#ruby elf cup

[lindagoesmushrooming]

Scarlet Elf Cups (Sarcoscypha coccinea) and Ruby Elf Cups (Sarcoscypha austriaca) (indistinguishable without microscopy) are one of the few Spring mushrooms that are also edible. They have a mild taste (when overcooked, can become flavourless). They can be gently pan-fried in a little oil/ butter or used in a stew, and they make a nice addition to pasta and rice dishes, or fried eggs.

If you're out looking for them, Elf Cups enjoy wet, muddy places (often close to a stream), and they grow on fallen twigs, rotting wood, under dead leaves but can be easily spotted because of their bright red color.

[vibingandsimping]

Got a shot and sweet one for ya! BG3 character(s) of your choice reacting to someone going, "Aw, you two look so cute together! You should date!" and Tav - the object of his/her as of yet unspoken affections - just smiles a little bashfully and says, "Yeah, that would be nice."

I totally misread this so just have it reversed! Aka, Astarion being so in love but so in denial.

Astarion never thought he’d fall in love. It was always just “not in his cards.” Who would love a monster of the night? After all the sins he committed? Nonetheless, someone loving him back. The thought made him laugh. Yet, here he was head over heels for you. He should be sick- he should despise you for winning him over. That’s the thing about love, though. He just couldn’t find it in himself to hate you. In fact, he adored you. His own affection was a little lost to himself. (The camp members would argue otherwise despite your ignorance. He looked at you with those ruby puppy eyes.)

The shopkeep your party stopped at seemed to gaze at you two with a sense of familiarity. Obviously, your name became the talk of Baldur’s Gate, this was just different. A knowing look and one Astarion hated. As you rifled through your bag to acquire the sum of gold, the shopkeep made a offhanded comment. “How long have you two been together?” You froze while Astarion tensed. You gingerly placed the gold on the oak table. “What?” You chuckled, assuming they’d been mistaken. “You and the pale elf. Are you not together?” If Astarion could blush he swore he would be red. You shook your head and laughed.“No, we aren’t.”

The shopkeep cupped the gold and frowned. Flashing Astarion a glance, another knowing one, that made him tense further. It was like they were looking right through him. “What a shame. You two would make a dashing couple.” Were they speaking directly at him? What kind of game were they playing? He could feel your gaze linger on him, clearly indicating it was his turn to speak. The elf rolled an arm back in an exaggerated manner. He didn’t want to expose his loss for words- but he really didn’t have anything to say. He festered for a moment but the thought of holding you so domestically… It almost made his heart beat again. He crossed his arms defensively and shrunk into himself uncharacteristically. “I mean- hmph. I suppose it’d be nice but I could never.”

Your expression flashed with a look of mild hurt before settling back into yourself. He frowned a tad. He hadn’t intended to upset you but… he was put on the spot! Why did he feel so vulnerable? You collected the weapons, potions, and thanked the shopkeep before turning and leaving. He trailed in the back of the group. Mostly to simmer in what happened and try to solve why he was so stuck on you. The more he sat on it the more he realized how much he loved the idea of… loving you and being loved by you.

[bgbu]

Catching the BG3 Companions Reading The Quarta Sune - Astarion Edition

Hello!! I haven't posted on tumblr in, deadass, almost a decade...so pls be kind :)

content warnings: 18+, piv, unprotected sex, choking

pairing: f!reader x Astarion

word count: 1600

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“What are you reading my love?”

Your usually alert elf shudders, his surprise evident for only a second before the bravado settles back into his charming smirk as he tries to subtly move the book from his lap off to the side. “Why hello Darling! I thought you’d be several hours out still? No orphans you felt compelled to save from burning buildings this afternoon?” He leans back, slyly trying to push the book farther off to the side as he sprawls his legs and pushes himself back into his elbows.

“I’m afraid not. Gale actually tripped over a fallen tree, so I walked him back to camp while Karlach and Lae’zel said they’d keep hunting for dinner.” You chuckle at your clumsy wizard friend as you sit down to unlace your boots and toss a glance over to Astarion who has his fangs bared wide in his massive smile, his eyes gleaming with water as laughter bursts from his chest and a tear breaks loose and rolls down his cheek. His laughter breaks your own composure, and you join in on his giggles. The little green book on the tent floor catches your eye again as you put your plan into motion.  You lurch forward onto all fours and slink the short distance to where your rogue is propped up on the other side of the tent.  With a feline sway you wiggle your way over to him until you hover over his legs, holding his crimson gaze.  You lunge for the book and sit back into your hips, locking his feet in place, and he lets out a light gasp at your deception.

“My dear it is nothing really, I-”

“I believe you Star, but you know it wouldn’t be embarrassing if you were reading it, right?”

The Quarta Sune is full of sensual and sexual knowledge, the dogeared page it is open to in your hands includes a diagram of the “Underdark Choke” as well as a recipe for an aphrodisiac oyster stew.

“Well, I…in light of recent events I…ugh darling” he trails off, but you bring your hand up to cup his cheek and trail your finger around his jaw to lift up his chin as you scooch farther forward into his lap.  You make your voice soft as you purr, “Star you’re reclaiming your life and your body for the first time in centuries. My love, there is no shame in using whatever tools and information you can find to help you find what you are and aren’t comfortable with.”

He sighs deeply, staring at you through ruby red eyes gleaming with emotion before you lean forward to give him a quick peck on the cheek.  You begin to push off on your arms to give him some space, but his long fingers quickly reach out for your belt loops to pull you up into his chest with a small purr of approval reverberating through his chest. 

“Well, my dear, since you have offered your sickeningly compassionate support for my journey perhaps you’ll indulge me in a brief exercise of…oh how should I put it?”  His fingertip barely brushes your collarbone as he whispers into your ear, his cheeky grin audible, “Exploration?”

You shiver involuntarily as his breath tickles your ear and he chuckles in a sultry tone, “Is that a ‘yes’ my sweet?”

“Anything for you dear.”

“How delicious!!”

Astarion quickly flips you over his side as he rolls onto you, now straddling your lap with both cool hands holding your wrists against the bedroll.  He lets go for a moment to toss his flowing shirt over his head in one fell swoop before he hungrily begins to unlace your bodice while he gently grinds his hips down into yours. You sit up to assist him in removing your bodice over your head and he firmly pushes your shoulders back into the bedroll, a low growl rising in his throat as watches your breasts bounce with the impact.  You don’t even have time to run your fingers through his pearly locks before he peels the trousers off your legs with speed before stripping his own legs bare. 

You let out a soft whimper as his length springs free. “Now, now little pup, so eager already? My research has told me that slow, deliberate movements can improve the quality of our escapades.  Shall we verify?” His red eyes glimmer in anticipation as a confident smirk tugs his lips to the side just enough to reveal one sparkling white fang. You eagerly nod as he kneels at your feet, moving at a snail’s pace as you feel him exhale softly across the skin of your thighs while he slowly uses his free hand to part your thighs.  He slinks up your legs and stops his head right below your now damp center.  You feel his hot breath fan across your core, the stimulation drawing a small whine from your mouth as you clench the bedroll on either side of your body. 

He chuckles softly and draws himself even farther up your body, as he pushes comfortably onto his side, using one arm to prop his head up and the other to wrap tightly around your waist, tilting you onto your side so you can feel his cool, smooth chest push into your back.  He softly kisses up your shoulder as you turn to expose your neck, pulse beating fast and hard beneath the delicate skin of your throat.  Astarion skates his hand up from your waist to palm the soft flesh of your breasts eliciting another moan from your lips as you push your butt back against him.  He huskily grunts into your ear, “On all fours please my little lamb, I’d like to try something.”

You oblige, extending your back into a stretch and wiggling your ass in the air. You expect a small smack, as would typically come from your vamp in a situation like this. Instead, you feel both of his hands wrap firmly around your waist, sliding back to softly claw your hip bones.

“Do you trust me darling?”

“Yes my love.”

He purrs in approval as he pushed his cock against your clothed mound, creating just enough friction to make you moan.  He gently backs up and slides your underwear down to your knees; you sharply breathe in through your teeth as the cool evening air makes you more aware of your warm, wet core begging for attention.  Astarion slowly leans back into you, making you whine as you feel his wet tip caress your folds. His left hand slides up the curve of your ass to rest on your lower back, while his right hand journeys farther up your spine, curving around your shoulder, and softly wrapping around your throat.  You gasp softly as he applies gentle, but firm pressure to your neck as you get a headrush from the pressure. 

“Excellent darling, shall we reward you for being such a good little pet?”

You let out a ragged moan and buck your hips to rub his cock against your opening forcing a guttural moan from the vampire’s chest.

His hand leaves your back to slowly guide his shaft into your wetness and his grip on your neck tightens ever so slightly; you moan as you feel his length slowly filling you up; you cry out as he reaches his hilt as his balls lightly press against your folds. His hand returns to your lower back as he deliberately pulls back and you feel the pressure release from where he was just filling you completely.  You try to push back onto him, but his hands are holding you firmly in place.

“Tut tut little lamb, we’re going to be slow and deliberate yes?”

He mercifully stops just short of pulling out entirely, before he pushes back into you; you try to moan, but his grip around your throat leaves you gasping in pleasure. He continues moving in and out of you at a leisurely pace that makes you both hyperaware of every inch of his cock while he continues to fuck you.  His hand leaves your lower back as he wraps it around your waist and pulls you into his lap, so you sink down onto his cock.  You let out a stifled scream of pleasure as he leans back and you move your legs and feel your knees drive into the soft fur of the bedroll. His hand loosens up on your neck as he focuses his strength into quickening, powerful thrusts as he holds your waist in place with his free hand.  You can feel the hot energy twisting the pit of your stomach with excitement and pleasure as his thrust become harder and faster.

“Star-” you choke out his name, but he cuts you off, panting harshly as he thrusts into you hard as ever, and you can feel his length begin to twitch inside you.

“Come for me darling.”

His deep hoarse voice sends you flying over the edge as you feel yourself shudder and come undone as he lets out a loud groan and you feel the warm pulse of his orgasm mix with yours, both of you shivering with stimulation until you finally feel him slip out of you; leaving the wet pleasure to drip from your core down your thighs as you collapse backwards into your rogue’s awaiting arms.  He lets out a soft chuckle as he kisses your temple and rubs up and down your side.

You sit silently for a few moments, just enjoying his cool body as you glisten with sweat from your passionate exchange.

“Star?”

“Yes love?”

“Have I told you I find your interest in literature rather charming?”

He scoffs, failing to hide his amusement behind his eye roll. “Perhaps we should start a book club?”

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If you read the whole thing ily and we're friends now and thank you so much! Please send feedback, questions, requests, and/or memes to my ask box and I will keep on writing :) -Lib

[astarionslittlejuicebox]

A Thirsty Boy (Part I)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: A certain vampire spawn is a bit hungry. How will TAV react when she wakes up to this situation? 

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Requested: No 

Trigger warnings: minor spoilers (Act 1), suggestive themes, language, mentions of blood

Word Count: 1278

Side notes:

I own no rights to the character Astarion.

It had been a couple of weeks since the giant mindflayer ship crash landed somewhere on the Sword Coast, and a couple of weeks since I had stumbled across the pale elf with ruby eyes that held a dagger to my throat during our first encounter. It had been weeks of the two of us traveling alone together as we made our way through the unfamiliar landscape. We had tackled a group of bandits raiding a temple, a small group of skeletons, a mysterious figure named (insert the guy’s name here), and found a hog drained of all blood a few days ago.

Tonight, I sat at the fire I had started while Astarion decided to spend time in his tent. I hummed quietly to myself as I poked at the fire with a stick. I kept glancing over to Astarion’s tent, wondering what the pale elf had been up to. I knew he was hiding the fact that he was a vampire of some kind from me, but I knew better than to press sensitive issues with someone who doesn’t want to openly divulge their information.

I mean, I wasn’t open about the murderous urges I’ve been having, so why should I expect him to be open about his condition? After a couple of lonesome hours, I laid on my bedroll in my tent and closed my eyes before drifting off to sleep. I hadn’t been asleep long when I got an odd feeling that someone was in my proximity, so I slowly opened my eyes to found Astarion with his fangs bared and ready to sink into my neck. As ruby red eyes met mine, he backed away and looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Shit.” He muttered in a defeated tone as I shifted to sit up and look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Now, before you—“

“I thought we were close enough that you knew you could ask for some blood instead of trying to sneak it, Astarion.” I said as I gave him a pointed look.

“I—“ He starts, but his eyes widen momentarily at my comment. “Wait—you knew?” He asks without his usual mocking tone.

“You have fangs, crimson eyes, predatory grace, and walk like you haven’t seen the sun in a long time.” I said as if it was common knowledge. “The only thing I’m not sure of is if you’re a vampire or a vampire spawn.” Astarion looked at me for a moment before he let out a dubious laugh.

“You knew this whole time and still travelled with me?” He asked with a smirk—though it wasn’t one of his usual cocky smirks. “Now, why in the bloody hell would you do that?”

“You could be no worse than the tadpoles we house in our brains.” I casually shrugged.

“And you have no fear I’d drain you dry one night while you sleep?” He asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’d had mild hope you’d ask if you ever became desperate.” I laughed and shook my head. “Plus, after we found the bloodless boar…I kind of figured you satisfied your need in other ways.” At this, Astarion drops his arms at his side.

“I—“ He started, but avoided eye contact with me. “—usually do, but I haven’t fed and I’m a bit too—“

“Say no more.” I said as I held a hand up and laid back on the bedroll. “Drink.” I tilt my head slightly to reveal my neck more to him.

“Wait—“ Astarion said with widened eyes.

“I mean it. You can drink, Astarion. At least enough to get you strong enough to hunt.” The pale elf slowly approached me and looked down at me.

“You…mean that?” He asked in a surprisingly soft voice, and I nodded in response.

“Unless it’s not as appealing now that you have permission?” I teased and he shook his head as he got on his knees beside me.

“I’m just surprised you’re so…willing.” He replied as he eyed my neck.

“If it helps ensure you survive, I do not mind at all.” I smiled at him and closed my eyes. “Just…don’t drain me like I’m a cup of wine.” I chuckled as he leaned forward and sank his fangs into my neck. I let out a soft hiss as his fangs pierced the delicate skin of my neck, but I quickly relaxed as he drank. After a few moments, I began to feel light-headed and tapped his shoulder.

“Astarion, that’s enough.” I said, but he continued to drink. “Astarion, that’s enough.” I said as I pushed him and he released my neck.

“Right. Right.” He said as he licked the wound and then smirked as he got up. “I am much stronger now. I shall go hunt.” He said as he slowly stalked to the edge of camp. “This…is a gift you know. I won’t forget it.” He said before he stalked off into the night with the grace of a predator. I watched him disappear into the shadows before I laid back down in my tent and fell quickly asleep.

I let out a groan as the sunlight began to shine under the canvas flap of the tent. My body ached and felt as though it weighed a ton of bricks, and my head felt as if it was split open. I dressed slower than a sloth for the day and emerged from my tent to see a grinning Astarion awake and sauntering around camp.

“Good morning.” Astarion said in a cheerful tone, and I cringed as his voice reached my ears.

“Morning.” I murmured as I head to the chest and dig around for a potion of lesser restoration. 

“I must say that I have never felt better or stronger than I do today.” Astarion cheerfully spoke as I tried not to flinch when the bottles in the chest clanked too loudly together. “And you?” He asked as if it was a secondary thought. “How are you this morning?”

“I feel as though I got drunk on too much wine and have the worst headache of my life.” I said as I found the potion I had been searching for. “But I am glad to hear that one of us benefited from last night.” I popped the top of the flask off and downed the fragrant potion. I scrunched my nose as I swallowed the potion, but I immediately felt better. “Oh that’s much better.” I muttered as I put the empty flask in another chest before I turned to look at Astarion, who watched me with his crimson eyes.

“Look, we need to set ground rules.” I said to him as I closed the chests. “I don’t mind you drinking from me, but I have to be awake and aware.” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest. “And I need lesser restoration potions or scrolls or something to help with the blood loss.” Astarion’s eyes widened momentarily before his signature smirk graced his lips.

“Are you suggesting, darling, that you are open to me feeding on you again?” He asked in his usual seductive tone.

“You said you feel stronger?” I asked as I studied the vampire spawn, who looked more alive than usual. “If it benefits you, then I do not mind.” I answered before I turned to pack up my tent. “And, if you want to feed again tonight…you may.” I said casually before breaking down my tent. I didn’t catch Astarion’s mutter as he turned to pack up his own tent, but I had a feeling we would have a new nightly routine.

[sorcerous-caress]

to dance with you | Astarion

[ fluff, heavy angst, bad end, character death, trauma, nb!reader ]

[Before the events of bg3, Reader is one of Astarion's victims ]

I am very sorry.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

You couldn't escape it, no matter how much you tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for you back home at the end of the day.

And while you knew it was hopeless to attempt to rationalise your way out of it, to cling to some justifications that explain that lack of warmth in your life, that just maybe it somehow made you superior to endure, you knew deep down it was a waste of time.

There's no dignity in suffering. There's no prize for enduring agony. 

Your drink was getting cold.

Lifting the cup to the edge of your lips, you swallowed down what you could of the lukewarm liquid. Barely registering the taste of it.

You're spiralling again. You always did around this time of year.

People say one must imagine sisyphus happy, and yet you've dragged your own corpse up this hill too many times to count. Clawed your way out of rot and into a resemblance of a functional adult.

Staring out the cafe window into the snow-covered city, you finished the rest of your now cold drink. It was barely night, and yet the sun has already said its goodnights.

The streets will fill out soon. The buzzing of the nightlife was just on the horizon. 

You found it ironic in a way, for how much Lathander's followers loved to proclaim the sun as the symbol of absolute goodness, then how come people only felt like being their true selves at night.

It felt like a curtain being drawn at the end of the show, when the angels slept and the pressure to perform melted away.

You should take your leave soon.

Your eyes shifted to stare into the bottom of your empty cup, traces of the remains of your drink have dried up in various shapes. 

"Good evening" a voice called out to you, someone standing in front of your table, next to the empty chair.

Looking up, you were met with ruby eyes. Silvery hair and curling around pointy ears, framing the pale face and.

"Would it be alright if I joined you, my dear?" The elf continued, voice gentle as if coaxing a rabbit out of its nest.

You don't know why, but at that moment you nodded.

He sat down on the opposite chair.

You weren't superficial. At least you didn't think so. People couldn't control their appearance, so what right do you have to judge them based on it?

Yet when you took in the man in front of you. His half lidded eyes made you the sole point of his focus, the subtle smile to his lips. You would've been blind to pretend that it didn't affect you in some way.

"Do you mind if I buy you a drink? Something to warm you up, maybe?" Clear concern in his voice, "it tends to get very cold quickly at night, and we don't want someone as lovely as you getting sick now, do we?"

He was…worried about your health? A stranger you've never met before?

You shook your head. "No, it's alright." He was probably just trying to be nice, "I wasn't aware I looked miserable enough to worry a stranger, I was just about to leave anyway."

His eyes widened, his smile dropping. "No wait…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend" he cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed by the misunderstanding he caused, "But where are my manners? You may call me Astarion." 

You stared at the hand that he extended to you, he didn't seem phased by your hesitation to shake it. In fact, he patiently waited for you.

Not wanting to make this more awkward than it already is, you took his hand. He smiled again.

You told him your own name, and he said it suited you. His cold hands let go of yours after running his thumb across your hand.

"Please excuse my previous…failed attempt. I'm not used to approaching people." His eyes looked to the side, probably to mask his nervousness, you thought.

He seemed so bold and confident moments ago, yet the second you mentioned leaving, he immediately switched. 

Huh, people really aren't what they seem like, you thought to yourself. Who knew behind his confident facade was just someone like you.

"It's alright, I'm sorry for my rushed assumptions." You felt bad. This person was just trying to be nice, and you were rude to him for no reason but your own paranoia.

"I noticed you since you walked in," he admitted, "you looked…simply breathtaking." His eyes drank you up, taking in every detail of your form.

You've barely noticed him. You've barely noticed anyone in the cafe. You were too occupied wallowing in your own misery to give the outside world more than a passing glance.

"I'm flattered, really." You admitted, "but I'm not sure if I will live up to your expectations…" as shameful as it was to admit, you thought it was better to warn him early on than to pretend to be someone you're not.

Astarion's hand reached over the table, holding your own in a loose reassuring grip. Giving you enough space to pull back if you wanted to.

"Oh no, trust me." He gave your hand a comforting squeeze, "you're simply perfect." His voice dripped with honey, warm and sweet sliding down your throat.

You held his hand back.

"Then let me make it up to you, how about I buy you a drink? To warm you up." There was a playful edge to your voice as you repeated his words, "well by how cold your hand is, you probably really need this drink."

Amusement filled his face as he chuckled. "You clever little thing." Your eyes followed his tongue as he licked his lips, "I'm starting to like you already."

After a couple of drinks and some time, the two of you ended up leaving the establishment together. Light conversation flowed seamlessly and weaved into one another between you both.

To say he was easy to talk to would've been an underestimation. You felt like you're hanging out with a lifelong friend instead of a stranger you've met a couple of hours ago.

You really didn't pay much attention to time flying by, not when the night sky looked so mesmerising above you. Not when Astarion sat next to you on the garden bench.

And while your conversations didn't stay light for long, he didn't seem like he minded as he leant you his shoulder to lean on while you expressed your worries.

"I think you should tell them. They're your parents, after all." His arm kept you close to his body, "Isn't it their job to help you during rough times and all of that?"

"I don't know, I'm supposed to be an adult." You hid half your face in his shoulder, "I much rather suck it up until I find a new job, and then maybe I'll tell them."

Easier said than done. It's been a week since you've handed in your applications, and yet not a single letter was sent back to you.

"I just don't want to be a burden," you continued "sometimes I wish I didn't worry them so much. Maybe they'll do better without me holding them back." 

Astarion didn't reply. His hold tightened around you.

"Sometimes…I wish I could just disappear." You buried your face in his neck, taking in his scent and closing your eyes.

Again, no reply, only the sound of the night breeze rustling the nearby bushes. The moon looming over the both of you and showering you in her light.

A waning moon.

"I ruined the mood, didn't i?" You let out a bitter laugh as you pulled away from him, "I'm sorry."

There was a somber expression on his face, his usually sharp eyes appearing soft and round.

"No, not at all." He said, "I was just thinking about your words. Wishing to disappear."

With a heavy sigh, he turned to you. "I could preach to you all night about how valuable a single mortal life is like they do all morning at those temples, but we both know that's bullshit." His voice sounded more natural, vastly different from the smooth sultry tone he had before. "Life will still move on, with or without that person."

You snorted, "What, not a fan of the church and gods?" 

"More like they're not fans of mine. But I suppose we can't all have taste." Getting up from the bench, the moonlight illuminated the edges of his hair like a halo, completely facing you.

"I suppose they're missing out." Walking by his side, the two of you strolled through the garden at a slow pace. Hands occasionally brushing against each other.

"Definitely, who wouldn't want this face on their side. I'd probably get them more visitors than their clerics ever could." Leaning closer, Astarion stopped in his tracks as his hand held your face.

"Actually, something tells me you'd do very well at that job, helping others." You leaned into his hand, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

With a sarcastic laugh, he said "Please, me?" 

"Yes, you." When you opened your eyes, you were met with his intense gaze, "you're really good at making people feel at ease, letting them speak their worries. Like you did to me."

"Darling, I did no such thing." He lowered his eyes to your lips, licking his own. Maybe he was using this as an excuse to avoid your gaze.

You gently lifted his chin to look at you again, "Sometimes the best way to help someone is to listen to them, truly listen." 

His lips pressed into a thin line.

"I have been cold and rude to you, and yet you've treated me with warmth…that's a gift, you know. I won't ever forget it." Your own hands cupped his face, contrasting against his pale cold skin. "So yes, if you ever consider being a cleric or something one day, you'll definitely have my recommendation." 

Closing the distance between the two of you, your lips gently pressed against his forehead. Wishing his safety and well being with a quick peck as you pulled away.

His own hands left you long ago, laying abandoned on his sides. His fingers twitched.

Taking a deep breath, you saw his usual easy going smile come back. You felt at ease again as he returned to what you knew as his normal self. "I can think of a way or two you could repay me then, something we would both enjoy greatly." he said.

You felt a subtle touch against your hips, his hands asking permission to hold you.

It was getting really late, you realised. Your dogs must be worried sick back home. Their anxious figures waiting in front of the doorstep, you remember kissing them goodbye before you left.

...

It will be alright, it's just one night. You always left them more food than normal just in case, so they'll be safe and happily fed until your arrival.

Maybe you can even introduce Astarion to them tomorrow. You have a feeling they'll absolutely love licking his face until his hair is a mess.

"Yeah." You pushed his hands to fully grip your hips, his smile grew. "That sounds good to me."

-

The time spent during the walk to his home flew by. He was very good at making you lose yourself in the moment. 

Stepping inside, he kept a tight hold on you as he led you through the corridors.

Huge oil paintings adorned the crimson walls, a red carpet to match. You immediately noticed the lack of windows, and whatever ones you could spot had a thick layer of black curtains drawn closely shut over them.

He ignored any servants you passed by, and likewise, they seemed to pretend you didn't exist either, as if you were invisible like a ghost.

Astarion's demeanour shifted the second you stepped foot inside the palace, and his replies reduced to one word or less whenever you tried to start a conversation. 

You had a sinking feeling in the pits of your stomach, gnawing at your flesh and slowing down your steps.

"Is something wrong?" You asked him after he led you into a bedroom at the end of the hall. "You don't seem well."

His back was turned to you.

You took a step forward, placing a hand on his back. "Astarion?"

He flinched away from your hand the second you touched him, as if you burned the flesh on his back. A low hiss of pain escaped his lips.

Turning to face you after a few seconds, his expression was schooled back into the most charming smile.

"I just tend to get nervous when it comes to initiating intimacy." He told you, a nervous look in his eyes as he shifted slightly.

Oh, is that why he has been acting this way? You offered a comforting smile. "That's completely alright. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

"... really? Even when you came the whole way here?" He said with a sceptical tone, "nonsense, my dear, I will get over it in time. I just…need a couple of minutes, yeah."

"I really mean it, Astarion, we don't have to do anything." You repeated yourself more firmly.

You thought your words might offer him some relief, yet the subtle frown to his lips only grew deeper. 

"How about we just get comfortable on the bed and see where the night takes us?" He offered, unbuttoning the cuffs of his embroidered shirt and sitting on the lush bed.

You didn't like his total disregard for your offer. You could tell he wasn't believing you. But you didn't want to push him at the time, so you just let it go.

After making some adjustments to your clothes until you were in a comfortable state, you joined him on the bed. He immediately turned to face you. His body was so close to yours.

"Now…" he whispered so close to your ear. "Just how much I wanted to make you mine since the moment I saw you."

One thing led to another, a teasing touch there, a promising squeeze here, and the taste of his lips against yours.

He just knew how to take your breath away, how to get you to melt into the kiss. Wanting more, chasing after his tongue for another taste.

His hand going down your body, feeling your throat, your chest, your waist, and then your thighs. Heat collected between your legs. You could feel your body respond back to his expert touches, completely ignoring your brain and forming a mind of its own as it grinded against his hands.

Pleasure was overwhelming you. It was both too much and not enough at the same time. It was addicting and consuming.

Was he enjoying it, too? Did seeing you this needy and responsive to his touches make him burn with lust and desire for you?

You tried breaking the kiss to get a good look at him, but he wouldn't relent. Wouldn't give you a chance to even think about anything else but your own pleasure.

When you finally managed to pull away from his lips, you couldn't get more than a glance at his expression before he immediately went for your neck. Sucking and marking the flesh with vigour, teeth sending shivers down your spine.

You didn't realise how sharp his teeth were until you felt them graze your neck. They were almost alarmingly sharp, one wrong move, and they'd glide easily into your flesh.

"Astarion…" you called out to him. His lips left your neck and took it as an invitation to kiss you again, stealing your breath away. "Astarion no wait- " you mumbled between each kiss.

That got him to stop, his hands pulling away from your body.

"Yes my love?" He breathed against your lips.

Your eyes met his, you took in his dishevelled appearance, the flush to his cheeks and his wet glistening lips. His eyes looked like they held desire in them, inviting and tantalising.

But the more you stared into them, the less they seemed to look at you and instead look through you. Deep inside his eyes, he was a thousand miles away. 

You couldn't even see a hint of desire in them if you took away the facade.

"I don't want this." You whispered.

"Did I do something wrong?" 

"No…I just don't want this."

He got off of you, giving you your space back.

Neither of you mentioned it, instead each of you stuck to their own side of the bed.

It was clear he didn't know how to proceed forward, a crease to his eyebrows while in deep thoughts, as you assumed.

The silence was uncomfortable, unbearable even. Your mind wandered back to your home, your comfortable safe haven. 

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you said, "one time, Luna cost me over 5000 golds."

Seemingly coming back to reality, it took Astarion some seconds to fully register your words, "Luna?"

"My dog," you said, "the sweetest shepherd you'll ever meet. I came home from work late one time and she wagged her tail so fast that she fractured it." 

"She sounds charming." Astarion let out a soft laugh, "although, why Luna?"

"She's black and white, you know like the phases of the moon. I thought it was clever at the time." You admitted, "or are you more of a cat person?"

"I'm not an animal person at all, honestly." 

"What, are they also not fans of you?"

That got another chuckle out of him. "They tend to be too smelly for my liking, but I'd take a cat over a horse any day." 

He turned his body to face you again, you did the same.

"Really? Luna adores horses, she could teach you a thing or two."

"Are you really not only suggesting that the dog and I meet up, but that she'd also take me as her pupil?"

"I mean…well yeah, I was kinda hoping I'd take you to meet her tomorrow morning." You cleared your throat, "well that's if you want to.

His focus seemed to drift again, "...you don't happen to have cats, do you?" His tone was quieter than before, eyes not fully meeting yours.

"There's a stray that comes to visit Luna daily, he's not very friendly to other people but who knows." As corny as you thought your line sounded, you still proceeded to say it in hopes it will lift his mood up, "maybe he'll also fall victim to your charm like I did."

Instead of the reaction you expected, you were met with genuine scepticism.

"Ha" his laugh was bitter, "you don't have to spare my feelings darling, I know you don't see me that way."

You sat up on the bed.

"What do you mean?"

He looked up at you, you felt like he was attempting to make himself smaller against the pillow.

"Oh I'm not holding a grudge or anything." He claimed, "I can admit it when I'm not someone's type or whatever."

Brushing a strand of his hair behind his pointy ear, you tried to coax him to meet your eyes again. "...Astarion, I am very attracted to you.

He leaned away from your hand. "Then why did you want to stop?"

The truth burned in your throat to admit. "I just…I didn't feel like you were enjoying it. Like you wanted it."

That look, the eyes staring through you.

Astarion seemed very conflicted, about what? You weren't sure. But you wanted to comfort him, to take away his pain and carry it yourself instead.

He never denied your words.

You pulled your hand away from his hair, still not laying down beside him as you watched his body curl under the covers.

"It's alright, you don't have to explain anything." You got up from the bed, "I can leave if it's-" just as you were about to pick up your clothes, his hand immediately grabbed your wrist in a desperate grip.

"No," he said with dread in his eyes, "you can't."

It was a complete switch from his previous state, you weren't sure what to even make of it.

"I can't?" 

He seemed to catch himself, letting go of your wrist.

"stay with me, at least for tonight." His eyes were pleading, "we can just hold each other, isn't that what you want?" 

He sat up from the bed, gently taking your hands in his as he led you back to the comfort of the sheets.

"It's what I want." He whispered, voice so inviting and beckoning you closer, "I swear." 

You weren't strong enough to resist.

Following after him, your bodies pressed together under the soft sheets. You only felt your own heartbeat in your chest as he held you close. He was cold, so you shared your own body warmth to warm him up. 

The candles in the room were burning out, a calming silence fell. Lulling you to rest and let the day end.

You could only hear your own heart beating.

This was nice, it felt nice and safe so it must be.

Just as sleep was about to steal you away, Astarion's voice nudged you back awake.

"What do you like about me?" His voice was raw, sincere.

You couldn't see his face, "you, of course."

He moved against you, "obviously, now be more specific."

You tried to think about it. It felt like one of these important questions that'd shape your future relationship with him, so you tried to give it all of your thoughts.

There were so many things to love about him, but many of them were things you'd still love him without.

Yet they were still parts of him, but how many parts were actually him.

"Your nature." Was the answer you gave, still not quite satisfied with it.

"Oh shit." His serious tone didn't last long before being replaced by a playful one, "I didn't invite a druid to my bed, did i?" 

You snorted, "very funny, but I meant it." 

Even without seeing his face, you felt his lips curl upwards against your skin. Claiming that small victory was enough for you.

"You know" you found yourself rambling, "my day was going absolutely horrible until you showed up. I don't usually really believe in gods or miracles, but…you were the closest thing to a guardian angel I've ever had."

A yawn escaped your lips, you continued.

"I was too inside my head. I forgot that a whole world outside existed. A world with people like you." Your eyelids fluttered, sleep lurked behind them. "As shitty as life can be, somehow I believe things will be okay." 

Adjusting your position so you could face him in the dark, you felt his body stiffen against yours.

"Goodnight Astarion." you gave his forehead a small kiss, wishing for his safety and well being. "Rest well."

-

The deep hours of the night is when the Szarr palace fell the most silent. Merely an hour or two separating them from dawn.

A warm living breathing body laid next to him, just like many others before. And Astarion embraced them just like many others before.

But the waves of emotions swirling inside him like poison were definitely new.

He didn't get a hint of rest, he couldn't. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes for the remaining hours and ignore the waking world. After all they will definitely disappear in the morning, so what's a few hours of blissful ignorance?

But he just couldn't, the thought itself threatened to turn his stomach inside out. Disgust he has never felt in years lurching at his insides.

It's their fault, it's all their fault.

They should've made it easier for him. They should've just closed their eyes, spread their legs, and ignored his existence. 

They shouldn't have mentioned their stupid moon dog. They shouldn't have made him leer inside at the idea of having parents to support you yet still choosing to suffer alone.

How dare they be so cruel? How dare they kiss his forehead so tenderly.

He was choking. His throat burned so much that every breath felt like needles being dragged against the inside of his neck.

Worst of all, he could still hear their heartbeat. Did his own sound like that before? Is this what it felt like to have a speck of evidence that you're alive? 

A constant reminder of your mortal life, of your endless potential, of your stupid naivety and your pointless kindness.

His whole body was shaking.

Cazador will be here soon. Just like so many times before.

He needed to act fast. He needed to do something. Otherwise, he felt like he would go crazy.

They don't deserve whatever that monster did with all the others. They don't deserve a fate that cruel, not someone like them. Please God, anyone else but them.

He prayed, holding them closely as he begged and pleaded with each one of the Gods he could recall the name of in his state of panic.

If not for his miserable life then please do something for them, they're still a mortal, they're still one of your children. Please god just save them.

Like always, no answer came.

Astarion felt hopeless, useless and small. 

He stared in horror at his own hands, still in the same praying position. He truly had nothing to offer.

Nothing except a dignified death.

Death would save them from Cazador, Death would save them from torture.

Death was what he should've picked that night almost two centuries ago. 

Careful not to disturb their peaceful rest, Astarion grabbed a pillow.

He took one last good look at them in the dark, he engraved their face into his memory.

He wanted to lean over and give them one last kiss. He didn't feel like he deserved to.

The pillow pressed against their face, slowly cutting off their oxygen.

Astarion held tightly. He kept his hold firm even as they struggled.

He couldn't take his eyes off of the pillow, his tears falling and staining its white cover. A drop after another.

As their struggles died down, by that time, he had gotten his side of the pillow entirely wet. He still held firm, despite his shaking fingers, despite the blood slowly joining his tears onto the pillow from how hard his teeth dug into his lips.

At these hours, the Szarr palace was the most silent. He couldn't risk making a single sound.

Only when a heartbeat ceased to exist did he let go of his grip.

He got off the bed, closed their eyes and covered their face with the sheets. He sat on the floor, head next to their cold dead feet.

Despite his clean hands, he swore he felt their blood on them, seeping into his skin and marking him forever.

Not just their blood, but the blood of every innocent miserable person he lured back into this hell.

He just wanted to save them, to save this one person. Take a life in stride and carry the guilt to the end of his days. 

It was just one life, one very precious person.

Was a very precious person.

But he forgot to account for the hundreds of lives he has taken indirectly before, it was easier to forget when it wasn't his own hands stopping their heartbeat.

His whole world felt like it stopped because of one life.

As he sat there on the cold floor, naked, shaking with tears streaming down his face, he heard the very familiar tapping of a staff against the floorboards.

All of his feelings vanished in an instant, as if he was drowning in a deep volcanic abyss before getting pulled into the freezing surface.

He could not feel his fingers, numbness spread throughout his whole body.

The tapping got closer. It was heading towards him.

Cazador was heading towards him.

There were no feelings left inside him, just pure numbness.

There was no taste to numbness, no colour, shape, or smell.

Just an absence, an emptiness. 

He couldn't escape it, no matter how much he tried. Much like total darkness, the abyss waited for him back home at the end of the day.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

A Lord’s Proposition

Prompts “bite me” ”if you insist” and “each of my thoughts about you are improper”

Pairing: Melkor x Fem. Reader (Elf / Finwë’s daughter with Miriel and Fëanor’s twin| second person POV)

Themes: Slowburn |  Smut (lemon-ish) | Soft

Warnings: Corruption | Oral (Male receiving) | Fingering | Kissing | First time | Marking | Penetrative Sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 4.9K words

Summary: Melkor had kidnapped you and kept you confined to a tower while he travelled to Utumno. He has now returned, and asks for you.

Rating: 🔥🔥 Minors DNI | 18+

For rules and tag form, read here. 

To the person who requested this, I hope you like it. 

You looked out a barred window, your heart aggrieved by the sight that befell your eyes.

There was no starlight here. None could be found in Angband. The sky was murky black from the thick smog of smoke from the keep’s many furnaces. The air was damp and cold and foul. The scent of ash and smoke and worse crept in through the windows and clung to your garments. Some days, the smell was so strong that it made your eyes water and bile rise at the back of your throat. You had no choice but to bear it all in silence. You were a prisoner, utterly dependent on the favor of the one who held you captive. 

Still, you supposed, it was a better fate than most. You turned your attention from the sky and peered into the gloomy courtyard. Thralls scurried to and fro like mice desperately trying to escape the talons of an eagle. They were like wraiths, mere shadows of the fair and glorious beings they once were. That was how your captor liked to see them: fearful, half-starved, and brought down to the lowest point of their existence.  

Not just them, you realized with great dread.��I am one of them. The daughter of a race he loathes with a murderous passion, so the poets and singers say. How long will it be before I am made to sip from the cup that was forced onto them?

Your skin prickled out of fear. You closed the shutters of your window and sharply turned away as soon as a wretched scream carried through the courtyard. You did not want to dwell on that sound or from whom it came. There was no need to feed your nightmares with fresh fodder. 

You studied your chambers like you always did, ever since your capture. The walls and floors were bare black stone, the pelts were thick, and the rushes were new. Besides the old hearth, there was a basket filled with blocks of peat instead of wood for a fire. The bed was small but comfortable. You reflected on the remnants of your last meal. The bread and roasted meat had been fresh, the water was clean and cool.

Mine may be a wretched lot, but it is still better than theirs, you reminded yourself. Much better than theirs. 

Someone knocked on the door. It was loud and insistent. You made haste to answer it, your shoes clicking over the floor. You expected to find a thrall and came face-to-face with her instead.

Thuringwethil, they called her. Woman of the secret shadow. Herald for the Dark Lord. The first vampire. Her eyes gleamed like new rubies. Her wings dragged behind her whenever she walked. A gown was draped over one arm.

"My lady." You quickly dipped to your knees even as the words stumbled out of your mouth. Anything to not anger her. 

A gale of laughter greeted you. It was shrill and painful to the ears, like nails over brittle glass. You had to stop yourself from physically wincing.

"You certainly have good manners, little elf," Thuringwethil replied, and looked over you critically. "That will serve you well with him, I think."

"With him, my lady?" You sputtered in disbelief. "Which him?"

Your mind was a roil. There was more than one him here in Angband, and each one was as mercurial as the next. Was Thuringwethil speaking of Mairon, Melkor’s most favored advisor? Or was she speaking of that Balrog high general? The one who could change from a creature of great beauty to one that inspired nothing but sheer terror? Or was it the Maia who found great joy in changing into a giant cat and tormenting everyone who crossed his path?

"Him," she said, and moved around you in an elegant flourish. Her wings trailed behind her over the floor, all black and deep crimson. You took a deep breath and sighed wistfully. The very air around her smelled like a meadow in full bloom. It did not surprise you. Thuringwethil used to be Yavanna’s Maia after all. "Lord Melkor, no less. He has returned from Utumno and wishes to dine with you."

You gave her a measured look. You were a prisoner, captured and carried off after a daring raid in the heart of Valinor itself. And now you have been invited to dine with your captor, the Lord of Angband, no less. The prospect frightened you. 

"I… I hope I will not offend Lord Melkor," you blurted out, and hoped this invitation was not a ruse to heap unspeakable agony upon you. 

"I see you truly are nothing like that heedless, foul-tempered brother of yours," Thuringwethil observed, not unkindly. "And I promise, he will not be offended by anything you do." 

She did not give you time to think or frame a reply. She went on to add, "Thralls will see to your bath now. An orc will come to fetch you once you have finished."

You shivered and nodded in fright. Thuringwethil took her leave of you, practically floating out of your chambers in a swirl of wings and lace and night-blooming roses. You walked over to your bed and ran the flat of your palm over your new dress. It was soft to the touch and dripping in gems, and finer than any gown you possessed before.

So lavish, you mused. What does he want from me?

There was another knock on your door. This time it was hesitant and timid. "Come in, please," you said, and moved away from the bed. 

Thralls walked in carrying pails of clean, warm water. Another pair brought with them a small copper tub and a towel. A thrall filled the tub with water before adding fragrant oils. Another helped you out of your robes, her eyes downcast. Her fingers fumbled with the sash; it was as if they had all turned into thumbs. You wanted to talk to her, to ask how she came to be here. All you did, in the end, was bite your tongue.

I must take care of what I say to them. It may cause more trouble for them if I do. 

The sweet-smelling water was a welcome relief from the smells of the outside world. The thralls sluiced water over your hair before gently brushing out any tangles. One of them went to work on your nails and feet. It felt strange, to have them wait on you in such a manner. It was stranger still, given the cause for such pampering. 

She said nothing I do could offend him. I am certain now that he must want something from me. What is it? 

You had seen Melkor before. He had come calling on your brother; his words like honey. You were by an upstairs window, looking down on the gardens where they stood. Fëanor had been furious with the Vala’s intrusion. He grew even more enraged when the Vala glanced up and caught you looking, his lips curling up at the corners. Their exchange grew heated. Fëanor sent Melkor away, but not before Melkor managed to steal a second glimpse of you. That was all you saw of him until after your capture, when you were presented to him like a prize, your arms and feet bound in iron, your clothes reduced to rags. He said nothing. All he did was sit on his lofty throne and look down on you, his eyes roaming over you in a way that made a flush creep up your throat.  

You never saw him after that. Melkor kept you confined to the tower you now lived in. No one was allowed to see you save for the thralls that had to tend to you and Thuringwethil. The other Maia were allowed nowhere near you. Even the orcs were allowed nowhere near you, until now. 

It is as if he does not trust the others with me.

A thrall held out their arm, to help you out of the tub. You stood still while they toweled you dry, your cheeks ablaze when they first helped you into the wisps Thuringwethil brought with her. The garments were so soft, you did not even notice them. Next came the dress, an airy confection of lace and silk that clung to your body. Then came a pair of soft slippers and finally a perfume, one that was dabbed on each of your wrists and behind your ears. The thralls wanted to style your hair, but you declined, insisting on wearing it loose.

"The master calls," insisted the orc that came to escort you to Melkor’s private chambers deep within Angband. "Come."

You followed him silently, walking through lofty corridors and vast halls, each as empty and dimly lit as the next. Your footsteps echoed all around you even as you sunk deep into your thoughts. Melkor had insisted you be brought to him alive. He had kept you in a tower, apart from the thralls and other prisoners. He had provided you with decent food and drink, even new garments. No one was allowed to harm a hair on your head. And the way he looked at you when you were presented to him, his eyes dark with hunger. The memory alone was enough to give you pause. 

You shook your head. No. It could not be. Melkor desired nothing but the complete dominion of Arda. He treasured nothing but power and causing pain. That was what the songs said. That was what your father and brother said. And yet…

And yet…

He kept me safe. Made certain my needs were seen to. Did nothing to cause me harm. Were they all wrong? 

The orc stopped by large wooden doors, each more than twice your height. "Let her in," he snapped at the guards. They obeyed and opened the doors for you. "Get in," he mumbled almost in politeness. 

You meekly stepped over the threshold and made your way into a chamber as large as the halls you had passed. There was a soft thud. That was the sound of the doors closing behind you. You were truly trapped now.  

The room you were in was nearly as silent as a tomb. And poorly lit. There were no lamps, or torches. Just a dim fire sputtering away in the hearth. 

"Come closer, little elf," a deep voice called from behind you.  

You gulped in fright but turned in the direction of that voice.

"Closer," it called. "Come closer."

One measured footstep followed another. You walked on hesitantly, not stopping until you reached a smaller chamber filled with the light of several candles. There was a large bed in one corner, and a small table at the far end. This room, too, was empty. You were confused now. Where did that voice come from?

"Does this please you?" 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the voice behind you. You turned on your heel and found yourself looking at your captor. Melkor was studying you with a quizzical gleam in his eye. "My lord," you murmured, and gracefully dipped to your knees, remembering your courtesies. 

He laughed merrily. "Thuringwethil was right. You do have nice manners." 

You looked at him, shocked. She spoke to him about me. Why would she do that? 

Melkor smirked and looked at you approvingly before walking over to the table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for you to join him. It confused you even more. The table was devoid of food and drink. 

"The food…" you breathed out and struggled for words. Melkor was as glorious as the day you first saw him. The image of him standing there and watching you was enough to muddle your mind. "There… there is no food, my lord."

"There will be food," he replied, "for later. For now, sit."

You obeyed and made your way to the table, your skin prickling the entire time. You glanced at Melkor and found his eyes following your every move. There was something dark and primal in his eyes, something you could not quite describe. 

"I will not mince words,” he said. “The reason why I summoned you," Melkor waited till you made yourself comfortable before moving to the chair opposite yours. "Is because I have a… proposition to make."

"Proposition?" You repeated, baffled. Melkor was one of the most high. There was no need for him to ask anything of anyone when he could simply take whatever, and whomever he desired, without so much as a "by your leave."

“Yes." Melkor studied you before saying, "A proposition. I wish to make you my companion. I made this offer to your brother. I was hoping he would put a word in where your father was concerned…"

The day he called on your twin. He had asked for you. You kept asking why and Fëanor refused to explain the cause. He grew angry whenever you asked. Your father finally forbade you from broaching the topic. 

"But the fool refused," Melkor snorted in derision. "Now that I have you here with me, I would like to ask this of you myself. Will you be my companion and bind yourself to me?"

You swallowed and wrung your hands. His companion, he said. You did not even know what it would mean. What little you knew of intimate relations between elves came from the books you read while the others were away. "Your companion, my lord. What would I have to do? Read to you? Play the harp?"

Melkor laughed again, softly this time. "Your family has kept you ignorant of many things, I see. I do not wish you to merely read to me and amuse me with music, little elf. To put it in simpler terms, I want you to share my bed."

Your cheeks were aflame. To share his bed. You had read enough books to know what that meant. "To share pleasures with you…" you sputtered, "but if I go back, if the other elves find out what I allowed you to do to me, I will be ruined."

"The other elves will not find out.”

“Why not?”

“Because your brother is not coming for you," Melkor said simply. 

"He is coming for me!" you insisted. Your eyes stung with hot tears threatening to break free. Melkor was the prince of lies. That was what they all said. You refused to believe him, thinking he was lying to you even now. "Fëanor is coming for me!"

"He is not, little elf," Melkor replied gently. "Fëanor is not coming for you. His hunger to create the silmarils has consumed him."

Despair of the acutest kind settled over you like a thick fog. The creation of hallowed jewels, each containing the light of the two trees, was all your twin talked about. He would think of nothing else until such priceless treasures rested in his hands. You knew him well enough for that.  

"And your father’s thoughts have been consumed with the new family he is creating with his second wife. No one is coming for you." Melkor reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "Say yes, little elf. Take my hand, and every comfort imaginable will be yours. I will be yours."

You sat there, feeling alone and wretched. Your brother was not coming for you. Your father was not coming for you. Days had bled into weeks and weeks into a wholly different season, and no one had come for you. There had not even been a whiff of an elf seeking you out. Your kin had abandoned you to your fate, and the knowledge of it was too much to bear. It made you want to cry, to scream and tear out your hair, but such acts were useless. They would not set you free, and they would not make your kin search for you. You turned your attention to Melkor. He offered a life you were once accustomed to. Perhaps he was not lying. Perhaps he was telling the truth. But still, to say yes to him and take him inside of you…

"The others… your servants…" you whispered, "What will they say?"

"Nothing." Melkor smiled and spread his broad hands. "Life in Angband is different. You can be with whomever you wish, whenever you wish, and however you wish. No one will say a word in protest."

"No one?" You glanced at him, trying to get a sense of him. "Not even you?"

Melkor ground his jaw and growled. His eyes narrowed to thin slats. "You are mine, little elf. All of you belong to me."

Goosebumps rose all over your flesh when he said it. The sheer possessiveness in his tone was enough to make you forget your sense of dread and excite you to the point of actually considering his offer. 

"Before I say yes," you licked your lips nervously and confessed, "I… I must tell you I have neither the… skill nor the… experience… in such matters. What little I know has come from books."

Melkor’s lips tugged at the corners. "I thought as much. But first, you must say yes."

To say yes. To take his hand and bind yourself to him for all time. You thought of your suitors, how all of them bowed their heads and walked away without a second glance the moment Fëanor denied them. Then there was Melkor, who willingly risked war and doom to bring you here. You knew what your answer would be.

"Yes."

"Come."

He rose and took you by hand, helping you out of your chair and leading you straight to his bed. You eyed the silk sheets and the soft pillows. To just lay in that bed was temptation enough. Melkor did not give you time to think of much else. He grabbed your arms and kissed you before you could say another word. 

The books spoke of kisses that were sweet and soft, like feathers. Melkor’s kiss was none of that. It was all heat and wildness and hunger. His tongue glided over the seams of your mouth before pressing against your lips. You sighed helplessly and parted them for him. His mouth tasted like some dark spice you could not get enough of. Melkor smirked in triumph, his breath heating your flesh.

"How easily you yield, little elf!" he cried when you tugged on his tunic to pull him closer. "And how fortunate I am to have you in my grasp!" He laughed again and placed his hands over your shoulders, pushing you down onto the edge of the bed. "Tell me," he cooed softly, "What else did you read in these books?"

You looked at him, your eyes widening when he undid the buckle of his belt. "I…" You glanced at him, then at what he was doing. He was loosening the drawstrings of his breeches. "I have read about certain acts, but…" Your cheeks heated when he tugged it down just enough to free his cock. "But…"

"It was not enough?" Melkor asked and caressed your cheek. "Then I will guide you. Open that pretty mouth for me, little elf."

He waited, neither forcing nor demanding that you obey. A thumb glided over your lips, making you look at him. "Open little elf," he insisted gently, "Go on."

The sight of him all exposed and hard proved too tempting. You opened your mouth, eager and willing and curious, struggling to breathe while he sank his length. Melkor moved slowly and gently, his hands delving into your hair and keeping you steady. He groaned and shivered when you ran your tongue along his shaft and let curious hands skim over his thighs. His hand glided over to cup your cheek. You opened your eyes and found his fixed on yours; his mouth parted in a silent moan. 

"I have been thinking about you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, little elf," he confided, whimpering when your tongue brushed over his tip. "Each of my thoughts about you have been improper."

Melkor was gentle with his instructions. "Loosen your jaw, little elf." He caressed your cheek again to catch your attention. "You clench it too much."

It was easier after that. You reached up and clutched the edges of his tunic, your mind going hazy with bliss. Everything you felt, from the hands brushing over your hair to the little ridges brushing against your lips to the soft grunts you heard, was dark and sinful. You had often wondered what such acts would be like while reading books forbidden to you, but no words could describe what you were feeling now, all feverish and wanton. 

Melkor drew back and pushed you onto the sheets. You gazed at him, surprised, and more than a little disappointed. "Move further up, little elf," he chuckled, running his thumb over your swollen lips. "I want to claim you as mine."

Again, you did as he asked, even more eager this time. You moved further up the bed, trembling whenever you felt the wetness between your thighs. Melkor undid the clasps of his tunic one by one. You expected to find vast parts of him withered and deformed, as the songs said. What was slowly revealed instead was the stuff of a maiden’s dreams: a fana that was all supple muscle and devoid of flaw. His skin was the color of new steel, and his arms were large and strong. 

Not once did he use that strength to force me, you mused, flushing when the mattress sank and he crawled into bed with you, boots on and all. Melkor pushed your thighs apart with his. His hands slid under your skirts. 

"I…" You found yourself trembling with growing need when the flat of his palm glided over your leg. "I thought we must be undressed, my lord."

"Next time," Melkor promised. He hiked your skirts up to your waist and shoved his hand down your undergarments, ripping them apart with one tug. "For now, let me do this."

His fingers grazed your slick heat. The friction was delicious enough to make you see stars. Melkor trembled. He actually trembled. His touch was gentle, almost worshipful in its exploration. He propped himself on his free arm, just so he could watch you while he slipped a finger inside of you. It made your breath hitch when that finger slid deeper and deeper. 

"My lord," you moaned without even realizing it. He dipped his head and ghosted his lips over yours.

"I am here, little elf," he purred softly, brushing his hand over your hair. He dipped his head again, nibbling your earlobe and sighing when your arms circled his back. 

He had been thinking of me since he first saw me, you remembered. When was that?

"M-my lord?" Your back began to arch with each thrust of his finger. He inserted a second as carefully as the first, groaning whenever your warmth clenched around them. "W-when did you first see me?"

"When I was allowed to return to Valinor," he confessed softly against your neck. "I saw you with your father and brother near the Ring of Doom. I stayed in the shadows and watched you. Even then, I knew I had to make you mine."

The Ring of Doom. When your father was called to hear the Valar’s verdict on his appeal to remarry. That was a full century before Melkor approached your brother for you. 

A hundred years was but the blink of an eye for an elf. Lesser still for a being such as him. But still...A hundred years. He had been seeking me out over a hundred years. Your hands brushed over his hair while he nibbled at your earlobe. The thought of him marking you with his teeth was enough to make your pulse scramble. You grew a little bolder. 

“M-my lord?" You mumbled shyly. "W-would you c-consider marking me?" 

“Bite you, little elf?"

"Y-yes. B-bite me."

Melkor raised his head, his dark eyes darkening even more. You heard a low and otherworldly growl. The sound inflamed you. "If you insist," he said, leaning in and running his tongue over the hollow of your throat. "Turn your head to the side, little elf."

He peppered the soft expanse of your throat with kisses that were bruising and almost violent. Every time his teeth grazed the curve of your neck, your nails would dig into his back. "Melkor," you sighed again. "There. Right there. Oh."

"Now everyone who sees you will know you are mine." He lifted his head and admired the canvas he had made out of your body. When he drew his fingers away, it made you feel strangely empty. "Rest your legs over my hips, little elf." Melkor hovered over you, the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance. "And do not tense. Can you manage this?"

He wanted to claim your maidenhead. You looked up at him, trying to decide what to do. If he did, if you said yes to this, you could never go back. The other acts you could hide in lies, but not this. Never this. No elf would stay married to you once the truth came to light. Your family would never welcome you back. Your father would not wish to ruin the prospects for any child born to his second wife, and your brother… you shivered. You did not want to even think of what Fëanor would do to you. 

Why am I fretting over what others will say, when those others have already turned their backs on me?

Melkor’s knuckles drifted over your throat. He may never ask for you again. He could send you away and carry on like nothing happened. It would would you deeply if he did. But the memories would feel so sweet. 

You made up your mind. You moved your legs over his hips, the insides of your thighs rubbing up against the supple leather of his breeches. It felt strange but wonderful. "I am ready," you whispered.

“I will be gentle," Melkor promised, trembling again. His kiss was soft and so very warm. He kissed you until you were breathless, kissed you until you moaned, and your hold around him tightened. He guided his shaft inch by slow inch into your slit, stopping whenever you whimpered to give you time to breathe. His hand glided over your thigh, your belly, his words a sweet melody in a tongue you had never heard of in your life. It put your entire body at ease. He would move again, now slowly, now gently, filling you in ways you never thought possible. He stopped again, this time after claiming your maidenhood. He looked at you with questioning eyes, as if asking for permission. 

"Yes," you assured him, sighing when he moaned and started to move. 

He was so big, and it felt uncomfortable. And he was gentle, just like he promised. Pain and discomfort slowly gave away to a pleasure that had no name. Every time he moved, every time he found a place that sent jolts of deep ecstasy licking up your spine, you clung to him, moaning his name shamelessly. Melkor’s lips crushed yours in an all-consuming kiss. At your own urging, he went a little deeper, a little harder, a little faster, growling when his hips slapped against the insides of your thighs. It was too much. And not enough. And intoxicating all at the same time. Melkor knelt up and dragged you with him. 

"Kiss me," he demanded, "and make it count."

His fingers dug into the back of your dress, his nails ripping into the fabric the moment your mouth opened over his. His tongue tasted like wine when it pressed against yours, and his hair felt like silk when it slipped around your fingers. A tension that was sweet and drugging grew in your belly. 

"So-something is ha-happening," you mewled, not knowing what it meant. "I... d-do not understand…"

You may not have known, but Melkor did. "Soon, little elf," he whispered, latching onto the curve of your neck. A mixture of kisses and nips of the teeth skimmed over your throat. "A little more. Just a little more."

That soon came faster than you could have thought. Your muscles coiled and tightened, and snapped, like your body was splintering into a million different pieces. You could not think. You could even breathe. You were lost in a sea of untold rapture. You barely felt it, Melkor’s hold on you tightening even as your nails raked over his skin. You barely heard it—a deep grunt of satisfaction when he thrust one last time, and a torrent of his spend filled you.

The world had gone still, so very still. Your thoughts were still muddled when Melkor laid you on your back. You were silent while clarity slowly crept in.  

Melkor had claimed all you willingly gave, and so much more. He made you experience joys you had never experienced before. And now you braced yourself, your heart gripped in agony, thinking he might prove the tales told about him true and send you away, never to seek you out after that. The books did not prepare you for the pain of his rejection. You prepared yourself anyway, your body still shaking when the featherbed sank again under his weight. Melkor threw an arm over your waist and drew you to him. Both arms encircled you now, even as he buried his face in your hair.

"I will have your possessions moved to my chambers. Rest for now, little elf." He mumbled and pressed a chaste kiss over your shoulder. "When you wake up, I will bathe you, and we will dine together. Perhaps you could even read to me."

tags: @lemonivall​ @cilil​ @edensrose​ @wandererindreams​ @asianbutnotjapanese​

[longjohnsilverfish]

Little Leech

No NSFW, though it references past sexual encounters. This does have graphic gore.

A/N: The GIF you see is what they are wearing in the story. Enjoyy!!

^_______________________________________^

Just a few more days.

Just a few…few more days.

I’ll have my engine fixed, we’ll get out of the Hells, and have the life of luxury.

All for you, little leech.

“Karlach?”

————————————————

It had been several months since Astarion and Karlach had been at their reunion party. Such fun it was, seeing his woman dance free like a newly born colt and hug each of their companions with heavy arms. For Astarion, that’s all the enjoyment he needed. To know that soon, this would be there normal.

But of course, seeing how everyone was keeping themselves was incredibly intriguing to see; Lae’zel a mother? Gale a teacher? Shadowheart a farmer? Wyll even more boring than before (okay that was a bit rude, but as if Astarion would admit to it), had he mention Lae’zel and Shadowheart were married? As in together? 

Everything really can change in six months. 

But soon, with heavy hearts, he and Karlach love were transported back to Avernus.

Since then, Karlach had been sobbing mess; and Astarion couldn’t blame her. Seeing her upset to be back in the place she hated broke Astarion’s heart. Even as they pillaged and fought every force their way, in the end of every fight—dust settling and last breaths drawn—Karlach would sob once more.

And each time, Astarion would be right at her side—drying her eyes, combing guys from her red-streaked raven-colored crown, holding her closely as she nuzzle into his hair.

And they would camp, nurturing each other’s woulds with care and affection. Astarion would peel her hair from her face with gentle hands, braiding tight and firm. 

He would catch her eyes, amber and ruby sparkling from the fires that surrounded them—and in themselves.

Their hands would cup each other’s cheeks.

“I adore you, y’know?”, Karlach would say, a soft smile to her face. 

Those dimples, those dark freckles. Gods, what a woman.

“I know, and adore you ever more,” Astarion replied.

He would push her to the ground. She would let him.

He was 5’11. She was 8’3.

How badly he looked, head between her breasts looking up with big eyes of lust.

And they would love each other, every night, legs twisted and arms wrapped. Souls melting as one in heat. Soft huffs of air. Scratches deep and red. 

Morning would come, and so would the coming battle. 

Such was the routine—a beautiful, loving routine—but a routine nonetheless.

And it would continue for several more months. Several months of killing, or surviving, of scratching up mountains to escape imps, planting bombs to blow cambions sky high, traps to keep monsters at bay—until now.

An infernal blacksmith was found.

And through pleading, bargaining, threatening, and (more effectively) body-out-the-window-ing, it would be made. 

Three days, and they would be free from Avernus.

Three days, and Astarion would return to the surface. The sun.

The sun.

“Are you worried, Star?” 

Karlach’s soft voice awoke the vampire from his thoughts. Astarion looked to the left, to the lying woman against his being—body warmth radiating and wrapping around the cold elf.

They had been able to camp in the blacksmith’s workshop, and now slept beneath a small canopy with pillows and blankets beneath them. The smell of coal and soot was strong, but it wasn’t better than the constant stench of imp piss staining every inch of dead soil.

Astarion rolled his eyes, hand coming up to the tip of Karlach’s ear. A small cut—healed, but scarred. A permanent reminder to him and his failure to watch Karlach’s back.

“No…just thinking,” he said absentmindedly. “I’ll have to buy a sunhat. Ugh.”

Karlach giggled. “Aw, you don’t like being a grandma? You have the hair for it.”

The vampiric elf gasped in dramatic feigning. “You little devil, you!” 

A soft push against her arm made the strong red tiefling laugh more, now infecting Astarion—fangs shown and all. 

“I’ll have you know, that while you shall grow old in our mansion by the sea, I will be the cougar-loving man who shall feast upon you every night.”

“A mansion?”, Karlach said bemused, a hand on her cheek as she laid idly. “How will you afford for that—pay theif to pay theif?”

“Oooh, you fiendish little pup.” Astarion rolled over on-top of Karlach’s stomach—petite and lean. She had placed a cambion’s large belt around her belly—a trophy, she said. Astarion couldn’t argue with that—the way the golden matched her eyes looked good on her.

Astarion bent down, nipping under her jaw like a mother would do her babe. “Gods, just a few more days.”

Karlach went quiet.

“Karlach?” Astarion asked, a touch of concern in her tone.

The elf looked downwards to the woman, who seemed to be clouded in thought. She swallowed, before speaking.

“Karlach?”, Astarion asked, head cocked to the right.

“I-I just, I’m worried—for you,” she said, her hands coming up to Astarion’s waist—holding tight and secure. “You’ll have to hide from the sun.”

“Yes.” Astarion agreed, his mind momentarily fleeting within itself.

He hadn’t thought about it, until now. To hide in the shadows, to never be able to walk like a man again—boundless and carefree. And yet, Astarion found himself…not caring.

Not caring.

Well, isn’t that something.

“Strangely, I am not worried.” The elf man replied. “At least, not a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it will be an issue…”

“Another issue—.”

“Another?”

Karlach froze, shutting her eyes. “I-I just, I mean..”

“Yes, darling?”

The tiefling woman took a deep breath, sighing heavily. It was a few moments, but Astarion sat—patient and listening.

“You’ve dealt with me, dealing with me, and Astarion…now I’m—.”

Nope. Nope. No no no.

“Oh no, there’s no need for that.”, said Astarion, his hand on Karlach’s cheeks—squishing her facing together, lips puckered. “You, my salivating sweetheart, are not an issue.”

“Bt, ‘Strwn—“

“Hush hush. You’ve lost your speaking privileges.” Astarion settled upon Karlach’s body, before slowly shutting his eyes—his left and right hand now covering her mouth. 

“M-mm-m-mm”

“Lalala. Cannot hear you. I’m off to trance.”

————————————————

“Aagh! AGGH! ASTARION!!”

Astarion was thrown from Karalch’s body—sliding across the coal-coated floor. Airborne was he was, the vampire was slowly awaking—in his blurred vision, only seeing the claws of his lover throw his towards the other end of the room.

With a large thunk, Astarion landed square against the wall. His head ached and pounded in pain, his hand coming up to soothe it. As the elf man grumbled from his trance, eyes blinking awake to see the woman screaming in pain, her hands upon the thick cambion belt. 

And that is when Astarion’s fears and nerves crashed upon him like a stack of bricks.

The agonizing screams that echoed throughout the forge were ear-splitting. As the pale elf scrambled to his feet and ran, the screaming only got louder and louder. 

Sliding to Karlach’s side, Astarion was incensed at once—looking all over Karlach for any wounds or new blemishes.

“What happened?”, Astarion screamed, fear evident in his voice.

“FUCK! GET—THIS—OFF—!”

With a deep belly roar, Astarion watched as Karlach ripped off her belt and throw it just as she did with him, now revealing her mid-drift.

Her very large, very swollen mid-drift.

What in the hells?!

Before Astarion could speak, he watched Karlach barked at him in a rageful gaze, her own sharp teeth bared like a predator to its prey. Not longer was this his Karlach, but the barbarian Karlach every victim of hers had faces before their death.

“GET THESE FUCKING PANTS OFF ME YOU ELF BASTARD!”

Astarion said nothing, and with a quick swipe of his blade, did her pants come down in loose rags, only partly held together by stitches. Sharp pale nails rakes the loose pants down her legs, now seeing the wetness drip down her legs, pooling on the ground like a heavy waterfall.

The air stung with a smell of Karlach. Pure, unbridled rage with a tinge of sweetness and painfully evident this was amniotic fluid.

“FUCK! FUCK FUCK FUCK! FUCK ME, GODSDAMNIT!”

“I’m here, I’m here. Lay on your back, darling.”

There’s a small relief within Astarion—Karlach looked slightly less angry on her back. Oh, how she looked so beautiful, with her brow furrowed and nose scrunched.

“Good. Good.” 

Astarion moved himself between Karlach’s legs, staring between her thighs. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, her womanhood throbbing and heaving, covered in slick and water-like fluid.

“Darling, how long were you—?”

“STOP ASKING QUESTIONS AND HELP ME YOU MOTHERFUCKER—!”

The voice alone blew Astarion’s hair back just as accurately as a heavy wind on the open hills. With no response, the elf man ducked his head and watched her cunt.

Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.

Her vaginal hole was breathing hard, and soon, more fluid began to exit down to the ground. The dirty, disgusting, coal-sooted ground.

With haste, Astarion grabbed his silk purple outfit and with no hesitation, tore the cloth apart to be longer lengthwise. The sound was no scream, but it was loud—each stitch popping, embroidery crying as it was being split in two.

Clothing be damned. 

A deep huff exhausted from Karlach. Another contraction.

“Fuck fuck fuck…”, she hissed. This wasn’t angry, but it was in pain, and it was afraid.

“I have you, my dear.”, Astarion cooed, bringing a hand upwards

Almost immediately, the elf regretted it as Karlach took it in her palms, squeezing it irregularly and tightly. Astarion hissed in pain, but gritted his teeth as he looked between the tiefling’s legs.

The contraction wanes, the thighs shake, and Karlach’s breath grows stable.

“Good,” Astarion encourages. “Good—well done, darling.” 

Astarion saw in his side-view Karlach nodded her head furiously as the mixture of sweat and tears on her cheek bones flow down her face. Her hair curling upon her forehead, her eyes half-lidded and pained.

The vampire placed his second hand upon her face, brushing her hair away.

“Gods…you have that glow midwives speak about.”

“R-really?” Her voice was now a whisper, her throat strained.

“Would I ever lie?”

“Yes…” A cheeky smile grew on Karlach’s face.

He didn’t encourage her to push, only the loud anguished roar that shook the room around them told him her pitiful attempt. Astarion watched as his lover clenched her teeth and bared down as hard as she could, letting out a gritted scream he hadn’t heard since their time in Faerûn. 

Looking between her legs once more, and now—now Astarion watched her vaginal entrance was beginning to open. The sounds exhales and huffs of pain rang in his ear, accompanying the raging symphony of Karlach’s cries and scream of pain as she began another push. Astarion gently rubbed her forehead, a soothing motion to allow her to continue.

His action worked, and fueled the woman with a second wind of courage.

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna. Please, please don’t leave.”

“Never.”

Karlach inhaled, shuts her eyes, and pushed again. 

Her legs opened wider, her hole pulsed with pain, and just like that—the skin on the side of her womanhood tore.

Karlach’s eyes opened wide, and the rage returned in full blast.

“AGHHHHHHHHHH!”

Blood began to pour from the wide of Karlach’s hole, and Astarion acted fast. Quick as he could, Astarion tore his shirt up, quickly balling it up to a point. Gently as he could, the elf dabbed the tear to cease the bleeding, dribbles upon dribbles of scarlet water pouring down her curving toned thighs.

As the new father began to calm him nerves for a thirteenth time in the last five minutes, he felt his arm get soaked in a flush of clear fluids. It was cold, it was warm, it was thick, it was thin; it was as beautiful as it was surprising.

And there they were—in the opening of his lover’s hole was the top of a head.

 “Again,” Astarion looked up at her seriously. “I need you to push again, Karlach.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? THIS IS THE WORST PAIN I—!”

“Listen to me!” His voice loud and clean, eyes narrowed with emotion, fear, anger, and joy. He felt his lashes wet, but pushed his tickling feelings aside. “Push hard and hold it for as long as you can. It’s going to hurt, Gods know it will, but you must push.”

Astarion held their intertwined hands up for them to see. “For our baby’s sake.”

It was a wordless agreement; just a nod and Karlach squeezing Astarion’s bones together as she cried in jolting screech. 

A crunch, a snap, and a squish went Astarion’s hand—no doubt sprained somewhere. 

But watching Karlach, his strong tiefling love, pushing as hard as she could, was something that Astarion was enthralled with. Such beauty, such resilience, such strength.

Dear Gods, darling, where did you come from?

“SHIT!”

Something changes. More fluids gush—this time, thicker than before.

“ASTARION!“ 

He can tell, not just by the look of reverence on Karlach’s face, but by the increasing warmth on his arm.

Astarion looked down, and the head hadn’t moved.

Instead, blood was everywhere. The tear had grew, now stretching down her thigh. Red was everywhere, and the smell of Karlach was filling Astarion’s lungs more than ever. His eyes stared to the head, and it was so small, so tiny, but Astarion saw it.

The head moved, just an inch to the right.

“They’re here!” Astarion exclaimed prematurely from his throat, so fast he was unsure who was speaking.

The spreading of vaginal lips only got worse, the blood flowing down, the water gushing upwards.

The more the seconds past, the more the screaming cried, the more Karlach sobbed, the more she squeezed, she pushed, she stretched herself in two, the scene looking incredibly painful and horrendous for Karlach’s body.

“I can’t!” She wails, gasping before letting out a sob. Her legs began to shut, but with his adrenaline running Astarion kept her open.

“LET ME GO! I CANT DO THIS, ASTARION! IM DYING! IM GOING TO DIE—IM KILLING OUR BABY AND IM SORRY!”

Tears flowed down Karlach’s face, her lip quivering. 

“Hey!” Astarion snaps at her. “Listen to me—you are okay—you’re here with me and you are okay.” 

She is weeping uncontrollably now. Astarion leans down upon her belly gently. “I am not going to let either of you die.” He assures her. “I know it is unbearable, but you are so very close.” He encourages her. “Don’t give up—I know you can do this.” 

She lets her body take her where she needs to go, panting and whimpering as she does. She angles her hips, her thighs toughen by themselves, and she grabs Astarion’s hand as she bears down. 

This contraction reaches its peak when Astarion places the ball of her hand on her knee and commands her.

“Stop! Stop pushing!”

The head was halfway out. Black tufted hair, two small bumps on the lower side of the head, and Astarion didn’t realize until now that he was crying. 

“Puff,” Astarion sucks in a breath through puckered lips and exhales quickly and sharply to demonstrate. “Puff, now. Little pushes.” Though he doesn’t breathe, Astarion looks up to see Karlach matching him.

A moment, an ever louder scream, a second of ears ringing, and the eyes of the vampiric elf widen.

“Head’s out!” Astarion looks up at her, triumphantly. Though, the relief which should come with such a feat eludes her. He discards this thought and gives a pat to her knee, and she pushed again, giving Astarion time to take his hand from her knee to under her womanhood. 

He took his hand from hers, now assured his hand was broken in seven places. And yet, the new father took the silk he had ripped minutes before and into his hands.

“ASTARION!”

The pain reached another crux.

And in a desperate attempt to keep from drowning in it, Karlach sucks in a breath, squeezes her eyes shut and pushes through with all her might.

Astarion watches in awe as blood and clear fluids now exploded from Karlach, and in their wake, a small black furred head popped out.

Before Astarion could begin to panic, his new fatherly instincts took hold. With gentle clothed hands, he pulled their child out from Karlach’s sacred place. 

The cry it gave was their bell, their last hurrah.

A boy.

It was over. 

All over.

The wrinkly baby screamed and wailed, his fists and eyes scrunched so tightly it looked liked it hurt. His black hair was covered in gunk, so much that no matter how much Astarion wiped there was still a shine. 

So small.

So innocent.

Their small, innocent boy.

“A boy…”, Astarion sobbed with joy. No longer did he hold back, his nerves coming out in bulbous tears that streamed down his face.

“Astarion…” Karlach’s voice was soft. “Please…”

Onto her bare chest Astarion but their boy, and begins to rub circles on its back. He then pulled away to rummage through the duffle bag again. 

Returning back, his hand showed a red potion to Karlach’s lips. “Open, sweetheart. It will help.”

The sudden shift upwards caused the baby to let out a hearty cry. Karlach—in turn—bursts into tears.

“My baby,” she weeps. “Oh—my baby!” Karlach lifts her head and allowed Astarion to feed her the potion. With each gulp, the cut upon her thigh began to heal just as quickly it was given. 

Astarion had moved to cradle his love and his child in his arms. The child has a full head of Karlach’s dark hair, his skin few shades lighter than hers.  

The elf slowly raises his hand and brings it to rest on his son’s back; his tiny stature shakes as the tearless cries leave his lungs. Astarion strokes the baby’s skin, he is so enamored by the child, he cannot think of a better way to comfort it.

“He is magnificent,” He says in awe, as he still cleaned the babe with gentle movements. “Well done, my love.” 

They stay this way. Astarion shimmies a new, cleaner cloth over the now clean baby. The baby had quieted down, having adjusted to the environment outside of the homely womb.

Astarion lays eyes on the new mother and the baby lying on her chest. As Karlach regained her breath, she slowly adjusted her shirt off of herself, and gently nudge her large breast to the baby. The sleeping baby slowly fussed awake, before calming down and suckling the nipple greedily.

“He’s perfect.”, Karlach grinned. “The little leech.”

Silence between both new parents—in awe and in peace.

“So…was this the other “issue”?”

Astarion was gentle, a bit teasing, but gentle.

“Yes. It was.”

“How long ago?”

“About two weeks after coming back to Avernus. I…I couldn’t tell you.”

Astarion opened his mouth, when Karlach quickly interrupted.

“N-not because I didn’t know how you react—well, kinda, but not the entire reason. We had that general, then we had those imps. We never had a moment, y’know?”

The elf went quiet, before looking down at the feasting baby. Eyes fully of joy, as Astarion pulled his hand up and softly rubbed the boy’s head.

“What should we name him?”

“Something smart. Like his father.”, Karlach replied.

“Something brave, like his mother, personally.” Astarion smiled as Karlach nuzzled her head upon the shoulder of Astarion.

A few moments passed, before Astarion spoke—eyes never leaving his boy.

His boy. His.

Not in a possessive way, but a loving way.

“How about…Ivaebhin?”, he suggested. “The Boy with Brightness.”

“Ivaebhin…I like it.”, Karlach smiled. “Are you okay with a double name?”

“Double name? Quite unique.”

“For a unique child.”, she chided. “How about Ivaebhin…Astarion”

Astarion perked at this, looking at Karlach with questioning eyes. “A-Astarion?”

“Yes. Quite a good name. I fell it love with it the moment it first threatened me.”

Tears flowed from Astarion, as he lovingly dug into Karlach’s hair. “You insufferable fury.”

“You pompous leech.”

And such was the family of Astarion, Karlach, and Ivaebhin-Astarion Ancunín-Cliffgate

[marialeto]

Tuesday February 11 ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Pluto

Red Ray of Light

Goes with Wednesday Venus 💜💜💜💜💜

Body Elohim 🟨

Iron Element 🟫

Throat Chakra 🟦

Number Four 4️⃣

Archangel Jared

Saint Raphael

Ascended Masters Shannon and Kaylie

Waxing Gibbous Moon 🌖 98.8 in Leo ♌️ 2

Raven 🐦‍⬛ Omen

North and West directions 🗺️

Aquarius ♒️ Sun ☀️ Winter ❄️ Season

Aurora

Elf 🧝 Day

Masculine Feminine divinity

3 of Cups

Sherper Mountain #solarsystem

Nigeria 🇳🇬

Ibadan

Day 111 in the Bible

Galaxy 🌌

2-11-2025

2119

49

13

4 🎲 #datenumerology

#inspiration

Frankincense essential oil

Ruby Gemstone

[justcallmefox89]

Gnome Troubles - Chapter Six (Astarion's POV)

Wicket shows a moment of vulnerability.

“Looking at something?”  Astarion arches one eyebrow as he studies Wicket’s reflection in the glass of his mirror.  The cleric is drinking more than usual tonight, choosing to keep to his own company rather than join the others around the fire for the evening meal.

“Just looking,” Wicket murmurs, sipping from his goblet of wine.  “What are you doing?”

Astarion fights to suppress the shiver that rolls down his spine.  He’ll never admit this, not even under the threat of death, but he adores the way a wine-soused Wicket speaks.  The gnome’s voice is already far deeper than one would ever imagine, given his size, and when he’s in his cups the husky growl becomes more of a soft rumble… the sharp, clipped edges of his accent become softer, more rounded… a velvet darkness that reminds Astarion of snowfall on a winter’s night.

Astarion forcibly shakes himself out of his musing to answer the question.  “I’m looking too, but not seeing very much.  Another quirk of my affliction.”

“Do you miss it?  Seeing your own face?”  Wicket tilts his head to the side, curious.

“Preening in the looking glass?  Petty vanity?” Astarion sneers.  “Of course I miss it.  I’ve never even seen this face.  Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.”

“What color were they before?”

“I… I don’t know.” Astarion pauses, slightly ashamed to make such an admission.  “I can’t remember.  My face is just some dark shape in my past.  Another thing that I’ve lost.”  He dashes the mirror onto the ground, fury coursing through him as he’s forced to face the reality of his condition yet again.  After two hundred years one would think it would get easier…

But it doesn’t.

Wicket deftly sidesteps shards of broken glass and sips his wine again, his eyes never leaving Astarion’s face.  With his free hand he motions for Astarion to come closer.  Curious, the vampire cautiously kneels down so that they two are able to look each other in the eye.  He remains motionless while Wicket’s eyes rove over him, greedily taking in every aspect of his face.  His colorless eyes, so often dark and haunted, burn with a pale fire that Astarion has never seen before.  Unlike Astarion, who quit aging upon the moment of his death, Wicket bears the burdens of his time in the earthly realm; long, black hair streaked with silver… his skin is tan and weathered from his many years spent traveling through the wilds of Faerun… a myriad of scars litter his skin, a testament to the danger of his life as a chosen of Kelemvor… faint wrinkles bracket his eyes and mouth, the signs of laughter and much time in the sun.  Astarion finds himself wondering about who Wicket was before fate threw them together, the Wicket who smiled and laughed often enough to create those lines in his skin.

“I see you,” Wicket whispers hoarsely.

“And what do you see, exactly?” Astarion inquires breathily, almost afraid to hear the gnome’s thoughts.

“Starlight and rubies,” Wicket murmurs absently, his free hand drifting upwards as if to touch Astarion’s cheek.  He hesitates just before his fingertips brush the elf’s skin, so instead his hand just hovers, faintly outlining the arc of Astarion’s cheekbone and then the strong curve of his jaw.   “You are like moonlight on water… The kind of beauty artists and sculptors dream of but can never truly capture on canvas or in clay.  Ethereal and eternal.”

Part of Astarion wants to scoff, to demand that Wicket specifically cite what he finds attractive about him… but another part, a long forgotten part of himself that existed before Cazador, when he was still a young boy who daydreamed of an adoring lover who would shower him in poetry and loving glances… that part of him blissfully listens to Wicket’s every word.

“In my wildest, most exquisite dreams I never could have imagined someone like you, Astarion,” Wicket continues.  “My moonlit beauty.”

“Wicket…” Astarion breathes out the gnome’s name, turning his head just enough to barely graze the other man’s fingers with his lips.  He freezes, surprised at his own willingness to touch a gnome.

Wicket seems equally shocked but quickly collects himself; his eyes grow cold as his expression shutters and Astarion is once again faced with a stoic and loyal cleric of Kelemvor.  He takes a few steps back and offers Astarion a stiff nod before turning away.

“Sleep well, Astarion,” he calls as he strides away to his tent.

Astarion stares after him, unable to formulate a response, and struggling to understand why Wicket’s sudden departure has left him feeling so… bereft.  Astarion is not unfamiliar with flattery certainly, after all compliments are all part and parcel of the game of seduction.  And after two centuries of luring and obtaining victims for Cazador, Astarion is a master of that particular game.  But in all his years no one has spoken to him so genuinely, stared at him so rapturously… been so tender towards him without the expectation of anything in return.

Astarion scowls, pulling himself out of those idle thoughts.  He won’t allow himself to be swayed by tender feelings and whispered sweet nothings, from a gnome of all things, not when there is so much at stake.  But perhaps if he can twist Wicket to his advantage…  Astarion smirks to himself.

Yes... that could prove very useful indeed.

[redstarcat]

The Red Moon Calls

Brainrot would not let me forget about this, so here you all go

“I’m surprised that you didn’t go with Magic Man and Scribbles to confront the creepy elf guy. Lundis, was it?”

Essek looked up from his book to stare at his current companion and savior, Kingsley Tealeaf. The two were currently resting within Essek’s tower in Darktow, waiting for some tea to brew. Ever since Kingsley took over as Darktow’s new Plank King, the tiefling lifted the ban on his fellow Nein and created a sanctuary for the drow fugitive. Kingsley had a decently sized tower built to give Essek a place of respite, which relieved Essek greatly. “It’s Ludinus, Moonlight,” Essek corrected, smirking at how Kingsley purposely forgot the archmage’s name.

“Are you sure?” Kingsley smirked back, chuckling as he lifted the lid of the ornate teapot. “Ludinus seems too cool of a name for such a lame person.” The tiefling hummed a little, picking up the teapot to pour into one of the cups. “Well, at the very least, they’re having me keep an eye on you to ensure you’re safe.”

‘I am not the one that they want to keep safe,’ Essek thought, remembering how the Nein had once come together for dinner, and Kingsley nonchalantly spoke about his strange dreams of Catha and Ruidus. The memory of worried whispers and gentle hands trying to shield Kingsley from a red glow tightened his throat. “I’m sure they’re just worried for all of us,” Essek vaguely responded. “What good would it do if all of us went with them and something happened to the whole group?”

“Eh, I suppose you’re right,” Kingsley shrugged, passing a teacup to Essek. “I still think they should have at least taken Yasha with them. I don’t know why she's hanging out in Darktow and not with her wife.” He stood up, picking up his own teacup with him. He walked over to the balcony behind Essek overlooking Darktow. “Though, she has been having fun with the locals. Wrestling has become a fun pastime for the folks around here because of her.”

Essek looked down at his book, smiling. The times he'd accompanied Kingsley down into Darktow to watch Yasha arm wrestle with half of the Darktow population had always been entertaining in some way. All in the name of good fun, of course. “Yasha certainly had a lot of fun,” he chuckled, looking back at his book and picking up his cup. “You certainly had some fun when you decided to challenge her as well, didn’t you?”

No response.

Slowly, Essek put down his cup. He didn’t dare to turn just yet despite the dread he was feeling. “Kingsley?” he called out, hoping that the tiefling would respond.

Something shatters.

Essek immediately turned at the sound of a teacup falling, dropping his book in the process. Kingsley stood at the balcony that overlooked Darktow. However, the Plank King wasn’t looking down at his fellow pirates. No, Kingsley stood frozen, his arms limply hanging at his sides, making no movement to attempt cleaning up the fallen teacup by his foot. His head was tilted up, setting his gaze up at the sky…

…as a red hue practically washed over him.

Essek was quick on his feet, standing up so fast that his chair fell over. He grasped Kingsley’s shoulders, desperately pulling him back into the room. Once the tiefling was inside, away from the gaze of Ruidus, Essek flicked his hand, magically closing the balcony doors not caring in the slightest when they swung shut with a bang and closing the curtains for good measure. Essek turned Kingsley to face him. The tiefling was still quite limp with how easily Essek manhandled him. His expression was blank as Essek looked at him. His red eyes (oh, his lovely ruby eyes that shined with such love and happiness) were dull, blank… empty.

“Kingsley?” Essek shook the tiefling gently, trying to get him to snap out of it. “Kingsley, wake up!”

Kingsley blinked at his shout, his red eyes immediately flaring back to life. “E-essek?” Kingsley mumbled, his tone feeling so exhausted. “What is…why does my head hurt?”

Essek’s brows furrowed with worry. He mustn’t tell Kingsley of his current worries that Caleb and Beau were most likely in danger. No, he promised the others that he would watch over Kingsley. That he'd make sure the reckless tiefling didn’t try to sail off to assist them in taking down a madman who preyed on the Ruidusborn. “You are probably tired from the long day you had,” Essek answered, giving a small forced smile he hoped wasn't seen through. “You should probably rest. Come, you can rest in my bed tonight.”

“Mmn,” Kingsley groaned, rubbing his eyes as he let Essek drag him to his bedroom. “You know I cuddle.”

“I can deal with it,” Essek softly sighed, leading Kingsley into his bedroom and to the bed. “You’re in luck. I am feeling particularly soft today.” He gently manhandled Kingsley onto the bed, pushing him to lie on the soft comforter. “Stay there for a moment. I just need to change to my sleepwear.” He floated off, barely registering the quiet; “Mm, okay,” from Kingsley as he floated back into the other room and out of Kingsley’s earshot. He took a deep, heavy breath before whispering his incantation, thinking of a particular monochrome Aasimar.

“Yasha,” Essek shakily started, “I believe that thing we feared would happen… has begun…”

[yourcherrywriteslove]

The Bakery

༺ Pairings: Jisung Centric ༺ Rating: E for Everyone! ༺ Genre:  Fantasy ༺ Word Count: 726 ༺ Warnings: None? ༺ Based on this prompt

The first time it happened Jisung thought it was a prank considering the cosplay convention that happened earlier that day. Which, was one of the reasons why he had decided to have a near 24 hour business time. The bakery was in the heart of downtown, and there was a constant revolving door of customers. And to be expected, he had his fair share of the weirdos that came in at 1AM asking for the most random of pastries. It was all par for the course.

So when the Elf entered one night around 3AM to order, Jisung only batted an eye for a second and that was when the other insisted on paying with silver coins. And it was too early in the morning for Jisung to actually put up a fair argument about using the correct currency and he just figured he could pawn the silver coins later and earn probably double of what the hot chocolate and lemon scone actually cost.

But when the following Friday rolled around and the clock struck 3AM, Jisung was graced with the appearance of a Centaur - a quite handsome one at that. “Welcome… in. Oh good lord.”

“Good evening! I’ve heard tale that your fine establishment sells the best hot chocolate and I would like to purchase a mug.”

A mug? Of hot chocolate?

Jisung was no genius but even he knew that someone didn’t need to be lactose intolerant to have a stomach ache after drinking a whole mug of hot chocolate. “Good sir?”

“Uh…” Jisung was at a loss for words, eyes scanning over the creature before him as he tried to debate if this was all a dream or some sort of hallucination. His internal struggle was paused only briefly when the door to the bakery opened once more, the tiny bell ringing out as another figure walked in. They wore a dark pair of sunglasses which Jisung found odd, but not nearly as odd as the slithering snakes on top of their head.

Was that Medusa?

He had to be hallucinating now. This couldn’t be real!

“Oh! Chan! What a surprise to see you here. Did you hear about the hot chocolate, too?”

“I did indeed but I’m afraid our server is having a bit of an issue.” The centaur - Chan - spoke, eyes trained on Jisung who stood prone behind the counter. “I’m sorry, is it too late to purchase hot chocolate?”

Looking from one creature to the next, Jisung truly couldn’t make sense of the situation and in the end, just gave up because fuck it. A customer was a customer.

“No you’re fine. I just don’t have any mugs. But I can give you an extra large.” Jisung said as he pulled one of the said cups loose from its stack to show off the size. “Would this work or is that too big?”

“It’s perfect!”

“Great. And Chan is the name on the order?” He asked, getting a hum of approval before he started writing on the cup. “Perfect, and for you, what size hot chocolate?” He asked, looking to the Medusa like creature because surely it wasn’t the Gorgon herself.

Or was it?

“A regular would be fine.” Nodding, Jisung grabbed the cup before taking a deep breath.

“And how will you both be paying?” He dreaded this, afraid that he was going to end up being cursed or given a strange liquid in a vial.

“I’ll pay for both.” Chan said and reached for the small sack tied around his waist. From within, he pulled out a handful of precious stones - emeralds, rubies and sapphires from what Jisung could make out. Chan ruffled through them for a moment before carrying laying out three emeralds, two rubies and a sapphire. “I think this should cover it.” And it should. If they were true gemstones, Jisung could make a small fortune off of them. Okay, well maybe not a fortune but he would definitely make back the cost of the two drinks easily.

“It’s perfect. Just have a seat and I’ll get your drinks out to you shortly.” Swiping the gems off the counter, he placed them in the small safe under the counter be set to work. No longer than three minutes later the two creatures were walking out with their drinks, leaving Jisung to contemplate his life choices. 

[kiingleoturtles]

hello bestie beloved muah muah I am here to ask you about any greedling week prompt you have cause I can't remember them right now ahem so whichever you please

DHAJDHAJJSHSHSJAKDHAHJSHF hello hello hello!

Hmm, I think I should bust out a teaser for "Fantasy" because my ass plays DnD once every half a year or something and the nerd in me said "yes".

Greed - seeing as that was apparently his name - huffed, looking back over at Ling with piercing ruby eyes. “Haven't met a half-elf before.”

Ling swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat as one clawed hand moved to cup his chin, tilting it side to side as he was inspected. “Well, we're not too common, so that'd make sense!”

The tiefling let out some sort of throaty rumble halfway between a laugh and a purr. “So you're a smartass. Good to know. And it's not like my people are all too common either, sweetheart.”

It took me a while to decide whether I wanted Greed to be a tiefling or a dragonborn but it's fine, Greed can be a tiefling and Mustang can be a dragonborn

[bigbadboybruce]

(PG-13 content warning)

Three times he had a chance to kiss her. Three times the chance slipped through his fingers.

For one of them the context wasn't right. It was on the side of the road leading to Lord Bloodwrath’s estate. She wore that silky gown with an emerald cascade about her neck and ruby red lipstick at which he couldn't help but stare. He wore a stupid smile that only got him in trouble.

Heated words. A switch. A correction. 'Miss Mourningvale.' Her name tasted like sugar on his tongue.

'I'll save Kallarel for when you're in trouble,' he promised.

The scene dimmed at the edges in his mind's eye, clouded by sin. Cynicism was her suit of armor. A kiss would have only whetted the appetite for the taste which followed and she would have been right.

But then there was the ballroom in the ruined mansion, where Her branches cracked the ceiling and bled sunlight on faded marble floors. She was radiant. Powerful. Dangerous. He was but a fly in fate’s web, compelled by an absurd notion to dance.

And dance they did. He caught a glimpse of her austere expression as it melted, just before she buried it into his shoulder. She must have heard his heart hammering away like a drum, but he smothered it by humming an old Gilnean tune.

He told her a story. Something from his childhood. She broke away, once again at an arm’s length. Losing her touch was like falling off the ferry in the night.

He lied. Did she know? It didn't matter. The moment was gone.

Then there was last night.

On the floor of an oblong, dug-out cave piled high with books from her childhood, she held out her hand, expecting the bronze band which disguised him as an elf to be deposited for refinement. Sleep would evade her, she decided, and accordingly planned to work through the night.

Instead, his fingers cupped her palm. Without hesitation or thought, he drew her into his embrace.

Excuses back filled the hole in his mind. He was more comfortable than stone. It was cold. The sleeping rolls were itchy.

‘Let me keep you safe for a spell,’ he decided. And it was true. That was all he wanted, at least for last night.

But he could have had a kiss, if he'd only asked.

Three times he had a chance to kiss her. Three times the chance slipped through his fingers.

Would he really go to the grave without successfully sharing a kiss with the woman who made his debilitated heart flutter?

Would that perfect moment come before his inevitable death?

... And then there was Thilonous. Greased by a bottle of wine, he kissed the bard on a rooftop terrace just to prove a point. And when his eyes slipped shut and red hair still burned in his mind, he could picture it was her he was kissing...

One day he'll get things right.

@daily-writing-challenge

[twiggys-dnd-archive]

she's so freaking bad ass you guys don't even know. I made her for an old western campaign that we haven't started yet and I'm literally dying to play her because yes she has a country accent. oops she also has a tragic backstory ↘

She grew up in a small town. She was born to a young elf women who said it was an act of the gods that she was pregnant, because her and the father had not been married and he had run off. When she was born, it was clear she wasn’t just an elf, her father had passed on his demonic bloodline. However she was beautiful and only had a small horn, so she was excepted by her very religious mother and named Efvren Llesere. She grew up a modest spiritual girl and was seen as an important member of the church.

When she was just turning 18 a strange man wondered into town. He just seemed to show up out of nowhere and he started asking for work, desperate for somewhere to stay. He was very strange and obviously from somewhere different entirely. He and llesere got to know each other and she gave him shelter and used her status in the church to convince the towns people to give him work. He was slowly excepted as he repaired houses and got closer to llesere. He introduced himself as Ornan rhruk.

The two grew very fond of each other despite lleseres mother wanting to marry her off to an older man in the church. They would run off together for long periods of time and this would effect lleseres work in the church. He eventually revealed his true demonic form to her, and told her he was from another realm. He had run off to find a better life and was glad he’d found her, he was in love. She was surprised but loved him back and they made plans to leave together.

Before they could there was a storm and a building collapsed, forcing Ornan to reveal his demonic form in order to save llesere. It didn’t matter that he had helped the town or saved llesere, he was seen as a demon from hell come to take her away. He was run out of town, almost being killed by the mob of people. Llesere defended him violently but this only caused them to see her as too far brainwashed by the devil. She was seen as a demonic witch and strung up on a stake to be burned for her sins. Ornan hid in the shadows as he saw his love engulfed in flames, and in a last attempt in saving her, he transferred all his demonic force into her. This saved her from the fire, and gave her the power to break free and run. But that was all of his life force and he had only enough power left to go back to his home plane, the Abyss. She searched for him after she escaped, but found nothing. She knew it was him who saved her with his power, and gave her his wings and tail, but she could only hope hes still alive.

After running and finding a place for herself in a larger city, she grew up and became disgusted by any religion or religious people. She has moved on a lot from crying herself to sleep and jumping every time someone touched her, but she still dreams of Ornan, she still has hope he’s alive somewhere in some unknown realm. She now uses the power he gifted her to take violent jobs and assassinations for money, although if some kind battered women comes to her with a story of her nasty husband, she’ll do it for a cup of sugar. She quickly picked up the name Ruby form her tendency to turn red when pissed off, then she came up with Whitelaw so people would have a name to go with the face.

[itsyapeepkiri]

Just another random story I forgot to post.

Dwarf: Hun, I'm gonna go to the crafting table. You got everything?

Elf: Yep, I made a poem this morning that should give you the right inspiration!

Dwarf: And did you include pauses? I don't want a repeat of last time...

Elf: <nods> I checked 5 times cause I love you and all, but I can NOT carry you up the stairs again...

Dwarf: And the snacks?

Elf: By the heavens! Thank you for reminding me! <runs into kitchen> But did you get the water?

Dwarf: Mhmm, I put it down there last night.

Elf, coming back into the room with a small basket with various snacks both like: Alright, let's go!

And so the two went down the stairs into the basement. There, 2 chairs that were plush with insanely good lumbar support and cup/snack holders sat, one next to a table and another to the side of work space. The chair next to the table was decorated in embroidered leaves and other nature related items, with something that looked like and elegant musicbook holder, while the one in front of the table had rocks and gems. The table was littered with small bits of metal, wood, and gems, most of the clutter in palm-sized bins and was somewhat contained, no matter how random. Tools made out of different materials and various sizes hung on hooks protruding out of the wall. But there, in the center of the table, sat schematics for a small mechanical robin that would be encrusted with diamonds, rubies, topazes, and other precious gems.

It took a second for the two to get settled in the rhythm that they had found through ages of trial and error. The elf sat in the nature chair and gently set some papers down on the holder, passing the dwarf a snack once they were satisfied. The dwarf sat down on the rock chair, gratefully taking the food. As the last bits of food disappeared, the dwarf passed an intricate metal water bottle to the elf, who took a small drink. The dwarf then set some tools and materials out, while the elf finished securing the cap of the bottle and picked up the first page. Once they were both ready, the two looked at each other and, with a nod from each, they started working, the dwarf on the little robin and the elf reading the poem.

Later, almost 10 hours later, the snacks would be gone, water bottles empty, and both companions bone-tired. Then, and only then, when throats burned hoarse and hands cramped stiff, they would carefully trudge up the stairs and collapse on just about any soft mattress they could find. But maybe, just maybe, they would stay down in the basement, simply leaning back their chairs, which were reclining thanks to the dwarf, and sleep. Any of their friends, who would occasionally check on them, might walk in and see the two holding hands, one rough and calloused and the other smooth and delicate.

[avernusfuries-a]

@sanguisarcana asked: Not her type had his brows hiking up. It wasn't often Astarion came across someone with such strong opinions about him as a type, whatever it was.

"Oh?" The pale elf leaned against a fresco column, letting the ballroom dance and sway all around them. Cazador's gaze would often steal glances his way- which he promptly ignored. "Allow me chance a guess then- is it the burly, overly masculine sort that you're into? Not a thought behind his eyes except to rail me from dusk to dawn type." A click of his tongue as the spade of his smile grew. "You crave to feel like a maiden in somebody's arms." It wasn't a question. Words rolled off his tongue with stretched syllables and practised seduction, crimson eyes drinking in the sight before him from her hair to her boots as if the tiefling was put on display. "Now, I'm not one for literature- but I'll have you know there's a certain degree of deception in books judged by their cover." With that, Astarion brought the goblet in his hold for a sip. Wine tasted like vinegar to him, but his features neither scrunched up nor soured as he held it out to the lady. "Wine?" The one in the pale elf's hold smelled far cheaper than the one being served to the guests. Cazador wasn't about to waste fine vintage on his spawn.

For a long moment, the tiefling considered telling him to do one. Disappear back into the toffs that filled the endless space of the ballroom, but as she glanced around and caught the eye of a particularly insufferable guest who'd made plenty attempts at stealing her attention away ... Well, this man felt like the lesser of two evils. Whatever, she'd bite. Karlach turned to him, and for a long moment, held his eye.

She had little doubt that he was not used to rejection; he felt a little too perfect to be real. His face, despite the obvious signs of aging, was mostly flawless, with eyes that glittered like the most beautiful and inaffordable rubies, even in the dimness of the room. Karlach had little doubt that he would look quite fetching in the midday sun, as pale-haired and fair skinned as he was. Still, not her type. The mental image of him trying to lift her was one that made her snort her amusement, and that was quickly hidden by the lift of a hand to cover her mouth and an almost overdramatic fake cough. He looked at her in the same way others did when they were sizing her up, and that often fell into two categories: a fight or a fuck.

She imagined his fell into the later, and she fixed him with a long stare. Not the offended sort, either. Well, if it would pass the time ... "Yeah, actually. Nothing quite like taking a break from doing all the lifting to be lifted, after all. I'm sure you'd understand."

That said little for her appetites, that had almost always led her right into the arms of women far shorter than she was, and certainly considerably softer too. Not in the way that noble ladies were. They were often interested in the no strings attached thing that Karlach tended to lean towards, but never quite capable of sicking to it. Auriel, for instance, the bard that frequented The Blushing Mermaid ... Gods, she drove her crazy in a way that almost made her sick to her stomach. "Not one for reading, either. Books, judging, all that bollocks."

He offered her the cup, and no sooner than he had, she had caught the sickeningly sweet stench of it. Karlach wrinkled her nose, and waved the offer off with a hand. "Just the smell of it is making my teeth tingle." She paused. "No offense to your friend or anything, but you fancy folk really need to expand your palettes. A nice beer or whiskey would see you lot right, and it'll be less painful on your coinpurses." She paused, and took the cup. "Thanks...? You got a name?"