#i should tell you

[tragedybunny]

I Should Tell You - Chapter 1

༺Summary༻

In a fit of guilt, Astarion tries to confess his deception to you. At the last moment, he loses his nerve and ends your relationship with another lie. He's resigned himself to having lost his chance with you forever when once again everything changes. With the two of you out on your own, will he be able to take a chance and tell you everything, and will you forgive him when he does?

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Female Reader

༺Warnings༻ Sexual references

༺Word Count༻ 1888

Astarion was, well, he was loath to admit it, but he was brooding. He’d taken up a private room at the Elfsong now that everything was over, one where he could keep protected from the sun while the rest of his companions, yourself included, lived their lives in the light of day. Slowly, condemned back to the shadows, locked in his room with drapes drawn tight against the burning daylight, he’d drifted further and further away from the group. Culminating in tonight, where he had one perfunctory drink at the farewell party and slipped off away from the group to hide out amongst his books and the shadows of his mind. 

For the last several weeks, everyone had put their all into assisting Baldur’s Gate in starting to rebuild. Those who were left anyway, Wyll and Karlach were in Avernus, and Lae’zel was off to wage war on Vlaakith. Now those who were left would be parting ways as well, Shadowheart to see the world, Gale back to Waterdeep, Jaheira and Minsc to rebuild the Baldur’s Gate Harpers, and you and Halsin…hells, he didn’t want to know. 

If he were being honest with himself, which felt like it was to be avoided these days, there was more to his self-imposed exile than returning to a nocturnal life. Seeing the two of you together made it feel like a dagger was shoved between his ribs and playing around with his insides. 

And the worst part was, it was all his fault. He couldn’t be mad at you or the infuriatingly perfect Druid. Well, he shouldn’t anyway, he still found himself wanting to shred Halsin’s throat with his teeth every time he pulled you close and kissed you like you were a goddess he was paying worship to. He’d done it to himself though, weaving a web of lies and manipulations so dense he’d trapped himself while you slipped through, unscathed. 

That web became too entangled with the way you’d stood firm against that Drow, for him. You’d seen him as a person, and he’d repaid that by seeing you as a pawn. At least at first. By the time you shouted at that vile creature on his behalf, he’d become so hopelessly lost in the strands of feeling that had grown and wrapped around his heart, he knew he had to give up the plan, and give you the truth, even if you hated him for it.  

As soon as your group had made camp that night, not far enough from the shadows of Moonrise Towers for anyone's comfort, he'd made his way over to you. “I want to thank you,” he’d started, sure of his course. “For what you said whilst in front of that vile Drow…

“...You made me realize I never stopped thinking like his slave.” He drew in a breath, despite the fact that he didn’t need it, and froze. Patiently, you stared up at him with that affectionate look you always had, giving him space to collect his thoughts. You, the fount of warmth and sweetness he didn’t deserve, the love he couldn’t hope to keep. Frantically, he willed himself to speak, to tell you what you needed to know, no matter the consequences.

“And I realize I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.” The words had spilled out of his lips before he could think them through and he watched as your eyes widened in hurt. 

“Gods no, what the fuck are you doing,” he cursed himself, but still the words came. 

“Being with someone still feels tainted, I need to figure out who I am, what I want.” Finally, he’d bitten down on his own tongue to stop the tide, but the damage was done. 

Those loving eyes of yours sparkled with tears, but that composure he’d begrudgingly come to admire since he met you held firm. “Is this really what you want, Astarion?” 

“No, no, no. I want you, I want it to be real.” If he gave you the truth and you sent him away, he couldn’t bear it. At least this way he could salvage your friendship, still bask in your light from time to time. The excuse was flimsy, even to himself, but he’d been a liar from the start. 

“I think it's for the best, I'm sorry.” Twice, he’d lied to you, twice, there would never be any coming back from this. “Please don't be mad at me.”

You stepped forward and he instinctively came close to cowering away. But you weren’t intent on harming him, instead wrapping your arms around him in a gentle embrace. “I think I understand. I’m not mad if this is what you need.” 

Your arms felt as though they were crushing him, their touch burning his skin. The urge to pull away and flee was almost overwhelming. But you deserved this one last bit of comfort. “Thank you,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder, breathing you in, and resigning himself to a life without this.

After you finally pulled away, you went to his tent and packed your things, leaving to set up on your own and let him endure the night without you at his side. There was a time when he’d never believe his own space could feel so empty. Back in the spawn dormitory, he would have given anything for this solitude. Now it was wretched. And so his first night alone was passed in miserable resolution, and when the day dawned, he went on as though all was right. 

It wasn’t lost on him that you would eventually find other companionship, you were attractive, witty, brave, and immensely caring. And from what he’d seen, you certainly weren’t interested in a celibate lifestyle. That line of reasoning still didn't prepare him for the night the group camped outside Rivington. 

Astarion had just returned from a hunt, the blood of a rabbit fresh on his tongue. It wasn’t you but he hadn’t dared ask to touch your neck after everything, electing to spend his trance hours dreaming of those moments between you instead. It was better than the nightmares of Cazador and his tortures at least. As he’d crept into the circle of ruined buildings that camp had been set up in, he stopped short, the world feeling as though it was closing in around him. 

You were talking to Halsin, who held one of your hands in his, and somehow, even with his ridiculously large hands, delicately brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with the otherl. Time slowed and Astarion felt as though the blood in his stomach might make its way back out of his mouth. 

In the dim firelight, the stars gleaming without a cloud to obscure them, Halsin kissed you. Softly, slowly at first, and then his hands wandered to your hips to pull you in as he deepened it. Your hands came to rest on those broad shoulders and instead of pulling away as Astarion desperately hoped you would, you leaned into it, eager and wanting. He wasn’t close enough, but Astarion could swear he heard the little moan you probably made. The same sound you used to make for him. 

Halsin stared down at you after breaking the kiss, no doubt with naked lust written on his face, and offered you his hand again. And that was the that, the two of you began to quietly walk away from camp while Astarion fled to his tent, crawling into his bedroll and desperately choking down the sobs that threatened. 

It had been bound to happen, but how soon, was what burned from the inside out. Just like that, you’d forgotten all about him, as though he hadn’t mattered in the first place.  How dare you. He tried to summon anger with you, to wash away the pain. It was a betrayal, he had every right to be angry. You waited for no time at all, you moved on so easily, you…you just forgot he loved you. 

Not that he’d ever said it, but you must have known. The bedroll was even colder than usual as Astarion clung to the one object he found comfort in. Kept secreted away amongst his things, a shirt of yours he managed to pilfer before his botched confession. By day, it was tucked in his pack, and at night it filled his bedroll beside him. Pulling it into his arms, he inhaled what was left of your scent on it, and buried his face in the pillow to weep bitter tears. 

He emerged the next morning into daylight that no longer held the promise it had so recently. Almost immediately you ran to him, taking your arm in his, giving him a moment of foolish hope. If things had gone badly between you and Halsin, he would rectify his mistake and tell you everything, he privately swore. 

All it took was one look in your eyes to know that hope was in vain. “Astarion, I need to tell you something, and I wanted you to hear it from me first.” You led him away from the rest of the group, almost to the spot where he’d seen you with Halsin. The rest of your companions pretended not to notice the obvious personal moment occurring a stone's throw away from them.

It was a good thing he'd cried every tear he had last night. “Well go on Darling, don't keep me in suspense,” he plastered on a grin. 

“The thing is,” you look everywhere but at him, “Halsin and I, well, things happened between us last night, and I think I'd like to pursue whatever this is. It just felt right to tell you first.”

Astarion laughed, a hollow sound to his own ears, but convincing enough for you, it seemed. “My Dear, you were worrying yourself about this? Don't vex your pretty little head like that, I don't begrudge your need for intimacy. Even if I fail to understand the appeal of a man who's always going on about enjoying the freedom of nature's gifts.”

“Astarion,” you scolded, but a subtle smile told him you were relieved. “Behave yourself.”

“Let me have a little fun at your expense.” He disentangled his arm from yours, its warmth suddenly smothering. Taking your hand, he kissed it gently. “I'm glad, you deserve to be happy.” That part he did mean, even as he reviled how it was happening. “And I'm sure you and Halsin will be. Don't worry about me.”

“Please worry about me. Can't you see how I'm bleeding?”

Leaning up, you kissed his cheek, with all the gentleness in the world. “Thank you, Astarion, I'm glad you understand, I'd never want to hurt you.”

From that moment on, you were Halsin's and Astarion had to grin and pretend to be happy for you. That's what friends were for and you insisted you two were friends. The two of you seemed so disgustingly infatuated with each other, he wanted to scream at times. So naturally he'd assumed you'd be happily headed out on some grand, romantic journey together. 

Which was why it startled him to nearly a second death when you burst into his claimed sanctuary, clearly distraught and slamming the door behind you. “I'm sorry… I can't be in there,” you gasped out between sobs.

@micropoe10  @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21

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[queer-cosette]

"I Should Tell You is the most boring duet" sounds like someone needs to trust desire and start to learn. Walk through fire without a burn, even.

[satanismybestie4427]

Jeez can Mimi and Roger just stop interrupting super important songs with their songs about their rollercoaster of a relationship.

[collecting-stories]

Important question for science: do you say sprinkles or jimmies?

[music-in-my-veins14]

I'd forgotten how 🤔 to smile 😃

Until your candle 🕯 burned 🔥 my skin ✨️

[peeledpetvls]

Imagine being so excited to tell someone something

Like can’t even hold it in

Then you realize they never asked

[diantha]

went to the grocery store today and i was very pleased by their pride cake selections

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[dimensionzero]

top 3 pavitr prabhakar moments:

"and this is where the british stole all of our stuff!"

"now let me guess you're gonna ask me about saffron and cardamom and naan bread which is the same as saying bread bread which is the same as saying CHAI TEA >:(" "oh i love chai tea" "NO"

"well that was another easy adventure for spider-ma---" [everything explodes]

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[tragedybunny]

I Should Tell You - Chapter 2

༺Summary༻

In a fit of guilt, Astarion tries to confess his deception to you. At the last moment, he loses his nerve and ends your relationship with another lie. He's resigned himself to having lost his chance with you forever when once again everything changes. With the two of you out on your own, will he be able to take a chance and tell you everything, and will you forgive him when he does?

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Female Reader

༺Warnings༻ Sexual references

༺Word Count༻ 2758

༺Chapter Masterlist༻ Here

Astarion was on his feet before you could finish the words, carelessly discarding the book he'd been reading. Rushing to you, he took your hands in his, mind racing with the possibilities of what had occurred. “What is it Darling?” 

“I-I don't mean to intrude.” You looked up at him with eyes full of tears and he wondered if you really thought he would ever consider you an intrusion. 

“Don't be silly. Come on, sit down, tell me what happened.” You were still sniffling as he led you to the bed and settled next to you. 

Your hand remained in his and he felt the familiar tugging in his chest he always felt when you were this close. So close he could reach out and wrap his arms around you. But that wasn't his place anymore. “It's Halsin,” you finally whispered. 

Elation and rage both blossomed in him. Your relationship with the Druid was faltering but how dare he hurt you. “What did he do?” 

You squeezed his hand ever so slightly, just like you used to. “He wants to resettle the shadow cursed lands. So he's just going to do it, and hope I decide to come along eventually. He didn't even talk to me about it, just made a decision.” Yanking your hand away you flung your arms up in exasperation. “Free as nature intended I suppose.” A frustrated sound followed. 

This was the best thing that had happened to Astarion since the tadpole. “So, what do you intend to do?” He tried to hide the excitement in his voice. 

“I can't stay with him if he can't even talk about something before deciding to do it.” Your voice rose to nearly a shout. “Sorry.”

“My sweet, no apologies needed,” he cooed. This was it, time to charm you back to his side. Halsin was out of the way, now all he needed…was to tell you the truth or lie to you some more. 

“Shit,” he doubted you'd be receptive to the truth after Halsin's stunt. 

“I just can't go back in there. I can't look at him right now.” All your fire was burnt out and you shrunk in on yourself. 

Even if he couldn’t have you, Astarion couldn’t bear to watch you suffer. “Do you want to stay here?” You shot him a look, concerned and hesitant. “I don't need the bed at night.” 

“Oh, are you sure I won't be in the way?” 

If only you were completely in the way, under the covers, wrapped around him. “Absolutely not, I was going out to hunt shortly.”

Gods, your expression got so soft when you looked at him. “Thank you, sincerely. It’s very kind of you to share your space after everything you’ve been through. And-”

“Hush Darling, what are friends for?” Nevermind the fact that he couldn’t take any more nice platitudes without feeling awful. “Tell you what, let me go collect some of your things for you. You just make yourself comfortable.” You started to reply, no doubt to say something achingly sweet, like he was doing too much for you, but he held up a hand to stop you, this was the least you deserved from him. “I don’t mind.” 

You gave him a weak smile, the one he remembered from that day on the beach when you awkwardly told him there were no hard feelings about the dagger he’d held to your throat. Gods he’d hated how calm and kind you were. Funny how little time it took to change that. “Don’t forget my book.” 

“Of course not.” You were almost as voracious a reader as himself, it was already on his list. 

Rising, he gave you a brief touch on the shoulder, it wasn’t what he wanted, but to even feel your warmth on his fingers again nearly made him giddy. He gave you one last glance as you sat on the edge of his bed forlornly and quickly exited the room. 

With the door closed behind him, he took a moment in the hall. For once he was glad of his undead condition, sure his heart would've been racing and his breathing heavy if he still needed either of those. You were so close, so maddeningly close, and he couldn't do anything about it. He should rush back in and throw his arms around you, confess and beg your forgiveness, tell you everything. I love you, I'll do anything to make it right. 

But the mere thought of your eyes turning hard and your voice cursing him made him tear up. Better you never knew. With that resolution he turned his attention toward the common room and made his way down the hall to it.  

When the door opened, all eyes were on him, and he caught a disappointed sigh from off to the side. Had he really thought you'd be back tonight? He started toward your bed, closest to Halsin’s but still separate, which he found comforting somehow, and was intercepted by the bearded countenance of Gale. 

“Astarion, we missed you at the party.” Gale said, with far too much sentiment for him to not feel a pang of guilt. There was a moment where they all felt like real friends, but that moment seemed to have slipped farther and farther away from Astarion. 

“I wasn't in much of a social mood,” he drawled, deflecting with an air of nonchalance. More feelings he wasn’t ready to deal with. 

“Yet here you are,” Gale returned, with a bit less warmth than before. 

“Just collecting a few requested things.” The wizard looked at him so damnably stricken that Astarion relented a bit. “But do see me before you leave tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll all stop and say our farewells Astarion, and you can pretend they don’t matter.” Shadowheart had come to his side and gently elbowed him. 

He really was going to miss them, and you. “Come now darling, you can just tell me that you’ll miss me terribly.” 

“Only if you return the favor.” Shadowheart scoffed and rolled her eyes before tugging Gale out of his way. “Take care of her tonight Astarion,” she added in a quiet whisper. 

“If she only knew…” He merely nodded, not trusting any further words, and turned his attention back to the errand at hand. 

Halsin had remained at his own bed, packing things away slowly enough that Astarion knew he was stalling. “He had better not dare to get emotional.” Without giving the druid a look, Astarion went straight to your bed, finding a pack, with its contents conveniently dumped on the covers, perhaps the aftermath of your discussion with Halsin. Your nightgown was neatly folded and laid nearby, ready for use, more typical of how you kept your things than the scattered bag. Taking it carefully and placing it in the bag, he began rummaging around for the other things you’d want.

A change of clothes for the morning, your hairbrush and small pocket mirror, there wasn’t one in his room, each item was carefully packed away. Now he need only find your book. “She is not coming back tonight then.” Finally, Halsin had found his nerve. 

“No, I'm letting her use my room.” Astarion responded in a short clipped tone, feeling anger rising with every syllable. He'd been all too happy to swoop in and collect up the pieces of your heart like a scavenger after the predator has had its meal. And Astarion had trusted him to put those pieces back together after what he'd done, to be a better partner. 

“I see.” The wounded tone snapped the last of Astarion’s nerves. If he was looking for empathy, he wouldn't find it. 

“Does it sting, having her heart change so quickly?” He sneered, finding your stack of books on the table near your bed. 

“If that is what would make her happy. I only wished to rectify how sourly things ended between us.” It was a victory to hear the hurt Halsin hid behind his gracious words, and inwardly Astarion sneered in triumph. Let him get a taste of what it had felt like. 

But what would you say if he left everyone with the wrong impression of things. He sighed, it was fun while it lasted. “Anyway, she's just sleeping there while I go out.” The top book had the piece of purple brocade fabric you'd found somewhere and used as a bookmark tucked into the pages over half way through them. He should grab a second in case you couldn't sleep, that wouldn't be nearly enough book. “Do with that what you will.”

The books went into the pack and he caught Halsin's eyes as he secured it shut. The druid seemed to be studying him, but turned away before Astarion could puzzle out his thoughts. “I'll respect her wish for space.” 

“Good,” Astarion spat as one last act of pettiness before heading back to his room. 

There were too many emotions rushing around his mind to fully grasp on the short walk back to the room. Overall, there was an empty ache, and sense of wrongness, the moment of victory over Halsin turning bitter. You were still hurt, nothing could make up for that. 

The door loomed in front of him almost unexpectedly as he contemplated. Steeling himself, he slipped back on the mask of concerned friendship, and opened it. 

“You're back,” you blushed, setting down the wine bottles you'd retrieved from the floor and ordered on top of a dresser. 

His eyes flicked over the room, Astarion hadn't been living the most fastidiously and you hadn't been idle. The books that had been scattered everywhere were now piled on the nightstand, and discarded clothes were gathered into a pile. “Hells, the shirt.”

“What are you doing?” The words came out louder than he intended, causing him to wince. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to infringe on your space. I just couldn't sit still.” The way your cheerful smile dissipated was a knife twisting in his guts.

“I just mean, you don't have to do this.” He answered hurriedly, eager to soothe away the harshness and concluding you hadn't noticed the illicit garment amongst his. “Not everything is transactional, right?”

“So you do listen when I talk?” The teasing was welcome after the slip of a moment ago. 

You made your way over to him, and he noted your eyes were watery. No wonder you hadn't wanted to sit and wait for him. Holding out the pack, he offered it to you. “As you requested, Darling.”

“Thanks, you're the best Star,” you said, taking it from his hands

“Naturally,” he smirked and your mood seemed to be lifting slightly. “Now, just make yourself comfortable.” Taking a risk, he took your hand in his, ever so gently. “I���m going to head out, the place is all yours.” 

“You’re such a good friend. Can I hug you?” The words made his already icy blood feel even more chilled. That was the last thing he was, really. Wordlessly he nodded, and you wrapped your arms around him, and pulled him into your warmth. “Gods, I never should have let myself get involved with him. It wasn’t fair to me or him.”

It hadn’t been fair to himself either, Astarion wanted to add. “But you were the reason she ran to him.” He pulled out of your arms at the realization. It was his fault, all of it. “I should get going.”

“Right,” you seemed off again, but he needed to get away from everything. “See you in the morning.” 

The thought haunted him as he left the Elfsong for the streets of the lower city. All the pain you’d suffered tonight wasn’t from Halsin, it was from him. So he’d lost you and helped break your heart twice. He should stay away from you, but you were irresistible to him. The last little bit of a life in the light that he had. More than anything, he wanted to keep you. “You could always ask her to come with…”

It was a terrible idea, but he was drawn to it. 

He wandered as he contemplated, the life of a night in the lower city passing him by. The drunkards stumbled and attempted to make merry, the street whores plied their trade, the children with no one to care where they were played still. He barely noted them, his mind an ever-churning cycle of you and the question he presented himself.  

He must have walked for hours, barely watching where he was going, relying on two hundred years of memory. It was still a strange feeling, to stalk these streets looking for prey for himself, and to not have to use his body as a lure. That thought snapped him out of it. He was supposed to be hunting, it had been a couple of days since his last decent meal. 

He passed a group of sailors, headed to the dock, no doubt bound to sail at first light. “Shit,” he exclaimed loud enough that one of them turned back to stare at him. 

One glance at the horizon told him it was far too late to hope to catch a suitable target. He’d agreed to feast only on those caught in the act of crimes that would earn them a death sentence. There was no shortage of them in a city like Baldur’s Gate, if he had been bothering to look. Instead, he glanced around angrily until his eyes landed on a hapless pigeon, and he groaned in irritation. 

One swift pounce on the bird pecking at a pile of refuse landed him something in the way of sustenance, though not much better than his days eating rats. But the sun couldn’t be stopped, so he made his way back to the tavern, and silently crept back into his room. 

You were asleep on one side of the bed when he arrived. At least he thought so until he sat to remove his boots, and you rolled over to glance up at him. “Any luck?” Your voice was a gentle whisper in the dark, a thing so ephemeral, he could almost doubt it existed at all. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about my hunts Darling,” the way your eyes were luminous pools to his dark vision, just like before, when he’d come to your tent at night, drove him mad. “You should be asleep.” 

“Sleep eludes me, and that sounds like deflection,” he started to protest. “I know you well enough, so don’t try to lie. Are you hungry still? You could always…”

Astarion’s fang ached to be sunk into your skin at the offer, one you made only because you didn’t know the whole of the truth. “No transactions, we talked about this.” Despite the allure of your blood singing to him from your veins, he tried his best to refuse. 

“It’s not a transaction, it’s a friend helping a friend.” You sat up more and gestured to the bed beside you, and as though compelled, he slid across the sheets to sit next you. “It doesn’t bother me.” Tilting your head, you swept your hair from your neck for him, exposing yourself. 

Even with all his good intentions, he couldn’t be expected to refuse the banquet laid out for him. “Can I make myself comfortable?”

A single giggle escaped you, the most perfect of sounds. “I remember the last time we made ourselves comfortable, try not to get carried away again.” 

“Very funny, you know I am much more dignified about it now,” putting an arm around your shoulder, he pulled you in until you were resting on top of him, neck against his lips. “Are you sure about this?”

“Gods below, just bite me already Astarion,” you huffed and he complied. 

Teeth pierced your supple flesh and that sweetest of sustenance flowed into his mouth. The taste was always indescribable, like wine but the gods themselves had touched it, like berries ripened in the summer sun, like rare red meat from a fattened calf, like honey plucked fresh from the hive. Your heart pumped and thudded in his ears, a divine rhythm. But one all too easy to snuff out, and so with an act of will, he forced himself from you. 

“That was delightful as ever my Dear, but now you should-” he heard how even your breathing was and glanced over to find your eyes completely shut. You had fallen asleep on his shoulder, his one arm wrapped around you. “-get some rest.” 

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@candyladycry

[kangals]

friendly advice from vetmed: I know that when your animal has an infection that is generating a lot of discharge, you want to describe that to the veterinarian, because it’s a concerning sign. that is true. I also know that the most common word for this type of discharge is “pus,” so it’s logical that that’s the word that you’ll use when describing what’s going on. and in English, we often add a “-y” when we’re using a word as a descriptor.

but. the word. the word you are looking for. is purulent.

please stop sending in messages telling the doctor that your dog has a “pussy wound.”

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still deep in the episode 7 brainrot. because OH BOY AM I

(also one more extremely, obnoxiously self-referential thing, I'm -- I'm so sorry)

[music-in-my-veins14]

I should tell you I should tell you I should tell you

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[ratbastarddotfuck]

Sorry babe but if me saying I use "any and all" pronouns stresses you out, that's honestly a you problem. It's not my job to pick a "true" or "most preferred" pronoun for you to call me by when my preference is, in fact, use everything chaotically and change it up often.

If you want to ask for clarification on how I'd like various pronouns used, that's fine. But saying to my face "ah I always get stressed about any pronouns - what do I call you"? Just rude tbh. I told you my preference, figure it out. It/they/he/she/xe/zir/fae/rat/bitch/ass/motherfucker I don't care, it's not my problem.