#cookpots

[indiantiquest]

. . Antique Adukku pathiram complete set of six concentric brass canisters, to cook, hold, reheat & serve, A versatile set of vessels useful in all daily cooking. In old days pilgrims and travellers used to carry this set to do make shift cooking and serving food on the go as there were no frequent eateries., after use these can be stacked one in to another for ease of transporting without eating much space. . . Dimensions of the six vessels from smallest Mooru vessel 4.25 inches wide 2.5 inches tall Poriyal vessel 4.35 inches wide 2.75 inches tall Puli kulambhu vessel 5 inches wide 3 inches tall Kootu vessel 5.25 inches wide 3.25 inches tall Rasam vessel 5.5 inches wide 3.5 inches tall Sambhar vessel 5.75 inches wide 3.75 inches tall . . #indiantiquest #antiqueshop #antiquebrass #adukku #pathiram #vintagevessels #antiqueseller #oldisgold #rarefinds #cookpots #reheat #serveware #antiques #vintage #throwback #railadukku #travelcookware #sambhar #kitchenvessels #rasam #foodstylingprops #foodphotoprops #pulikulambhu #kitchenprops #mooru #poriyal #kootu #aviyal #kaasipathiram (at Indian Antique Quest) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnwSBY-gc0J/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sailorgrams]

✨ Gale Dinner ✨

[sparring-spirals]

hopefully chucking random items into your cookpot and then the cheer that went up around the table at the properly cooked meal sound... thats it!!!!!! thats the feeling!!!

[arcswonderland]

i just want, modern!aemond targaryen, with his hyper golden retriever gf, that wants to do nothing but hang onto him like a koala, and kiss his scar every five minutes.

[cantankerouscatfish]

put some stuff out front with a 'FREE VEGGIES' sign and a little detailed list bc purple carrots and tomatoes sometimes wig people out.

someone took quite a bit! and left a note and some orange cherry tomatoes behind as thanks. which is really very sweet, but now I am back in 'too many dang tomatoes' land.

[lightparty-fullparty]

I have like 3 WOLs at the moment at various stages of "through the story" but now I want to make another one ;_;

[plounce]

scions ranked by most likely to eat a rat

thancred (duh. eat what you can eat. just cook it to make it safer, no big, and if you can get a couple herbs to season it, even better. definitely ate a rat or two out in the dravanian hinterlands. nutkin is lucky it got away without a bite taken out of it)

estinien (doesn't see anything wrong with it. would eat it raw)

ryne (thancred tried to find them more substantial, palatable food, but sometimes when you're living on the run… rat meat. she doesn't have a ton of hangups about it - literally any food besides prison rations is novel and exciting to her - but it's not the tastiest, and anyway she's found she likes sweet foods more)

y'shtola (the night's blessed probably threw some rats in the cookpot every so often. girl's gotta eat when she's living in a benign forest cult. has not eaten rats before or since)

alisaie (extremely easily dared into almost anything including eating a rat. plus would see alphinaud being squeamish about it and make a point to go MMMMM-MM SOOOO YUMMY even if she didn't like it)

g'raha (wouldn't think to eat a rat on his own, but extremely susceptible to "if everyone else is doing it, i want to be part of the group!" or if you threatened him with "someone else will have to eat this rat if you don't!!" he'll shove the rat in his mouth so fast.)

lyse (similar to alisaie in that she's easily dared, but she has no sibling (anymore) to engage in rat-eating rivalry with)

minfilia (the sort of person to go along with a lot of stuff in the name of being friendly. if someone sincerely offered her a cooked rat she wouldn't have it in her to turn it down and would take a polite bite)

alphinaud (the little lordling does Not want to eat a rat! foul! no! but if estinien was like "hey want a bite" then it is much more likely that alphinaud will try to look cool in front of his pseudo-big-brother and sample the rat)

tataru (no no no! no, absolutely not! she will NOT be eating a rat. this is why she stays AWAY from the front. but also she could whip up something scrumptious with some rat meat if she must)

urianger (this is not one of his safe foods. he doesn't wanna. he doesn't wanna. you can't make him. he's gonna find an excuse to mysteriously vanish)

krile (if you try to make her eat a rat she's gonna disappear like the isle of val.)

[elisabethdeep-blog]

Gotta make a post about my best DunMeshi neurospicy boi

Lotta content out there about Laios' autistic traits but where o where is the Senshi rep?

Senshi's dedication to Dungeon trophic systems makes Laios' special interest look like a well-thumbed pamphlet. (Granted Senshi has had significantly longer to cook; Laios is a baby).

Senshi's limited emoting is baked-in to his character model- that thousand yard stare, most of his face occluded by his habitual helmet (masked, even...... How many folks pine for covid masks obviating the need to manage their faces constantly?)

He overheard someone mention his special interest and Walked Right Up to a Group of Strangers to brazenly asplain them a thing. Marcille makes a bridge-mending bid regarding the mosses in the scorpion hotpot (after her previous truculent outbursts) and he totally deadpans her, because he didn't even notice.

He is VERY COMMITED to his ethical position on dungeon ecology. More than once he's disrupted Marcille Right at the point of release of a spell, after she's been chanting for like a paragraph, because she's going to contravene some principle of his.

Also

Speaking of Marcille, he demonstrates some pretty rigid, black-and-white thinking around magic, that doesn't seem internally consistent. He's repeatedly reanimating magical constructs (golems), an explicitly controlled magical act, but is Very Very reluctant to submit to being charmed with WaterWalk; his spoken reasoning about this just doesn't hold water.

Oh and he's totally neglected his personal hygiene for basically ever. He's averse to cleaning up for the sake of being bespelled, but other than magic, seems fine with getting the salon treatment. This isn't a Toph Beifong 'protective layer of earth', he's just forgotten to care about not being covered with monster gore.

PDA? The fellow has one (1) social skill, namely, he exercises any discretion on opening his mouth to argue. But that holds him back exactly NONE when he decides he's done listening. The first time we see this is gathering Mandrakes, when he doesn't SAY he's done with Marcille's opinions, but he Does just go ahead and exercise his damn autonomy. a MUCH stronger example is when Chilchuck is guiding them through the trap rooms. Senshi gets roundly (and rightly!) chewed out by Chilchuck, and his response isn't the sensible 'sorry Chilchuck, maybe I could walk more directly behind you so I can more closely match your steps', but to BRAZENLY DANCE ALL OVER THE TRAP FLOOR! the only reason that doesn't kill the whole party is The Plot. It's not even that he doesn't appreciate Chilchuck's skill- he just don't like getting chastised! Same with Anne the Kelpie! Senshi's gonna do what Senshi's gonna do! He WILL not be rushed, he WILL not be chastised, he WILL not be directed! How do we think he came to be living in a dungeon all by himself in the first place!!

AND THE BREAD!

THIS IS NOT THE DEMAND OF A NEUROTYPICAL DWARF

Look there's more. After Chilchuck's impassioned and heartfelt plea, Senshi suggests they should return to the surface because they're 'low on seasoning'.

He's a dwarf who turned his adamantium shield into a cookpot.

He can meticulously maintain his mithril cooking knife but not his axe.

He responds well to other characters meeting him halfway but initiates few (no?) such bids himself. There's rarely any guile in Senshi, and when he is being shifty, he's Bad At It- and again, usually its in service of demand avoidance, like when he capitalises on Marcille's toilet break to reanimate his golems.

Senshi is the monomaniac that society has spent Decades trying to iron out of my wrinkly brain.

I hope to see him also find a place in the neurosparkly constellations.

[sleepy-meep]

POV: You finally got the perfect strategy to ask Sebastian to the flower dance at 4 hearts. Even if it means risking it all to be broke. In year 1 spring

1. Talk to him everyday (its necessary) before the flower dance (he goes out of his room at 3:10 pm, you can find him outside during 6pm too)

2. Give him his liked or loved gifts (I use only sashimi using the cookpot)

3. Prioritize being friends with Linus at 3 hearts (bro is the real source and lifesaver)

4. Do quests to increase friendship for Luau, and to get prize ticket

5. Upgrade your axe and find the prize ticket right behind the book seller shop

6. Make sure to pay attention to the prize ticket booth for the stardew tea.

Fun fact: If I failed to get Seb to 4 hearts Sam at that time was 4 hearts with me so he was the next option incase the mission failed

Edited: Also if Sebastian is busy with others stuff and you cant reach him, take the opportunity to get his liked or loved gifts

[dduane]

That paprikahendl recipe

So the first thing to be said is possibly the most important: this is a paprikahendl recipe. (And in this case, it was made with duck, because we were out of chicken... so it's probably paprikaentl, if anything.) :)

Everybody's mom or grandmother would've had her own version of this, which would naturally be the best one in the mind of the person you were talking to. The original dish, though—as @petermorwood has pointed out—would have been a peasant dish of the use-a-moderate-amount-of-flavorful-and-spicy-meat-to-season-a-lot-of-noodles-or-whatever kind. If you're a peasant, after all (and maybe even if you're not, of late...), meat is expensive, so in dishes of this kind it's used as more of a seasoning for what you have plenty of—in this case, the tiny flour-based noodles-or-dumplings called spaetzle. (In its rural beginnings, of course, the meat probably would've been a laying chicken that was too old to lay any more... or even a cockerel that had started shooting blanks, and whose morning racket was starting to get on your nerves.)

Later, though, a small tender chicken (or two) was seen as preferable. Paprikahendl became very popular in Hungary and other parts of central Europe, and in the process—over time—got taken somewhat upmarket. The recipe I used as my basis for this version is one that apparently was (and who knows, maybe still is) served at one of Vienna's famous Sacher establishments. As a result it contains elements I'm none too sure about—such as the last-minute apple—but otherwise seems to me to hold water.

The full recipe is here. Now let me tell you what I did to with it.

(inserting a cut here, so those who don't want to watch a bunch of video clips of things frying and cooking won't have to...)

Normally in the initial stage of this recipe, you'd cut up a whole small chicken (or two) into pieces, color them in your preferred frying fat (in Hungary, possibly lard, but at very least butter) and then set them aside to make the sauce. In this case, since the meat I had to work with was duck, I cooked that as directed and put it aside while we went off to do some other stuff. I also made spaetzle to go on the side, as it's the kind of thing you'd be likely to run into regionally. These we can fortunately buy ready-made, like most other kinds of pasta. Or you can make them from scratch. Since I now have a Magic Spaetzle Machine to do this, I'll show how that's done some other time. (Or you could look at this video...)

Then, to make the sauce, I pulled together:

The zest and juice of a lemon

Half an onion or more, chopped fine (I have to be careful with onions, as too much will set off my IBS)

Off to one side, I asked Peter to do the dry paprika mix for me. This was two very heaping tablespoons of paprika, and about half a teaspoon of cayenne, to mock up the heat of the hotter paprika that would have been used in small villages in the Carpathians.

Then I clarified some butter in the microwave, about three tablespoons of it (you melt it in a tall glass and set this aside until the milk solids settle out, then pour off the clarified butterfat) and dumped that in the big cookpot along with the onions.

When those had hit the cooked-until-translucent point, I cut the duck up into chunks and got them ready to go in: then added the paprika and (when that had fried a little) the lemon juice. (Paprika can taste a little raw in a sauce if you don't fry it a bit first.)

Then in went 125 ml of rose wine (I'd have used white if I'd had any, but whatever...) and about 500 ml of chicken stock, and everything got stirred very well together.

After that, the duck got chucked in and the pot was covered and left to simmer for 45 minutes or so. Normally this would be the time a raw chicken would need to cook, and naturally the duck was well cooked already: but it seemed to me that another 45 minutes getting even more tender couldn't hurt it.

So that was what happened. At the end of 45 minutes, the duck was removed and set aside while I got busy with finishing the sauce. You lower the temperature in the big pot until the pre-sauce liquid is just barely simmering. Then to thicken it, you use about a cup of the thickest sour cream you can lay your hands on, with a third of a cup of flour beaten into it very well with a fork. At which point you should be able to do this with the fork:

Now you find a big balloon whisk and start whisking this mixture into the pre-sauce, sort of a tablespoon or two at a time...making sure each dose of sour cream + flour is very well beaten in, leaving no lumps, before adding the rest. When it's all in there, you very gently raise the heat, stirring or whisking occasionally, until the sauce starts to thicken. Then add the meat back in and let it warm through in there for a little while longer: ten or fifteen minutes should do it.

Assuming that people are ready to eat, you heat the spaetzle (and toss it with some butter), plate it up, and add the paprikahendl on top. And dig in.

...Anyway, that was my take. If you go googling for "paprikahendl", you will find many, many more recipes: some far less complex than this approach, some far more so. Pick one that suits you and see what you make of it. This one worked really well, though: so you might like to take a shot at it.

If you do: enjoy!

[remusjohnslupin]

♦ DANELLE LOTHSON: "My old ma used to say that giant bats flew out from Harrenhal on moonless nights, to carry bad children to Mad Danelle for her cookpots. Sometimes I'd hear them scrabbling at the shutters."

[indiantiquest]

. . Vintage brass Paruppu satti with tin lining handmade, used to cook, hold & serve gravies, lentils, dhal etc at the table, old collectible in mint condition. . Dimensions 6.5 inches wide 4.75 inches tall . . 🏷 Now on Sale. 🛒 Buy directly from our Website, Link in Bio. 📦 Free Shipping within India. 🚫 No Exchange/ Returns/ Refund. ❗️Goods once sold will not be taken back . Tag your home decor pictures @indiantiqueclub & get featured for free . Shop for New Arrivals, Special Offers & Featured products at www.indiantiquest.com . INDIANTIQUEST®️ ™️ GST, MSME, IEC Certified Images ©️ Copyrighted . . #indiantiquest #brass #cookpot #tinning #gravy #rasam #lentil #kitchendecor #kitchencollectibles #cookware https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp5C86_gm2O/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sprintingowl]

Cognitive Framing, Player Buttons, And The Hag-Industrial Complex

I run DnD 5e on Sundays. Recently, while looking for some missing fishers, the party rogue got grabbed by a hag. The rest of the party found the rogue sticking out of the hag's cookpot in chains and, on the cusp of violence, asked the hag what she was doing. She said "I eat men."

Instantly the tension bled out of the encounter. The players were understanding. Did she need to eat this man? This was their man. Did she want other men? The druid spontaneously proposed redoing the criminal justice system of the nearby town to send any man accused of a crime to the hag.

I'd been expecting a hag fight, and instead I got something far more interesting.

Every RPG system has what I'll call buttons. Mechanics you can push on and get an expected and repeatable result. DnD has its attack roll and every encounter in the system reinforces it or subverts it. "Oh, you got into a fight this time." "Oh, you *didn't* get into a fight this time."

Not every system has the same buttons, and buttons aren't the only way to interact with a system, but a system's buttons do shape how people approach the system.

If you bought a game that was about cozy farming, but the only mechanic in the book was a dice roll to set people on fire, would you feel like some context was perhaps missing if someone called it a cozy farming RPG?

In Golden Sky Stories, there's a rule where if two parties start a fight, they both lose. That's the extent to what the game has to say about combat. But it has a lot of buttons for being cute or showing emotions or making friends. Could you use it for a non-cozy game? Yeah! But you'd be fighting its buttons the whole time.

Anyway, back to the hag.

The party ended up getting their rogue back by promising to leave her alone. Disagreements between the rest of the party and the rogue over whether to go back and kill the hag stopped them from making any progress on their hag-based carceral system. At the end of the day, they shuffled back into the wilderness from whence they had came.

[fioreofthemarch]

repast

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 880 [✨read the oneshot's two companion pieces: yearnings and kin]

The first thing Link began to wonder about the Light Dragon – once his tears for her ran dry and his grief made room for a growing curiosity – was whether she ever got hungry.

In her previous life, she’d had a utilitarian relationship with food. Link had cooked all manner of dishes for her, and each one she would eat in a straight-forward, disciplined manner, dutifully setting about tidying up once she was done. If he asked what her favourite meal was, she’d say, ‘All of them!’

Now, it was possible that dragons didn’t need to eat. Immortality, its terribleness aside, probably had benefits like that. The question was, would they want to?

Link hadn’t paid the Light Dragon much mind during his travels. Dragons seemed to be ten a rupee these days, arising out of chasms, swimming over villages, winding through canyons and so on. Now that he had learned who the Light Dragon really was – telling himself he’d known for a long time to muffle the anguished guilt he felt at not having known right away – he had begun to track her movements. Occasionally, she would break her kingdom-spanning flight path to spend a few hours circling the skyward Temple of Time. It was there that he waited for her now.

“Zelda, I’ve come to make your favourite,” he called up to the Light Dragon from the roof of the temple, unsure if she’d heard. Undeterred, he set up a cookpot and began, sauteeing a dozen apples in a hefty amount of goat butter – this being the only meal Zelda had ever requested of him, maybe two winters ago on a freezing evening camped somewhere in Hebra. She’d said if she had one wish, it’d be a hot buttered apple, and with pride Link had made that wish come true.

At first, the Light Dragon didn’t seem to notice him. He considered hitting her with an apple-fused arrow to get her attention, but was worried he’d discover, in retaliation, that dragons had a taste for humans. Over the course of an hour however, she circled lower and lower towards the temple and the cookpot, until she gently touched down, her body wound around the outer perimeter of the roof. She rested her head by the cookpot, a huge bright eye fixed directly on Link. He froze, unsure if she was really in there, and also what the proper etiquette would be when dining with a dragon. As if in answer, she sniffed at the pot of apples. Taking one in hand, Link offered it slowly out to her; she sniffed it again and opened her mouth just enough for him to push the apple between her teeth. In astonishment Link watched as the otherworldly creature munched carefully on the apple and opened her toothy jaws for a second.

Half a dozen more he fed her this way and each one she ate faster, opening her mouth wider to demand more. By now the supply of savoury-sweet apples was running low. “I’ve only got a couple left, Zelda, but I can come back—”

Chomp! The Light Dragon snapped its jaws down around the cook pot, sending apples flying in all directions. Link reached up and grabbed the edge of the pot, trying to yank it free. “Stop! You can’t eat this! Let go!”

Then he was falling, relinquished from the Light Dragon’s teeth when she roared, and he landed on the gravel just before the cookpot landed on him. He cried out in pain, and in response the Light Dragon recoiled, drawing up into herself, the roof shingles crunching under her claws. 

Dusting himself off, Link set about collecting the apples, finding them flung across the roof and soiled with gravel. With a sigh, he prepared to throw them into the cooking fire when, at his side, something soft nudged his arm. The Light Dragon, or Zelda, or whatever mix of the two she was, tapped him with the very tip of her snout, having crept back towards him. In Link’s hand was the final apple, mostly intact. The Light Dragon nudged him again, making a low rumbling noise, barely more than a whine. 

“It’s okay, apology accepted,” Link said. “Glad you still like my cooking, old girl.”

Then, the idea coming upon him with a laugh, Link threw the apple as high as he could. There was a tornado of rushing air and dust as the Light Dragon soared upwards, unwrapping herself from temple and launching herself in pursuit of the apple, which she caught with a swift snap of her jaws. Her prize seized, she descended again to fly past Link, so fast he could barely touch her, before rising into the sky and out of reach. Her way of saying thank you, he supposed. 

Later on, returning to the surface and Demon King-shaped task at hand, Link would horde apples by the dozen and spend even his last rupee on goat butter whenever he stopped by a town. From then, he knew that if his grief struck stronger than he could handle, he could return to the Temple of Time with as many apples as he could carry, and dine with Zelda again - just like they once had, in times gone by. 

[ancuninfiles]

Comfort pt. 5

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

6.7k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Named Tav (Nym) - 18+

Summary: Nym's forced time away from her homeland - The High Forest - teaches her many truths within mere days; truths that she likely would have otherwise never come to know.

Tags: smut, fluff, angst, p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming (if you squint), vampire bites, needy/desperate astarion, past refrence to trauma (or something), hurt/comfort, OC is autism-coded

MASTERLIST (The other chapters and other works)

Read on AO3 (Recommended)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲

˚₊‧⁺˖✮•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•✮˖⁺‧₊˚

Nym woke up in Astarion’s tent, feeling anxious and groggy from the blood loss. She stretched her arms into the air, releasing a deep, eye-watering yawn.

Beside her, Astarion lay with his eyes closed. Nym sensed she might have disturbed his trance, but assumed he needed to get more rest and was still attempting to do just that.

She scratched the nape of her neck, trying to brush her tangled hair with her fingers, a result of days without proper care.

With a slight grimace, she crawled gingerly towards her overstuffed pack, determined to locate the simple wooden comb procured just the day prior.

In the depths of her bag laid a jumbled assortment of yesterday's acquisitions, among them a fresh ensemble of lightweight leather armour for Nym. Comprised of a supple suede top, a flowing poncho, and loose-fitting trousers, the new attire promised both comfort and improved mobility for battle.

Nym’s stomach fluttered with anticipation as she envisioned herself adorned in the new garments, feeling the enhanced freedom of movement they would afford her in combat.

After rummaging through the contents of her bag and extracting her daily attire, Nym resumed her search for the elusive comb. Once retrieved, she swiftly donned her clothing, mindful this time to dress before exiting the tent, determined not to repeat the awkward encounter of revealing herself to her companions without their express consent.

She was striving to fit in and adjust to the new environment, and despite the discomfort of being away from her usual surroundings, Nym found herself cherishing this time outside the High Forest.

While she was living in the High Forest, she had been utterly ignored by most for her entire life; in contrast, here she was chosen to be a leader. The prospect still confused her, but she was becoming more accustomed to it with each day.

Maybe I'll stumble upon a book on leadership during our downtime, she mused.

Nym gagged as a wave of nausea hit her; she knew that she had to use the amulet, lest she would feel sickly all day.

With a whispered incantation, a blue light enveloped Nym, accompanied by the faint sound of wind chimes. As the magic took hold the light and sounds faded, leaving her feeling as refreshed as after a restful night's sleep.

Rising ungracefully, Nym emerged from Astarion’s tent to discover Gale already tending to the fire, diligently engaged with the cookpot.

A surge of apprehension swept over her; the prospect of establishing boundaries with Gale filled her with unease. Her gut instinct told her to simply brush aside the issue and feign normalcy - though that desire warred with a more practical one: facing the uncomfortable topic directly in the spirit of open communication. 

Contemplating her options, Nym weighed the possibility of confronting him head-on the next time he made advances, opting to let him be the one to broach the topic first; but, the thought of his potential reaction to her rejection twisted her stomach into knots. What if he dislikes me afterward? Or worse, what if he gets angry? 

Nym shuddered, attempting to banish the unsettling notion. As murky memories from her time in the High Forest resurfaced, her breath caught in her throat and her muscles tensed. Recognizing the need to divert her attention, she resolved to find a distraction.

In regards to Gale, Nym acknowledged her limited understanding of him thus far. There remained a chance that he might view her rejection as an opportunity for personal growth, or some such realization. I'll deal with that when the time comes, she concluded, hoping fervently to avoid that conversation altogether. But she had a feeling that crossing that bridge would likely be inevitable.

"Good morning!" Gale called cheerfully, snapping Nym out of her spiralling thoughts. "Fancy some eggs?"

Nym realized she had been standing tensed up, staring at Gale's back for far too long. She was grateful to be pulled into the moment by his seemingly kind voice and demeanour.

Her voice cracked as she squeaked, “Yes, please!” 

Barefooted, she waltzed to the logs by the fire with her comb, socks, and boots in hand, sitting adjacent to Gale, shimmying her socks and footwear on. 

Gale cracked two eggs in the pan and started scrambling, causing Nym to grimace; she loved eggs, but couldn’t tolerate the texture of scrambled eggs - even the thought of the sponginess touching her hard palate made her feel nauseous once more.

Gale, ever observant, couldn't help but notice Nym's fidgeting as her gaze lingered on his scrambled eggs. "Not a fan of scrambled eggs, I gather?" he inquired, casting a thoughtful glance towards her, squinting against the sun's glare as he tended to his culinary creation. "No worries, my friend. These are for me, then. My apologies for not checking with you first."

Nym breathed a sigh of relief, feeling a wave of comfort wash over her. "I hope I'm not causing too much trouble," she murmured apologetically, averting her gaze.

"Not at all," Gale reassured her, his tone lightening. "I feel rather at home while tinkering with food over a flame. It's a bit of a relaxation ritual, one might say." With a flourish, he transferred the scrambled eggs onto a metal plate, seasoning them with herbs foraged from the surrounding woodlands and a pinch of salt. "And how do you take your eggs?"

At that moment, Nym found herself pleasantly surprised by Gale's genuine kindness. Despite their minimal interaction since the crash, save for a brief encounter on the beach and her lingering appreciation for the book-like scent that seemed to emanate from him, his considerate gesture touched her, and eased her previous worries.

Gale is safe, Nym thought, like a mantra in her mind. I am safe.

Nym smiled and exhaled before pursing her lips to the side in thought. “Would it be too much to ask for boiled eggs?”

“Not at all! Actually, I have a kettle of water that I had boiled for tea earlier, it will make the job quicker, you see.” Gale began organizing an iron pot over the fire, and pouring the hot water into it, followed by two eggs.

Nym had always thought Gale was handsome, but this act of service made her blush shamefully. It made her want to cover her face and scream, the way he went out of his way to make sure that she would eat. Gods - was Gale going to put a wrench in her plan? 

She felt some strange obligation, as if she was meant to be already devoted to Astarion - for Nym was nothing if not a woman of her word. She responded to the odd pang of guilt by methodically dispelling the physical sensation -  the unwanted thoughts dissipating as she shook them away, starting from her arms, through her hands, and finally to the very tips of her fingers.

If Gale noticed her shiver, he didn’t say anything.

Nym took a deep breath and finally began to comb her hair, careful not to rip or tug at her sensitive scalp. Her hair was coarse and black, with undertones of copper that only revealed themselves in the sunlight.

As Nym worked through her knots, her attention snapped to Astarion as he leisurely emerged from his tent, adorned in his freshly acquired leather armour. His physique still struck her, his broad chest, narrow hips, and sharp jawline a picture of perfection in her eyes.

Nym shot her head away from the pale elf and closed her eyes tightly, continuing to work away at her locs. Fuck, she thought. It wasn’t fair that her mind kept going there. She wanted both of them, and she felt like she was going mad at the thought of it. 

Yet, the memory of Astarion's distress, his tears, weighed heavily on her conscience. Caught between conflicting emotions, she felt trapped, uncertain of how to handle her overwhelming desires - or whether she should even address them at all.

Suddenly, a soft thud on the log beside her interrupted her thoughts.

“Hello, my sweet.”

Again with the pet names, Nym noted inwardly, feeling the familiar tug at her heartstrings. This man seemed to possess an uncanny ability to stir something within her, yet she remained resolute in not letting it show. With practiced ease, she slipped on her figurative mask as she finished combing her hair, causing it to poof out around her.

"Oh, hello Starry," she greeted, though her smile failed to reach her eyes.

Astarion cocked his head, regarding her with a quizzical expression.

Shit - he knows.

However, Astarion didn’t press further, and instead, he handed her a book - one of the books that she had nicked from the Dank Crypt: Wood Elves of the High Forest. 

“I thought we could do a bit of reading, keep our minds occupied.” Astarion smiled roguishly while Nym took the book from him.

 “How does a braid sound, Nym?” Shouted Shadowheart from across the camp, making her way towards their cohort.

Nym turned her head to Shadowheart. “Oh, hi! Good morning Shadowheart,” Nym beamed.

Nym entertained the idea of having a braid, imagining the pleasant feeling of keeping her hair from touching her dewy back amidst the sweltering heat. “Please - if you don’t mind,” she responded, nodding graciously with a smile.

Nym felt it odd to be pampered so, and she made a mental note to find a way to return the favour.

As Shadowheart positioned herself behind Nym, Nym passed her the comb, and Shadowheart retrieved a few hair ties from her pocket.

Nym opened her book, casually leafing through the pages and landing on a page about a quarter-ways through. While the Cleric uncomfortably tugged at her hair, she brought the open pages closer to Astarion.

She traced her fingers beneath the text, silently inviting Astarion to follow along.

“The wood elves, also known as Or-tel-quessir, descend from moon elves, wild elves, and sun elves who preferred woodland sanctuaries after the turmoil caused by the Crown War.”

“Wood elves are level-headed creatures, and arousing strong emotions from them would prove difficult.”

“Yeah, all except for me apparently,” Nym chuckled awkwardly. 

“Wood elves often exuded an air of aloofness in contrast to their Tel-quessir brethren, their rugged demeanour detracting from their charisma.”

“Wood elves, being culturally polyamorous, would find much friction in romantic relationships with High elves who have a reputation of being strictly monogamous. Many hypothesize that said relationships are destined for dissolution, leading to a scarcity of offspring between the two races.”

Nym pondered, her lips pursed in contemplation, the final paragraph stirring discomfort within her. A quick glance at Astarion revealed his furrowed brows, a subtle unease washing over her as she noticed his clear perturbation.

Halfway done with her braid, Shadowheart tilted Nym’s head to the side. “What’s this?” Asked the cleric, concern coating her tone.

Nym’s eyes widened wildly and she slapped a hand to her neck, remembering the scabby bite marks that she unfortunately forgot to treat with a healing potion before leaving Astarion’s tent this morning.

“Nothing,” said Nym. Her body tensed rigidly, breath catching in a sudden stillness.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would guess that you’d been bitten by a vampire with those two suspiciously placed puncture wounds right atop your jugular vein,” Shadowheart pressed.

Nym’s face began to turn red from the lack of oxygen, her eyes fixated on a pebble near the fire and her lips tightened into a thin line. 

There was no chance she'd break Astarion's trust by spilling the beans on his condition - even if that meant taking a vow of silence.

“He's a bloody vampire!” shouted Gale from across the fire, causing Nym’s eyes to snap up and scan the wizard who now stood staring daggers at Astarion.

“Vampire spawn, to be more accurate,” Astarion clarified, standing to match Gale’s fierce demeanour. Astarion quickly collected himself, sighing and opening his posture. “Look - I’m not going to hurt any of you, I swear.”

Nym’s vision was quickly becoming spotty with black and purple, and the last thing she heard before collapsing backwards and falling unconscious was a murmuring from Gale that was distorted by the ringing in her ears.

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“It’s probably the blood loss,” Gale protested.

“Gale, would you relax? You’re only going to distress her more; besides, her blood levels are completely normal.” Shadowheart held Nym’s head that had fallen back into her lap, her eyes slowly blinking back into lucidity.

“I second that notion - I too would appreciate the wizard’s silence,” Astarion said, kneeling next to Nym and placing a cool and soothing hand on her forehead.

As Nym stirred awake, her head lolled back, a warm smile gracing her lips as she locked eyes with Astarion, who leaned in with concern. She found herself nestled in Shadowheart's lap, the worry in their eyes melting into reassurance at her awakening.

Astarion brought his hand to her cheek, caressing it affectionately and stroking her cheek with his thumb. "Your dynamism definitely keeps things interesting, darling."

Nym felt slightly embarrassed in her current predicament, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she was permitted to speak on Astarion’s affliction yet. 

“Astarion - I,” Nym started. “May I?” 

She hoped that Astarion could infer what she was trying to communicate with the few words she spoke and the pleading look in her eyes. 

Astarion nodded at Nym. “I’ve already told them, so share what you wish - though I do thoroughly appreciate your burgeoning loyalty. It does wonders for my ego,” he said, smirking waggishly, still holding Nym’s cheek.

Nym gave a brisk nod and straightened up on the log, heels pressing into the earth as she rested her forearms on her knees. Taking a deep breath, she prepared to address their group, her half-complete updo falling slightly as she lowered her head.

She adjusted her posture, bringing her knees together in the hope that a more proper posture might inspire her teammates to take her more seriously.

“Astarion is a vampire spawn, but he won’t hurt us,” Nym assured them. “He and I - well - we have an agreement.”

“How long have you known, Nym?” Asked Shadowheart.

“Since the first night. . .” 

“And you didn’t think this was pertinent information to share with the rest of us?” Shadowheart prodded, her face screwed up.

Nym turned to see Shadowheart better, who sat on her knees behind her. 

“Well - no,” she scoffed. “He’s very well-mannered - and well-fed.” 

She pointed her nose to the sky snobbishly.

“Clearly,” Shadowheart remarked, shooting a piercing glare at Astarion.

Nym clenched her jaw tightly, remembering how guilty Astarion had initially felt about their little arrangement. 

He coughed a nervous laugh, saying, “Look - I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty.” 

But Nym knew - despite the invisible wall he'd suddenly put up - that Astarion felt he was a burden; and she wouldn't stand for anyone guilting him for something he couldn't control.

Nym grunted, balling her white-knuckled fists. “Erg - you’d all better stop fighting about this. I told you, he won’t hurt us. I’m sure if he wanted to, he would’ve by now.” 

A smirk danced upon Astarion's lips at Nym's defence.

“Shadowheart,” Nym began, rising to confront the cleric, “you said it yourself; my blood levels are normal. What’s the issue with a couple of minuscule - and consensually inflicted wounds? Forgive me, but I’m failing to see the issue here.”

A moment of silence enveloped the group until Gale interjected. "She speaks the truth."

"What?" Shadowheart exclaimed, her confusion evident.

“We all have our burdens, one way or another,” Gale explained calmly.

A sardonic chuckle escaped Astarion. "And here I thought the wizard lacked insight. Well then - I stand corrected." He reclined, resting on his hands.

Nym looked over to Gale appreciatively, quietly huffing. She really thought Gale might’ve had it out for Astarion after the whole incident at the beach, but she was delightfully taken aback once again by his courtesy today and it caught her off guard.

In a way, Astarion’s snarky remark described precisely what she was thinking, too.

“Fine. As long as he keeps his fangs away from my neck, I suppose I can accept him,” Shadowheart stated, her scowl turning into a cheeky grin. “Besides, we need each other, and having a vampire spawn on our side doesn’t sound half-bad.”

Relief flooded Nym. Now that Astarion's secret was out in the open, he could use all of his weapons in battle, filling his belly even more. 

Many things about Astarion pointed toward a tortured past; from figuring out that he had never been full before, to the way his walls came up seemingly automatically at times, and even the distant look that periodically painted his face during their most recent coupling.

Nym yearned to understand him more intimately. Though she had few friends in the High Forest, she was well-acquainted with its cats; Astarion reminded her of a feral one. With feral cats, you begin by tossing them fish from a distance, gradually earning their trust until, one day, they begrudgingly accept the fish from your hand, convinced that it poses no threat.

Furthermore, if you were lucky enough, the cat might even come into your home and never want to leave once having a taste of true safety - away from the threat of potential predators.

Nevertheless, Nym was excited to watch Astarion fight whilst making use of his fangs and sanguine appetite.

She pondered what to say next, deciding on how a good leader might respond to all this. Perhaps something to boost morale. “You are all - very - er - good boys . . . and girl,” Nym stated clumsily.

The group fell into awkward silence, all eyes on Nym, who grinned nervously.

“Aha,” Astarion was the first to break the silence with high-pitched laughter. 

“Nymsy, my dear - I can’t tell if you broke the tension or made it worse - either way, we’d ought to set out for the day now that that’s sorted,” he said, standing to wipe the dirt from his hands with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket. 

What? Was that an insult or simply a jest? 

Nym didn’t respond as Astarion stood up and adjusted his weapons and Gale handed her a plate with two peeled and salted boiled eggs.

“You are also quite the good girl,” Gale uttered happily, his features relaxed, eyes searching for Nym’s.

Nym’s face flushed as she grabbed the plate, releasing a small “Thanks,” as her eyes trailed up to meet his.

Shadowheart scoffed. “Would you two get a room,” she complained, continuing her work on Nym’s braid.

A quiet thud could be heard coming from the treeline behind her, causing her to flinch and spin her head around.

It was Astarion, who had thrown one of his daggers at a tree and was about to throw another.

Is he mad? Was it something I did?

Nym realized that she had to eat her breakfast before she started feeling sick, assuming that she may have been the cause for Astarion’s negative shift in mood.

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The cloudy day dragged on, and Nym would’ve been lying if she hadn’t admitted to herself that she’d been periodically choked up throughout it. At times, she’d found it difficult to focus on the tasks at hand, including during a battle with two tieflings who had captured their gith friend. 

One of the tieflings had smashed the pommel of their blade into the side of Nym’s forehead, causing her to bleed and lose her balance. Her blood dripped rapidly into her eye, filling her sclera with a red fog and muddying her vision.

Astarion swiftly stabbed through the tiefling’s throat before proceeding to raise his voice at Nym. “Get up, damn you!” He yelled while Gale took care of the other tiefling.

She hadn’t even realized that she had fallen to her hands and knees until Shadowheart was above her healing her. 

She felt utterly useless - yet, as she stood at the helm of her motley crew, she couldn't shake the lingering doubt that gnawed at her core like a relentless predator. 

What could she possibly offer that they couldn't procure with greater finesse? In the symphony of her insecurities, the discordant notes of self-doubt played on, a haunting melody that echoed through the corridors of her mind.

I’ll never be good enough - 

“It seems she’s had quite enough,” Gale interjected, rescuing her from the abyss of negativity once more.

“Tchk - if this leader can’t even face two tieflings, how do we expect her to help us in any other manner?” Lae'zel's words cut through the air, sharp and direct.

"Hah! Spare me," Astarion scoffed, "The one who ended up caught and caged by those tieflings has the gall to lecture us about leadership, while our own leader risks life and limb to save your ungrateful hide."

So he’s not mad at me? Then what’s going on with him? Nym wondered.

"One should refrain from casting stones while dwelling in glass abodes, as the saying goes," Gale quipped seriously.

Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “This is why I suggested that we leave the gith to her fate,” she stated, still kneeling beside Nym.

Nym couldn’t fathom why Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart were all on her side in this issue, especially after she’d shamefully fallen in battle.

“She’s right, in part. You all deserve better,” Nym conceded, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I will try to do better, in future. I’m sorry.” 

Though her voice wavered, she knew acknowledging her shortcomings might help diffuse the tension and ease the harshness directed towards Lae'zel, whose prowess in battle aboard the nautiloid hinted at her potential in future conflicts. 

She also hoped that her statement didn’t come off as too self-loathing, because she knew that too, would be burdensome.

Thankfully, her speech quelled the impending conflict for the time being, and Lae'zel made way to camp as the rest of their group continued to the grove once again in search of answers to their tadpole problem.

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The clouds had cleared by the time they reached the grove. This time, they made note to speak to every vendor before continuing on.

Astarion managed to steal quite a few arrows, and other items that were more easily accessible to take while Nym distracted the sellers by making conversation and purchasing the items that were too risky to nick.

She was able to acquire three more scrolls of Lesser Restoration for her “project” with Astarion through the vendors.

Nym knew that she should gather a couple more scrolls, just to be safe. She tried to hide the scrolls in her pack before Shadowheart or Gale were to notice; the fewer questions asked the better.

One of the vendors, Ethel, stood out among the crowd, an elderly woman with a weathered visage. Without much consideration, Nym divulged everything about their parasitic affliction, much to Astarion's evident amusement.

However, the reaction from the rest of the group was less jovial, their disapproval clear.

“I suppose we didn’t learn our lesson the first time around? Shadoheart interjected with a tight-lipped expression.

“To give grace, Nettie was trying to kill Nym,” Gale interjected dismissively. "But we must exercise more caution about our condition - something was. . . unsettling about that woman."

“She seemed positively demented, I’m just curious to see how this unfolds,” said Astarion with a cheeky grin.

“You’re something of a free spirit, I think, Astarion,” said Nym, nodding curtly and heading toward their next destination.

Astarion fastened his pack and walked behind her as the rest of the group followed suit. “It takes one to know one, darling,” he said, catching up with her and flashing a wink in her direction.

Nym stifled a giggle, acknowledging the camaraderie they shared.

Except for moments when he was upset with me, Nym thought, still reflecting on her day critically. 

Nonetheless, in the event of a confrontation, the four of them could easily manage an encounter with a single elderly woman - of that much, Nym was sure.

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The horizon had all but snuffed the sun’s light, and Nym was elated to have found a total of five scrolls of Lesser Restoration during today’s journey.

She and Astarion sat across from one another in his tent, as Nym excitedly organized all five scrolls between them.

“There,” she said, hovering her hands over the scrolls. “Five will be enough I think.”

Astarion’s eyes and mouth fell wide open, his words seemingly caught in his throat. “You’re - serious about this?”

“Yup! I believe that the results of this experiment will become fundamental knowledge for you, and possibly other spawn, depending on where our lives take us.” Nym paused. “I mean - where your life takes you.” 

Astarion’s expression rapidly morphed into a composed, devilish grin. Crawling towards Nym, he positioned his lips near her ear and snaked his hand up and under the back of her shirt, splaying his fingers possessively. “This is quite the gift - darling,” he murmured, his voice resonating at a low timbre that sent a chill down Nym’s spine and his breath tickling her lobe.

Astarion nipped at her ear, coaxing quiet moans from her throat as she began to melt in his gentle grasp.

Astarion sat back on his knees, the sudden loss of contact making Nym droop, unbidden. As usual, even the slightest physical affection caused her eyes to become heavy with desire.

Astarion neatly placed the scrolls off to the side of their bedrolls. “You’re sure you want this,” asked Astarion, offering her one last chance to withdraw. 

“Huh?” Nym replied, snapping out of her reverie. Nym then scrunched her eyes shut and nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! For the pursuit of knowledge.” 

She beamed. “Er - and if you want to use all of my body while drinking from me, I am - of course - impartial.” She gazed away, avoiding eye contact as a warm blush crept up on her cheeks.

“Just impartial?” Astarion cooed, wrapping his hand around the back of Nym’s head and gently lowering her onto the bedroll. His eyes roamed over her face, finally settling on her lips with a composed precision that seemed almost too controlled, as if savouring the moment with deliberate care.

Astarion crashed his lips into hers fervently, seeking entrance with his tongue and eliciting whines from Nym.

Nym reciprocated, closing her eyes and letting Astarion take control of her mouth as he climbed between her legs, gripping her waist.

He continued to massage her exposed waistline tenderly while placing chaste kisses in a line from her cheek, to her jaw, and then her throat where he would begin to suck her tender flesh into his lips without drawing blood.

Nym felt him holding back, reminding her why she felt so incredibly safe around him. She didn’t want to impose her desires, but her knees came up and her hips tilted upwards, unbidden.

Astarion groaned into her neck, his mouth disconnecting with a pop as his hips rocked into her warm core. His hand journeyed south, teasing just beneath the waistline of her pants.

“You seem more than impartial,” Astarion groaned with a sweat forming on his brow, becoming breathless.

It was true that Nym desired more, and she knew that if his hand were to travel any lower, he would find her weeping quim as evidence of that. 

However, Nym felt Astarion’s hardness as he rutted against her, and she could tell how painfully tight his strays must be.

She witnessed the desperation of the handsome elf lying between her legs, noticing how he carefully avoided letting his hands wander too far. It intrigued her that a vampire spawn of two hundred years - finally free in a myriad of ways; to bask in the sun, darken doorways unbidden, and bed whomever he wished - displayed such restraint when it came to intimacy, seemingly valuing her word a great deal; or at least a great deal more than most of her previous partners who would’ve surely plunged their fingers into her nethers - and elsewhere - by now.

“Just admit it, my dear. You wish to feel me inside you - don’t you?” Astarion whispered, nearly moaning the last words as his fingers softly nudged below her belly and his hair grazed the side of her face.

The idea of retorting with “But you want me, too,” crossed her mind, but she was unsure how those words would sit with him.

Opting to protect his pride, Nym gave in with a “Yes,” and a, “please - I want you.”

Astarion took to her response by swiftly pulling his shirt over his head, before closing in on Nym’s lips with a hasty smooch. 

He stood to remove his pants and his length sprang free, its tip glistening with seed already. 

In the meanwhile, Nym removed her loose top and baggy pants with a flourish, readying herself for what she knew was to come.

“How do you want me?” Nym asked considerately, coming up on her elbows.

Astarion loomed over her and gestured his hand over her body. “You’re perfect right there, my love. I want to see that pretty face of yours when I. . .” He paused, breathing deeply, “unravel you.”

He descended on Nym, kissing her all over and inserting two digits into her entrance, palming her clit with practiced ease. Astarion made a satisfied sound when he felt how wet Nym was, and Nym gritted her teeth to try and stifle her cries while he brought his teeth to her breast, taking her mound into his maw.

He ran his tongue along her pebble and curved his fingers into her hole, pumping languidly. His teeth punctured the flesh on her breast and he began to suck vehemently, his voracious sounds sending vibrations through her body.

Just as she began to quiver around him, he lifted from her bosom, watching as her jaw slackened. He stroked her inner walls, prioritizing the tight circles he was creating with his palm on her nub.

He looked at her with an intense crimson gaze, his usually tamed hair clinging to his forehead. Astarion’s mouth was stained with her ichor, making him appear feral and wild - two things she typically thought him to be the antithesis of.

Nym was panting, completely lost in his touch and trembling wantonly. 

Amidst the haze, she reached for his face and cupped his cheek in a lover's gesture. When her palm made contact with his face, his expression relaxed and he placed a sweet kiss on her wrist.

His hand sped up, coaxing more cries from Nym. Her orgasm crested and Astarion adorned a satisfied smile, watching Nym’s hand fall limply to her side.

Nym lay panting and twitching transiently while Astarion removed his fingers only to insert them into his mouth. His eyelashes fluttered closed as he cleaned his digits, humming around them. 

He freed his mouth of his hand, a string of saliva connecting them for a moment. “Delicious,” he purred.

“The night has only just begun - and I have other means of making you come undone,” Astarion cooed, leaning into Nym’s ear once again. “And other things I’d like to make you cum on - if that’s quite alright with you.” His voice bore a deep husky tone that nearly made Nym faint once more.

Unusual for Nym during intimacy, she found herself unable to speak. She could all but ogle pleading eyes up at Astarion, his chest muscles rippling with each adjustment under the candlelight.

Astarion positioned himself between Nym’s thighs, kissing her face all over and thrusting teasingly between her folds, an affection that made Nym’s heart flutter. She had so many sexual partners in the past; she had slept with some women, and almost every man her age in her village, many partners of hers falling between or outside the binary of “man” or “woman”. Despite having been made to cum by so many peers, and even having been cleaned up for after trysts, never had she felt this continuous connection and admiration from someone that she shared a bed with.

It felt right - which in turn made something within her scream and tear away at her walls of self. She felt an immediate urge to snuff the screaming, to smother it into silence; but as Astarion thrust inside her at last, the proverbial screaming increased to a fever pitch. 

Astarion pulled his face from Nym, who had started sobbing with a trembling lower lip. He immediately stilled. Panicked, his eyes were round and his brows canted up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone low and serious.

Nym brought her forearms to cover her eyes and swipe the tears away. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she had to ruin this moment with Astarion because her brain concluded the ludicrous notion that she’d only been a warm body to everyone.

They liked me,

They finally liked me . . .

They wanted me around.

But no matter how many times Nym tried to reaffirm her counterfeit beliefs, the truth was ripping and tearing a gaping hole into her fermented soul.

Before she could think better of it, the words slipped from her lips, “Do you like me?” 

She trembled, removing her arms from her tear-riddled eyes.

Astarion looked upon Nym, his lips parted and his hardness still seated deep within her. “I - yes, Nym.”

“But am I . . . more than just a warm body for you?” Nym asked. She felt she already knew the answer if she were being honest with herself, but she just wanted to hear it come from him.

Astarion paused for a moment, blinking at her in stunned silence. His face changed into something pained before he settled himself on his elbows, his face mere centimetres from Nyms. 

“So much more,” he stated firmly.

“Are we . . . friends?” Nym said in a whisper, her wet brown eyes boring into Astarion’s crimson stare.

“At the least,” was the last thing Astarion said before diving for her mouth in a possessive kiss. 

Nym’s lips matched his with passion, unlike any other time they had kissed before. She brought her arms around his back and pulled him close to her. Nym felt ridged scar-like bumps on his back with her fingers, and she massaged his skin delicately. 

She pulled away from the kiss to breathe, as her nose was slightly stuffy from crying.

Astarion gazed at her adoringly while she caught her breath and then pulled her up onto him as he sat back on his heels, her knees resting on either side of him as he held her body close, still filled with his length.

The shifting in positions stirred Astarion within her slightly, causing her to clench around him, her breath picking up pace as she became accustomed to her new placement upon his lap.

His arms wrapped under hers, holding her close. Simultaneously, she encapsulated him, softly tracing along the scars on his back with her fingertips.

“Do you wish to stop?” asked Astarion.

Nym’s lower lip came out in a pout. She didn’t want to stop, she just wanted to feel better - to know that the person she was making love to wanted her for more than -

. . .

Her mind turned to fog, her memories swirling away like a colourful chemical oil spill in mud as she lolled her head forward, inhaling the scent of bergamot and rosemary.

“It won’t change anything between us, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Astarion reassured.

Nym felt oddly calm, aware of what she had just experienced yet unable to fully grasp her peculiar recollections and fragmented emotions.

“No - I want you, “ Nym pleaded, “don’t stop.” 

She couldn’t entirely fathom it, but somehow she felt seen by him; almost as if he understood her paroxysm just now on a deeper or more personal level.

Ultimately, Nym wanted to feel better, and in that moment the way Astarion’s body connected with hers simply felt right.

It seemed he needed no further reassurance, as his hands trailed down to Nym’s bottom, lifting her before dropping her back down on his length prudently.

Nym carded her fingers through his curls while she began moving in rhythm with Astarion, his shaft reaching into her deeply. 

She exhaled a breathy sigh, holding onto his shoulders for balance while she rode him, the subtle and typically imperceptible stubble on his face grazing her on the skin near her collarbone.

His breath came ragged before he fell back, calculatedly pulling Nym with him.

Nym searched for his lips and she pressed them with hers firmly while he brushed his fingers in her hair and then guided her head to the side, disconnecting their lips and exposing her neck to him.

The way his fangs grazed her throat made her shiver, all while Astarion’s pace slowed with one hand in her hair and the other grasping her hip.

His teeth punctured her tender flesh, and his arm that wasn’t in her hair hooked around both of her upper limbs as well as the small of her back, fastening her to him. 

Once he was fully latched onto her, she could feel him sucking and groaning into her neck, his sighs vibrating his entire chest and reverberating through Nym.

Astarion held her taut, using his position to piston into her with great abandon while taking long sips of her lifeblood. 

The initial pain of his bite always faded quickly, turning into something pleasant within just a few seconds. Nym felt Astarion grow harder and larger as he drank from her; this always happened when he supped while they were intimate. Not only that; his flesh grew tepid, and sometimes even warm against her.

How his already large member grew even larger inside her made the pleasure nigh unbearable, as she could feel his cock making contact with every inch of her walls come every thrust.

She was so close again, and as if he could taste it, he removed his fingers from her hair and snuck them to her clit, halting his gulps while he expertly readjusted but not unsheathing his fangs.

A few strokes of her bud sent her crashing into her second orgasm and milking Astarion with her core.

Astarion seemed to follow her thereafter as he removed his hand from her pearl and bottomed out, fully thrusting into Nym and holding her tightly against his hard ivory chest. 

Breathless, Nym could feel herself being filled with his seed, the affection in his grasp and the blood loss causing her to feel weak.

With a grumble, Astarion replaced his possessive latch with the warm and soothing flat of his tongue, followed by his lips which kissed her tenderly. 

Nym, recalling their plans for their experiment, perked up with the little energy she had left, “Why did you stop drinking - what about our experiment?”

Astarion sighed, his head falling back to the bedroll. He looked somewhat frenzied with blood coating his chin. He thrust into her once more, a sigh catching in his throat. “Not tonight.” He massaged her scalp and loosened his grip on her torso. “Just - stay with me, tonight.”

Nym’s heart skipped a beat at his words, and she wondered if he heard it; she hoped he did. Nym knew not if Astarion desired to put off their experiment and have a simple night for his own sake or for Nym’s. Perhaps it was for both of them, but it was a gesture that she didn’t expect and it made her stomach flutter with delight.

This time, the aftercare felt tired, and something about it felt more genuine. When they rested, they held one another closer than ever before, as if keeping something big and scary from taking one another away.

Nym caressed the large protruding scars on his back, and only hoped that someday he would feel comfortable enough to talk about them. Until then, she would simply hold space, just as he’d done for her tonight - a gesture she was wholly grateful for.

Chapter 6>>

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The plot thickens o_o

and apparently so does Astarion

I hope you are all enjoying my nerdy lore dump, I honestly have been loving doing research and getting to share my findings with you in such a fun and engaging way! <3 love you!

Illustration of Nym by me:

[batrogers]

Don't Touch My Brother

Fanfic written for @queering-the-chain, alternate prompt "standing up to hate."

Rated T for moderate violence and harassment, approx. 1000 words.

Also on AO3

IIII

They were in Wild’s Hyrule, which was at least extremely distinct: the stables were a bit surprised to see a group like theirs, but it was workable and the area was usually more than safe enough for them to camp outside. They had a whole area near the river to use, which put Link’s teeth on edge: he was still getting used to how much everyone trusted water. Back home, it was at best contaminated and liable to make you sick. At worst, something would sneak out and eat you.

‘Something’, Link thought, and laughed under his breath. That ‘something’ was Zora, which seemed to be a game of chance, which of them thought of them as people and which hostile animals. He’d never quite figured out if they were mixing up species or not yet....

Still, the stable seemed confident in the river’s stability and Link set his jaw and walked off to find Wild again. If they were going to keep winding up by river’s like this, he really did need to learn how to swim.

Wild wasn’t that far. He’d settled down by the communal cookpot again, but apparently he’d gotten cornered while he did so. Link didn’t want to cause them any problems, but still – he meant it, about asking, and the others had gotten distracted by the dozen little chores of settling in: Twilight, with Epona, Time and Warriors talking to the other travellers, Sky and Legend with laundry, and Four and Wind with whatever teenagers did to stay calm.

Well. Normal teenagers.

For his part, Link pulled out some of his own work: doing his best to repair his last doll, destroyed in the Dollmaker’s courtyard a little over a week ago now. So recently? He thought, and considered what other scraps he could use to patch the hole in the side. He had options from old damaged tunics, and he flipped through the bag in his lap.

Across the fire, he could hear Wild and the other man talk – well. More the other man was talking, and Wild was listening. Perhaps better phrased, he was ignoring him.

“You showed up here with a group, didn’t you? They looked like nothing much,” the man said. “Are they making you cook for them?”

Link suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The man wasn’t paying much attention if he didn’t realize one of that group had joined them.

“C’mon, you’re a good cook. I’ll bet they don’t even care about your skill, just shovel it down. Treat it like its worthless. Why do you bother?”

Link watched Wild’s mouth tighten, but he kept silent still, eyes fixed on the pot in front of him and stirring quietly. He was upset; Link could see that much, but he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t yet told the man to back off. He might’ve just been being polite, and if that was the case...

Did Wild even realize Link had joined him? He was so tense.

But was he keeping silent on purpose?

“Does that really need that much attention?” the guy continued. He got up, then, and reached out—

Link’s hand was on his sword at about the same moment Wild whirled and cracked the spoon in his hand into the man’s arm.

“Don’t touch me,” Wild snarled. “For fuck’s sake!”

Link saw the moment the man realized he’d made a mistake, but he didn’t quite realize which one until he’d lashed out and punched Wild in the face.

“What the fuck do you go dressed like a girl for?” the man snarled. “You fucking tricked me—”

He shut up when Link’s hand hit his throat. Link stopped, braced with his nails dug into his skin for several long seconds until he let go and let the man drop to the ground, wheezing for breath and – Link knew – dizzy.

Dizzy because he’d been about three seconds from holding on long enough he didn’t get back up.

“Don’t fucking touch me or my brother again,” Link hissed. “I don’t care what mistakes you made; that’s on you, not him. Maybe if you didn’t chat up anyone pretty and silent you wouldn’t feel this humiliated when they turned you down.”

The man scrambled back to his feet, several steps further back from where he’d hit the ground and spat at Link’s feet.

“Keep your whore,” he snarled. “Fucking—”

“If you finish that statement, I’ll cut out your tongue,” Link said, loudly, hearing Time and Warrior’s footsteps move from wood to sand.

“What happened?” Warriors snapped.

The man tried to start walking back, skirting them at the fire as it to go towards the stable, and Warriors unsheathed his sword without another word. He pointed it at the man’s chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“My things are inside.”

“Then you can come get them later tonight,” Warriors said. “Get lost.”

Link watched the man throw another small fit before he walked off, then turned and smiled tiredly at Warriors. “Thanks.”

“What happened?”

“He got mad when he realized Wild was a guy.”

Warriors spun, still furious, and Link went to check on the food, because as much as Wild was protesting to Time he was fine, it was just a bruise... Link could see he was shaking. He swallowed hard, and wished he’s stepped in sooner but. He hadn’t known. He waited until Time let Wild sit down again before he asked,

“How many times has that happened?”

Wild shot him a dirty look and sat back in place. He didn’t answer, and that was answer enough for Link. He sighed, but – there was no point arguing. He looked up, and Time and Warriors seemed to realize it, too. Without asking, they took seats around the fire, and Link forced a smile.

“I came over to ask if you’d teach me to swim, after we eat,” he said, and the tension slowly faded from Wild’s shoulders. “If you’d like?”

“...Alright,” Wild agreed, but he gained a little more confidence – a little more sure that they meant it, and the matter was done. “I can do that, sure.”

“I should probably learn too,” Warriors said, and the last of the unease faded away.

It was over, for now, and Link hoped it didn’t have to come up again.