul that lay within.

Raven slipped her hand into his, feeling the way his larger warm hand wrapped around her smaller one. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head and tucked her hair behind her ears, looking at her with such awe it made her a little embarrassed.

"Aren't you glad you didn't blow yourself up to kill the Netherbrain? We wouldn't be able to have this moment if you did." She teased him lightly, giving his chest a poke.

"I'm glad about more than just that." Gale took her hand, placing it over his heart. "I'm glad to have met you, to have travelled with you, to be the one to whom you've given your heart to. I am honoured, to be the recipient of your love and I will do all I can to return the favour."

"You already have." Raven murmured. She didn't know why she was feeling so sentimental tonight, maybe it was the way the illusion reminded her of the not too distant past when she learnt to fall in love, to open up her heart. Or maybe it was the way Gale was lookng at her, his eyes filled with such adoration and love.

He smiled widely at her response, with what seems to be a look of relief in his gaze and connects his lips with hers. She leaned in, kissing him deeper and closes her eyes, relishing in the moment. She felt his hand on the back of her head, pulling her close until they both run out of breath and part.

"I love you." His words are soft, breathed out, and full of genuine love.

"I love you too." Her words are gentle, carefully chosen and filled with unspoken emotion.

As the two allowed sleep to claim them, the night sky illusion slowly faded, but their quiet love continued to burn bright.

[leopardmuffinxo]

If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.

[anacdoce]

Snippet Sunday on a Monday

Thank you for the tag @deadly-diminuendo and @saucy-scribbler ❤️ loved your snippets!

Today, I'll share something I'm not very comfortable writing, but I'm working on it, and I think I'm satisfied with how it ended.

Hope you like it 🫣

From my future long fic (chapter 15, probably)

No pressure tags: @bloodinwine @roguishcat @larvasmoon @yennefer-of-vengerbergs @obsessedwhyyes @astarioffsimpmain

[windssong]

My Beloved Ghost and Me // Astarion x Original Tav

MASTERLIST

series summary: Haunted by a past that refuses to quiet, Summer is forced to step up during a time of great turmoil for her group of tadpole invested companions. As they make their way to Baulders Gate, relationships and spirits are tested. Yet, the love for a certain Pale Elf rises above it all.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon violence, talks of past abuse, death, grief, slow burn, eventual smut

main masterlist:

CHAPTER INDEX

CH 1 - The Camp Ghost

CH 2 - coming soon

[redlittlefoxari]

9 people you want to know better

Tagged by: @paganwitchisis

Three ships: Astarion X Tav (or OC), Edward X Winery (FMA), and My husband X Me. Or if that doesn't count Kia X payden (powerless series)

First ship: Tuxsedo mask X sailor moon

Last song listened to: Pink Poney club (I sing it to my dog and we get amped up)

Last movie watched: Puss’n boots and the last wish. (yes I haven't watched a movie since 2022)

Currently reading: Gild by Raven Kennedy, One Dark Window by Rachel Gilling and Pucking Around by Emily Rath. (I read many books at the same time depending on my mood)

Currently Watching: Nothing. Unless tik toks count.

Currently eating: Shepherds pie

Currently craving: Fruit.

TAG: As far as tagging people I’ll have to hop on my computer to to that since I have no idea who I want to tag and require looking at a list.

Anyway I hope this helps people get to know my better! If you have any questions don’t be afraid to ask my inbox is always open and I love responding to people :)

Here’s a photo to my dog (mochi) and cat (pancake) snuggling.

[write-and-wander]

Yawning Grave | Two: Decline

Astarion x Ayzora (F!OC)

Description: As the party continues to strive for a cure, Ayzora and Astarion are suddenly given ample time alone. They spend it learning more about one another, knowing each other better, and weaving invisible strings in unspoken deals.

Warnings: Self-Harm allusion/mention (scars) | Word count: 6.7k

| One | Two | Three | Four | ...

Read on Ao3

Golden sunlight filters through thick fabric, shifting into deep blue rays that cast their glow on Ayzora’s trancing body.

Something almost ticklish dances on the strip of her exposed skin at the base of her abdomen, then her chest, then her face.  A loose strand of her hair is tugged at.

When they open, her eyes lock with those of a midnight black corvid.

She sits up and scrambles to the other side of her tent, back pressed against the fabric wall.

The raven cocks its head.  It croaks.

The sound echoes from above in a chorus, growing ever-louder.

Her gaze crawls up the wall while she remains frozen in terror.

The ceiling of her tent is covered in- no, consists completely of ravens.

“Will you damn yourself?”

The Raven Queen’s disembodied voice echoes in the room with the same question that has haunted Ayzora for decades.

The conspiracy of ravens forming the ceiling flies away at last, exposing Ayzora to the cold, overcast sky.

She cranes her neck, looking straight up.

The shifting clouds create a looming white mask contrasting the vast dark blue-grey of the rest of the sky- the face of the Raven Queen.

“You damned me!  You damned my friends!”  She screams back, standing on her feet.  Tears quickly well and fall from her eyes in twin streams.  “You could have saved them!  I would have stopped!  You knew that, and you just watched us die!”

Lightning strikes in the clouds, turning the eyes of the mask from endless black to searing white in an instant.

The ground disappears from beneath Ayzora.  She begins to fall,

Down,

Faster,

Deeper,

A scream rips through her throat as her arms claw at the air, desperate to find purchase on something- anything- before she is plunged into the depths of the Abyss.

Ayzora wakes with a gasp.

The tent is empty.

Golden sunlight filters in through the cross-hatched holes in the fabric of her tent, turning blue and gently casting rays of light onto Ayzora’s tense body.

She weeps silently.

The dreams are always different, and yet they are always the same.  The ravens flock to her, just like they did on that horrid day.  The expressionless mask of The Raven Queen finds her; mocks her; asks her the same damned question.  

No matter what she says, the outcome never changes.  She is handed over from one enemy to another.  She is swallowed whole by the yawning grave that awaits her in the Abyss; in the wretched realm of her cruel patron.  She dies all over again, and she is reminded that it was inevitable.  She was dead from the beginning.

And then, she was forced to rise anyway.

With remnants of the same exhausted determination, she forces herself out of her bed roll.

Stretching, a tinge of pain suddenly shoots through her neck, followed by the dull throb of sore wounds; a reminder of what transpired the night before.

While Ayzora normally found herself restless through her brief trances, last night was different, as if she had known what- or who- was coming.

She shifted, turning to her side.  Her eyes opened for a split second to see Astarion in her tent, looming over her, his sharp vampiric teeth bared.

He locked eyes with her and suddenly retreated, sitting on his heels.

“... Shit.”

“Astarion?” She sat up.

“No, No- it's not what it looks like.”

Her brows furrowed.  She quickly lifted a finger to her lips, silently signaling that he be quiet, lest he wake the others.  Astarion's vampirism didn't come as a shock- Ayzora already knew, thanks to her scrying- but why he would come to her to feed, she wasn't sure.  “What are you doing?” she whispers.

“I wasn't going to hurt you, I swear.  I just needed… well, blood.”

She sighed.  “When's the last time you fed?”

“I… well, I feed on animals.  Boars, deer, kobolds- whatever I can get my hands on.  But it's not enough,” he admitted quietly, shifting to sit closer beside her.  “Not if I have to fight.  I feel so… weak.”

“So you need to feed on people,” Ayzora said, coming to the conclusion for him.  She'd been in the business of the undead for long enough to know that, when it comes to a creature's essence- soul, blood; things of the sort- there's a different quality between animals and people.  Consciousness brings with it an elevated potency that the undead unfortunately need to sustain themselves.

“I- yes,” he confirmed, brows raised in surprise.  She was handling this quite well, all things considered.  Much better than he had anticipated.  It was vexing- but not his priority at present.  He needed to feed.  Soon.  “If I had just a little blood, I know I could think clearer.  Fight better.  Please,” he pleaded low.

Using their illithid tadpoles, Astarion opened his mind to hers, attempting to show Ayzora- to prove to her his honesty.

She shook her head, pulling away from the connection.  “No need-” she insisted with a wave of her hand, “I believe you.  I…” she paused for a moment, cutting herself off.  I can't tell him I already knew- it would only make things worse.  She took a deep breath.  “I only wish you told me sooner.”

“I needed you to trust me- and you can trust me, Ayzora,” he looked at her earnestly, dropping his usual theatrics.

There were only a few moments Ayzora felt she had seen Astarion honestly genuine.  This was one of them.  She wouldn't take it for granted.

She nodded.  “Alright.  But… only as much as you need.”

“Not a drop more,” he confirmed, a light returning to his expression in excitement.  “Let's make ourselves comfortable.”

Ayzora laid back again, taking some time to focus on the muscles in her body and intentionally relax them.

Astarion resumed his earlier position, looming over Ayzora- this time, his body a little closer to hers.

She couldn't help but feel the moment was oddly… intimate.

His mouth hovered over the crook of her neck, breath dancing along her skin with every exhale.

“Okay,” she whispered, locking eyes with him.

He nodded and sank his teeth into her flesh.

It stung at first, before fading to a dull throb.

The moment her blood filled his hungry maw, he grimaced.  Her blood was not as… fresh as he was expecting.  It caught him off guard.  How?

But he was hungry- and his instincts quickly overtook his dissatisfaction with her bitter taste.  He drank deep of the forbidden wine, and with each long draw of thick blood he could feel something in him shift, as if he was coming alive again at last.

The vulnerability of the moment made her want to squirm- but she willed herself to remain.  Ayzora kept her eyes on his white curls, distracting herself from the pain.  He was here.  Safe.  Feeding on something other than the blood of rats; an innate hunger satiated at last.  The relief must be heavenly.  And with his strength renewed, their odds improved.  Find a healer.  Get to Baldur's Gate.  Kill Cazador; she silently reminded herself.  This is just part of it.

Her hands started to tingle as she felt herself grow light headed- enough.  “Star,” she whispered, her weak voice and mumbling mouth only managing to make half of his name audible.

“Hm?” He instinctively inquired, abruptly pulled away from the ecstasy he began to lose himself in (and a little jarred by the sudden introduction of a… nickname?).  “Oh, yes, of course,” he quickly interjected, pulling away from the necromancer.

She sat up and pulled a rag out of one of her bags, pressing it to the fresh wound on her neck.  “Better?”

Astarion nodded, wiping some of the fresh blood from his glistening lips.  “That was… amazing.  My mind is clear… I feel stronger… happy.”

She huffed in a laugh.  “Good.”  Pulling the rag away from her neck, she checked the cloth.  The bleeding wasn't as bad as she'd expected, but she still decided on keeping the wound covered.  She yawned and looked back up at the vampire.  “Get some rest, now.  We'll see you fight soon.”

Astarion stood.  “Won't be long.  So many people to kill.”  He turned to step out of her tent, lifting the flap; but paused.  He looked over his shoulder at her.  “This is a gift, you know.”  His voice was still low, but he spoke with his whole chest.

She looked up at him, a small smile growing on her lips.

“I won't forget it.”

She nodded.  “I know.  Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

Astarion stalked off into the night once again to hunt- and this time, it wasn't by sneaking away.  As he headed into the woods to fill the rest of his stomach, he took confident strides.

Ayzora listened to his footsteps trail away as she continued to press the cloth to her bloody neck.  He was just feeding, she reminded herself.  Nothing more.

So why do I feel so exposed?  She expected to feel the contentment of someone who just helped a great deal with a friends’ condition.  Instead, she felt like a lover who was exposed, ravished, and left to process the intimate exchange naked and alone.

As she strips herself of her bedclothes, the feeling lingers.  Exposed and vulnerable.  Alone.  As if being on her own is suddenly abnormal.  The loneliness that sinks in is equal parts pain and relief.  Shifting her thoughts away from the night before, she moves to stand before her silver mirror and stares at the naked reflection.

Faded white scars litter her torso, dragging across her body as the great swings of now-buried swords, leaving rising tides of thick skin in their wake.  In between the sweeps of forgotten battles are small self-inflicted nicks scattered about like constellations that stretch from her sternum to her stomach and trickle down the tops of her thighs in the search for more space than her sacrificed body can offer. 

Though the origin of her large scars have been lost to time, these scars- the small, seemingly insignificant ones- she knows well.  Standing before her own image, she gently runs her fingers over each one in a ritual she maintains with the dedication of a devout paladin.  With each rise and fall of her fingers, she whispers a name.  The people who she killed.  The people who she lost.  The people who died because of her.  Her cold body is a graveyard in memory of them.  It is a testament to the depth of her sins.  It is a grim reminder of the atonement she has yet to achieve.

The names of her friends and family soon fall from her mouth in sharp whispers between the shimmering tears that drip off of her chin and soak into the rug beneath her feet.  Her hands stop moving when her fingers reach the final scar, settled between her breasts.  This cut was noticeably deeper than the rest, leaving a more prominent mark in its memory.

Her words tremble in unison with her shaking body as she utters the final name of her ritual:  “The Raven Queen.”

A moment of silence passes in reverence: one last prayer to the souls on her ledger that tip the scales nearly beyond redemption.

In that same hallowed silence, she takes her time dressing herself, putting her form together piece by piece as Ayzora is reassembled.  While she wraps the fabric of her pale blue dress around herself, she inhales slowly, watching her chest rise in the mirror.  The skin she chooses to leave exposed- her legs, her arms, her cleavage and neck- is still pristine; as if everything is hidden again beneath carefully constructed beauty.  She exhales, emptying her lungs completely until her chest settles into a familiar hollow sensation.  Familiarity, however bitter, is a necessary comfort, at present.

She clips her cloak to the harness fitted over her dress, and after a final examination of her gilded presentation, she steps out of her tent.

As the sun warms her pale skin, she pauses for a while to listen to the song of a morning in the druid grove, grounding herself to the present.  It's a hotter day today, with a clear blue sky and still air.  There's chatter amongst the group, underlined by the droning buzz of cicadas, and the birds perched in the nearby trees chirp trilling melodies from above.

The scene outside is even more lively than it had been when the motley group made camp for the first time.  Karlach, a barbarian tiefling with a heart of gold (or, more accurately, infernal iron) had joined the ever-growing party about a day after they settled, along with Wyll, the warlock “Blade of Frontiers,” and Scratch, the collectively adopted dog.  They were graciously given ample space to fit everyone within the grove after freeing the current leader, Kagha, from a dark deal with the shadow druids, and making a promise to find the Archdruid, Halsin.  This place has been a constant since then; a temporary home to get them by for a few days.

In a strange way, Ayzora feels she may miss this.  The company has been a gift.  It will be bittersweet to part ways once Halsin is returned and they are tended to.

Thankfully- though incredibly suspicious- the early stages of ceremorphosis have yet to surface, despite approaching the middle of the first full tenday on the journey.  Optimistically, most of them choose to believe this means there’s still ample time to find this healer and be cured.

“Hey, soldier!”  Karlach calls out, abandoning the group to greet the late-riser. 

Ayzora still stands just in front of her tent, taking stock of the camp.  She watches the tiefling jog up to her with a smile.  “Good morning, Karlach.”

“Listen, I know I was meant to stay at camp today, but ever since you gave me that infernal iron last night, I’ve been itching to get to Dammon to finally get this thing,” she knocks on her chest a couple times, gesturing to the engine that sits in place of her heart, “fixed up.”

Ayzora agrees before Karlach can even ask: “I’ll stay in your place.”

The tiefling beams at her, nearly jumping with giddy excitement.  “Thank you!  I knew you would!  Oh, I would squeeze you half to death if I could!”

Ayzora laughs, joy swelling in her own chest at her friend’s glee.  She’s nearly certain Karlach had said something similar after she found the piece of infernal iron Dammon mentioned, but the joy is still just as potent.  Though she won’t admit it out loud, she would gladly return Karlach’s embrace, if it weren’t for the infernal engine raising her body heat so high that Ayzora would burn at her touch.  However, with this infernal iron and Dammon’s skill, she may finally be able to have that hug.

Thank the gods the tieflings at the grove happened to have an infernal smith among them… it gives her a chance.  “You’re welcome,” Ayzora finally responds fondly.

Karlach, still giddy, promptly returns to the group preparing to head out, immediately making it known that Ayzora would remain at camp so she could go and visit Dammon.

Astarion is exchanging crossbows with Wyll when the news breaks.  He glances at the necromancer, who is now retrieving a helping of breakfast set aside for her by Gale.  Perfect; some time alone.

Along with the newly-added visit with Dammon, the agenda for the adventurers’ day focuses on scouting out the goblin camp Halsin is supposed to be contained in.  If all goes well, they hope to come up with a plan and enact at least the first stages of the rescue mission- if not follow through completely- before dusk.

In an established routine, a pair stays behind to protect the camp from intruders and tend to any wounded who return.  Ayzora normally remains with Wyll.  However, today, she trades places with Karlach, making Astarion her new counterpart.

An unexpected, but pleasant surprise for both.

When the others finally leave, Ayzora is preparing a stew to simmer for the day, per Gale’s instruction.

“You know,” Astarion begins, sauntering into Ayzora’s line of sight, “if you wanted to spend more time together, all you had to do was ask.”

A smirk appears on Ayzora’s face with a huff.  “And lose my spot with Wyll?”  She looks at him as she gives the pot a final stir and removes the ladle, hanging it on the stand.  “Don’t be so bold.”  She rises to her feet, brushing off the dirt pressed into her bare knees and adjusting the wide forward-facing slit of her dress that exposes her black leather shorts.

“Darling, I’m hurt,” he pouts, “I thought we had something special,” he adds, laying a hand on his chest in feigned offense.

“Don’t play coy; I know you have a soft spot for Karlach.  We all do.”

“Don’t be bold, don’t be coy,” he lists, his voice playfully mocking, “what can I be?”

Ayzora thinks for a second.  “Honest?”

Astarion scoffs.  “And where’s the fun in that?”

She shakes her head, taking a seat on one of the logs surrounding the cook pot.  She rests her hands on the log on either side, leaning back on them in an almost-relaxed posture.  “Maybe it isn't fun, but I would still enjoy knowing more about you.  Beyond the upper city magistrate.”

“You're one to talk,” he prods, sitting down on an adjacent log.  “You've hardly shared anything about yourself.  There must be more to the necromancer from Neverwinter.”

“Touché,” she mumbles.

He waits.

She sighs.  “Well… I was born in Neverwinter.  My parents placed me in a mage school to follow the footsteps of my older brother, Reidoth, but… I didn't take to it quite like he did.  Nor did I take to high society well.”

“Really?  Can't imagine why…”

She gives him a look.

He gives her a nod.

Suppressing an eye roll, she continues.  “When I was 19, my parents kicked me out of the Ethrallion estate.  I was caught smuggling necrotic magic items to the less-fortunate, in a sorry attempt to give them a leg up in the world.  That's when Zedd found me, and taught me magic better than any professor could.  

“I started traveling a few years later, taking bounties to get by, and met Remus and Ryon in Phandolin after we all agreed to take the same contract.  We just… stuck together, after that.  Gained a lot; learned even more over the years.  Those two were the closest thing to family I had.”

“‘Were?’”

She nods, swallowing.  “When I started a life of adventure,” she emphasizes with a near-theatrical delivery, “I sought revenge against the person who murdered Zedd's late wife, Laz.  Somehow, Orcus set his sights on me just in time and made me an offer: if I agreed to be his harbinger and do his bidding, he would not only help me get revenge, but bring Laz back.  I didn't even think, I just agreed.

“Turns out, I wasn't the only one who made an impulsive agreement with an evil god; Remus and Ryon did, too.  Bane and Mask were their gods.  Overnight, we went from adventurers to a triad of champions serving shrouded gods desperate to gain power on Torril.

“We were granted a lot of power, but we… made a lot of awful choices, in serving them.  Horrible things happened because of us.”  She pauses.  No, that’s not quite right.  “Because of me.”

Astarion cocks an eyebrow in curiosity.

Ayzora chooses not to elaborate, opting to continue her story.  “Eventually, it all caught up; like we were bound to pay from the beginning.  Remus, Ryon; even Reidoth, Zedd, and Laz are long dead and buried.  Somehow, I'm the only one still here, despite everything.  For now, at least.”

“Not everyone handles power well,” he remarks.

She keeps her eyes trained forward, silent.  I know.  Some worse than others, I guess.  I was so blind… and yet…  “Orcus seems to think otherwise,” she mutters.

“You… still serve him?”

She looks up to see a gentle- almost empathetic- look from the pale elf.  She swallows the lump rising in her throat, forcing tears back.  “Yeah,” she manages weakly.  “He’s been quiet for a long time now, but… yeah.”  She clears her throat, folding her hands together in her lap.  “Your turn.”

Astarion sighs, “Is it, now?”

“I can’t force you.”

“What good would it do if I didn’t?”

“Fair.”  She turns to face him. “Well, you have my attention.”

He sighs, resetting himself before beginning his own monologue.  “Cazador Szarr is a vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate.  The patriarch of his coven and a monster obsessed with power.  Not political power or military power- I mean power over people.  The power to control them completely.  He turned me nearly two hundred years ago.”

“How?”

“A gang of thugs attacked me, angry about a ruling that I’d handed down as magistrate.  They beat me to death’s door when Cazador appeared.  He chased them off and offered to save me.  To give me eternal life.”

Eternal life.  The kind Orcus offered. 

“Given that my choices were ‘eternal life’ or ‘bleed to death on the street,’ I took him up on the offer…”  He looks down for a moment, his voice softening.  “It was only afterwards I realized just how long ‘eternity’ could be.”

Ayzora nods with an understanding few people can possess.  That kind of offer always comes with a heavy price.  “What were his terms?”

Astarion stops for a moment and stares at her.  There’s shock in his expression.  She sounds familiar with this kind of situation.  Uncomfortably familiar… she knows more than she’s letting on.  But what?  He collects himself and answers.  “He had me go out into Baldur’s Gate and fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find.”

Ayzora thinks of the half-orc. Drinking at the tavern.

“It was a fun little ritual of his.  I’d bring them back-”

“Astarion,” he introduced.  His lips trailed along the half-orc’s jaw.

“-and he’d ask if I wanted to dine with him.”

Cazador’s ruby red eyes.  His cold, domineering demeanor suffocating the room.

“And if I said yes, he’d serve me a dead, putrid rat.”

A rat falling at his feet.  She forces her mask of composure to remain.  With great effort, her practiced expression does not falter.

“Of course, if I said no, he’d have me flayed.  Hard to say which was worse,” Astarion finishes, his tone deceptively nonchalant.  

“You were his slave,” she whispers.  Astarion’s soft, trembling voice from The Raven Queen’s temple rings in her mind with an endless echo:  Freedom.  At any cost.  Any cost.  Anything.

“And he was my tormentor.  I had no choice but to obey our master’s commands.  He spoke, we’d react- it’s all part of the deal.  Sometimes he’d order us to submit to torture.  Sometimes he’d have us torture ourselves.  Whatever his weathervane mood settled on.”

She wants to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but the words stick in her throat.  What would words do, anyway?  Her chin tilts as she redirects her focus.  “And you’re finally free.  So, what now?”

“Now, we kill him,” he hisses.

‘We.’  He wants her to be a part of this.  Of course he does.  “Freedom, at any cost.”  His freedom- because even after 200 years, it’s still in reach for him.  For one of us.  

“You needed to know what we might be up against.  The mind flayers aren’t the only monsters out there.  And they might not be the only ones hunting us.  All I’m asking is that you keep your eyes open.  And watch out for anything lurking in the shadows.”

She nods, “So long as you do the same.”

He scoffs.  “Do I need to be looking out for Orcus?”

Her shoulder and head draw together in a half-hearted shrug.  “Wouldn’t surprise me if he made an appearance.”

“Then we have a deal,” he says, bowing his head.  He stands.  “Well, while your company has been a pleasure, I have a cursed book to read.”  He turns and begins to walk towards his tent.

Ayzora shakes her head, relief fully washing through her, detangling the knots in her stomach.  A smile tugs at the corners of her lips.  “I’d wish you better luck than I had with the Necromancy of Thay, but I’m not sure it’s something you want.”

“Well that makes for one of us.  It’s certain to hold some great power for us to use.”  His heels scrape in the ground as he turns back towards Ayzora.  “Try not to get too bored without me, darling.”

She looks over her shoulder at him, eyebrows twitching together for a moment in a flash of confusion.  This much special attention is… strange.  “Sure, Astarion.”

He flashes her a smile and returns to his tent.

Ayzora turns her focus back to the stew in front of her, letting out a long sigh.

Luckily, boredom is the least of her concerns.  There’s too much to think about for her- or, realistically, anyone- to be bored.  A few days have already passed with illithid tadpoles planted in their brains, and yet no symptoms of the painful transformation from humanoid to mindflayer have surfaced.  The archdruid, Halsin, has yet to be found and rescued- that is, if he’s still alive.  Droop remains in her tower without a master to feed him.  The Raven Queen’s temple is now empty, rapidly exposing her inexplicable absence from the pantheon.  And now, Astarion has taken a unique interest in her.

The attention isn’t unwanted, either.  That’s what intimidates her most.  She left the comfort of her tower, wandered the streets of Baldur’s Gate to the point of walking straight into a nautiloid, and denied herself an instant solution to her illithid dilemma all for the sake of trying to grant a stranger the freedom he begged for in quiet prayer from the shadows of a cold temple.

Gods, what am I doing? 

“What are you doing?”

The voice makes her jump.  The sun is kissing the horizon by now, turning the sky from blue to gold.  She sits in front of the cook pot, staring down at her reflection in the bottom of the dull silver ladle.  Her near-featureless pale expression reflected in the utensil reminds her of the ghostly goddess who haunts her still.  Tearing her eyes away from the disturbing sight, she looks up to see the familiar face of a human wizard dressed in purple standing over her, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Gale,” she breathes, calming her adrenaline.  “Just… lost in thought.”

He sits beside her.  “Might I ask what so captivated your mind?”

She smiles, glancing downward.  “Nothing important.”

“Well, I assure you,” he says low, his brown eyes softening, “if it’s important to you, it’s important to me.  But,” he pipes up, “I won’t push.”  He gently takes the ladle from Ayzora’s hands and moves to the cook pot, giving it a stir.  “This smells amazing, by the way.”

Her eyes follow his movements.

Lifting the spoon out of the steaming broth, he swipes a finger on the ladle and tastes the stew.  “My, my,” he marvels, turning back to Ayzora.  “A fantastic job.”  He hangs the ladle on the side of the stand with a bright smile.  “Not that I expected any less from you.”

“I only followed your instructions.”

“Ah,” he raises a finger, “but half the challenge in cooking a good meal is the execution. You,” he points to her, “my friend, have carried it out perfectly.”  His hands clasp behind his back.  “Thank you.”

She nods with a smile.

“I shall go inform the others that our dinner is ready.”

Gale makes his rounds at the camp, and sure enough, one by one, the other companions come out to the fire and dish up their own servings of the stew.  Even Astarion resurfaces from his tent- seemingly without any luck in deciphering the Necromancy of Thay- and joins the group.  Within an hour, the eight of them are gathered around the campfire, listening to and recounting stories of the day with full bellies while Scratch sleeps contentedly nearby.

After meeting with Dammon to make an upgrade on Karlach’s infernal engine, the group found themselves fighting off a pack of harpies, in turn rescuing a tiefling boy and making friends with Mol- a cunning girl who seems to make for a valuable connection.  The goblin party was eventually investigated, and while only some progress was made by Lae’zel’s hand in poisoning their mead, the plan was set.  Tomorrow, the goblin camp would be infiltrated and Halsin would at last be rescued and returned to the grove.

“Something odd happened, though, when we arrived at the camp,” Shadowheart adds after Karlach summarized their day of adventure.

“Oh, right- nearly forgot about that!” Karlach says.  “Go ahead, tell her,” she urges, gesturing from Shadowheart to Ayzora.

Ayzora turns to Shadowheart, who looks between her and Astarion as she speaks.

“On the way to the goblin camp, there was this… voice.  It forced us down, prostrate, and showed us three figures.  It claimed them as its chosen.”

Three chosen.  Ayzora feels her chest flutter as her mind begins to buzz with memories of her companions.  We were once three chosen, too; destined to rule.  An ominous parallel.  For the first time in a long while, a feeling settles in Ayzora’s stomach and fills her mind with darkness:  Doom.  She breathes in.  She breathes out.

Shadowheart pulls out a prism, holding it outward in the firelight.  It’s made of panels of some black metal, glowing a deep orange between the triangular panels.  From each corner, small rock-like spikes protrude.  On each side is an infernal rune- a language Ayzora is unfortunately familiar with- that glows the same amber color as its edges.

“This,” Shadowheart continues, “protected us, somehow.”  She turns the artifact in the light.  “I don’t know how.”

“Chk,” Lae’zel hisses.  “That is because it is not yours.  My people would know.  It is why we must return the artifact to-”

“Enough!”  Dark Urge’s voice booms, silencing the camp.  “We must not argue over that which we do not understand.  We need to focus on retrieving the Archdruid in the morning.  Once we are cured, we can concern ourselves with this artifact.”

There’s a symphony of affirming hums and muttered curses before silence falls over the camp again.  In stiff frustration, Lae’zel and Shadowheart turn in for the night.

Karlach, ever the cheery one, begins to recount tales of some adventures in Avernus.

While it seems the rest of the group is enamored by the lively stories, Ayzora feels her mind wander back to her memories.  Three chosen, set up for power that only led them to destruction.  Is this the same fate that awaits the three shown to the others?  Are those three innocent in their own right, or just as guilty as Ayzora, Remus, and Ryon were all those years ago?  Is Ayzora just as deserving of whatever fate befalls them?

A purple shimmer pulls Ayzora back into the present moment: an illusory recreation of the three.  She glances up and traces the magic to its origin to see Gale’s hand held open.

“What do you make of them?”  He whispers.

She sighs.  “It’s ominous.  Reminds me of…”

“Your friends?”  Gale finishes for her.

She nods.

Astarion, sitting only a couple feet away, shifts his focus as he eavesdrops on the two.  Oh, I see now… She hasn’t said much to the rest of us.  But to Gale?  It seems he’s leagues ahead.

“I wondered as much,” Gale continues.  “Can you offer any insight, then?”

She shrugs.  “Not yet.  I would need to know more about their patron.”

Gale hums, nodding as he thinks to himself quietly.  He dismisses the illusion.  “Ace?”

Astarion’s eyes flicker over to them.  Gods, really?  Pet names?  What's next, a proposal?

At hearing her nickname, Ayzora looks up to the waterdhavian wizard, her eyes soft in an expression Astarion struggles to read.

Gale places a gentle hand on her knee.  “No matter what happens to them, it bears no weight on you or your character.  You’ve already proven yourself to rise above your past.”  His hand squeezes her leg, before returning to his lap.  “You’re every bit redeemed in my eyes.”

Ayzora’s eyes seem to sparkle in the firelight as they tear up- not enough to cry, but just enough to be noticeable.  “Thank you,” she whispers.

Gale smiles at her before turning his attention back to Karlach, who seems to be nearing the end of her story.

Ayzora follows suit, eyes meeting Astarion’s for just a moment.

His gaze quickly drops to the ground as panic begins to settle in.

Ayzora and Gale had been close, compared to the others.  Not only did they bond over their magic, but ever since Gale admitted to containing a Netherese orb- posing an explosive threat to the group in the case it goes unsatiated- the two had only connected further.  Ayzora was the first to offer a magic item to keep his condition at bay, sacrificing an enchanted ring of hers to be consumed by his curse.

It wouldn’t bother Astarion if it weren’t for the fact that she was his best shot at gaining some sort of security against Cazador.  Shit.

As the night settles, Karlach at last retires to her tent.  Most of the others follow suit- save for Ayzora and Astarion.  While the rest of the party needs a full night’s sleep to recuperate, the two elves only trance for about half that time, leaving them to later nights and earlier mornings.

When Gale bids Ayzora goodnight at last, all that remains is the two of them, alone.

Soft snores slowly rise and fall with easy breath from the surrounding tents.

Ayzora’s eyes remain fixed on the crackling fire- however, she can’t help but feel a pair of red eyes burning into her.

“A quiet evening, for once,” Astarion at last pipes up.  His voice is lower than usual, turning quiet speech into something more… sultry.

Ayzora hums in agreement.

“Perfect for two people who’d like to take some time to themselves… If you catch my meaning.”

She finally tears her eyes away from the blaze as confusion suddenly sets in.  Is he…?

“And, I do mean sex, to be clear,” Astarion confirms, leaning forward in earnest.  “We’ve been waiting long enough,” he scoffs, as if that was the natural justification for such a proposal.  As if it was obvious.

Maybe it was- to everyone but her, it seems.

The mask shatters.  Ayzora’s eyes are wide open; all attempts at hiding her shock and bewilderment are rendered utterly pointless as her mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water.  “Astarion, I…”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me- especially after the night we shared.  I’m sure you haven’t stopped thinking about it, either.  I’d even say you enjoyed it.”

Her mouth snaps shut, completely drying out in the sudden wave of anxiousness, along with her throat.  She swallows.

“It’s alright, darling, you needn’t say anything.  That body of yours has already told me everything I need to know,” he purrs.  He turns his chin downward, eyes darkening.  “The way you shuddered beneath me, holding your breath-”

“I know,” she blurts, “but I've never-” she cuts herself off.  Gods, do I really need to admit that?  Do I… do I really want this?

He tilts his chin.  No wonder she's squirming at just the thought…  Poor thing’s never been touched.  “Shh.  It's alright,” he reassures.  “It's unfortunate to know you'll never find another quite as good…”  Astarion sits beside her, his eyes raking over her body shamelessly.  He leans in, placing a hand on her upper thigh.

Her breath hitches as his hand rests on her skin, his cool touch suddenly burning into her flesh.

“But I can assure you, my sweet,” he whispers, leaning in so close his lips nearly graze her pointed ear, “You won't regret it.”

Beneath his rehearsed lines and seductive show, there's an offer being made.

Despite her best interest, she does want this.  Of course she wants this.  She's spent hundreds of years watching others have this.  Stealing glances.  Holding hands.  Kissing.  Making love in the shadows.  She's always wanted it, but it's always been the one thing she could never have.

She's wanted him since she saw him in that tavern, touching that half-orc in ways Ayzora's only ever dreamed of.  

Here he is, making her an offer she can't refuse.

“Okay,” she manages, voice trembling.

Astarion is briefly taken aback- he wasn't entirely confident she'd take his offer- but he quickly recovers, resuming the suave presentation.  “Let's find our own little piece of nowhere.  Somewhere we can lose ourselves, and forget all of this madness,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the camp.

‘Lose ourselves.’  It strikes a chord in Ayzora.  What I wouldn't do to lose myself for once.

“There's a secluded place nearby that should do nicely.”  Astarion stands.  “Only if you want to,” he adds as he extends a hand to Ayzora, “but trust me, you want to.”

Ayzora looks up at him.  In another life- one she's long lost sight of- she'd be concerned about the consequences of giving herself over to a stranger.  She’d be laying herself in his hands, fully in his power, without even knowing his last name.  She'd worry about what others may think of her, taking up the first offer for a night of passion ever made to her.  To the hells with it.

She places her hand in his, confidence at last guiding her movement.

With a sly smile, the vampire guides the necromancer to a clearing in the forest.

“I've been waiting,” he says low as he pulls off his shirt, exposing his muscled torso, “to have you…”  Lies, of course.  But they usually sell the fantasy.

A fantasy she's willing to suspend her disbelief for, if only for a night.

Ayzora was an orphan and an outcast in all the ways that mattered.  The few people she had ever loved- family, mentors, friends- were dead.  By now, their graves are only occupied by bones and dust.  She had never taken a lover, even for a night.  No community claimed her as their own.  Neverwinter serves not as a home, but merely a host to her empty tower where she spends her days alone.  She belongs to nothing; to no one.

In the heat of the summer night, there is only Astarion.  He offers her the chance to lose herself in someone else- in him; and she wants nothing more than to be anyone else.

A stranger’s fingers graze over scarred skin, now exposed.

His scarred back.

Her scarred stomach.

His silken touch leaves behind the web of strings silently attached.  This is just another transaction.  In the morning, every word, every touch, every breath would be left behind to rot beneath the leaves; but she will walk away with another debt charged to her.  A favor to be returned waits in the hands of her temporary lover; but it’s patient.  It can wait.

For tonight, Ayzora can at last let go of herself entirely, losing everything she is in everything Astarion pretends to be.  She can lie to herself just for now, and pretend she belongs here, with him above her.

His eyes are miles away when she stares into them; but his words tell her he’s right here, and he’s got her, and she’s beautiful, and she belongs.

She’s almost desperate enough to believe it.

This is cross-posted to my Ao3, @ write-and-wander, so be sure to subscribe to the fic there if you want to see it first and be notified when it updates!

Chapter Three: Dwindle

[leopardmuffinxo]

They look absolutely incredible! I can’t thank you enough! 🖤

I was commissioned by @leopardmuffinxo to draw her wood elf Raven and Astarion 🖤

They are glorious, I'm so in love with the pose and Raven herself 😍

Thank you so much for commissioning me, it was a biggest pleasure to draw them 🌌