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feyascorner · 8 months

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6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it.

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back. Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot.

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

Tags:@ayselluna@littleenglishfangirl@bg3obsessedsideblog@iwillpissyourpants@cyberpr1m3@ukeia-uchiha@snowlotr@road-riot@spacekidnova@madislayyy@lordfishflakes@nicalysm@djarinsway@tinystarfishgalaxy@brainz00@hopeful-n-sad@ohdeerieme@madisban@chrismarium@chonkercatto@fanfic-share@sleepyred1703@miskouly@ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @aelieknox @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @bitterbeanren Please let me know if I didn't add you to the list or if you'd like to be added!

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 x reader #fluff #bg3 #angst

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featherwurm · 3 months

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Well... this was supposed to be a simple little sketch (you're gonna have to zoom in) to go with some small head-cannons that grew legs and wandered away:

In the Modern AU (where nothing is really different I just use it to draw modern trappings on the gang) after whatever happens, and things are good, the tadfools go out for a nice lunch together in the park with their favorite pedestrian rides. They're in Bloomridge, which here is more like Golden Gate Park or Central Park - a huge area for pleasant recreation.

From right to left:

Karlach: Rollerblades. Safety equipment - elbow, knee pads, hand guards. Look - Regular casual clothes.

Tav: Roller Skates. Safety equipment - none ("if I die I die.") Look - Usual gym/active fit.

Wyll: Longboard skateboard. Safety equipment - helmet worn incorrectly (straps loose). Look - Day out with friends urban causal.

Lae'zel: Beloved cherry red BMX bike. Safety equipment - all of it, as is good and proper. Look - Dirtbag off-roader.

Shadowheart: Silver beach cruiser of her dreams* with tassels and a basket and everything. Safety equipment - none. Look - Summer sundress.

Gale: Recumbent bike with tressym trailer**. Safety equipment - proper helmet and wrist guards. Look - Little matched bicycling outfit.

Astarion: One of those motorized unicycles (probably shouldn't be riding this on the bike path.) Safety equipment - none and he's on his phone. Look - Casual but expensively branded***.

Scratch: Having a great time.

Honestly they're all having a great time. They're buddies! Bonus, they run into Aylin and Isobel who are also out for a ride on their tandem:

*Karlach helped her get it all perfectly sparkly and detailed the last time she cleaned her motorcycle.

**It's open, she can fly out if she wants, but she's not as young as she used to be and likes to have a chauffeur sometimes. Plus she and Gale are having a nice chat. (Stickers says 'Tressym on Board' and there's a sticker for his university. The flags are a Waterdeep Flag, and two university pennants.)

***His shoulder bag has his latest embroidery projects all framed up to work on when they stop.

#BG3 #baulders gate 3 #Modern AU #Gale #Astarion #Shadowheart #Wyll #lae'zel #karlach #tav #zatavia #Aylin #Dame Aylin #Isobel #Art #Sketch #Digital #personal #color

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krembruleed · 6 months

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alright, the other day i loosely implied that i would make a behind the scenes/tutorial type of thing. momma didn't raise no liar, so here goes nothing i guess!

step 1) rough sketch

honestly i skip this entirely if have a really concrete idea of what i want to do. sometimes compositions are just beamed into my brain from On High and a sketch is unnecessary.

step 2) 3d ref

this is where i refine the composition, lighting, camera angles, props, etc. i use DAZ studio for model posing and blender for almost everything else (props, horns, lighting, rendering).

here's a 10 minute video on how to pose models in DAZ if you're interested in doing something like this! it's not very hard! basic posing requires almost no technical know-how.

i've heard magicposer and virt-a-mate are also good for model posing, but i don't have any experience with either program.

after i'm done posing, i transfer the models to blender so i can work on props, environment, and lighting because doing it in DAZ is ass. you can see that i went overboard on the ref for the paladin i worked on last year by modelling armor.

step 3) lineart

at this stage i'm synthesizing my 3d models, reference images, and style choices into lines.

the 3d likeness of my models is poor because I don't have time for that shit, so this is where my humongous folder full of bg3 screenshots comes into play.

for example: looking at my screenshots, astarion's forehead tilts back towards the back of his skull, much more so than my reference model. his chin and jaw are sharper and longer, and the transition between his brow ridge and nose is almost a straight line. if i combine the information from my 3d model and astarion's face, i get something like this:

3d models aren't fleshy (ie, tummy rolls, wrinkles, muscle deformations, butt squish) unless one puts in A LOT of effort like absolute madman chris jones.

you guys know bernini, right? he has a couple great examples of this. see how hades' hands press in on persephone's leg?

this is what we want to add in the lineart because it's too much effort for 3d. laziness is king.

i guess i draw clothes at this stage too, but for some reason there aren't many in this image. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

step 4) base color

i have a little color picked palette that i use for everybody so i get their skintones right before i start messing with colored lighting. i'll use overlay and hard/soft light layers clipped to the base layer during the shading step later.

step 5) shading

if you thought we were done with the 3d part, guess again! i posterize my 3d reference so i can see the shapes of the shadows and highlights better. if i'm not feeling it, i can go back to 3d and change the lighting really easily.

could I make a cel shader for this? yes. am I going to? No. custom shaders are for people with intelligence and I am fresh out. posterization it is.

from there, i do a pretty standard cel shading deal that i usually blur and set to low opacity. (for this image i stuck to no blur because i had been looking at a lot of morebird's art and was really feeling the hard edges)

photoshop is what i use for final rendering because it has bangin tools. the brush customization alone make ps worth it, but i also particularly abuse puppet warp, noise generation, the camera raw filter, and layer styles.

step 6) background

i put the least effort possible into a background and then i blur it into oblivion so you can't fathom the depths of my ineptitude.

and then i have a finished image! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

#art tutorial #this got long!! the rest is under the cut #i encourage everyone to try out DAZ and blender! theyre both free!!#i love goofing around in 3d

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gravecleric0900 · 3 months

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Eternity

(Forgive the formatting, I’m on mobile)

Raphael x Fem!Tav (beyond gender Tav is unspecified)

(You could read it as alluding to Astarion x Tav if you want, however I’m imagining them as just being really close friends)

TW: dub-con, probably non-con (in the sense that infernal contracts aren’t really consent)

MDNI

——————————————————————

Tav stood on the balcony, looking out at the infernal landscape. The dry, searing wind ruffled her flimsy excuse for a skirt, the translucent fabric reaching her ankles yet somehow keeping both her legs completely exposed. The gold jewelry that draped her body jingled as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She let out a half-hearted sigh. There was no emotion on her face, just a form of numb acceptance.

This was her life now.

This was her eternity.

——————————————————————

This hadn’t been the plan. Not even close. It was never going to be an easy plan by any means, but none of them had any doubts about whether or not they’d see it through. Because they were heroes, the Gate’s only hope against the Absolute. They simply couldn’t fail.

It started off well enough. The diabolist was easily persuaded with some extra coin. Sneaking around the Devil’s lair was seemingly going off without a hitch. Astarion was able to swipe something off a very preoccupied Archivist.

“Boudoir pass,” he drawled “oh this should be fun!”

“We’re not here for fun!” said Gale as he snatched the pass from the vampire’s hands. “We’re here for the hammer. The longer we linger in the devil’s domain, the more likely we are to end up in Raphael’s claws.”

“Trust me Star, nothing in the Hells is fun, not the kind of fun we’re used to.” Karlach phrased it like a joke, but there was a grim undertone to her words. No one in their party, save for Wyll, understood a devil’s decrepit ideas of “fun” better than Karlach. At this remark, Wyll put his hand on the tiefling’s shoulder reassuringly. He knew how terrified Karlach was to be back in Avernus, and the sooner they left the better.

“Tsk’va! The wizard is right! We are wasting time. Let’s investigate this “boudoir”, and quickly.” Laezel was eager to get the hammer and free Orpheus.

At this point they all turned to look at Tav. She had become the unofficial leader of their rag tag party. She had led them into battle against the goblins, freed Moonrise and toppled the Chosen of Myrkul, defied Shar and slain the would be Vampire Ascendent. And, for better or worse, she had led them back into the Hells.

“Laezel is right,” Tav said, “we need to investigate and see if there’s anything in the boudoir that would lead us to the hammer. But Karlach is also right, we need to be very careful.” With that, the group crept off in search of the boudoir.

It turns out the boudoir wasn’t exactly hidden. The room practically called out to them, an unsung siren song drawing them near. With the pass in hand, Tav and the others stepped effortlessly through the ethereal veil.

—————————————————————

She hadn’t known it then, but Tav had damned herself the moment she stepped into the boudoir.

None of them had anticipated the incubus, who had offered them a deal of his own: Tav’s body for the passcode to the hammer. Astarion had immediately tried to take Tav’s place, but the incubus was insistent: it had to be Tav, he explained with an unreadable glint in his eye.

Tav had agreed, knowing that the hammer was their only hope of stopping the Absolute. She tried to ignore Astarion’s worry as she began to shed her clothes. However, before the incubus could touch her he stopped, as if listening to something unheard by everyone else. He grinned, and Tav swallowed nervously.

“Forget our deal, Little Mousey. The passcode is behind the painting.”

Tav jolted. This was an abrupt change from the nonstop seduction. “What’s the catch?” She asked, knowing that infernal beings gave nothing for free.

“Oh there’s no catch, Mousy. I just realized that what comes next will be far more entertaining than a brief dance between the sheets. Ta-ta.” With a flutter of wings the incubus vanished.

Astarion was the first to move, rushing to grab Tav’s clothes and help her back into them. He had been shaken by the entire encounter. Wyll, who had turned his back the moment she undressed, turned around again and gave her a concerned glance. She shook her head; now was not the time to discuss what she had narrowly avoided.

Laezel went and slashed the painting in half with her great sword, revealing the hidden safe. With the passcode in hand, they set out to retrieve the hammer.

—————————————————————

How wrong things had gone, so fast.

The Master of the House had come home, catching them just when they thought they were free. They were afraid, but hadn’t doubted their ability to prevail. After all, they were heroes.

Heroes who lay broken and battered, desperately trying to stave off the killing blows.

It was in the chaos that a voice rang out.

“Wait!” Yelled Tav.

Raphael, holding up a barely conscious Gale by the throat, slowly turned towards the bloodied and bruised woman. She was on the ground, unable to stand yet desperately reaching towards the cambion.

“What if I stay?”

Her companions, those still conscious at least, let out gasps and cries of protest. Raphael slowly lowered Gale down, dropping him the last few feet. He hit the ground with a thud and a groan of pain.

Raphael stalked towards her, looking far more like a wolf than a cat. He loomed over her, a sneer on his face.

“What was that, Little Mouse?”

“What if- what if I stay?” Tav rasped, coughing up some blood from her injuries.

Raphael’s face remained unchanged, but there was a spark in his eyes. Whether that was curiosity or malicious joy was unclear.

“And why would I want that, when it would be much more satisfying to crush you like the treacherous vermin you are?” He growled.

“Because that’s what you’ve wanted all this time, isn’t it? Why you’ve followed us? Because you want me. Not just my soul, but me, at your side, for eternity.”

Raphael’s face remained unchanged, and Tav felt some panic begin to set in.

“If I’m wrong, then kill me now, and let my friends retrieve the Crown in exchange for the hammer. I led them here, I’m the one who should face the consequences,” she said, voice shaking.

Raphael tilted his head, his eyes once again holding that unidentifiable spark. She had called his bluff.

“Let my friends go with the hammer, and I’m yours. Forever.” She pleaded for a final time.

Raphael hummed thoughtfully. “Very well, Little Mouse. One final deal, then.” He snapped his fingers and a scroll and quill appeared in front of him.

“Your friends will be returned to the material plane with the Orphic Hammer. In exchange, you bind yourself to me, body and soul, for eternity.”

“Tav no!! We’ll find another way!” Karlach cried, as she cradled an unconscious Wyll in her lap, trying to staunch the bleeding from his head wound. She looked to the others frantically, begging them with her eyes to do something.

Gale was barely coherent, but he muttered “Tav…no…”

Laezel looked grim, but with a stoic understanding. “Your name shall live forever in the Astral Sea, as the liberator of my people.”

That left Astarion. He’d said nothing, yet he and Tav seemed to exchange a thousand words merely by looking at each other.

When they had met, Astarion was afraid, trapped in his fate by Cazador. He had almost doomed himself to a worse fate when he had contemplated finishing the Rite of Ascension himself. It was Tav who had saved him, convinced him that he was more than what he had been forced to become. Convinced him that he could live again. And now, Tav was giving him one final gift. The chance for him to escape, and live his life as a free man.

He nodded slowly at Tav, a sad smile on his face. She smiled back, knowing he understood why she was doing this. She was doing this for him. For all of them. Maybe he could help the others understand someday.

Tav reached for the quill, and with a shaky hand signed her name. Karlach screamed in despair, a sound Tav knew would haunt her. At the same moment Raphael snapped again. The Orphic Hammer materialized in front of Laezel, who quickly grabbed it.

She looked Tav in the eyes. “Thank you, for your sacrifice.” Tears ran down Tav’s face now, Laezel having told her previously that her people had no words to express gratitude.

Astarion looked at her one last time, then closed his eyes. The last thing Tav saw before Raphael snapped them away was Gale reaching for her, gasping that they would come back for her.

And then there was nothing.

Silence.

Tav sniffled.

And then she cried.

She screamed, and sobbed, and wailed until she couldn’t anymore.

Then, and only then, did Raphael’s hand appear in her field of vision. She looked up, eyes still blurry from her tears. He stood above her, arm out expectantly. After a brief hesitation she took it.

Master & Vassal.

———————————————————

So now she stood on the balcony. Just another pretty trinket locked away.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here. There was no day and no night. It could have been two weeks or two hundred years. She felt Raphael materialize behind her, pulling her close. He rested his face against the crook of her neck, breathing in deeply.

She continued to stare numbly ahead as he began to kiss her neck, one hand reaching up to grope her chest, the other reaching downwards below her skirt. This was her life now.

Her eternity.

#look I just want to belong to the devil for eternity ok #and I also love angst #so here we are #bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #fanfic #angst #haarlep #astarion #my fics

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m00nlight-ramblings · 8 months

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Evergreen: Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of "Evergreen".

Drawing closer to the goblin camp, you finally find out what Astarion really is, changing the course of your relationship.

Read Chapter 2 here

Pairings: Astarion x female reader (named "Atriss", but still using "you" because the thought of Y/N makes me cringe)

Warnings: Swearing. Angst. Blood, violence. The entire story is 18+ so MINORS DNI!

Word Count: 2.2k

The sun had barely started to rise as the party made their way to the goblin camp. The sky had opened slightly, a fine drizzle misting the wilderness as you all headed West, your belongings packed away in your bags of holding.

"Right...so we infiltrate the camp, take no prisoners. Unless, of course, there are prisoners, and we help them escape," Wyll said, marching forward as our brave leader, "Zevlor and Nettie said that we should be able to find Halsin easily - he is 'unmistakable', apparently. And will help us not only with these parasites, but also to talk some sense into Kagha when he returns with us, apparently."

The rest of the party murmured in agreement, but you couldn't help and sneak looks towards Astarion every once and a while - of course, with no reciprocation. Thankfully, nothing had happened last night once you had gone back to your tent...at least, nothing you knew of. So with that in mind, you were even more confused as to what Astarion was doing - there was no way he had really heard something in the woods and investigated, was there? Especially since you hadn't heard anything.

Astarion, as you were quickly finding out, was acting like nothing had happened. Sure, he was avoiding you, but that was nothing new. It seemed you were the only one perturbed by the situation last night...but since nothing had happened or gone missing, you decided to let it lie, and only bring it up to the rest of the party if your suspicions continued.

By mid morning, we came across a wild boar on the road, turned over in death.

"What happened to it?" Shadowheart asked curiously, tilting her head. We stopped for a moment, examining it.

"Oh, who cares about a wild animal...don't we have goblins to kill? A giant elf druid to save? Perhaps some gold to loot?" Astarion asked quickly, almost cutting her off. You eyed him suspiciously but stepped closer to the boar, feeling it's fur.

"It's stone cold," You spoke. "And...weirdly deflated?" You walked around it, examining it from every angle, "It's almost been drained from the inside but...I see no blood? Hells, that's so odd."

"There," Shadowheart said, pointing to its thick neck, "Puncture wounds. Something bit it...could that have been where the blood had gone?"

You shrugged, standing up straight again, "Beats me. But...we should keep going."

Astarion groaned and rolled his eyes, throwing his arms up in the air, "That's what I just said!"

A little while later, you all had arrived on a bridge, which happened to be covered in blood.

Oh...excellent.

"What in the hells happened here?" Gale asked suspiciously, twisting his head to further investigate without moving. You and Wyll stepped forward, looking at the mangled bodies on the ground - some sort of animal, stomachs bloated and blown out.

"Gods, that's disgusting." You murmured, squatting down to further investigate. Their insides had be splattered on the ground, intestines like thick ropes before them. A moment of silence passed before Wyll gasped, gripping his rapier.

"Those are hyenas," He said, unsheathing his weapon. "Which means -"

"Gnolls!" Karlach shouted, pointing to the cliff before us. We turned immediately and a gang of gnolls pounced, having snuck up on us. Snapping into actions, we grabbed our weapons and spread, creating an unspoken formation.

As we fought through the gnolls, blood spattering over our armor and clothes, we recognized we were outnumbered.

"Atriss, watch out!" Shadowheart screamed, causing you to turn on your heel to face her.

Coming face to face with a particularly giant gnoll, you screamed in surprise, no time to conjure a spell. The gnoll's sword was coming down to meet your shoulder as you fumbled with the dagger in your holster, trying to move out of it's way.

Suddenly, the gnoll shrieked in horror, dropping it's sword. Falling on it's side immediately, it convulsed, blood pouring out of it's mouth. You looked behind it and saw Astarion, both of his daggers imbedded in the gnoll's stomach. He retracted his weapons with a loud, slick sound, and wicked off the excess blood. You stared at him and he looked up at you finally, cocking an eyebrow.

"Don't thank me." He said, immediately turning to take on another gnoll. Your mind started to race, pissed off that Astarion had helped you in some way...even though you knew you'd do the same for him. Time to think was short since you had more gnolls to fight, but you couldn't help your mind returning back to Astarion over and over again.

The night was still drizzling slightly as camp was finally set up, about a half a mile away from the goblin camp. Unfortunately, the gnoll fight - though you all made it through - had taken a bit of a toll on the party, so Gale suggested being safer, rather than sorry.

A quick meal of fresh fruit and bread made for dinner as you all took turns using (and re-filling) the wash bucket in camp.

"I'll take first watch," Wyll said, settling down in front of the small fire, "Since Astarion and Gale took watch last night."

"I don't mind," Astarion said quickly, causing surprising looks from the companions to be cast upon him. He stuttered quickly, seemingly to catch himself, "I can't sleep, anyway."

"Nonsense!" Wyll said, not noticing Astation's seeming deception, "No one will watch two nights in a row.

Astarion seemed to deflate when it was decided that Lae'zel would take second watch, though he sullenly obliged. He quickly snuck a look at you as you decided on the watch order, and you knew at that moment that he was hiding something.

The rain had stopped, drying quickly in the humid air. The fire felt nice as you had curled up next to it, relaxing a bit before you would officially retire for the evening. Wyll started his rounds - announcing he was going to search the perimeter for an hour or so - and you closed your eyes, relaxing in the bedroll you had set out to watch the stars on.

You didn't realize it, but sleep quickly took you over, leaving you no room to stargaze that evening.

A little while later, you awoke with a shock, immediately sitting up on the bedroll in a state of panic. Before you could even look around, you felt eyes on you, and when you turned your head, you saw Astarion, crouched in a compromising position.

"I knew it!" You hissed, sitting on you feet, causing him to take a step back. His mouth hung open and he threw up his hands. "I knew you weren't to be trusted! What were you about to do, kill me? Maim me?"

"Please, no! It's not what it looks like!" He said, his voice low, looking around to make sure no one was waking.

"Well you have about ten seconds to explain yourself before I incinerate your ass, so get to it."

"I...I-I..." Astarion stuttered, his brows furrowed. Your heart was racing as you reached for your dagger. Astarion quickly (but gently) grabbed your wrist so you were unable to do so, "I'm hungry!"

You stopped, looking at him quizzically. "And you're...a cannibal? Which is why you were...about to eat me?"

"Gods, no! What in the bloody hells do you take me for?" Astarion asked, rolling his eyes and letting go of your wrist. He mirrored you, sitting back on his feet. A moment of silence passed before he opened his mouth wider, baring...fangs. His eyes darted between yours, and the fact that they were a ruby red color seemed to click into place.

"You're a vampire," You breathed at once, it finally dawning on you.

"Vampire spawn. All of the trauma, half of the fun." His voice was thick with sarcasm.

"So that was your little secret," Suddenly, you gasped, "That's why you wanted first watch. Gods, did you do that to the boar we saw earlier?"

"Yes, of course I did. Animals are my only meal - anything I can get my hands on," Astarion sighed again, "But ever since leaving that ship, I've just been feeling so weak and hungry...I thought maybe..." His voice trailed off, a slight blush rising to his cheeks.

"You thought 'maybe I'll just feed off of one of my companions, who I don't really like all that much, and she wouldn't notice? Oh, and while we're at it, I'll keep it a secret, even though she'll wake up with a giant bite mark on her neck'? Are you stupid?"

"Um, no, actually, I am not stupid, thank you. I'm just hungry!" His voice rose a bit and he winced, lowering it again, "I thought for certain you would, at best, shout for help, and at worst, kill me. So I decided to keep it a secret...I get to feed, you only feel a bit woozy tomorrow morning...it truly isn't all that bad of a situation at all."

You eyed him, trying to find what he was really about. Somehow, as you searched his eyes, it seemed that Astarion was telling the truth - his intense hunger seemed to overtake his (according to him, "not stupid") brain.

If you were a vampire spawn in his situation, you weren't entirely sure that you wouldn't do the same thing.

You sighed heavily, finally relaxing your shoulders, "If you feed on me...nothing happens to me?"

"Nothing," Astarion responded, almost immediately, "Just like I said - a bit woozy for a bit, but nothing more than that. And I gain my strength back." His eyes looked eager, almost pleading. A moment of silence stretched by before you answered him.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You may...feed on me," You said. Astarion almost leapt into action immediately but you placed your hands on his chest to stop him, "But only as much as you need, and nothing more. And if you try and sneak a bite at me - or anyone else here - at any time, expect a stake in your heart, got it?"

Astarion nodded enthusiastically. He smirked, his usual charm returning, "Lay down...so you can be more comfortable."

You eyed him as you laid down on your back again, your heart racing a bit. Astarion slowly lowered himself on to you, his eyes not leaving yours. You felt his breath tickle your face, your lips only centimeters apart.

It was very intimate, especially for someone who you wanted to basically push off a cliff just mere hours before.

"Are you ready?" His voice was soft, low. You nodded slowly, a feeling of heat in your belly suddenly appearing. You pushed the thought - Astarion, on top of you, his lips close to yours, his groin pressed to yours - away, trying to steady your breathing. Astarion gently pushed your head to the side, brushing your hair away from your neck. "I'm going to bite now...okay?"

You nodded again, afraid of what to expect. Suddenly, Astarion's lips were on your neck, and his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His other arm steadied him, protectively next to your body. His lips were frigid against your neck, and you felt his fangs graze against your skin before pressing in, Astarion having to use a bit of force to pierce.

Your breath hitched, a freezing sensation sweeping your body. Waves of both arousal and pain rushed from head to toe, your arms involuntarily wrapping themselves around Astarion's back. His arm around your waist held you closer, squelching sounds coming from his mouth. You felt the blood leave your body, you vision turning fuzzy. A loud, strangled moan escaped your mouth, and Astarion pulled back, staring at you.

Your blood dripped from his fangs as he gently returned you to the bedroll, wiping his mouth. "That...was amazing," He said, "I must admit...you were my first human. Quite possibly the best meal I've had in 200 years." He smirked, his voice low with lust.

Feeling dizzy, you tried to sit up, desperate to get back to your tent now. Astarion rushed into action, helping you stand, gripping your hands.

"Careful now," His voice was in your ear, and he guided you to your tent. Your head was woozy, and your thoughts were jumbled. Astarion undid the flaps to your tent, leading you in, "You will feel better in the morning, I promise. And you will sleep probably the best you ever have in your life tonight." He chuckled, sitting you on the bed.

"Thank you." You said, your thoughts, though far away, seemed to return more with every passing moment. Blinking a few times, you started to feel more normal. Finally looking at Astarion, your heart skipped a beat.

Well...that was new.

Astarion stood up once he had realized you were safe for the evening, and made his way to the exit of your tent. Before he left, he looked back at you.

"That was a gift you know," He started, looking straight into your eyes. His emotion was unreadable...was it...softness? "...I won't forget it."

And with that, he left your tent, leaving you to sleep for the evening.

---

OHHHhhHHHHH things are heating uuuuppPPPPPppppp! As always, comments, likes, reblogs (ESPECIALLY comments or relogs with comments) mean a lot to me! I also officially have a taglist with this one, so let me know if you want to be added to it!

Taglist: @tiedyedghoulette @graynstairs

#astarion romance #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion headcanon #astarion #bg3 #astarion x oc #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion fan fiction #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #baldurs gate 3

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bloodinwine · 8 months

Text

With Me Chapter 1: Effy's Gift

Story Summary: A collection of events/drabbles that are canon and take place before 'Until You' (part 1 of 'Something Else Entirely')

Author's Note: This collection of events/drabbles are canon and take place before Until You.

You can certainly read these as standalones, but I don't think they are as effective unless you are also reading 'Until You', which if you are, you can jump into 'With Me' at anytime but I will note that I only began 'With Me' after chapter 8 of 'Until You'. Hope this makes sense!

Chapter Summary: Astarion drinks human blood for the first time.

Word Count: 2,705 words

With Me: on A03

Until You: A03

Master List: (for all other chapters)

Astarion feels hunger in his veins, it aches in his bones. All he knows is that he wants to eat, drink, eat, drink. The boar he depleted yesterday was a generous helping and it should have been enough but it didn’t do anything , he was empty. He’d just returned to camp from an unsuccessful night of hunting—with nothing—not even a rabbit and all the excursion did was make him more tired, more weak.

He almost concedes, decides he will try to trance— anything to not feel his craving when he pauses to survey the campsite. Everyone is out of sight, fast asleep in their tents…all except their supposed leader, Effy. It’s how he usually finds her, curled up by the campfire wide out in the open, she’s not even in her bedroll.

Maybe it’s the fatigue he feels. Maybe it’s the weariness.

But he doesn’t realize he’s been standing there watching her sleep for a little too long until she shifts, rolling away from the heat to lay on her back. Her arms are splayed out and her face is turned from the flames, he can see the shape of her face. Astarion wonders how she’s slept this close to it all this time and hasn’t caught fire yet.

There’s something about the way she’s sprawled out in the open, exposed to all the world that draws him to her. She’s the same way awake, always the first person to throw herself into danger and devising plans inspired by dead myths and superstition.

Pure rubbish, sheer idiocy, utter recklessness.

She could get them all killed and still, she’s the best chance Astarion has in breaking his own chains. Every quality she carries he’s come to find so very irritating - he just doesn’t understand it and wants to study it up close.

To really see.

Astarion crosses the campgrounds until he’s above her only to be surprised by what he finds.

There’s an expression on her face that he’s never seen before. She’s resting, but she looks… exhausted, fragile.

She’s in a gown so revealing all Astarion can really notice is her dark hair and light skin flushed pink from the fire—she hates layers, complains that her adventuring clothes feel suffocating to her.

She has beautiful skin. And there’s so much of it to see—her dress is hiked past her thighs to the point he can see her underwear and it’s so transparent he can see the color of her nipples and the flushed swell of her breasts. She is quite the sight, yet somehow he finds nothing erotic about it, she just looks vulnerable. Anyone, anything could kill her right now—she is a death wish personified and she could be his.

Astarion nearly bites his own lip when he thinks of plunging his teeth into all that flesh. His hunger only deepens as he watches the rise and fall of her chest, which brings his gaze up to her bare neck where a lovely vein fills his vision and ignites in him a different kind of hunger that he had never experienced, and he knew better than anyone what it meant to starve.

If he didn’t do something about this soon he was going to lose his godsdamn mind.

I need this to survive. I need this.

He is on his knees, but he doesn’t remember dropping to them. His thirst is a pale wasteland, cold and harsh and it feels all the more terrible when he’s so near this woman with blood that smells like a sunshower, fresh petals and the salt of tears cried—all the ingredients for living.

He feels like he’s gone mad, unable to think about anything but the desire to drown in it.

Astarion’s mouth waters, he sees red. He lowers himself above her neck and he opens his mouth, fully succumbing to his desire to taste and know her but when he looks down he sees gray waters, ocean blue.

Her eyes are open.

“…Shit.” He tries to extricate himself from her as quickly as he can, he almost steps back but stops when he realizes that she doesn’t seem startled in the least.

She’s still lying on her back, looking up at him. He almost wonders if she’s sleeping with her eyes open when her mouth moves and she smiles at him.

“Come to steal a kiss? Can’t blame you.” Her voice is soft, sleepy. “You could just…” Her face transforms to what he knows, if it was fragility he saw before then it was gone.

“Suck my cock,” she gasps, eyes blown wide, she shoots up onto her elbows. “You’re a vampire.”

Astarion takes a step back from her. He could not have her shouting and waking the others. “No, no - it’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

But she doesn’t shout, she remains calm, almost too calm. “Red eyes? Fangs? You were about to bite me with them.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” The way she says it unnerves him, like she can’t be bothered. She runs a hand through her hair which catches in a tangle of knots, she gives up on them, freeing her fingers with a look of annoyance. Then she sits up to pat the ground in front of her as if everything is fine , as if they are friends .

“Sit with me.”

Astarion hesitates.

Because either she is the most objectively stupid person alive, or she is plotting to ram a stake in his heart.

He takes his chances and sits down tentatively before her, but the woman just stares at him, she doesn’t say anything.

What in the Hells is she thinking?

Her silence spurs him to explanation, before she can decide she wants him dead after all. “I feed on animals, whatever I can get. I’m just too slow right now. Too weak.” Astarion grits his teeth, hating how desperate he sounds.

“That’s how I feel every morning without my coffee, but you don’t see me taking things from people without asking.”

“I—” Astarion starts.

I’m not some monster, he almost says. But she’s not looking at him like a monster. She’s looking at him the same way she did all day, the exact same way.

Still, he has to be sure that she trusts him.

“If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better. Please. ”

He brushes against her mind, it’s the second time he’s done so but it feels different, maybe it’s because he’s inviting her in, maybe it’s because she’s hiding less of herself, perhaps it’s because she trusts him more. Still, she rushes into him like an exploding spark, like she’s breaking pieces of herself, and that makes it damns difficult to think straight.

Astarion tries to focus and shares with her the number of times he could have easily bitten anyone else, but instead, had yielded to living off animals and anything else he could get his hands on. Of course, he doesn’t show her that it was from lack of choice. He almost cuts his thoughts off from her, scared to reveal too much, when he catches sight of an image that doesn’t belong to him.

He sees an elderly woman with large, round orbs of silver-blue for eyes, they look just like Effy’s, except they peer from a face that has seen too much–a map of wrinkles and scars.

Surprisingly, it is Effy that breaks the connection. She tilts her head at him. “I’d be your first human.”

Astarion balls his hands into fists, he hadn’t quite thought of it that way. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely you’d ram a stake through my ribs. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”

What delicious treats your lies give to me. Bring her. Now.

Astarion tries not to flinch from the revolting thought, from hearing his voice. No matter how far, he could still hear it, still couldn’t get away.

Effy is silent, the look she gives covers him like the sky…and there is no hiding from the sky.

She’s going to say no. Who in their right mind would say yes?

“I only trust one person in the world.” Her voice is grave. “And she would say that a vampire that drinks from his first human is bound to protect them. If I give you my blood, you will have no choice but to fight for me.”

“Yes, your blood will surely make me more equipped for the task.” Astarion responds automatically, the words spill out before he can process what she is really saying.

Protect her? Is she joking?

He doesn’t need to look at her long to know she’s not, not even a little bit and somehow it makes the whole thing so damn funny to Astarion.

He can’t believe his luck.

Centuries he’d spent seducing and manipulating others, and still, no one has stopped him.

He’s still here. He’s still doing the same thing. It’s still too easy.

Effy nods. She agrees. Of course she does.

“Is—is that a yes?” He stammers, because he still can’t believe it.

“Only if you want to.”

Only if I— She’s stark mad.

“It’s important that you’re sure, that you find me worthy,” she continues, mistaking his silence for uncertainty. “Our binding will weave a thread between Shar and Selune, bringing their eternal conflict one step closer to the end–”

How ridiculous.

“ –for I will give you life, and you will give me death and then together - we will become something else entirely.” Then she breaks out of her solemn demeanor and grins at him. “And that sounds rather nice, doesn’t it?”

She lays back down on her back and waves him over, like she wants to tell him a secret.

Astarion catches himself digging his nails into the ground. It dawns on him that he’s going to drink her blood–human blood–for the first time.

His body feels taut as a cord when he brings himself to his knees and plants his hands on either side of her head but when she turns to bare her neck, it takes every ounce of his willpower not to let go and bury himself in her.

He pulls strands of her hair away, its silk in his hands, and the scent of it drags him into a summer evening—a garden of wild roses and blackcurrant. His fingers slip under her head to cradle it and the gesture feels so intimate it's almost sickening, he tries to focus on her smell because maybe then he could stay in that place that is uniquely her and away from the looming revulsion that hangs around him like a shadow.

“Just be gentle with me.” She whispers into his neck. He’s not sure why, but Astarion feels a strange twinge in his chest from the way she says it.

Be gentle.

It was the least he could do, but the second his fangs sink into the softness of her flesh, he is slammed by a devastating force that spurs in him something that is even greater, stronger and deadly.

Be gentle.

He is surprised he can hang onto that thought, that he can register the way she shudders and gasps beneath him. He feels her hand run up his arm as if to cling for life—

Be gentle.

—then her hand falls over his in surrender and she lets out a sigh that is unmistakably pleasing and it makes him want to be anything but gentle.

He has no one to compare her blood to, but he is sure animals will never satisfy again. She tastes divine, oh yes, she certainly does, but it’s not simply the way she tastes, it’s the way it moves through every piece of him.

How every vein becomes knitted in his veins. How her blood mixes with his blood– and how her heart beats for his heart.

He is the one feasting on her, but he is the one that is claimed.

Everything, every part of her becomes laced into all that he is, and he becomes, just like she’d promised—something else entirely.

For a moment—that he would spend eternity wishing for—he is alive.

He feels her squeeze his wrist hard, but looking back on it later, he’s not sure if it was her way of telling him to stop.

Desperate to not lose the feeling of her too quickly, he closes his eyes to savor it all when he pulls away from her. He doesn’t want to forget this.

“That - that was amazing.” The words feel like air in his dead lungs. He feels at his mouth, to savor any of her remaining essence—it’s too precious to waste.

“My mind is finally clear. I feel strong I feel…” He pauses. “Happy.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he looks down at Effy who appears to be in a half-daze.

“You’re really beautiful, do you know? It’s almost unfair,” she says.

Did I almost kill her?

“What—how much blood did you lose?”

Effy raises a finger up to the sky behind him. “Seriously, I’m not kidding. You’re literally prettier than the moon. I could fucking cry looking at you.”

Astarion lets out a sharp laugh. He reaches back down to wipe at the remaining blood from the wound on her neck with his fingers, he sucks them clean and his lashes flutter. She might be demented, but she tastes so godsdamn amazing .

He clears his throat, remembering himself and pulls a piece of cloth he meant to use to patch his shirt with. He puts it in Effy’s hand, prompting her to hold it up to her neck to staunch the bite, his bite—it sinks in that they would scar, that they would be there for the rest of her life.

“…I might have gotten carried away…but I was just swept up in the moment.”

“Good,” she sighs.

“Good?”

“It’s nice to be swept away, doesn’t it? Happy is good too, you know? I’m glad you are.” She pulls the cloth from her neck and holds it up to her face, to survey the blood there. “I feel numb.”

She clutches the fabric tightly to her chest and Astarion notices the red blisters on her fingers—he’s not sure how he hasn’t before, they look painful.

“I’m…uh, I’m sorry .” The word feels weird in his mouth and according to the smile on Effy’s face, unnecessary to say.

“Whatever for? It feels nice to not feel. I’ll probably actually get some real sleep around here for once.”

“Nice to not…Hells below.” Astarion snorts. “You won’t pass out will you? We sort of need you afterall to lead us into more danger.”

“I’m fine. I always am,” she says. Her eyes begin to close, like she might really drift off to sleep. “…you’ll protect me now, will you?”

Astarion wants to laugh, but he doesn’t. “Won’t be long before we find out. So many people need killing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

That wasn’t true. For the first time, he feels like he doesn’t need anything at all. He just wants to go back in his tent to savor this memory.

He turns to leave, until he hears her say, “Goodnight Astarion.”

His first human. The first time he drank what he wanted. And he felt, well, he was grateful.

“This is a gift you know. I won’t forget it.” He’s not sure if she heard him. When he looks over his shoulder he sees that she’s fast asleep again, but this time she looks… peaceful .

Still, he feels a strange impulse to walk back and pull a blanket over her.

He shakes the thought away and returns to his tent but when he tries to slip into a trance all he can think of is her. Not his plans to manipulate or seduce her for his own preservation.

Just her.

200 years. 73050 days. Thousands of people—and she reminds me of no one.

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Special Thank You: THANK YOU ALL FOR READING ❤️❤️❤️

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Until You Tag List: @hopeful-n-sad

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion love #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #astarion x female tav #astarion x female oc #a03 fanfic #eventual smut #angst and fluff

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astarionsilverbough · 1 year

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AHH! Another place to gush about your work! Stupendous! Wonderful! So excited for more 🙌

I live for the softness ❤️ a glutton for the sweetness of their relationship.

Things I like thinking about include

Hair care: Astarion not being able to see himself and Halsin’s braids so they can take care of each other hair which is such a soft bonding activity which can also lead to a gentle bathing and washing together. Also scar hurt/comfort???

Halsin & animals playing with baby ducks and other baby animals. Imagine Halsin gently placing a small chick in Astarion’s hands to hold 😭

Wild shape shenanigans: Astarion’s feet hurting or just for fun using Halsin as his steed and general wildshape cuddling ❤️

Astarion having a hoard of little wooden creatures Halsin whittled. Also if Halsin had a hidden talent for drawing it would also be soft and angsty because Astarion can’t see himself, but now he can at least see how Halsin sees him.

Okay so firstly thank you so much my dear 😭💕 secondly, thank you specifically for this ask because my GOD it is so soft but nothing gets to me like braiding a lover’s hair/scar care like NOTHING does so I’m now just thinking about -

“Hold still, darling, it’s the last one.” A pause, and then - a mockingly scandalized gasp. “Halsin! Keep those hands to yourself, if you please! This is delicate work.”

It’s no use. They’re already everywhere, those clever, keeping hands; it’s Astarion’s fault, really. He’s naked and hovering over the larger elf’s very inviting lap, which also happens to be conveniently barren of clothing.

And he can’t be distracted - the customary braids in Halsin’s hair are best done when the elf’s mahogany locks are just damp enough.

“You always save that one for last,” Halsin burrs against Astarion’s chest, big hands cupping his ass.

The tips of Astarion’s ears go pink. “Nonsense.”

Halsin tips back and gives him a knowing smirk. “Is it because it’s the mating braid?”

He says it in elvish - low, and smug. Astarion reacts all over.

“You’re dreadful,” the vampire says, “absolutely horrible. Accusing me of sentiment? I know I have a tadpole in my head but - Halsin!”

Somehow he manages to pinch the bottom of the last braid and hold it aloft as his absolute beast of a lover rolls him into the sheets with a gusting laugh.

And, later - much later, after they’ve gotten filthy again and after Astarion finally finishes that damn braid - Halsin gets Astarion spread out on the sheets and slowly, gently massages the sigils carved into the landscape of Astarion’s spine.

Rosemary oil slicks Halsin’s way as the elf - looming over Astarion now with a thigh on either side of Astarion’s narrow hips - runs expert hands up and down the length of his back, thumbs pushing in all the write spots to loosen the tension he unknowingly carries in the places around the tattoo.

“It feels different,” Astarion says quietly. When he speaks, he speaks in elvish. Halsin’s hands pause; Astarion rarely speaks in elvish.

“What does? Are you in any pain?”

He says it evenly - measured and calm. An oath-bearing warrior he may be now, he will always be a Druid at heart.

Astarion smiles faintly against his own upper arm. They’re folded under his head, keeping it pillowed as Astarion watches Halsin’s reflection in the sliver of mirror just past the archway leading into their bathing chamber.

“No, darling,” he hums, “not anymore. It… feels different. The mark. Like you’ve gone and purged whatever evil was still lurking inside it. My own personal shadow curse - and you’re the light that drove it out.”

There’s a beat of silence. Astarion expects it, of course he does, but it still renders him breathless when Halsin bows over him and kisses slow and lingering down the exposed side of his face. Shifting, Astarion presses up and back against the larger elf, reveling in the strength of him, the heat of him.

“Evil could never dwell in this body,” Halsin murmurs in aching tones against Astarion’s ear, “for the sunlight of your soul would cast it out. You have only ever been made of light, dawnstar. No darkness could snuff that out.”

He expects it, most of the time - when Halsin utters some absolutely heart-shattering epitaph dedicated to their love or Astarion in general - but this time, Astarion’s moved to genuine tears. Call it the vulnerability after sex, the boneless exhaustion of a good massage, whatever.

Really, it’s just Halsin. And it will always be just Halsin, won’t it, he thinks, turning his head to catch the larger elf in a kiss as his fingers find the mating braid in his thick hair.

A thrill runs through him.

It feels like sunlight.

#I know there were three prompts to this but MY GOD THE FURSR ONE. nothing gets to me like mutual hair care and scar care #nothing #baldur’s gate 3 #halstarion #astarion #the land of gods and monsters verse #halsin #rambles #I am RUINED #however the idea of Astarion cradling a baby rabbit nearly moved me to tears #so there’s that

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squoonsquoon · 8 months

Text

Get to Know my Tav!

@owmyeyeballs showed me this so I am doing @sporeservant 's ask game for Myka! :D

Myka | Teifling | She/Her

What is your Tav’s…

favorite weapon: Hand Crossbows! She'll want to say "Pew, pew!" when she shoots. She doesn't, but she'd like to.

style of combat: Throw a spell on the ground, Moonbeam or Spike Growth, then Pew pew! Also supports her friends with healing spells. If she has a big buff friend, she gets them to throw her as a wild shape. It's a fun surprise for the enemy!

most prized possession: A locket from her friend! She hides it under her clothes, but brings it out when she's alone with fiddle with.

deepest desire: To find her parents. She more than anything wants her family to feel whole again.

guilty pleasure: Cheesy romance. She found a book once and it made her heart flutter! She'd like a cheesy romance of her own..

best-kept secret: She's pretty bad at keeping secrets, and most people can already guess her secrets. But the one she tries really hard to keep is her crush on Astarion. It's painfully obvious though.

greatest strength: She's very curious, and eager to learn new things. She'll have picked up plenty of skills and hobbies by the end of her adventure!

fatal flaw: She trusts too easily. Letting people get close to her and leaving back wide open to get stabbed. She's just lucky things haven't gone bad, and that she's had other people to watch her back.

favorite smell: A little bergamot, rosemary, and a hint of aged brandy! It only recently became her favorite smell (for no reason at all). Before this is was roses.

favorite spell or cantrip: Guidance. She likes to be helpful!

pet peeve: Wizards. They think they're sooooo smart and powerful. (Looking at Gale and Rolan. She didn't like them at first but they grew on her)

bad habit: Running off without thinking. She has only very narrowly missed traps because her friends manage to grab her tail in time to pull her back.

hidden talent: She's a fast learner. If someone shows her how to do something, she can catch on quite quickly.

leisure activity: Snacking, sunbathing as a cat, making flower chains, sleeping in her pile of soft pillows tent.

favorite drink: Fruit juice. Freshly squeezed!

comfort food: tarts! Sweet or savory, she likes how they're packaged.

favorite person: She's got a lot of favorites; her sister Eli, her buddy Karlach, but most favorite is Astarion.

favored display of affection (platonic and/or romantic): Physical touch. She loves hugs and being held. She also takes a pet as a cat like no problem!

fondest childhood memory: Visits from her dear friend, Urelia. They were the one who found her alone and with no memory. Urelia tried to visit at least once a year, and those days Myka would get to hear stories from the outside and get fun gifts.

Is there anything else you'd like to share? (feel free to include art or a screenshot of your Tav if available!): Myka likes to meet new people! And I am loving drawing peoples tavs with her :3 Thanks to all the people who've sent tavs and for anyone who does so in the future! <3

#bg3 tav #myka #had this in drafts for a bit

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cassieuncaged · 10 months

Text

WIP Wednesday on a Monday

Hey everyone! So I’m officially back from my hiatus and decided to start a WIP tag chain early since I’ve got some new/different things I’m working on (including old stories I’ve neglected for more than year). Anyways, my current focus is on Baldur’s Gate, Fallout 4, Far Cry 4, and Mortal Kombat.

Also, thanks for the tag, @bardic-inspo , to share some of my writing 🤗

No pressure tags: @emotionalcadaver, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @captastra, @firstaidspray, @snowyarts, @reriart, @elfinbloodbag, @euryalex @adelaidedrubman, @chadillacboseman, @inafieldofdaisies, @carlosoliveiraa, @spacestephh, @galaxycunt, @unholymilf, @quantum-lover, @voidika, @illiana-mystery, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky and anyone else who wants to share writing, drawing etc. If it’s not your thing please ignore, but I wanted to go on a tagging spree since I’ve finally returned to this hellsite! Honestly really excited to see what everyone is working on :)

King of War - Chapter 2 (Pagan Min x OC)

TW: dictators, mentions of war, non-explicit injuries, language, etc.

Her head throbs as eyes slowly open, the blur of the vibrant world quickly coming into view. A flamboyant man sits across from her, picking at food she doesn’t recognize. Though the stranger in his teal suit isn’t what captivates her. No, it’s the panoramic view of the Himalayas, seemingly stretching to the ends of the planet from wherever they’re nestled.

“Good!” a booming baritone startles her, heavily accented as the man addresses her. Meg knows all too well who he is but hopes that it’s an intricate illusion or this whole ordeal is a dream. “You’re awake.”

“Barely,” she’s groggy, trying to ignore the pain radiating at the back of her skull and reaching for the knife kept holstered in her boots. Instead, he eyes widen to saucers as she realizes that her clothing has been changed as she sports a silk cheongsam dress with matching shoes. She nods bitterly. “You’ve taken my things.”

“Sorry,” he examines his finger nails before meeting her gaze, “I don’t like the idea of my guests being armed.”

“What decent dictator would?” she forces out a dark chuckle, hoping he’ll bury a bullet in her brain and end this nightmare. Instead, a brow arches quizzically.”

“King,” Pagan corrects her tersely, “It’ll do you well to remember that, Meg.”

“How do-”

“Please,” he laughs deeply, genuinely entertained by her confusion, “One of the biggest tech innovators from Silicon Valley disappears and just happens to reappear in my country. You think I wouldn’t know who you were?”

“What do you want?” she spits with all the vitriol she can muster, feeling the tension of sore muscles in her face. Nothing is said as he steeples his hands, mouth splitting into a mischievous grin, but he doesn’t need to say it because she already knows.

Everything.

Exploration - Chapter 1 of 2 (Astarion x OC)

TW: slightly suggestive, allusions to past trauma, dissociation, language, etc.

Memories were complicated, often tainting how one viewed many facets of present life.

At least that was how Astarion regarded his own. Two hundred years had soured his outlook on many things as life was slowly reclaimed. Autonomy, individuality, sex. All were concepts he’d attempted to relearn in the months after the brain fell yet struggled with greatly.

He was grateful to not navigate the unknowns alone, his sorceress lover still firmly planted by his side. Ilwyn was understanding in many ways others wouldn’t be, a flower emerging from the muddiness of her own past trauma. Not to mention how young she was for an elf, still learning many things about herself.

“I’ll be right here, my sweet star.”

She’d cooed into his ear one night after a particularly bad nightmare had destroyed his trance. Her body was warm, the scent of honeysuckle permeating her skin and bed clothes after a soothing bath. No one had ever held him like that, soothing and sweet until his rigid body began to relax against her. To be loved was to be seen, or so he had learned.

Wynnie was endlessly patient and understanding, allowing him to make choices for himself and to allow space when it was needed. Sometimes, the vampire spawn needed to clear his head, to feel the cool kiss of night tickle his cheeks and tousle his curls. If blood still pulsed beneath his skin. He was positive he’d be red as the fruit of a sun melon. How their innocent touches quickly became heated, motions filled with unbridled passion. How he felt himself drift away as Ilwyn lay spread out in nothing but slinky small clothes, her hand drifting to his breeches…

He deigned to be filled thoughts of his lover, to drown in her visage for hours, molding her body against in his own in a passionate exchange, kissing and licking and nipping. Yet, the young elf carefully rolled them over so he lay with his back upon the down feathered mattress. Dismounting herself, Wynnie rubbed firm circles into a broad shoulder as Astarion’s ashen brows knit in confusion.

They were together, melding into one another so naturally and deliciously. Yet allowing ruby eyes to shutter once had transported him into the hallows of the Szarr palace, stretched across crushed satin as sure lips collided with curve of a stranger’s neck. A blonde woman, a man with bronzed skin, it never mattered who was shared that damned bed.

Sex was a means to an end. Always.

Ghoulish Intentions - Chapter 1 (John Hancock x OC)

TW: none! (other than radiation i suppose!)

A gnarled arm stretches across the mattress as the ghoul wakes. Sunlight spills into the room, Daphne’s room. Though Hancock is shocked to find she isn’t plastered to his side, likely having awoken early to tend to mutfruit and tato sapling’s. Sanctuary is teeming with residents now, cul-de-sac walled in like a cookie cutter Goodneighbor. Yet, she enjoys playing her part in all sanctions of the town: agriculture, defense, even entrepreneurship.

But he’s happy that his mayoral duties are paused momentarily, enjoying life after the Institute’s fall. Besides, he rather likes watching his other half scuttle about under the sun that gently freckles soft skin beneath the fumes of radiation that never completely dissipate. Then he hears the rattle of an old storm door, booted feet clomping forward as he begins to dress.

“Hey, handsome.” Blonde hair hidden by the trifold hat that matches his own, Daphne rests her head against the doorjamb. “Nick’s back with a new job. Sounds like we’ve got a job playing detective again.”

“Taking names and kicking some ass involved?” he rasps out a chuckle, enjoying how the loving gaze that falls upon him like a spotlight.

“Likely, at least with Piper and Cait tagging along with us and the gumshoe.” She stifles a yawn, adjusting her general’s garb.

“Well how and the hell could I say no to that?” a grin spreads across his scarred face, inky eyes sparkling beneath dawn’s light. “When do we leave?”

Uneasy Alliance - Chapter 3 (Cassie Cage x OC)

TW: rampant sexual tension, language, etc.

“A truce?” Lavender eyes are unblinking, sharp jaw set hard as steel. “What the hell are talking about?”

Blue eyes rolled dramatically as Commander Cage strode into the meager set up. Her mouth, however, was shut for the longest amount of time since they’d met. Of course, when the turncoat actually wanted to hear the proposition. Instead, the blonde turned gracefully on the toe of her boot, not unlike a ballerina.

Under the right circumstances, Nyx could even imagine herself slipping her a phone number hastily scrawled across a sticky note. Right now, she had to resist the urge to cave Cassie’s skull in.

“Nice place you got here,” a quick nod of her head sent those pink aviators gracefully falling upon that round little nose, “Suppose you’ll be plastering some Echo and the Bunnymen posters up while you watch Eraserhead.”

“What’s your dorm look like, Barbie? Bubblegum pink with a closet full of Betsey Johnson rejects?” Nyx shot back without missing a beat, enjoying how Cage junior was bristling beneath the quick retort. It was clearly a long time since she’d had someone to engage in verbal sparring.

“Point taken,” Cassie grits, arms crossed tightly across her uniform. “You want to hear what I’ve got up my sleeve or not.”

Mirroring her stance, the pallid woman responded with a sharp:

“I’m listening.”

#wips #wip wednesday #on a monday #tag games

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hijackalx · 6 months

Note

Headcanon thingy, but who would the boys (Gale, Astarion, Wyll, and Gortash) react to seeing their lover trying on lingerie?

felt like testing my drabble skills so i added a lil something extra to them 😎💗 enjoy pookie!!

GN!reader

SLIGHT NSFW BELOW

GALE

likes when you surprise him with it. wear some under your clothes as a little treat for when he’s undressing you 😌✨

you look so good that it makes him trip over his words. he’s too busy ogling your body to pay attention to what he’s saying. will have him laughing like a nervous virgin 😹

LOVESSSSS garters. can’t keep his hands off of them. particularly loves the way your thighs strain beneath them when you’re on your knees

instantly wants to enchant the bottoms to make them vibrate and watch you get off like that (don’t ask if that’s actually possible my brain functions on horny not logic)

your outfit is inconspicuous, plain— perfect for covering up the lingerie hiding beneath. you wait patiently in his lap as he unwraps your silken robe, biting back a smirk.

he pauses to take in the sight of the lace hugging your skin, how it flows so delicately around your shape. he tuts, shooting you a familiar, frivolous grin. “feeling naughty tonight, are we?” just moments later, his hands move to rest on your bottoms, a seemingly harmless action that results in a soft buzz and a gasp. “i can work with that.”

ASTARION

insists on going with you to pick some out. follows you into every dressing room to “make sure it fits right” lol. so picky but mostly because he loves watching you try them on

his favorites are flowy/frilly types, like babydoll tops or satin robes. also LOVES stockings of any kind

makes you feel like an actual doll ✨🌸 repeatedly tells you how perfect you are and can’t keep his hands off you. will also try to get you flustered by whispering really dirty stuff about how you look into your ear

likes when you have fun with it and show off for him— be cheeky. do a little spin. bend over in front of him. be prepared for him to pinch or smack your ass though

he sits comfortably on the dressing room bench as you approach him. “how about this one?” you pull your bottom lip in playfully, placing your hands on his shoulders as he takes your body into his grasp.

“mm,” erupts from his throat, watching as his lithe fingers slip over and under the fabric sparsely covering your skin. “now, this one i like.” he places a slow and deliberate kiss to your exposed abdomen, his ruby gaze flitting up to meet yours; there’s an impish glint to them that tells you he doesn’t plan on waiting to have you any longer.

GORTASH

likes to make sketches of you wearing it. has so many drawings of you in compromising positions with it on. definitely keeps them for when he’s alone

loves corsets and bustiers because of how they emphasize your chest, especially in blacks and reds. crotchless panties also drive him INSANE

the sluttier you act while wearing it the better. don’t try to be modest (there’s honestly no reason to be anyway, he’s a freak fr 😹😹)

a sucker for fishnets. likes to take them off and use them to tie your wrists together. will also shove them in your mouth/gag you with them on occasion

his dark irises glance up from his work every so often to study your decorated figure; they follow the arch of your back, the heart shape of your ass, and linger on the exposed area between your thighs more often than not.

“lower,” he directs, and you immediately respond by deepening the angle of your back. he hums contently, scribbles some more, then adds, “spread your legs further.”

you comply once again, happy to flaunt your body under his gaze. the corner of your lip pulls upward, anticipating your reward for being such an obedient little muse.

WYLL

bust this out on your honeymoon and he gets SOOO flustered. i’m talking stuttering/looking away/rubbing his neck

his favorites on you are lacy teddies— especially in blues, purples, and whites. more traditionally sexy styles really get him going

lowkey so obsessed with how you look in it. the kind of thing that’s on his mind 24/7. almost always asking you to put it on for him at the end of the day with a little pout 😹💗

LOVES when you strip for him nice and slow, especially how you tease him by carefully revealing each skimpy garment beneath your clothes. a lapdance is also mandatory

you spot the anxiousness simmering beneath his lax surface— he longs to touch you, but you’d rather toy with him a little more.

prowling closer to where he sits, you slowly unbutton your blouse. with each maneuver of your fingers, you reveal the lingerie lying beneath, watching how his hungry, needy gaze fixates on it.

he inhales sharply as you straddle his lap and take his hand in yours. he lets you guide it over your ornamented body, his eyes heavy with desire as he mutters a low and raspy, “you’ll ruin me.”

#bg3 #astarion #enver gortash #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #astarion x reader #enver gortash x reader #gale dekarios x reader #wyll ravengard x reader #my headcanons #bg3 headcanons #drabbles

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atsadi-shenanigans · 7 months

Text

Feeding Alligators 36 - Glee

On the properties of blood rejuvenation and the history of the world (i guess).

On AO3.

“A devil? Astarion’s voice is sharp and just this side of a whine. “Now we’ve got a devil after us?”

Voices from below. Gale and Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Y’all should probably regroup. You try to focus as you climb back down (easier, as you’re laying on your belly, but also harder, as you’re already shaking and shivering).

The rest of the crew look between worried and grim. Lae’zel has relaxed back into her “breathe on me and die” stance. Only you seem to still be having a physical reaction. Possible because you’re the only one suddenly dumped ass over tea kettle into an unasked for crisis of (un)faith.

The others debate about it. Or discuss it, since nobody seems to be outright in favor. Wyll is dead set against the entire concept. But it’s Astarion that draws your eye. He wants to use the parasites, you’d gathered from snippets over the last day and a half. He’d said so to the others after the whole dream intruder episode. Man seems pretty down for snatching any form of power (or supplies) he can get his hands on.

But when you look at him, he wears a dark look.

“He’s playing with us,” Astarion says when you ask. “He reminds me of…well. Creatures like them don’t play games unless they know they can win.”

That fuckface hunting him.

“I don’t want any kinda deal with a devil,” you say. “We got stories about that where I come from, and they all end bad.”

Which piques Gale’s interest. You really should take an evening and let the man go whole hog on your stories. He’s been so helpful and curious. Might be a good idea to get a wizard on your side anyway. Short of finding some butthole ship flight recorder, he might be your best shot and getting home again.

All your troubles are starting to run together. Problems gained, nothing solved. You’re not even sure you’re remembering everything outside of “Wyll’s demon” and “Halsin with goblins.” Seems like there’s more you should be remembering.

This line of thinking usually means y’all should set up camp. You ain’t gonna get any less crotchety. Maybe if you offer Gale a Q and A session you can get another vote in “we should stop for tonight.”

***

Gale is only too happy to swing the vote. To be fair, Wyll don’t even protest. Whole devil thing really rattled everybody. Y’all find a stream, start setting up tents, and Astarion is the first one to march over with an arm of clothing.

You still ain’t done nothing with that scrap of linen he gave. You don’t know how to sew, and you don’t have the supplies. You been pondering scavenging another belt and just rigging you up a goddamn loincloth. You suspect it’d look weird and bulky underneath your trousers, though. But maybe you should, just to get used to it. You been here a week or so; it’s maybe another week until the cramps kick in and you start bleeding. You read enough history to know a loincloth is your best bet for dealing with that (you’re gonna have to keep an eye out for more rags or shirts that ain’t all mildewy).

Thoughts of drawers aside, Gale is ecstatic to sit you down and pick your brain. He hands you a scroll and a quill and an inkpot (“For your own keeping. One never knows when one might need to take notes”). He talks to you until most of the others have retired for the night. Talks to you as Astarion finishes his first watch (he sends you both a weird look), and only seems to notice when Shadowheart emerges from her tent to take second shift.

“Oh, goodness, I’ve completely lost track of time!” he says, scribbling furiously.

He’d started with what you remember of Mesopotamia—quickly sidetracked into prehistory and the entire theory of evolution, and then veered into parallel world speculations you didn’t quite follow. He taps his lips with the tip of his quill. They’re not, you notice, full feathers like in the movies. He actually cuts them much shorter, leaves only a tuft of feather on the far end. You wonder about that, until you realize the trim brings the thing down to about pen length. Huh.

“But if that theory is correct, your people would have had to be on Ay-arth for a significant amount of time. Far beyond even the creation of Toril.”

“Toril?”

He looks up. Blinks. And that’s how you learn Faerun is the name of the continent. The planet is Toril. Neat.

You leave him still muttering. He kind of waves, murmurs a “Thank you, Eleanor. Rest well.” And then he shuffles towards his tent, still reading his notes, quill still tapping his lips and you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s got ink on his fingers.

Shadowheart nods as you approach. “Late night?”

You groan. “I barely even got started. He wants to know everything I do and I been learning for years.”

She hums. Glances to the wizard settling in at a reading desk he probably pulled out of his magic bag. You don’t think he’s going to sleep at all, tonight.

“So you’re a scholar, then?” she says.

“More of a hobby,” you say. “My people got access to a lot of information real casually. I don’t got the brain juice to explain right now, sorry. Though, could I ask you a question?”

Her face is cool in the orange glow of firelight. “That depends on the question.”

You know very little of her, aside from hating Lae’zel, and she’s got jesus hands. Also that she’s got mean girl tendencies.

“That potion and your magic, the healing? Does it speed up, um, blood production? Not the fluids but, like, the bits it carries?”

She holds up a hand. “I’m aware of how blood works and its components; I’ve seen enough of it. And yes, a healing potion or my spells encourage the body to heal any recent injuries; so more than just replacing the water in the blood. Why?”

There’s…a suspicious fucking edge to the last word, there. Ain’t no time to be subtle.

“Feeding the vampire,” you say and fuck it, being honest with doctors makes their job easier, right?

Her suspicion turns scathing. It takes all you got not to squirm.

“Really?” she says.

“It helps him fight,” you say.

“So would a feather bed, yet we’ve all been managing fine without.”

But she didn’t feel the monstrous hunger ripping through her innards. Not more than the barest flash Astarion had let slip during his impromptu group chat.

You been hungry before. It was one of Mother’s favorite lessons, hungering for the grace of the lord. His salvation made physical through the hands of the shepherd he sent to guide the unworthy. Deliverance could only follow punishment, though. As your unclean thoughts or actions separated you from the light and bounty of the lord, so did your physical body have to experience that loss. Plus it left no marks for any outsiders to see and be concerned over.

(raspberry and artificial lemon and the stink of dirt)

(No, there’s no root cellar here.)

It’s an awful feeling. And if your body is fine (and soul firmly tied down) you don’t want to let that carry on. Not if you can do something.

Nobody came to help you. Not for a long, long time. Not until Sasha.

You can do your best to be a Sasha, too.

“Is it gonna hurt me in the long run?” you say.

Shadowheart’s voice is as flat as her expression. “No more than letting a vampire at your throat usually is. Are you sure he didn’t dominate you?”

That word again. It’s enough to break through the nasty turn your thoughts were taking. You wonder if that’s a sex thing in Faerunese, as well in English.

“I am of sound mind, making choices of my own volition,” you say. “I used to do this back home pretty regular. Not with vampires, though; we don’t got them. Donating blood helps people with medical emergencies. And my dad’s side…helping your people is a cultural thing. You go to any of my relatives and you barely get a ‘hi’ outta you before somebody’s asking if you’re hungry and they got food in the kitchen, help yourself. It’s real…people-oriented. Helping each other. Or it is when people are trying to do right, anyway.”

Gale still mutters over his desk. There’s ink stains in his beard, now. You wince, but you’ve committed, and you ain’t gonna out yourself at this point. Let him think nobody noticed and salvage his pride.

“That sounds like a people that can be taken advantage of,” Shadowheart says.

That hits. It’s a subject you get stuck on, too. Maybe if the first people the Spanish and then the English had found had been less generous and more murder-happy, y’all wouldn’t have been decimated by disease and then force-marched off all y’all’s land.

Or maybe your ancestors still would have lost, eventually, and without that caring, y’all would have torn yourselves apart during the chaos that followed. Maybe y’all wouldn’t still be here.

“I helped you on that ship,” you say.

Her frown is a sharp, vicious thing. A razor embedded in a ball of ice. “I believe I’ve already repaid that debt a few times over.”

You hold up your hands. “More than that. I’m not trying to hold that over your head. You’uns are the only reason I’m still alive, so thank you. I’m just saying, people survive better when they work together. I ain’t gonna ask any of you to let him chomp down, I just wanna know if it’s safe for me to volunteer. If it ain’t, I won’t.”

She stares silently for a long moment. So long, you’re sure she’s gonna walk off without giving you an answer.

Only she sighs. Puts her hands on her hips and glares at Astarion’s red tent. “You should be able to manage every three or four days, given you have a potion or someone to cast a lesser restoration spell.”

You look at her. She looks at you.

She throws her hands up. “Alright, fine. Find me in the morning after I’ve had my breakfast. But if he drains you dry, you’d best let everyone else know not to come to me to revivify you.”

The too-tight muscles at the base of your skull relax a tick. There’s one thing off the problems list. Or, well, piled onto your plate. Still, you’re gonna count that as a win because fuck it.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Don’t thank me for this. Ugh. And keep you…feedings to yourselves. I doubt anyone else in camp wants to see that.”

You give her a two-fingered salute and let her begin her patrol.

Finally, you can sleep. Deal with all this tomorrow (when maybe y’all find a demon woman to kill). You’re trudging by the time you make it to your tent—next to Astarion’s; somehow, that’s become the official set up. You hadn’t really noticed before, but they did it even when you died passed out, didn’t they?

“Well?” His voice is smooth and low in the dark. You valiantly try to catch yourself when the startle tangles your feet and you end up plowing into your own tent. The poles creak as the whole things sags under you.

His laughter is high and light. Exactly what you think some fancy boy at a rich bitch party would sound like if the staff dropped a tray of teeny, tiny little pickled fish eggs or roasted peacock asshole or whatever those dipshits eat.

“Fuck you, too,” you say on instinct.

On bad instinct.

“Feeling rather forward this evening are we, darling?” Astarion says. The dick. He’s not actually inside his tent; has plonked himself down all criss-cross applesauce right outside the flap. He sits completely unmoving, the only giveaway the shift in eerie eyeshine as he tilts his head back to regard you.

“Ain’t you just a creeper,” you say.

“A what?” He sounds more amused than insulted.

“Creeper. Some guy lurking all creepy in the fucking dark.”

He ponders that a moment. Then lets out his high, little “ah-ha!” giggle. The firelight catches that predator’s eyeshine again. “Vampire, darling. It rather comes with the territory.”

“I guess.” He’s got a point, goddamnit. “You eavesdropping again?”

“Of course. Especially once I caught that juicy little conversation with our dear cleric.”

You’re so tired. You sway on your feet. Sitting down sounds great, and it’s the polite thing to do, but you know the second your butt touches the dirt, you ain’t getting back up.

“Tomorrow night,” you say. “I’m way too beat right now. But you can feed tomorrow.”

“Oh ~darling~” the man fucking purrs. “I was so hoping you’d say that. I’ll come to you then, when you’re snugly wrapped in your bedroll, and we can have a little privacy. And this time, I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest. Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up. Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Um.

“Um,” you say. Scratch the back of your head. “I think I’d prefer you don’t come in while I’m asleep?”

So of course he plays right onto that, because he’s a horrible person. The firelight catches his face as it pulls down into a leer. “Prefer to feel my lips on your skin again?”

He can see in the dark better than you, you gathered. Hopefully not enough to catch the wash of heat over your cheeks.

His tongue on your neck. It’s the most intimate you ever been with somebody.

“A strange man slipping in and biting my while I’m asleep, hmm. You do know that’s exactly what I meant when I called you a creeper, right?”

“We’re hardly strangers at this point.”

“I’ve known you a week.”

He seems on the verge of firing something back. Reconsiders. His smile, when it comes, is a touch too composed. “As you like. You’ll wait for me, then? After the others have gone to rest?”

Making it sound like a damn hookup.

You’re honestly too tired to keep up with this pointy-eared dork. “Sure, sure. I’ll wait up for you. Do me a favor, though, and if I do fall asleep, wake me up?”

The reflected glow of his eyes dips as he places a hand over his chest and gives you a seated bow. Maybe it’s your own tired, or maybe (just a little), the teasing is (kinda) fun. But you dip into a fancy bow back. You been itching to do that.

Which lights up his whole face in delight.

“Night,” you say before he can kick off another round of being weird, and you duck into your still-sagging tent.

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#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #bg3 fic #astarion fic #tavstarion #astarion x tav #plus size tav #demisexual tav #slow burn #like reallllllly slow #isekai #i'm not sorry #bg3 #they're both idiots

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