#worm on a string astarion

[baldurs-gape]

Looooooong Road Home

Here was the thing; Astarion hadn't seen many Chosen in his long life. Then again, his haunts didn't usually include places that Chosen would opt to visit. His nocturnal nature forced him to only emerge during the night, when everything was hues of greys and despair. Despite not having laid eyes on a Chosen, he had heard stories, how their devotion and a God's favour warped their appearance. Part of him thought it was a load of rubbish. Then the Nautiloid happened.

Out in the sunlight, Astarion marvelled at all the colours, the heat that soaked into his scant fur. Most importantly, his string had been cut. The thread that always led back to Cazador was short, ending abruptly not too far in front of his nose. For the first time in 200 years he was a free worm-on-a-string. Nobody held the other end of his string, nobody dictated what he did.

Then he encountered the broken portal and met Gale of Waterdeep. Who looked like an ordinary, purple furby - minus the circular bare patch at the top of his stomach and a few delicate lines that were barely visible under his fuzz but still curled past his beak and up to his eye.

"You're a bit short for a Chosen of Mystra," Astarion had scoffed and Gale actually looked crestfallen at that.

"I used to be a lot longer, you know. Proportionally probably three times your length for your size."

"What happened?"

It was a tale for another time. Astarion's wait for it was as short as Gale himself. Dribs and drabs came out in conversation. Gale's constant need to be fed magical items because of the bald patch he called his 'orb'. It was a foolish endeavour that he pursued in the name of proving himself to Mystra, wanting to gain the ultimate length that matched hers. He wanted to be a God's equal. In a way, Astarion could respect that ambition.

As they travelled, Gale's magic grew, so did his length. At first it wasn't noticeable. Astarion could noodle past him without being detected on his hunts for blood. Except moving past Gale took longer and longer, which was when he realised that Gale was growing.

The orb was stabilised by the longest furby Astarion had ever seen. He could easily wrap around their campfire while munching on cheese with unashamed "yuuuuum yuuuuum" exclamations. If they ignored Mystra's demand that Gale wrap himself around the heart of the Absolute and squeeze until he ruptured the orb, things were actually quite fine.

Employing his stealthiest caterpiller crawl, Astarion thought he could avoid his campmates until a blue illusion of Gale popped into being next to his head and made him curl up in fright. The invitation to join Gale was strangely welcome. They gazed at the stars Gale had conjured into being and Astarion realised he could comfortably lie on Gale's back now and bask in his warmth without his nose or tail getting chilly.

The strange sense of pride Astarion had watching Gale in the Shadowcursed lands was unfamiliar and confusing. There was majesty and poise in the way Gale moved so confidently, cast spells. Facing off against Myrkul's avatar, Gale had encircled Astarion and kept him safe from the 'bone chill' that threatened to engulf him.

In Baldur's Gate, Gale had eagerly dragged him to Sorcerous Sundries where they encountered the abomination that was Lorroakan. Astarion had truly thought he'd seen everything until that moment. To see a furby, artificially longified through spells and constructs was disturbing in a way little else had been. They didn't have much time to shudder at the memories of artifical fur sloughing off the metal frame of a Gondian design. Other goals were to be pursued. Most importantly, lopping off the hand that puppeted Astarion.

Cazador had so many strings wrapped around him, it was a miracle he could still fly. But, as all sky dancers, he remained dangerous, no matter how encumbered. A lone string flapped loosely, undoubtedly the one that should have linked Astarion to him. Fighting him and his minions wasn't easy, the trolls and boglins put up a good fight. But, in the end, they fell to the vicious desperation of Astarion's friends.

Orin and Gortash were also defeated. Then came the netherbrain and all that entailed. Falling out of the sky, Astarion was glad Gale had looped around him, they crashed into the Chionthar together and resurfaced as one. Bedraggled, Astarion didn't immediately realise that his fur wasn't just drying out in the dawning sun's light but was burning. Pure white turned to singed black and he darted to the nearest place to hide and wait out the day. At least he could console himself that his string was now his own, nobody tugged it and he'd never let anyone wrap it around their figners ever again.

Of course Gale found him. And the pieces of Karsus' crown. Returning it to Mystra meant the orb was lifted and Gale was back to his full glory of longification. It was perfect. He curled up each evening and there was enough room on him for Astarion to nuzzle into the lush purple fur while Tara lounged next to him.

All in all, Astarion considered himself a very lucky worm-on-a-string. So much so that, despite his vows, he offered to tie his string to whatever Gale's furby equivalent was. The fond hum and rocking he got from Gale didn't quite make sense but the happy beak peck to the tip of his snoot did. There was no need to get tied to each other, their love was beyond that kind of requirement. Instead, they each got a golden belt to wear, inscribed with 'I long for you. Always.'

~~~~~~~~~

A huge thank you to @captainneedsnosleep for listening to my ramblings about Wormstarion and Longified Furby Gale! The art of Wormstarion and Longified Furby Gale spurred on the creation of this story. The less we say about Pogostick Withers and Mr. Bucket Gortash, the better. I'm not sure the world is ready for such things just yet.

[egojordy]

Plotting Plotting

I may be slower to answering if someone does DM over here though because goddamn I get the fake "Comissions open?" dms a good bit but one look at the pfp and they've usually got no posts or a random ai video so they're easy to pick out o7

[snuurp]

introduction to the WORMS IN MY BRAIN jk this is a modern fantasy au for baldurs gate 3 plain text and more info under the cut

intro to the au, forewarning i haven't done much research, and my first playthrough of the game isn't done yet (I AM in act three tho I swear 2/3rds of the three guys r dealt with and so is cazador.) keep in mind i have no idea what i'm doing.

the mindflayer stuff is like. an experimental implant they all dubiously agreed to without all the info. extra enhancements (like the other tadpoles in game) are like drugs, and they appear once weekly at everyone's doors whether they want it or not. initial implant stabilizes Karlach's engine, helps with Astarion's vampire stuff, etc. etc. and the extras just feel good to use, it's addictive.

all of them are in a support group together meant to encourage them to stay clean from the extra tadpoles. time they've spent with the group varies.

there WILL be more detailed posts for them later, i have a lot of thoughts on Karlach and Wyll especially. implied/possible shadowzel and wyllstarion. my tav will be present, this is very self indulgent and i am in lesbians with Karlach.

plain text for images:

KARLACH

6'11" - 7'

construction worker.

her first job was disastrous.

foreman Goretash pushed her into dangerous situations that she felt pressured to be in because she was the newbie.

things went wrong with the electrical on the job site, landing her in the hospital with a near-fatal heart problem.

but good* news! avernus co. offered her a mechanical heart for the low, low price of a ten year work contract! (strings attached.)

she's out of the contract now, and avernus co. is refusing to maintain her heart (and the other "upgrades" they gave her without consent.)

still in construction, unionized and a loud advocate for workers rights.

can't do caffeine. her coffee order is a creamy chocolate chill from TImothy Horthingtons.

favourite board game is ticket to ride or uno, surprisingly mean and competitive in games.

SHADOWHEART

5'6"

works at hot topic (emo)

just got out of the commune, full swing edgy phase and does NOT know how un-niche her music is yet (please don't tell her)(she might cry)

"adopted" by Shar's cult when she was little, doesn't remember much before or after that beyond what other members told her.

dissecting her faith.

roommates with Lae'zel. (they hate each other)

"roommates" with Lae'zel also. (they still hate each other) (kinda)

rps her fursona COOL CAT CHARACTER DO NOT STEAL online.

very afraid of wolves which does include sparkledogs and makes rp super difficult.

her favourite board game is catan or any ttrpg.

if asked, her coffee order is "black, like my tortured soul" but she actually gets a vanilla latte with extra syrup and sweet foam. (oat milk because regular makes her tummy hurt)

LAE'ZEL

5'7" and gods does she ever hold that extra inch over Shadowheart.

works as a personal trainer, her clients are scared of her which makes her VERY effective for the right people.

insults clients, perfectionist.

mommy issues x100

the creche has a very community/it takes a village style of raising but they do a really bad job.

she wants to be the BEST of her siblings, doesn't take failure well.

loves competitive solo sports, hiking, marathons, bouldering, boxing, etc. etc.

delights in pushing Shadowheart's buttons.

she doesn't drink coffee, her order is a smoothie.

willingly drinks the ones with kale like a CRAZY PERSON.

favourite board game is chess and while she is good at it she is a SORE loser.

WYLL

6'1"

used to work for avernus co. and now works a much quieter, mostly Mizora-free job at an elementary school.

the students favourite gym teacher.

estranged from his dad after a huge, explosive misunderstanding re: the very un-HR Mizora incident(s)

likes Go Fish and cribbage, but he's happy playing any board game the others suggest.

generally just happy to be here.

coffee of choice is an americano with a shot of apple cinnamon syrup.

loves knitting.

definitely not crushing on Astarion whaaat crazyyyy.....

his watch is from his dad. he looks at it when he misses him.

misses him a lot.

ASTARION

5'9"

former troubled teen kicked out by his rich parents.

Cazador was a "pastor" that took him under his wing and adopted him into his group home (for a price)

in debt to him now and can't outrun it.

has two jobs.

works at Olive Garden, HATES IT.

works at (insert coffee shop chain here) ALSO HATES IT.

somehow has a very popular aesthetic tumblr blog in the year of our lord 20XX

coffee order is an iced caramel latte (sometimes gets strawberry/cherry/raspberry syrup to make his pictures cooler)

his favourite board game is monopoly (he steals from the bank) but he DESPISES cheaters edition because that "takes all the fun out of it"

Wyll's feelings are mutual and he knows about them but he's too insecure to talk to Wyll about it (nerd)

GALE

5'11"

unemployed, formerly university librarian/professor.

is not over his ex, will not be over his ex for the foreseeable future.

eventually goes to a new university to teach tho.

zero rizz, this man uses mage hand to play wizard wonderwall while concentrating very hard and that makes him look constipated sorry Gale likers.

has a part time job at a Barnabus and Noblemans before going to the new university.

commissioned Wyll to make his sweater vest in affront-to-the-gods purple.

wrote some very prolific papers in the wizard community.

coffee order is matcha or a mocha

favourite board game is clue. he gets really into it.

[sword-of-the-moonmaiden]

Can you write Shadowheart with a bard Tav that just sings at all hours Even at 5 in the morning and as they go to bed, like Disney princess levels bs💀

Sure thing! Didnt mean to be away from the blog for this long, but unfortunately work got in the way. Hope you enjoy!

Songbird (Shadowheart x Bard!Tav)

In a chaotic whirlwind of an adventure, most of your merry band of adventurers would describe the campsite as peaceful, safe and filled with cameraderie. What they would not describe it as, however, is quiet. Its never quiet, thanks to you and your lyre by the campfire.

Day and night, your inspirational voice carried melodies and stories alike for the team to keep them on their feet, pushing them forward against all odds. Even in the quieter moments between locations, your voice was echoing amongst trees, mountains and villages alike. It was constant, but something all your companions (mostly) enjoyed.

You try to block out the memory of Astarion trying to cut your lyre strings whilst you were trying to sleep.

Shadowheart, however, had paid certain attention to your songs. It was unlike anything she could remember hearing, as there were no bards in the Sharran Cloister, and the Nightsinger's teachings were all about stealth and how not to be seen. Your very existance went against her studies, and whilst your total aversion to stealth was irritating at times, she couldnt be mad at the way you held the team together and made the best out of shitty situations.

A fond memory of hers, a new one aquired along this trip, was one of the very firsy nights you had all spent together. Stars twinkled above as your voice wove a gentle melody around the campfire, retelling stories about the events that had transpired so far. You had looked so peaceful, as if using your voice to entertain was as natural as breathing to you.

Maybe it was.

It's how Shadowheart finds you one very early morning, Selune's Tears sparkling far ahead as your siren-like voice carried across the wind and through the trees as if it belonged there as another aspect of nature. Flames illuminated your laid back form, the gentle crackle of the burning wood the only other sound audible in the night's embrace.

"Not that I'm complaining, but must you really be singing at this gods-forsaken hour?" Shadowheart's voice cuts across the campsite, causing your head to snap up to meet her almost inquisitive gaze.

As your playing slows to a halt, your attention turns towards her fully. "I didn't think anyone else was awake to hear it. Sorry if I disturbed your sleep, I know how prickly you can get without it." A teasing grin pulls at your lips as your companion merely rolls her eyes, settling on joining you by the campfire.

In truth, you truly did believe everyone to be asleep. After all, the moon was high across the sky, and dawn would be breaking in a few short hours to paint the sky in its gorgeous burning hues. It was that peaceful type of morning night where the sound and music carries away disonent thoughts and sleepless struggles with ease.

As the wood cracks and splinters under the heat of the licking flames, Shadowheart spies her opportunity to ask another question.

"So, why are you up this late, little Songbird? I mean, normally you're singing from dawn til dusk," Shadowheart chuckles in amusement, hand idly plusking the strings of your lyre, "But at night, where nobody can hear you? I thought you lived for an audience."

"I..." You paused, and under her piercing green gaze you feel like you have nowhere to hide, not even behind your song, "I just couldnt sleep. Besides, I did have an audience. My tadpole was quite enjoying my music."

"Tadpole? Really?" You can hear the amusement in her tone, that mischievous sparkle dancing in her eyes. "Well, I suppose it has to enjoy your music, with how much you're performing for all of us. Perhaps that's the thing keeping you awake, your worm companion wants more of your songs."

After a quiet laugh, a blanket of silence settles, even the fire seemingly muting itself in the shared moment. You can feel Shadowheart's eyes raking over you, yet they're more appreciative than prying. Sharran's value silence, after all, and in it's depths there is value. Peace. Quiet.

Yet for once, it's not you who breaks it

"Well, your tadpole wasn't the only one enjoying it either. It's nice, not having to live in the shadows and quiet anymore. I don't remember getting to experince many things like this, if I did at all. The cloister was silent, most of the time, unless I was in lesson or my barracks." Shadowheart shuffles closer, gently repositioning the lyre in your grasp so you're positioned to play again. A warmth blossoms in your chest as her finger brush yours.

"However," she continues, "I quite like your constant singing. It's comforting, as I know you're close by. Although, next time you can't sleep, do just come find me. I'm sure I can find some way to tire you out and get you to sleep."

Shadowheart's laugh rings out sweeter than any melody as she takes in your stunned expression, and in that moment you find your sleepless troubles diminishing in her presence. She leans against you, her gaze warm and inviting as embers on a winter evening.

"Now come on, little Songbird, I'm sure I can stand to listen to one more of your beautifully sung songs before I drag you to bed and make sure you get some proper rest."

And sing for her you did.

Well, that was actually really fun to write. Slightly sleep deprived myself, but i can picture Shads really enjoying some music after a life of silence!

[rawrsatthetree]

I think the best way to tackle a Modern AU for BG3 isn’t to make it a slice of life but to some how combine the elements of a collage drama, organized crime, a dooms day cult, and an alien invasion all into one coherent plot.

I do not know how to do this but I do have some ideas. All the characters have no reason to associate with each other until they’re all abducted by aliens, wormed, and released back into the wild like a bird that just got tagged. Everyone kind of writes it off as either a bad trip or a dream until the cross paths and the worm does the connection thing. Eventually bringing them all together with a few people investigating the invasion to get to the bottom of what’s happening.

Wyll is a pre law student mostly against his will to appease his dad. He wants to help people but doesn’t necessarily want to be a cop like his father the chief of police. He half asses his classes because he doesn’t have much passion for them, blowing them off to volunteer in clubs and community outreach programs. I think Mizora should be either a professor, Dean of students, or academic advisor. In exchange for favors she alters his grades pushes him through the system. Little does he know she’s also idk involved with a crime organization and her favors go from small and perverted to slowly becoming more dangerous and criminal. He’s young and she has a lot of power over his future and could even expose him as a fraud and an accomplice to his father so he feel helpless to defy her.

Astarion is a law school drop out but that’s old news. You’ll find him prowling the local bar and club scene looking for potential clients. After a string of bad luck and poor life choices he’s a prostitute and drug dealer for a local gangster in the Black Hand gang only known as The Vampire (I know I’m so creative). Cazador’s deal is still the pretty much the same local rich public figure is secretly a very cruel and evil man who uses fear and addiction to control his underlings.

Karlach worked as muscle for the leader of the Black Hand gang before she was forcibly sold and enlisted as a mercenary over seas. After a ten years fighting in foreign years she’s back and ready to get her revenge on the whole Black Hand cult unfortunately she has to do it quickly because (ok idk I tried doing some research and couldn’t find any condition caused by an injury that can suddenly become fatal idk maybe cancer from a bullet or shrapnel)

Gale isn’t a professor but like a doctorate student on a tenure track, but bordering on the mad science kind of research. He’s in an abusive relationship with his over seeing faculty Mystra. Ultimately a lab accident during his research leads to the orb.

I think Lae’zel should still be an alien. She was abducted on another planet and escaped while the earthlings were being tadpoled. Now she’s stranded and tadpoled on a strange planet.

Halsin is a university professor and a local environmental activist. He’s been investigating strange occurrences and is onto the alien invasion thing.

I’m honestly not sure about Shadowheart. She should definitely be college age. But I’m not sure how to approach the shar thing.

Not sure about Minthara either except maybe military turned death cult member.

Jaheira and Minsc are cops investigating the alien invasion I’m so sorry not like real world cops but like fun fictional cops that only exist in movies. Boo is their police dog. OMG wait no they’re Park Rangers!!

Other stuff

The dead three chosen are instead three gang leaders. Except Bhaal cult also doubles as a murder cult still on top of being a criminal organization.

The alien invasion is still the mind flayer grand design.

I don’t think the dead three are controlling the mind flayers this time. Instead they’re using the strange alien invasion occurrences as grounds to start a dooms day cult or maybe they are idk

[leeannsparks]

How Could I Hurt You?

*SPOILERS FOR DARK URGE PLAY THROUGH*

This one right here is for all the people who wanted a little more angst with their dark urge character. Personally I loved the story for the dark urge but I wish there was more of a reaction from companions at the fact that you died! So here's a little angsty treat for my fellow gamers who've put in over 300 hours into this game.

“I have a gift for you child. You will use it to lacerate this world.” No, the only word that echoed in your mind. You will not accept any gift from your so-called god. There is good in this world and your free mind knows this now. It is evident in the companions you have picked up along this journey. In the love of a pale elf, the kindness of an archdruid and the determination of tieflings. You have felt it in every gentle hug, tender kiss and smile that did not come from the release of death. 

“No, no, for once I’m free! I have seen life, I’ve seen beauty! I have loved, I have been loved…and I am never giving that back!” Fuck your god, fuck destiny, fuck everything that came before. The autonomy of your body was suddenly stripped away as you were raised into the air by invisible claws. Back breaking under the force answered only by cruel laughter.

“Can we kill this little freak!” The vampire spawn was ready to rush forward and imbed his knife into the puppet pulling the strings. You knew that he would be killed if he so much as put a kink in the plans of the cruel god. 

“Karlach…keep him away!”

Your father laughed at the weakness you showed so openly. “What a disappointing spawn you’ve become, my most promising, possessed by pathetic emotions. I remember when the very act of murder reflected in your gaze, oh the terror you inspired, the horror.”

The words Astarion spoke to his former master echoed within your mind, giving you courage, determination. “I am so much more than what you made me.”

“You are nothing without me, child. What I have given freely and what you have rejected most unknowingly I will take back. I will give you back to the rotting earth you hold so dearly, nothing but a dead fool, food for the worms. Even below the ground you will still feel the blood I rain upon this world, the fire that will consume the forests you called home. Your blood is mine and I will see it returned.”

You could feel the very blood he spoke of fall from your eyes like scarlett tears, your breath trapped inside your lungs begging to escape. The taste of copper fills your mouth as it dribbles down your chin. You’ve never felt so cold before, even in the harshest of winters. Bones seemed to snap and then as if clutched in a grasp of fury your heart shattered within your chest a silent scream caught in your throat. It was instant death but somehow still prolonged beyond the mortal plane.

There was no more chanting within the Bhall temple, no foreign word. Yet the scent of blood still lingered, the screams of your name like an echo being absorbed into the walls. 

You watched events unfold outside of your body and wondered if this is what all of your victims experienced after their death. Or if this torture was designed just for you by the lord of murder himself. 

Astarion had rushed over as soon as your body fell to the cold stone below. His hands cradling your body with a fierce protectiveness you had never seen before. His hands searched for a pulse, something, any sign of life you would give him. “Karlach give me a bloody scroll!”

“Astarion it won’t work…” she was right, it won’t. She had seen first hand instant death at the hands of devils, like a thread cut with a pair of scissors. 

“You don’t fucking know that, we have to try! Halsin do something you useless druid! Darling, look at me, please, please. I promised, I promised it wouldn’t have you my love, please…” Oh what you would give to embrace him, comfort him.

Light illuminated the blood that stained your face, warmth from Halsin’s palm, the warmth of nature itself. It would do nothing for you now. “Oak Father, hear me, aid me, protect this child of Silvanus.” The light flickered, a soft breeze tussling the hair surrounding your body. You had never seen such sadness on Halsin’s face, not even when his grove was threatened or when all hope had seemed lost in the darkness of the shadow curse. His hand engulfed the one that rested limply by your body, “forgive me my heart.” He brought the hand to his lips, warmth against deadly cold skin. 

“Your god is as useless as the rest of them! Potions, Karlach in my bag, hurry please…” his words were cut short as the large tiefling cradled the back of your head. Her forehead came to rest against yours, horns knocking against the ones atop your head. Soft lips brushed across the place where lines and creases would form the most.

“Rest easy Soldier…I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Get away! Fuck you, fuck all of you, we have to help them, there must be something…” as if a candle had been extinguished so did his fight. “No, no…oh darling…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry my love, my light. Forgive me, please come back, I promise I’ll keep you safe please come back, don’t leave me, please.” They would tell stories about you, the hero who sacrificed everything to save Baulders Gate. Would they tell of the love you got to experience before it all ended? Would they speak of the friends you made? The adventures you had? 

Would they speak of the man who emerged from his crypt only to enter a temple and offer a choice?

The hardest choice you would ever have to make. Only it’s not a difficult one is it? After all it’s only one more battle until the rest of your life. Yours now, no one else's. You could close your eyes forever, spare yourself the view, the consequences. 

When the breath was returned to your lungs and the shattered pieces of your heart put back together one by one your body lurched forward with the first sight of your new life. 

Cool lips pressed against yours, fangs almost puncturing skin with the ferocity of a lover who held death in his arms. Words whispered against your mouth, “don’t you ever fucking do that to me again.”

A small, breathless laugh, “how could I leave my little star behind?” How could you leave this behind?

[fangsyouverymuch01]

If walls could talk

This is part 2 of my series. You don't have to have read the first part to get into pt 2, butttt I would appreciate it! :) Part 1 LINK.

Part 3 is also out! Here is the LINK.

Summery: Tav is fighting against their dark thoughts and decides to do something about it. However, what other bloodthirsty killer lurks in the dark forest?

Words: 2,2 k

Parings: Astarion x durge, Astarion x tav

Warnings: Blood, dark fantasies/nightmares, daggers, smut if you squint???, murder, sleep deprivation, sassy vampire

Hope you like it! <3

Moonlight marks the end of the day, painting the swaying leafs a faint blue. The cracklings of the fire and the laughter from your newfound companions warms the cool night. You’ve managed to gather a party of the gith - Laezel, the blade of frontiers - Wyll, Karlach - a fighter from avernus, Gale - Mystras former chosen, sharworshipper - Shadowheart and lastly the pale rouge Astarion. Quite the mix to say at least. 

Everyone’s laughter is mixed with the occasional slurping. Gale had insisted on making a traditional potato and leek soup which was appreciated by some, others like Astarion had barely touched it. 

“You’re not hungry Astarion?” Karlach asked as she gulped down her second bowl of soup. 

“I prefer something more filling.” he stated and shot you a quick glance before adding “ Besides, the events of today have me thinking of other things than leek soup.” .

You nearly choke at his comment and retort by gluing your eyes to the bowl in your hands. 

“No offense taken my friend, however you are missing out on this delightful soup, the leeks are scarcely this fresh in Waterdeep.” 

The party hums in approval and the conversation falls into a stillness, only the occasional breaking of twigs and swaying trees break the silence. Soon enough, the moon reaches its peak and everyone zips up their tents for the night. Your tent contains a simple bedroll and a teddy bear Karlach had lended you after observing your dark under eyes worsening the past days. Sleep had not found you , thoughts of life before the crash kept sleep from embracing your tired form. The others abilities had been wiped from the tadpole insertion but their memories stayed intact, why hadn’t yours? Questions filled your cortex, gaining a disturbing wriggling from the worm trapped within your skull. Adding to your concern, were your trances. Unbeknownst to your companions, these trances haunted you far more than sleep deprivation. Blood, gore, torture, murder and a variety of dark fantasies threatened to consume you.

What will happen if you lost control?

This night differed from the others, the lack of sleep seemed to affect your willpower and fantasies of butchering foe and friend displayed themselves as your eyelids felt heavier. Cradling the stuffed animal, your eyelids dip and curl your legs against the lower of your abdomen. Snoring and faint breaths cushion your tilted ears, guiding you to enter the embrace of night. The occasional stir flings your eyes open but the blue light signals them to close yet again. 

Flashes of Shadowheart and Karlach pass by, them withstanding to burst into laughter as you awkwardly shift to fit the very large lute in your lap. Alfira bombards your efforts with words of encouragement, unsuccessfully pulling you from glancing at Shadowheart and Karlach doubled over in the corner, tears forming in the half elf’s eyes and the tiefling biting her lip as she pushes down a rumbling laugh. Exhaling to calm yourself, you pull at the strings and an array of tunes and random noises are produced. A terrible tune, a tune so foul that your ears fold to lessen the eardrum to vibrate at every tone crushing against it. Stealing a glance at your companions, an image of a headless Karlach strikes. Twisting  your neck towards Alfira, she’s holding her heaving chest and pouring into her lap is a waterfall of thick blood. The once joyous ambiance twists into a macabre dreamscape. Shadowheart and Karlach's previous laughter warps into haunting echoes, and Alfira's encouragement morphs into desperate pleas though her gurgling. Your fingers tremble on the lute, producing dissonant, nightmarish sounds that echo the chaos. As you steal glances at your companions, Shadowhearts face contort into grotesque expressions of agony. The nightmare's grip tightens, effectively suffocating you.

“What did you do?” Shadowheart whispers, hands lacing with the hem of your trousers by your feet, the essence of life a ghost on her lips. 

Wake up. Wake up!

You need to stay awake. 

You can’t and you won’t let this control you. 

Panting, your person rises from the bedroll. Your heart drums against the sternum of your ribcage and you swear, the sound of cracking bones bounces off the taupe tent walls. Tears pour as the floodgates to your tear duct opens. It was all so much, overbearing guilt tightens its snare and breathing burdens your lungs. Tossing the sweat drenched stuffed bear, you unzip a backpack in the corner of the tent. In the backpack lies a crossbow you picked up from the battle outside the groove, a battle your then more modest party barely withstood. Pulling it out you prepare to head out into the night. Perhaps your thoughts could not be controlled but you did have a choice in what was at the receiving end of your brutal fantasies. Puffing out a breath of air, your rise and glare at the dark sky. The cloud-free night unveils moonbeams and stars twinkling in the vast expanse, inviting contemplation. 

“Please let this work.” you plead with the moon. 

The camp is positively silent, making your chance to slip into the shadows significantly increase. Carefully, you tread past Gales and Astarions tents. To your surprise, Astarions tent is slightly unzipped. Was he also facing the restless night? Or was he out causing mischief at night as well? Having no time to ponder the alternatives, you make way towards the dark forest.

The night has the once calm and inviting nature evoking a sense of adrenaline - what hid in its shadows? The ballad of birds and paws of gentler creatures had slumped with the rise of the moon, leaving behind a hushed stillness that amplifies the rustle of leaves and distant whispers of the nocturnal world. As the cool breeze carries the fragrance of earth, the night becomes a stage for the mysterious and unseen, where the darkness holds both the thrill of the unknown and the comfort of needed solitude. A twig is snapped further down the unknown woods, sending a subtle tremor through the air. Instinctively, you froze. Your gaze narrowed, senses guiding your body to scan for any signs of movement. Amidst the rustling leaves, a fleeting silhouette hides behind the vegetation —a prey 

Salvation by the blade! Salvation by the blade! Salvation by the blade! Salvation by the blade!

It demands to be heard. Clutching your soul, clawing at your cortex to take a shot at the unknowing creature behind the protecting leafs. A feverish sweat trickles down your temples as you aim the crossbow. Narrowing your eyes, the moon casts an eerie glow as your prey skillfully drains the life force from another unsuspecting creature.

Pointy ears, white curls - Astarion? 

No. No, it can’t be. 

Descending into the trance, your body remains unfazed to the revelation before your eyes. Astarion is crouching over a boar, blood from its guts spilling over his leather beeches and obscene guttural noises escapes the elf’s lips. 

Did he have the same affliction as you? 

When fighting to regain clarity fully, his keen ears catch a hint of movement in your direction. Swift as a shadow, he hurtles toward the foliage, forcefully pushing you onto the plush grass. With a thud you hit the ground. His dagger assertively rests at your throat and the other hand restraints yours from countering his initiative. His face, smeared with blood, reveals menacingly sharp teeth, droplets cascading onto your lips. The metallic taste mutes the voices in your mind, and as clarity dawns, you realize it may be a moment too late to salvage the situation. 

“Trying to sneak up on a rouge now are we?” The elf snarls. 

“Astarion wait I didn’t know-“ you ramble as you try to regain your full clarity. 

The elf’s jaw tenses as if juggling his options. 

“Are we the same you and I?” You ask unwillingly, being careful not to move under his sharp blade. 

“Darling, you and I are nothing alike. I’d never make the questionable decision to aim my bow at a fellow and trusted companion ” Astarion answers and leans towards your face, persistently persevering eye contact with you. 

At that, Astarion pushes his dagger further into your jugular vein, earning him a disapproving growl. He’s straddling you with his full weight pressing you down, there is no escaping except from your sharp tongue. 

“I never meant to hurt you, it’s just-“ you stop, contemplating how to explain your condition to the irritated bloodstained elf before you. “I dream in red, I’ve not slept for days in hopes it would go away to no avail, so I came out here to kill some worthless boar or rabbit in hopes it would ease my fantasies.” You confess in one breath.

There it was, the truth of it all and now it was up to him to decide.

Astarion investigates your features as if trying to detect any dishonesty, face still covered in blood running down his neck, spilling under the front lacing of his shirt. What starts as a chuckle turns into a manic laughter from the elf’s lips. On display are his teeth again.

Fangs. A vampire. 

“I won’t tell the others, just let me go.“ you begin as panic rises from your chest. 

“How delightful, a maniac with a dark urge and a starved vampire. A fruitful pair don’t you think?” He smirks as his eyes grow dark, a deep crimson boring into yours. 

“Fruitful?” you question as he narrows the inches between your faces. 

“Darling, your urges have you adrenaline pumping and mine keep me far from alert, we could perhaps come to an arrangement for our predicaments..” 

Oh.

His push on your jugular vein softens and he leans in to whisper in your ear. 

“You give me a taste of your delectable blood and your reward leaves you from acting on these dirty thoughts of yours. “ 

His sultry voice entwines with your senses, warm and enticing as it beckons you to accept his proposition. On a logical level, he presents a solution to your predicament. Yet, it's hard to ignore the stark reality—this man, soaked in blood, recently grappled you to the ground and still pushes a dagger menacingly against your throat.

“Not a drop too much, I still need to be able to fight when the sun rises.” you squeeze out, hiding your blush at the position in which he held you, restraining you from squirming and hiding. 

“I’ll restrict my urges as long as you do too darling” 

Gods. 

Astarions lashes flutter against your cheek, traveling along the curve of your neck and sharply inhales near your jaw. The dagger in his grasp is speedily pocketed into his holster, hand now reaching to angel your head in the perfect position. 

“Very good” he coos. 

Heat grows between your thighs as his legs squeeze the sides of your hips and chest pressed against yours makes your breath hitch in response. You want to indulge in every part of him but at the same time you are at his mercy. He was dealt a hand where destiny, hope and trust entirely was up to him.

“Give in, embrace the truth of the blade.” the voice licked into your other ear, tongue slithering further in. 

“Astarion please get it over with, I-“ you stutter as the trance flits back into your limbs, nails reaching to tear themselves from his grip. “I’m losing myself…please” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. The rouge skillfully bundles your restraint from pulling away from his sharp teeth. Licking the area to prepare for his bite, he plants a kiss before puncturing into your pumping jugular vein. The pain is sharp at first, urging your mouth to let out a gasp. Seconds pass and with time leavs the pain and is traded for an electrifying jolt that sends shivers through your body. Warmth, pleasure, joy, arousal and at last - nothingness. The kiss of stillness lures before you and only Astarions licking pierced through the vacuum-like atmosphere. His head bobs up and down, curls cushioning your tilted jaw. 

“Astarion?”

The rouge stiffens as your words cleave through his own blood frenzy. His licking is replaced by fluttering kisses, sending jolts of warmth to spread between your legs. Your once bundled hands are now also intertwined with his, the other tangled in your hair. The elf slightly pulls your hair, earning him a muffled moan as you bite down to contain your racing thoughts. As your head spins in bliss, Astarion prowls to catch your disoriented eyes with his pupil-blown ones. The vampire is positively delighted, a genuine smile creeping up as he loosened his grip on your hand. 

“ You are truly delicious my dear.” the euphoric man softly speaks, licking his lips.

“I’m glad to be proven a filling snack.” you say through half-closed eyes.

Astarion must’ve noticed your delirium and furrows his brow in response. 

“Are you quite alright?”

“Yes of course, why wouldn’t I?” you whisper and give him a genuine smile.

You glance at him with fully opened eyes, taking in the sight before you.

Trying uncipher your progressively clouded thoughts you mumble “You are very pretty Astarion”.

In the moonlit silence the rest of your conversation turns into a blur. The last image to flash by is a trembling hand that sought your pulse, any sign of life.

“Don’t you dare die on me.”

[abigailmoment]

Astarion's hands started to move. Opening and closing. Flinching up to his chest in quick, aborted motions. Like he was trying to stop something. Starting to protect himself but but unable to complete the gesture. He made a noise. A whining complaint.

Nightmare, Tav thought. That wasn't really a surprise, given the little she knew about him. She scooted closer and reached out to shake him awake.

But then Astarion made another noise. It was so quiet Tav could barely hear it. She wouldn't have, if she hadn't moved close. It was so much softer than any sound he ever made while awake. Something halfway between a gasp and a sob. Stifled, like he was trying not to be heard.

Full text below. Full Text On AO3

-------

It was peaceful at camp. Peaceful as it only ever was in the dark hours of night when all of the powerful personalities were asleep.

Tav was ostensibly keeping watch. And she was at least keeping the woods in her peripheral vision. An observer would think she was toying with her violin. She adjusted the strings from sharp to flat and flat to sharp. She tested the tension with her fingertips, feeling the timbre of the silent notes trapped inside. But really, that was just something to do with her hands while her mind churned over her true occupation for the night: figuring out ways to diffuse the growing tension between Shadowheart and Lae'zel.

Solving interpersonal issues like that was pretty much her entire life since the Nautoloid crash. In her free time she stumbled through a crash course in wilderness survival, desperately searched for a cure for the tadpoles, and fought all the things that wanted to kill them.

(Gods, there were so many. She was never leaving Baldur's Gate again after this.)

But her main job was keeping her companions from murdering each other or having breakdowns.

Juggling her motley crew was like juggling knives. Actually scratch that. Tav had done both and the knives were undebatably easier. Because under all the surface problems this group had, all the different cultures and different values, was a simmering tension of fear. Everyone was afraid of what they were becoming. And that fear under the natural conflicts--it was like an oil spill shining under torches. A seemingly stable situation that might explode the moment someone dropped something incendiary. Like the wrong sort of comment.

So Tav managed them. She left everyone nice at camp when she was planning to buy things from the Zhentarim. She asked Astarion to steal something on the far side of the market while she, Wyll and Karlach covertly completed some hasty heroics. She minimized how much anyone but her ever talked to Lae'zel.

Gods, Lae'zel. Was she healthy for a githyanki? Tav just didn't have the context to tell. No one else was anything approaching emotionally intact. Years in hell, amnesia, pacts with demons, and broken hearts that might explode. Tav had only just started getting to know her new brain-worm-enforced social circle and she could already tell that everyone was sitting on years, or in one case apparently centuries, of extremely fraught baggage.

Baggage which they couldn't address right now because they were all busy with the very important collective job of not dying.

Tav sighed and decided to take a break from thinking. She played with her violin a bit more, but doing that was an unsatisfying tease since she couldn't play it right now. She decided to unsatisfyingly tease herself in a different way and shifted so she could stare at Astarion.

She did that sometimes while on watch because being on watch was boring and Astarion was extremely pretty and he had set the doing-creepy-things-while-we-sleep bar of their relationship extremely low when he tried to bite her. Her gaze was more appreciative than lecherous, anyway. She was an artist, and he was like some classical painting come to life. Face of perfect, pale skin drawn in sharp, eye-catching angles.

No, not a painting, she thought. More like a sculpture. He was so still while he slept. Was that an elf thing, or a vampire thing? Either way, the stillness and his pallor made it seem a bit like he might be carved from marble. Actual artwork. And the way delicate white curls framed his features looked faintly celestial.

Ha. That effect would dispelled the second he woke.

Gods, he was beautiful. Tav wasn't going to do anything about it of course. She was already juggling knives. Adding a romantic entanglement to this situation would be like setting the knives on fire. She'd just tuck these thoughts away and tell him he looked like an angel when he slept the next time he got maudlin about mirrors. That would make him laugh and cheer him right up.

As she thought and watched Astarion the statue impression fell away. Something disturbed the stillness of his not-quite-sleep. Tav watched the edges of his mouth tugging down from peaceful blankness into a frown.

Then his hands started to move. Opening and closing. Flinching up to his chest in quick, aborted motions, like he was trying to stop something. Starting to protect himself but but unable to complete the motion. He made a noise. A whining complaint.

Nightmare, Tav thought. That wasn't really a surprise, given the little she knew about him. Tav scooted closer and reached out to shake him awake.

But then Astarion made another noise. It was so quiet Tav could barely hear it. She wouldn't have, if she hadn't moved close. It was so much softer than any sound he ever made while awake. Something halfway between a gasp and a sob. Stifled, like he was trying not to be heard.

Tav froze, barely an inch away from him. Shit. She couldn't wake him up, she realized. She absolutely couldn't wake him up.

Astarion tossed his past around like caltrops, peppering conversations with horrific details, daring her to pity him. Tav knew a thing or five about emotional manipulation, it's why she ended up managing most groups she fell in with, but before Astarion she'd never met someone who tried to demand sympathy at knife-point. Even more novel, and somewhat impressive, he actually sort of made it work.

But when he talked about his past, it was on his terms. They were only just starting to be anything more than strangers, and she already understood--that was important. It was something to do with control. Everything she learned about him had to be on his terms.

So if he knew she'd seen this, if he knew she'd stumbled in on this moment of vulnerability, if he ever guessed she heard him make that sound. It would be like a betrayal.

He'd resent. Retract. It would shatter the easy rapport she was working so hard to build with him. It wouldn't matter that this was an accident. Stray cats don't care if it was accidental when you clip them with your boot in the dark. It's as good as a kick and they never, ever trust you again.

She'd just...leave it be. Tav scuttled back from him, quietly as she could. She resolutely turned to scan the dark treeline. She was keeping watch. She was a good party member, keeping everyone safe in this thoroughly unremarkable night where nothing at all was happening. Her companions' dreams were their own business.

She listened to crickets singing. She listened to the wind sighing. She listened to the branches of the trees brush against each other as the wind played its primal sort of music with them. She listened to Astarion make another barely-there noise. A whimper that threaded on and on.

He sounded like he was actively being hurt.

Tav clenched her hands and then sat on them. She lectured herself sternly in her head. She couldn't go wake him up. She was good at reading people and all her instincts told her that would be a mistake. Even beyond how much it could fuck up their relationship, it could fuck up his coping strategies, which involved a lot of feigned indifference and pretending awful things were funny. It was hard to feign indifference when you got caught crying in your sleep. They had a temple full of traps and goblins to go through tomorrow. If her rogue was off his game it might kill someone.

The worst thing about this, she thought as she listened, was that it sounded like Astarion was trying to be in pain quietly. Trying not to draw attention to himself. Which felt very wrong. What made him do that, instinctively, while he slept?

The whimpering finally trailed off, or at least quieted the the point of being drowned out by forest sounds. That was a relief for a moment, but then Tav found she hated the silence more. It meant she didn't know what was going on. She managed to watch the treeline and pretend that everything was fine for maybe a minute. Then she gave up, turned around and checked on him.

Astarion had rolled onto his side, half off of his bedroll. His face was taught and somehow even more pale than usual. His shoulders were hunched. Like maybe his back was hurting him? His hands still moved, but the movements had lost focus. He no longer tried to ward off whatever was happening in his mind. He just twitched.

Tav got up. Being here felt like an invasion of his privacy and was also unbearable. She'd go on a patrol around the camp. By the time she got back he'd be out of this. He'd have to be. A nightmare couldn't last that long, she told herself.

She stowed her violin and had just finished belting on her rapier when she heard Astarion speak. For a moment she thought he might have roused himself, but no. His voice was vague and slurred with sleep, so much she could only clearly make out the last word:

"...please."

It was his tone that made her stop in her tracks. Astarion sounded so completely hopeless. Like the word was a perfunctory gesture. Like he knew begging wouldn't help, but he was driven to it by whatever was happening to him. Because there was nothing else to do.

Tav covered her face with her hands. She was having a lot of feelings. Most of them revolved around finding out who Astarion was talking to, in his dream, and arranging their gruesome murder. But that was a long term project. It wasn't relevant right now. She took a deep breath.

When she uncovered her face she had shifted into a different mindset. It was her problem-solving mindset. For when she needed to think fast and act precisely. For when she needed to micromanage her team to the point of shouting orders every six seconds. A mindset for when something was very wrong and needed to be attended to urgently. Like a burning building. Or an owlbear attack. Or this.

This was a problem. She would solve it. She spent all day finding creative solutions to terrible problems. She just needed to find the sneaking-past-the-lookouts-and-convincing-the-guards-you-were-supposed-to-be-here-because-the-lookouts-let-you-through solution to this emotional goblin ambush.

Begin by brainstorming. Consider the limitations: Couldn't wake him up. For stated reasons. Couldn't leave him to the nightmare. That idea was unconscionable.

Could she change the dream? Maybe tadpole brain-jump into Astarion's head and interfere with what was happening? That was fraught. On multiple levels. Call that plan C.

Maybe she could incidentally wake him? Sound a fake alarm. Adrenaline was good for clearing the head and shaking off nightmares. But...no. That would wake everyone else, and she didn't want to have to juggle everyone else.

She liked the idea of trying to interfere with his dream. She circled back to that. Could she do that without the tadpole? His responses were so visceral, she'd bet this was as much memory as it was dream. Could she subtly oust it? Change the context? Background music could dramatically change a scene--why not a dream? What's something that would be incompatible with his past? Something that he couldn't possibly have felt back when this happened to him?

She didn't know enough about his past. Vampires then. What can't vampires experience?

Running water. Dousing Astarion with water would wake him up. Not helpful.

Food? She couldn't feed him while he was asleep, and she wasn't even sure about that one.

Sunlight. That held promise. He loved the light. Turned to it like a sunflower every morning. But it was night right now.

But wait. She could fix that.

Tav took action. The thinking had taken no time at all--it never did when she was in this mindset. She hustled over to Gale's tent. He was a deep, slightly snore-y sleeper and didn't even stir. She rifled through his things. She'd given him the scrolls of they'd found in the secret laboratory, two days ago. And if she remembered right...ah! There it was. Parchment marked with a blue, starburst circle at the top. A scroll of Daylight. The power to enchant an object so that it shone with true sunlight.

Tav winced when she saw the complicated casting instructions. This was a little over her skill level. But it's not like she needed the full, shadow-monster-obliterating power of dawn. She just needed a handful of morning. She bet she could coax something out of it.

Gale had a dark-crystal ball that felt like it would be a good target. It was round like the sun, which felt right. And it wasn't too big. Tav rolled out the scroll of Daylight on the ground in front of her. She started going through the motions of the spell. Arms crossed, then sliding along each other until the backs of her hands pressed together. Then flip so her palms were together. She whispered the incantations as she pulled her palms slowly apart and felt the shiver of magic and light prickle into being between her fingers.

Halfway through the incantation Tav hit some symbols she didn't quite know how to pronounce. She just kind of hummed her way through them. The light in her hands flickered and dimmed, but she whistled a coaxing tune and it didn't quite go out. She leaned forward to press the light into the dark glass of the crystal ball.

There was a silent flare as the glass went from murky black to white. It cast a warm, pure light over Tav and Gale's tent. Even shoddily performed, the daylight was a stark contrast to the night. Tav grabbed a nearby basket, upended it in a shower of spell components, and stuffed it over the crystal ball, muting the light from afternoon to twilight.

She glanced over at the tent. She heard Gale snuffle a few times, but he didn't stir more than that. Gods bless wizards and their chronic lack of situational awareness.

Tav picked up the basket of daylight, holding it against her chest as she hustled back to Astarion.

He was entirely curled in on himself. Legs drawn up, arms folded against his chest. His face was buried in his hands, so Tav couldn't see his expression, but she could hear his teeth grinding together, clacking as molars hit long canines. Sometimes his shoulders jerked. Not flinches. More like spasms. Fucking Hells. What in the planes was he remembering?

Tav lay the basket down in front of him and drew the lip of it up so that the light crept out, spreading over the sleeping vampire. A very small dawn, just for one person.

The twitching tension did not dissipate immediately, but Astarion's hands flexed slightly away from his face. His head tilted, quizzical. Like someone listening to a new refrain in a song they thought they knew by heart. Not quite sure what it meant. Not trusting it.

Confusion was leagues better than suffering, and Tav would happily call this a success if she managed to bewilder him out of his nightmare. She lifted the basket a little more. The poorly-cast daylight spell had stabilized at gloaming dim, but the light was still sunlight. Clear and clean in that ineffable way. Astarion sighed. He seemed to be relaxing just a bit. His fingers flexed.

Then his hands shot out, rogue quick, and snatched the bauble of sun out from under the basket. The motion was so fast, Tav almost missed it in a blink. One moment the crystal ball was in her basket, the next Astarion had it cradled in his arms, clutched tightly, like the realm's strangest teddy bear.

Tav almost laughed, but stopped herself. Astarion's shoulders were relaxing more and the spasms had stopped, thank the gods. And while it was out of the basket, the way he curled around the crystal kept it from shining on anyone else. Greedy man.

Tav was filled with the deep and absurd desire to pet his head. Run her fingers very gently through his hair in soothing motions. Not now. Maybe someday. Maybe...she would reconsider her policy about juggling fire.

For now she settled back down. She had the woods in her peripheral vision again and new things to think about. Like taxing her bardic knowledge for insight about how vampires. Their culture. Their weaknesses. And how she might go about utterly destroying whoever Astarion had been dreaming about.

*** Next chapter >

***

[baldurs-gape]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Oh crikey. Five?! I'm usually shy to yell about one, let alone five. How about a compromise? I'll say I'm proud of Shores as a finished fic and Adopt, Don't Shop! as a WIP and then write something a little silly to make up for the fact I am but a socially awkward worm on a string.

All's Fair In War, Not Love

Breaking up had been rough. Initially Gale hadn't been able to afford to move out and the divorce was taking so long to finalise, all assets and funds were tied up in that. Mystra was the breadwinner in their relationship so he had picked up the housework, making sure there was a good meal on the table each evening, the house was neat, tidy and presentable. All while still working where he could. It used to be that he'd be at the university, lecturing and pushing the limits of research but Mystra had trashed those dreams, wrecked his career. Without money, he couldn't move out. Without moving he couldn't get a job in his field again. So he was stuck, working in a gaming cafe. It was how he met his new friends.

Quite how Gale got adopted into the odd bunch who came to play boardgames once a week was beyond him. Somehow though they went from 'oh it's that lot' to 'I am so glad they're here' which was unusual in and of itself. Even more so when they started inviting him out for other forays in their world. Karlach was definitely the most enthusiastic and welcoming of the lot, thrilled at the smallest of things. She had all but squeezed the life out of Gale when he finally accepted an invite for drinks one evening. However, it wasn't actually Karlach who had convinced Gale to go along. It was Astarion who gave Gale one look and smirked.

"Dress to impress and your drinks will be on me for the night, I can't imagine it happening though."

Never one to not rise to a challenge, Gale did his best. Mostly because his wages were just about enough to cover rent of the shitty little flat he'd found but he didn't have a night out factored into his budget. True to his word, Astarion footed the bill for his drinks for the whole night and Gale couldn't remember getting home.

Perhaps he should have been more careful around his new friends. The next time they saw him, they were much more subdued, almost respectful but in the way one is quiet around the bereaved.

"Darling, you live in a shithole," Astarion informed him none too gently.

Words were frozen in Gale's throat, tray with drinks trembling in his hands. Shame coursed through him. He hadn't thought the others would judge which made it sting all the more.

"Gale." Minthara's voice drew him back to the table. "We simply wish to understand better. A man of your education is wasted in an establishment like this."

Clearing his throat, Wyll added, "What we're trying to say is, are you okay?"

"We looked you up," Lae'zel butted in. "You had a career, a future, then you didn't. Why?"

"It's all there in the articles. What more do you want me to say?"

It was Astarion who leaned forward with a cold, calculating smile.

"You forget, I'm a lawyer, Shadowheart a journalist, Wyll has a career in politics. And that's just scratching the surface. Do you really want Lae'zel to go all PI on you? Or Halsin to put his therapy hat on? Maybe Karlach could sit on you while she does all the paperwork for her gym."

"It's an ugly divorce."

Minthara regarded him with renewed interest.

"You say that in present tense. Are the courts looking to rule in her favour for assets?"

The ugly truth came tumbling out. How Gale couldn't bear to live with Mystra when she was already bringing home a string of new men before the divorce was finalised, before they had fully separated. How everything was still an intertwined mess and he was too worried to take anything in fear of being accused to trying to steal. Lips pursed, Minthara listened before nodding.

"It is a story I have heard before, at the women's shelter. We will sort this out. Meet us on the next Sunday."

Whatever it was that took over Gale in that moment, he was both grateful and mortified as he agreed to it. Come Sunday, he was greeted by the eclectic mix of Halsin, Karlach, Minthara and Astarion. They took two cars to his old house and Gale almost lost his nerve. Especially when it wasn't even Mystra who opened the door but some random man.

"Who is it, Lor?" Mystra's voice drifted through.

"I think they're, hm, either Mormons or JWs?"

"Lor, was it?" Astarion pulled his sunglasses off and tucked them into a pocket, pulling out a business card. "We're here on behalf of my client, Mr. Dekarios. There has been some miscommunication about the divorce proceedings which we're here to set right. My valued colleague is here to talk to Mystra about it while the others will help Mr. Dekarios retrieve his belongings."

Lor's eyes widened and he glanced over his shoulder towards the living room door. Nervously, he ran a hand over his long hair, twisting the ends a little.

"Look, I knew nothing about this. You can go in if you let me leave."

"You have yourself a deal, Mr-" Astarion looked far too smug and stepped in, making way.

"Lorroakan. But you don't need to remember that, do you?"

"Not at all, Mr. Lorikeet."

Only once the man disappeared did Karlach let out a snort and punched Astarion in the shoulder playfully. However, before either could say anything, Mystra appeared.

"Lorroakan?" Eyes narrowing, she glared at Gale. "What are you doing here? I took your keys."

"I assume you're Mystra." Minthara strode to meet her, looking imposing despite being a whole head shorter. "I'm here to help clarify the law's standing on divorce proceedings with you. Meanwhile, Mr. Dekarios will retrieve what is rightfully his in this household with my associates."

"Fine. Take whatever's yours. The courts will only rule you return it all anyway."

"Allow me to disillusion you," Minthara rasped with bloodthirsty glee.

As they disappeared into the room, it left Gale with the other three. He had no idea where to start. Thankfully, Halsin clasped a warm hand on his shoulder.

"We'll get you through this, it's not our first rodeo."

"Halsin and Karlach can to the heavy lifting. It wouldn't do for me to pull a muscle or break a nail hefting things around," Astarion announced breezily and pulled out a carefull folded bag from his pocket. "I'll meet you at the cars."

Just like that, he was off. It was easier to forget about him when faced with the insurmountable task of moving essentialy his whole life with the help of friends. Clothes were bundled into bags, books piled and carefully balanced as they were carried downstairs. It all went surprisingly quickly. All too soon, Gale was back in Karlach's truck which was stuffed with his belongings, similar to Halsin's car in front of them. Last to get in was Astarion with his mysterious bag that was bulging. He held onto it until they were back at Gale's house.

"She said take whatever's yours," he announced and grandly passed the bag to Gale.

Pulling out items from it, confusion sat heavier and heavier on Gale's chest. First was a roll of toiletpaper. Then another. And another. In fact, he would have guessed it was all the toiletpaper in the house. Under those was a pile of lightbulbs. All carefully wrapped in mismatched socks to keep them from breaking. At the bottom of the bag was quite the collection of batteries.

"Why?" Gale was at a loss for more words.

"You said you'd been in charge of housekeeping so technically those are all yours. But I wasn't sure about the socks, half of them were yours but I didn't know which half. One of each pair seemed like a sensible compromise."

Behind Gale, Karlach began snickering. It evolved into a full on snorting laugh.

"What?"

"Just imagine her this evening. It goes dark. The lights don't work. Can't turn the TV on because the remote is dead. And when she goes to the loo, there's no toiletpaper." Another giggle left Karlach. "She'll curse and grumble but think it's over. Until tomorrow morning when she tries to find a pair of socks to wear."

Slowly, a grin formed on Gale's lips. It was quite the image to consider. He turned to Astarion. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"Darling, I'm wonderful from all sides, thank you."

Annoyingly, he was right.

[foxs0x]

Dream In Red

Durge (Dragonborn named Cillian) believes Bhaal is laying dormant in him still.

This is a nightmare detailed in his journal while he and Astarion are on the road to Candlekeep. (I am also drawing up a comic based on the post brain adventure. I just wanted to share a scene!)

Warning: dead dove, do not eat.

Below me I see a gorgeous sack of corpse flesh feigning the nauseating horror of life. A coarse voice rings in my head, telling me that this wretched being shall learn that none elude the bloody claws of Bhaal, not even in undeath.

Deep within the pulped meat of my mind, a faint echo of a name lingers and my heart comes to a stop. Astarion is in danger, yet my trembling knifehand, guided by my malevolent dark urge, easily dismisses this feeble murmur. I am naught but a marionette of flesh controlled by unseen strings, and the voice tells me this 'thing' below me must die.

“Its” eyes flutter open and fill with confusion and then fear. Such gorgeous rubies that I should like to pluck I think, as he begins to plead and mewl a tortured wail, begging me to stop. His words fall on deaf ears as I plunge the dagger into his heart.

In a cruel twist, the red strings of Bhaal's control drops and my autonomy returns in an instant. But it's too late, for the dagger has struck true. Astarion gasps as blood spills from the wound where my blade is firmly rooted. A tsunami of horror crashes over me. I cry out as the jewels of his eyes lose their gleam.

Bhaal takes, and takes and takes. Like a gust of wind to withering flame on a bone white candle, he snuffs anything that doesn't serve him.

Astarion's form begins to melt into a pool of gore and the intense sharp smell of it is equally enticing as it is repulsive. His voice grows faint as he whispers my name. Not my true name, but the one I gave myself. I try to grasp him, desperate to hold onto him, but he is gone, leaving me alone in the darkness. In the puddle of blood I see Bhaal’s worm-eaten smile reflecting back at me.

[littlemourningstarr]

For the kiss ask game:

Sekh and Astarion in relief!

The baaaaabesss ❤️❤️

TW for mentions of past non-con and trauma.

Astarion could hear it, the voice of nightmares, clawing in his skull. Everything was dark, he could feel his body, his bones, his skin- but why wouldn't his eyes open? Why couldn’t he see?

The voice continued, strings of words that tore into Astarion's skull, wormed into his very mind. Making him feel small, pathetic, worthless.

Nothing but a sad little whore. And oh, what a whore he was.

Cazador's voice made Astarion grind his teeth, before he felt a fire in his back- hot, burning knives digging into his icy skin. Parting and carving the contract and branding him as Cazador’s own, more than the bite ever had. Cazador’s toy to toss about as he pleased, to break and break and break, and then throw away.

The black receded as the pain intensified, Astarion crying out in agony as he had the night Cazador had first carved into him. Beneath his hands he could feel the expensive fur rug Cazador kept in one of his chambers. He felt it beneath his bare knees, as blood riveted down his sides, dripping onto the furs that were worth more than his own life.

In his right mind, Astarion would know this was wrong. This wasn't where Cazador carved the pact into him. He wouldn't have risked sullying any of his finery for Astarion. But somehow the dichotomy of Cazador’s whispered words- whore whore whore- and the soft, angelic like fur, made this a hell that wanted to burst from Astarion's gut.

The knife pulled from Astarion's back, and he was roughly shoved down, landing with his face pressed into the fur. Clawed hands gripped his naked hips and forced him onto his back. The fur that was soft a moment ago felt like tiny endless thorns pushing into his ruined skin, needles that bit at exposed nerves.

Finally the blackness fell away, and from it Astarion could see Cazador’s face- those glowing eyes, fangs too long if his mind could grasp at proper memory-

"My boy. My whorish little boy."

Hands on his thighs, smearing blood onto pearly skin, pushing them open and open and open until Astarion thought bone would crack-

His eyes snapped open the moment he felt the barely-there heat of Cazador’s own naked skin. He gasped for an unneeded breath, staring up at the ceiling of the dark bedroom. There was a faint, pulsing purple glow coming from the far corner- the latest plant Sekh had brought up from his workshop.

Astarion flexed his fingers against the sheets, his dead heart hammering painfully against his ribs. There was sweat on his spine- but for a single, horrifying moment, he was so sure it was blood.

Paralyzed, Astarion felt as if he hadn't left the nightmare. Even with his eyes open his mind could continue the sordid fantasy, what Cazador would do to him, over and over again. How it hurt. How Astarion's body would betray him anyway. How Cazador would laugh and mock him for finding release under him.

He felt the bed shift next to him, and in his delirium he wondered if the monster was there, waiting, ready to crawl over Astarion, suck the remnants of his soul from his mouth. But the sleep-addled voice that spoke was anything but monstrous.

“Astarion?”

Astarion shifted his eyes, could just make out Sekh as he propped himself up, hair in disarray around his face, over his shoulders, studying him. Astarion wanted to turn to him, wanted to curl into his comforting warmth, but he was still so paralyzed.

Sekh sat up properly then, wakefulness rushing into his eyes, as he reached out, splayed a hand on Astarion’s bare chest. Fire sparked from his fingertips, into Astarion’s skin, made the parts of him the drow touched feel alive. Sekh slid closer, leaned over Astarion, his ginger hair acting as a veil, cutting them off from the room around them, the world outside their home.

“Sweetheart, you’re alright.” Astarion wanted to believe him- a sliver of his consciousness did, knew this was nothing but a night terror, nothing but jumbled memories and well crafted fiction-

But it had been so long, since he’d had one. For a single moment he had thought perhaps Cazador was behind him. Dead in the ground and forgotten.

Sekh’s hand slid up his bare chest, cupped his cheek affectionately, thumb stroking along his skin. “You’re safe starshine, I promise.”

Astarion exhaled then, felt his muscles letting go of their rigid terror, relaxing in an almost painful way. He tipped his head slightly, watched as Sekh smiled at him. His lover pulled back, sat next to Astarion, as the vampire managed to convince his body to move- swore his joints were creaking as he rolled to his side, facing Sekh.

“Do you want me to hold you?” Sekh was positioned so perfectly just an inch from Astarion’s touch- far enough that he could close the space in not even a breath, could gather Astarion up and cradle him to his chest.

Yet he wasn’t touching. Now that he’d brought Astarion back into his body, he was strategically within reach, but without contact.

There were moments when Astarion wanted to sob, that he could understand. That he wanted the touch so badly, the comfort, the feeling of being alive- but in these terror stricken moments, he had to choose it.

Astarion sat up slowly, giving a nod. Sekh offered up his hand, and only when Astarion took it did the drow pull him to his chest, wrap his arms around him and engulf him in the sort of safety the vampire never thought he would know. He melted against Sekh’s chest, listened to the steady thump of his living and beautiful heart against his ribs. It was the only sound in the room, to Astarion. Perhaps the only sound in the world.

Astarion felt Sekh kiss the top of his head, gently- just a brush of lips of bed tangled curls, nothing more. Relief washed through Astarion as he relaxed further, let his eyes fall shut again. This time the darkness that engulfed him was calming, welcoming.

He swore that the blackness of oblivion had a different glow, a different shade, with Sekh. That with him, and endless nothing was just fine.

[callahanisms]

masterlist

baldur's gate 3

cast

would you love me if i was a worm? (gn! reader)

astarion

dinner time (fic | gn! reader)

gale dekarios

polymorphing gone wrong (fic | gn! reader)

challengers

duncan-zweig-donaldson polycule

capturing your likeness (hcs | gn! reader)

tashi duncan

burnt out passions (hcs | gn! reader)

ghostface au thoughts (blurb)

jealousy jealousy (fic | chubby fem! reader | request)

for me...formidable (hcs | fem! reader)

impressions (fic | bipoc fem! reader | ghostface au)

part 01

part 02

art donaldson

body talk (hcs | gn! reader)

ghostface au thoughts (blurb)

patrick zweig

b tier (hcs | gn! reader)

cinephile patrick (blurb | gn! reader | college au)

cinephile patrick & boogie nights (blurb | gn! reader | college au)

dragon age

cast

the inquisitor's arm is missing (gn! reader)

cullen rutherford

royal au (hcs | gn! reader)

house of the dragon

full masterlist

ruby cruz characters

hazel callahan (bottoms)

hallow's eve kiss (hcs | gn! reader)

so starstruck (hcs | pop singer! gn! reader)

ash (the sex lives of college girls)

apt. (fic | gn! reader)

turning ash into a real character (hcs)

going steady (hcs | gn! reader)

ash & oranges (hcs | gn! reader)

rooming / uhauling (hcs | gn! reader)

muffins bot (request)

annie wilkes (castle rock)

girlfriend annie (hcs | gn! reader)

spiderverse

spider-man 2099 / miguel o'hara

an experiment (hcs | gn! reader)

pheromones (hcs | gn! reader | nsfw)

a fair trade (fic | gn! reader)

red strings (fic | gn! reader | nsfw)

pink ensembles (fic | gn! reader)

teleporting (hcs | gn! reader | request)

one offs

tell me & lovin' you - vincent renzi (hcs | gn! reader)

your desire - steven grant (hcs | gn! reader)

favorite person - marcus acacius (fic | gn! reader | nsfw)

relationship - robin buckley (hcs | non-man! reader)

visitation of the bard - eddie munson (fic | gn! reader)

part 1

part 2

relationship - eddie munson (hcs | gn! reader)

kidnapped - kamisato ayato & thoma (hcs | gn! reader | request)

all you need is more radaway - cooper howard (hcs | gn! reader)

lesbian housewife - jackie taylor (hcs | lesbian/sapphic reader)

reunion - corky (drabble | lesbian! reader)

college au - caitlyn kiramman (hcs | gn! reader)

[ghostwise]

loud bark, deep bite 1.2k words, Astarion/Durge Astarion and Aya commiserate during the party. cw: intrusive thoughts, casual suicidal ideation, alcohol

There was a thought in the back of her infested mind. It started in the morning and persisted as night fell, stars spinning overhead like dancers spun across the field.

Aya sang until her voice grew hoarse, and plucked at her lute until the strings left harsh indents on her fingertips. She loosed her voice like a flag unfurling, belting out lyrics until she was breathlessly forgetting the words—and still the thought plagued her:

Poison in the barrel of wine. Set fire to the carriages where the sleeping babes lie. Kill one of a pair of lovers. So many victims, so little time.

“Tell me if you know this one!” Aya laughed, eyes shining. “Sing along if you can! Gods know I’m making it up as I go along!”

To the casual observer she was as any other reveler at the party, enjoying herself and making merry. But as the night dragged on and the party slowed down that changed.

People slept in a wine-induced stupor, or they settled into cozy company by one of several campfires, chatting with friends, or finding some privacy with a lover. As Aya watched the dwindling crowd, a hint of panic seized her.

To be alone was a terrible thing.

Alone meant she might do things she’d regret. Alone meant the grotesque Butler might return—and who knew what demands he’d make if and when she saw him again? Even now, the cloak that hung around her shoulders was proof that he was real. Real enough to be a problem at least. Unless she was just that far gone.

She had the distinct impression that revealing himself to her alone, tempting her with gifts and then vanishing before her eyes, was his way of isolating her. But to what purpose? And on who’s behalf?

“I’ll strangle him,” she muttered aloud, hands tight on the frets of her instrument.

“Strangle who?”

Pulled from her thoughts, Aya blinked and cast a slow look over her shoulder. She relaxed only upon seeing who it was.

“Just talking to myself, as usual,” she sighed. “Pay me no mind.”

“Alright,” Astarion quipped, dropping the matter.

The man had been conspicuously absent for most of the party, and she briefly wondered where he had been. He had a bottle of wine in his hand and an easy smile on his face as he sauntered over.

“You know, there are any number of potential partners for conversation among our camp tonight. Why talk to yourself when you can talk to one of them?” he asked.

“I have little to say to these people.”

“Oh? And yet you’ve spent hours in their midst, performing for them with such dedication!”

“Sometimes the center of the stage is the best place to hide,” Aya explained with a dry chuckle. “Besides, I don’t risk being dragged into inane conversations while singing.”

Astarion paused and looked away, taking in her words. He took a small sip of wine from the bottle. It was curious. She hadn’t seen him really consume anything—other than her own blood—and she’d assumed until now that he couldn’t partake in alcohol.

“I can leave, if you prefer,” he said after a moment, sweeping his red gaze back to her.

“I didn’t mean you,” Aya replied flatly. “You’re… scintillating.”

“My, my!” He smiled broadly. “I’m so glad we agree! Here I thought you were merely tolerating me.”

Aya returned the smile with something that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“No,” she said. “It’s the rest of these oafs who irritate with their endless complaints.” She set her instrument down and continued in high-pitched mockery, hands splayed in melodrama: “Oh help! Help! The cult is terrible! Oh! But not as terrible as the war! Oh! But not as terrible as starvation and poverty! DEFINITELY not as terrible as having worms for brains! Gods! I am sick of it! As if we didn’t have problems of our own. And it’s even worse now that they like us. Should’ve been a dagger through my head instead of a worm.”

She dropped onto a nearby cushion—one of many strewn throughout the camp—as Astarion laughed.

The sound eased her down some. Truth be told, she liked how careful he was with her. It was comforting not to be misunderstood. He treated her like she was dangerous, because she was. A bit patronizing, trying to get on her good side—she recognized a performance when she saw it—but he didn’t avoid her either, and gods, she didn’t want to be alone right now, unsettled as she had been all day. Thankfully he didn’t seem intent on leaving.

“I hate it too,” Astarion said, joining her. “This is awful.”

“Really?” Aya asked. “Admiration and fawning respect is awful? I rather suspected you’d take advantage of the circumstances. Find yourself a little snack to indulge in.”

“My favorite little snack to indulge in is right here,” Astarion replied smoothly.

“Flatterer.” Aya smiled and shook her head.

“I’m being sincere, I assure you.”

She took the bottle of wine from his hand and aimed a measured look at him as she drank from it. To her parched throat, the wine was delicious. The grove had spared no expense. She handed the bottle back with a satisfied hum.

“I take it you’re hoping for another taste?” she suggested.

“More than just a taste, actually,” Astarion said, fingering the neck of the bottle.

His voice was hushed and low, with a cloying quality to it. The conversation had shrunk to fit the little hollow of space between them, flipping into something intimate with surprising ease. She was not surprised at how quickly he cozied up to her, narrowing the distance between their bodies. She was a bit surprised at how welcome the flirtation was, especially when her mind still sang: Kill this one slow. Keep his pretty eyes, keep his pretty hands, to remember.

“We could steal away, you know,” he continued. “Make our own fun.”

Aya couldn’t help it; she laughed sharply.

“Are you quite sure, Astarion?” she asked, and she had just been thinking about how lovely his eyes would look in a jar, so it seemed only fair to issue a warning. “I have no memories and very little sense! There’s not much to me save some scars and scattered pieces of a mind… angry, petty impulses, like a child. I am fragmented. You want to fuck half a woman?” The question ended in another laugh, amused and a little cruel. “Which half, I wonder?”

“Hmm,” Astarion said, and he gave her a once-over, undeterred. “I wouldn’t put it quite so crassly… but you seem whole from where I’m standing. A little scattered, as you say, true—but that just means you could use a little help picking up the pieces. An extra pair of hands to put you back together, my dear.”

Gods, he was good.

He almost sounded like he believed it.

Aya licked her lips. She searched her mind carefully, trying to make this decision with care. They were kindred spirits, after all; actors following a script both were familiar with. Insincerity and ulterior motives lurked in both their words. But at the core of it, something beckoned irresistibly, warranting a closer look.

It did sound fun.

“Show me,” she challenged.

Then the thoughts in her mind surged, taking on a different hue as he grinned his sharp smile.

Had she done this before? When? Where? With who?

And those hands brushed against her again. They cupped her face, finding the frantic pulse fluttering beneath her skin, as Astarion gave her a fanged kiss.

[starcunin]

@bloodtwin sent: [ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 ] My muse steps protectively in front of yours

Astarion stands still, the air thick with tension within the stone walls of Moonrise Towers. The smell of damp stone mingles with something far worse, something rank——Araj’s blood. He can sense it, taste it in the air even without opening his mouth. It curdles inside him like a festering wound, and the thought of sinking his teeth into her makes his stomach turn. No. He won’t do it. Her voice grates on him like nails dragged across bone, her demand laced with a smug authority that sends a shiver of disgust down his spine. "Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?" she asks, her words sharp, curling around the implication that he belongs to Puck.

But for the briefest of moments, doubt flickers in Astarion’s chest. He knows what Puck could do, how easily the barbarian could turn to him and give the command. He’s seen how Puck's eyes gleam when battle is upon them, how his lips curl with that wild hunger for the next fight, the next thrill. The potion Araj dangles before them——it could help him, help them, in the chaos still to come. And after everything, what does Astarion really matter in the grand scheme of things? He’s just a vampire spawn, after all, a pretty thing with a venomous bite, a tool to be used when it’s convenient and discarded when it’s not.

But then, Puck shifts. Not with words, but with his body. He steps forward, his massive form cutting between Astarion and Araj like a fortress of flesh and blood. Astarion watches as his companion crosses his arms, muscles taut beneath his skin, and stands there like a wall of unwavering defiance. He can’t see Puck’s face—just the broad expanse of his back—but he doesn’t need to. He can feel it, the sheer force of Puck’s presence, radiating danger, and it’s enough to make Araj falter, just for a moment. The air around them changes, thick with something almost predatory.

Astarion’s heart stirs in his chest, a sudden warmth spreading through him that he doesn’t quite know what to do with. It’s absurd, really—Puck doesn’t need to protect him. He can handle himself; he’s done so for centuries, hasn’t he? But this… this is different. Puck could have asked him to do it. He could have made a choice that would serve their mission, their survival. Instead, he stood in front of him like a guardian, a silent sentinel who wouldn’t let anyone—anything—command Astarion but himself. And that… that does something to him. Something deep.

Astarion feels his lips twitch into a smirk, though there’s a softness beneath it, something that betrays the usual edge of cruelty that he hides behind. His fingers lift almost on their own, brushing against Puck’s arm, an intimate touch that startles even him. He peers around Puck’s towering frame, peeking from behind him like a pale wraith hiding behind the shoulders of a giant. ❛ I’m afraid the answer is still a hard no, darling. And I’d leave it at that if I were you. ❜ His voice lilts with its usual velvet, the casual purr of danger that Araj should take heed of.

But his hand lingers, thumb grazing against the warmth of Puck’s skin, tracing over the lines of his flesh in a touch far gentler than any Astarion has given in… years. He lets his eyes linger on Puck’s face, just for a moment, his smirk faltering as something else flickers in his crimson gaze. Affection. Real, tangible affection. It’s a look Astarion has never allowed himself to wear, not before. But here it is, laid bare for Puck to see——if he were to look down at him now, the vampire’s defenses would crumble before his eyes.

He could pretend it’s still all part of the plan, couldn’t he? A well-crafted manipulation, a perfect performance designed to worm his way deeper into Puck’s affections, to tie the man to him with invisible strings. After all, wasn’t that the goal from the start? To seduce, to make Puck fall for him, protect him, feed him, love him. But this has gone far beyond that now.

❛ This one’s bite is far worse than mine, ❜ Astarion quips, though his eyes are still locked on Puck, his voice quiet, almost reverent. He’s speaking to Araj, but in truth, she’s already fading into the background. She doesn’t matter. Not compared to the man standing between them. Fuck. This is going to be a problem. His heart is swelling with something he’s not ready to name, something that curls with the sharp talons of fear. He’s going to have to talk to Puck when they’re back at camp, isn’t he? Because the truth is becoming too hard to bury, too hard to swallow. He’s in love with him. Astarion, who had long abandoned the notion of love, who had scorned it, manipulated it, used it like a weapon——has somehow fallen for the reckless, violent, beautiful man who stands between him and the world.

How could this happen? And more importantly… how could he tell him the truth?

Fear flickers in his chest, cold and biting, mingling with the warmth of that burgeoning affection. Astarion knows that Puck is dangerous. That much is obvious. But what scares him most is that Puck is dangerous in a way no one else has ever been——he could hurt Astarion, not with a blade, but with something far worse. With rejection. Astarion swallows the lump in his throat, his smirk slipping into something softer as his hand drops back to his side. This is too much. Too much for a man who has spent centuries surviving by keeping everyone at arm’s length. But here he is, standing behind the one person who, with a single word, could shatter everything he’s built around himself. A conversation will need to be had, and he dreads it.

But more than that——he dreads the idea of staying silent, of letting these feelings fester until they become unbearable. When it breaks free… he has no idea what it will destroy.

[experimentalmadness]

A Pretty Little Game

I've had writer's block for the last few years and here I am to now regale y'all with one shots of my Tav and Astarion because I'm a trainwreck. Anyway, please enjoy two rogues being dumb before they admit they're in a relationship.

***

Rasariel splashed water onto her face, savoring the cool droplets as the ran invisibly down her face and neck, staining her armor a darker gray. She blinked in the sun and heaved a sigh. 

Tired wasn’t the word. 

Bone-weary was closer. Even her skin ached, her eyes burned, the thin white hairs along her purple-blue skinned arms tingled. She kept replaying the dream over and over again. The golden paladin in his shining armor. His offer to help and his face…his face. 

“I was rather of the opinion one bathed with their clothes off, unless this is some drow custom I’m unaware of?” A lilting voice said at her back. 

Ras wiped the remaining water from her face with a gloved hand. 

“At least use a hand towel, you uncivilized rogue.” 

Ras’ traitorous lips twitched into something resembling a smile as Astarion threw a cloth at her head. “And where did you steal this from, you civilized rogue?” Her voice was rough, betraying her exhaustion. And she knew the red-eyed elf saw far more than he let on. 

“Bad dreams?” Astarion asked, leaning far too casually against the trunk of a tree. 

She regarded the vampire the same way she would a displacer beast. A lithe predator, beautiful and enticing. Dangerous should be a word she worked into that thought, but she never managed to string that together. His white hair caught the forest-dappled sun so brilliantly, as had the moon a few nights ago. It had been so long since someone had intrigued her. 

“Are there any other kind?” Ras spat, far more bitterly than she had intended. 

Of course the moment she let her guard down she’d see his face again in her mind. Two centuries of practical celibacy and the one night she decided to try her hand at happiness again…the gods were nothing if not cruel. 

“I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll this morning,” Astarion sniffed. “Perhaps you should try waking up next to mine tomorrow instead.”

She wasn’t a fool. And she laughed at his audacious attempt at flirting. He was quite good at that, making her laugh. No one had managed it in a very long time. She knelt by the river bank to refill her waterskin. She could hear Astarion take a few tentative steps closer before clearing his throat. “This is the part where you tell me to try harder, darling.”

Ras sighed. “Astarion, I…”

Images flashed before her eyes like the fluttering of a stack of playing cards. The parasite in her head writhing as it feasted upon the memories. A handsome human man with dark hair and tiefling gold and black eyes looked at her with an expression she had missed for so long. She watched him smile, laugh, then toss her a pair of daggers. A training exercise. She wanted to lean into the images and never leave. She wanted to take the man in her arms and tell him how sorry she was. How sorry…

Rasariel was back in her own body, coughing up the last of the memories torn from her brain by the damned worm. 

“Was that the source of your dream last night?” Astarion asked. She could tell he was just as surprised by the sudden connection as she had been, but he, as ever, knew how to play it off. “Charming fellow, should I be jealous?”

“Enough!” Ras growled, rising to her feet. “That was…he is…that was not for you to see!”

“Well I didn’t decide to go rooting around in your head. I can’t exactly control this connection, you know.”

She suddenly felt entirely boxed in. The expanse of the forest camp shrinking down to the size of a small wooden crate. She tried to think. What would the old Rasariel have done back in the days of Menzoberranzan? A laugh, a misdirection. Anything to stave off questions. But she was not the rogue of the Underdark any longer and she hadn’t been for centuries. Either way she did not want to talk about this now. And she certainly didn’t want to talk about this with Astarion. 

“It’s nothing. Ignore it.” 

“I’d say we’re a bit past that, wouldn't you agree?”

Like a damned dog with a bone. She glared. He simply crossed his arms and stared back. 

“He is…was…my betrothed,” she ground the words out. “Happy?”

“Was?” For just the slightest moment that haughty expression slipped on the elf’s face. What a sight to behold. If she wasn’t so furious she might have even enjoyed it. 

“He died. Centuries ago so it’s not as if you have to worry about some angry jilted lover coming to stake you in the heart.”

Astarion fell silent. A feat in itself. For a moment there was nothing but the wind and the distant sounds of the rest of the camp stirring to life. 

Ras blew a strand of white-blue hair out of her eyes, feeling awkward and hating every second of it. She shifted on her feet, trying her best to adapt that carefree stance she’d been very careful to let everyone see. “Can we go back to your best attempt at propositioning me now?”

She did not like the way Astarion was looking at her now, sizing her up the same she had trained herself to do her whole life. Even now she could guess he was trying to figure out the right thing to say to gain her confidence. She could read him like an open book. The self-confident rogue hiding just a seed of vulnerability, the way she saw her earliest self reflected badly in his eyes. 

“Alright if you won’t I will,” Ras spoke into the silence. “It’s not even breakfast yet but that doesn’t mean you can’t devour me now.”

Astarion blinked before bursting out into, what Ras was shocked to hear, genuine peals of laughter. He doubled over. It was ungainly, uncoordinated, and hardly alluring. There were no subtle spikes of malice around the edges and it was…delightful. 

“That was dreadful!” Astarion declared, still huddled over himself. 

“I can try again!” Ras said, the laughter starting to become contagious. 

“Please spare me,” Astarion straightened. 

“Very well, since you said please. I’ll let you handle the charming words from now on.”

They were lying to each other. She wanted an escape, something new to lose herself to after centuries of denial. And he? Well, she was still working that out. But this, whatever this was, was not real. The cooling of her grief as she watched him smirk at her was a facade. This was what she wanted after all. And he clearly needed to believe she was firmly under his spell as well. 

“Astarion, I am sorry…for before.” Just because they were playing this little game with one another didn’t give her the right to tear his head off. They were still traveling companions after all. Part of her past was bound to come up. If not via their shared connection then through other means. 

He simply waved her concerns away with a pale hand. “You don’t ever have to explain yourself to me.”

“Ever?”

“Well…within reason. If I sense you about to go shooting down dragons from the skies I might want to be informed.”

“Now that’s a decent proposition,” Ras gave a conspiratorial wink.

“I somehow thought you might approve.”

[smt4flynn]

the sun reaches out for nobody

Notes: R18 - Minors DO NOT interact, Explicit, PIV, Cunning linguistics, Mirrorssss, Possessive/obsessive thoughts, Possessive intercourse, a tiny bit of spiraling thoughts, virginity, loss of said virginity, first times, over 8k words of nonsense

This has a named Tav as the protagonist. This is from Astarion's POV and can be a bit... possessive-ish? I wanted to write a story where Astarion is told by his beloved that he's going to lose them once the Netherbrain is defeated and his immunity to the sun is gone because of things outside of their control.

Tav is a cleric, a tiefling, and is non-binary they/them.

This fic is extremely long so I recommend either reading it straight up on my blog or reading the fic on AO3 over here.

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

“When the Netherbrain is finally defeated,” they say to him, voice oh so very gentle, “I... don’t know if we can even stand near each other because of Lathander’s blessing.”

The words echo in his head, almost maddeningly so. As gentle a soul as they are, of course Aryeum will take him aside, to look at him with such soft eyes and full lips curled apologetically, to let him know of the news regarding their companionship. Theirs has always been oh-so-uneasy since his attempts from the tiefling party, worsened only by his admission following Araj; here, now, in Baldur’s Gate, he finally manages to take their hand into his, kiss their knuckles, and fully confess to them the love he denies for so long. The smile on their face then is sweet. Now, however, all he can think of is their nervous confession following Lathander’s continued blessings.

Now, those very same blessings are about to take them away from him and leave him bereft of the closest thing his wretched existence has to something loving and kind. He taps his fingers against his knees, having to refrain from biting the nails of his free hand; they have only just arrived here, which means they have much left to do, and still he needs to deal with Cazador. Yet now, it seems, he must contend that his sweet little cleric is going to be taken away by Lathander. Never before has he felt such intense skittishness, a crawling sensation in his chest; it has taken him so long to even get the sweet little cleric to trust him again, and now -

At the very least, a treacherous voice in the back of his head says, he needs to be able to touch them for as much as he wants, before the confrontation with Cazador is to go down, before they are lost to him forever. He hisses, looks down at the hand on his knee, and notes that he curls it into a fist so tight his nails have cut into his skin and his palm is slightly bleeding now. Giving it an agitated lick, his eyes flutter over to where Aryeum sits, knees curled under them and gaze up at the sky, staring into the twinkling stars, and Astarion allows his mind to wander for a moment.

“I have never bedded anyone,” they say, fingers picking at the strings of their trousers and eyes pointedly looking away from Astarion. He leans back, the practised seduction falling away for a moment as he looks at Aryeum. “And I have no desire to – to bed you. You are a very handsome, beautiful man, but I... cannot. I cannot.”

He refuses to recall what he says to Aryeum all those weeks ago; not his proudest moment, he admits, not when they now worm their way into his cold, frozen heart, and he cannot help but feel regret over the harshness he exhibits to them, then. All for the desperate need for protection. Now, just when he finally gets them to forgive him (though they tell him there is nothing they need to forgive him for, they say very gently, that he has all the reasons in the world to be paranoid), they are to be taken away from him?

They have but Gods know how many tendays before they are to face the Netherbrain. If he does not succeed in the ascension, if it is even a real ritual, then – then Aryeum will simply slip away from him, leave Astarion alone in the bloody dark, stewing in under the cold of the moon or to suffer in the Underdark while they get to luxuriate in the sun.

His hand comes to settle on his lips. Something horrid stirs in his stomach.

If he will no longer have access to them, then he should be quick to claim their virginity as his, ruin them for all else after, and give them something to remember him by.

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

“Darling,” and Aryeum looks up at him, a small smile spreading on their lips and they tilt their head curiously; to their side, on the floor of their tent, sits the Blood of Lathander on a towel to soak up the actual blood on it, which is quite silly when he looks at it, “would you mind giving me a moment of your time?” they fiddle with the hem of their robe and nod, patting the ground next to them, and Astarion sits with one leg drawn up and another laying straight across. He tilts his head back, eyeing them while they look back, curious and patient for what he has to say.

“We’ve come far, haven’t we?” he says softly. Immediately their expression softens, looking almost remorseful – to think that even their polite stoicism can fall to show more than just a plain smile, it stirs something inside of Astarion that he cannot put name to. “I know that the first time I,” accosted you, tried to turn you into a victim, “came onto you, it was not at the best of situations.”

Aryeum blinks slowly. “Ah, the – party.” they tap their fingers on their inner thighs, before wrapping their arms around themself and they begin to drum on their biceps, “that was nothing I would blame you for,” they say after a while, “you did not have the easiest history, I would not begrudge you for doing what ensured you your safety. I just wish I could have done better to not lead you on and make you think that trying to, ah, bed me is the best way to ensure it.” when they look up at him again, all gentle smiles and soft eyes, he wants to rip himself apart, “I hope you do not punish yourself too much for what happened. I do not blame you at all.”

“Perhaps you should be a bit harsher on me, my sweet,” and the way they beam at the little pet name, their cheeks growing a tiny bit redder and puffing up near their eyes, “after all, the way I spoke to you was nothing short of villainous. That you still let me stay, your heart is too large for your chest.” they shake their head and Astarion interjects before they can say anything else, “but, forget about that. The past is the past, and what has been we cannot change; however, we can make new memories.”

Consternation takes over their expression. Despite his need to interject once again and keep them from speaking, he bites the inside of his cheek to stay quiet. “I, well, I will not doubt that you are doing... I don’t know how to put this.” their hands fold on their lap. It looks almost like they are in prayer, especially as their eyes slip shut. “I am inexperienced. That is not the issue, or I hope not; but, will you not feel... won’t you – wouldn’t this be potentially distressing for you? We do not have to engage in intimacy,”

“Oh my sweet,” and they truly are so sweet as he takes them into his arms, pressing a kiss to their forehead, and they slot so easily into his body; it is as if they are made for him, small and perfect, with such soft curls for him to run his fingers through. “It is sweet of you to worry over me, really, but I cannot just avoid sex forever,” and it excites him a little the way they seem a bit embarrassed at him just bluntly saying the word, though they do not shy away from him and simply wait for him to finish, “and well, I would like to actually enjoy it again. I want to be able to touch myself and not feel disgusting, I want to be able to give you the love you deserve,”

“You don’t have to give me anything-”

“Oh darling, I want to.” he coos, presses another kiss to their forehead, cradling them so gently in his lap, manoeuvring them so that their legs are on either side of his waist while he hikes their robe up, “I want to kiss you however I want, leave little bite marks all over you, leave hickeys on your skin, claim you, make you see stars on your first time; I want to make you feel as special as you do for me.”

And it is those little romantics that has them looking up at him through their eyelashes, a gentle thing that deserves to be loved and treated fairly, and all that Astarion can think of is what he wishes to do to them- this poor, sweet person who can never understand the depths of his nervousness, and he presses a kiss to their forehead. Their tail sways lazily, brushing against his upper thighs, their horns so small and nubby that they might as well not be there at all. The sweetest thing, with hair a mixture of purest snow and summer sun. “You’re lovely.” he says softly. Aryeum simply rests their head on his shoulder, nudging deeper into him.

All this sweetness from someone who does not know how desperately he wants to take their virginity, just so that they are not as perfectly ‘pure’ when Lathander is to take them away. He wants to keep them. He wants to gift them a collar with his name embroidered inside, an accessory that will never let them forget.

Even if Lathander is to break their body and remould them into something new, he will not be able to take away that which is neither cursed nor a bane. That which is something simple and but a reminder of a lover lost.

He wants to keep Aryeum.

“Will you come for me tonight?” they ask, sounding almost naive as they do. “We can return to the Elfsong so that we aren’t in a pretty public area – it surprised me when you wanted to bed me on dirt floors, those weeks ago.” they say, like they are just talking about the weather, or the way the sun shines its golden rays over them all – a blessing from their new patron, Lathander.

“Bed you,” he cannot help the smile that crosses his lips, resting his head atop theirs, closing his eyes as he takes in their scent – roses, strawberry and vanilla, all soft and subtle to his nose, and so very decidedly them that Astarion wishes he could just swallow them whole, eating them down until there is nothing left of them and they will be stuck in his body forever. “Having sex down on the dirt doesn’t sound that appealing, does it?” they reach out to play with the ruffles of his shirt. “You know no matter how our night together goes, no matter what you do, I do love you, darling. I do.”

Aryeum’s looks up at him, fingers still fiddling around with the ruffles, making sure to be careful not to undo any of the stitches. His shirt is worn, fraying quickly; a thought dances behind their eyes, one that does not slip through the tadpoles. “I would hope so,” they say, words more reserved than they should be, “I would hope that you would love me, and I hope that I would be able to love you too, no matter what may come. No matter how far apart we may be.”

“You make it sound so dire,” though perhaps it is not as if he can blame them; the thought that they may no longer be able to interact once the tadpoles are gone from his head, that he will be left well and truly alone, all because the Sun begins to ever so slowly sink into their skin, taking over their body, and making them radiate the very light that will kill him -

“Let’s not think about that for tonight; let’s just forget everything. Let’s pretend we are just a couple sneaking away guiltily to indulge, that we are being blessed by Sharess herself for a good night, and that I am your first time as much as you are mine. Just for tonight.”

“We have many a tenday until the Netherbrain confrontation,” bless Aryeum, they smile – and he sees why Lathander wants them. He runs his fingers through their hair and grabs a lock of it, pressing it to his lips.

“Before you were chosen, what colour were they?”

They laughed. “I looked very boring, I assure you. Boring black hair, boring brown eyes, and boring pale skin.” when they look down at their hands, uncurling their clawed fingers and gazing at their ruined nails, “my skin was blue-toned, and it was very, very easy to never take notice of me.” they press their lips to his chin and already he can feel the heat of the sun through their touch. “You would not have even chosen me as a victim, even if I were a noble.”

“That is not something to find disgraceful,” he murmurs. He holds them close, practically suffocating them into his neck. “You’re beautiful, darling, and I hope that before the tadpoles are to leave us forever, that you would let me see even just a glimpse of what you used to look like.”

“I will consider it.” is all they say. He feels them relax into his chest, curling their legs up on his lap. A sick sensation trickles down into his stomach; it isn’t the same coiling feeling that makes bile gather in his mouth and acid stain his teeth. Instead, it is the sensation of wanting to wrap so tightly around Aryeum, to wrap his fingers around their wrists and bite down into their veins, to drain them dry and freeze their body so it will never leave him. “I... love you.”

He ruffles their hair. “I know you do.” their breath puffs against his neck, a bit exasperated, though he feels their lips curl into a grin after, “and I hope that I will one day be able to show you the full depths of mine.” I need to take Cazador’s place in the rite. “I wish I could keep you, and love you forever, and forever more, but that is not the path fates wishes to take.” Please don’t go.

“I will come back for you someday,” they promise, “I will do whatever I can so I can be allowed with you – though, I thought you said to leave the disastrous thoughts for the night, Astarion?”

“Oh, you know me, ever the brooding type.”

Aryeum deigns not to answer that and instead stays curled in his lap. Eventually the heaves of their back slow down and Astarion moves their head to take a look at their face to see them completely asleep. Oh, how precious; and it makes his heart stir, were it to still have a beat that is. How tired they must have been, Astarion ponders as he brushes their hair with his fingers, to simply doze off the moment their attention is no longer captivated by something.

He loves them, sincerely, truly. He really, truly does. And how he grows to hate the man who bestows upon them great power, just so that he may steal them away when the Netherbrain is no more.

How he loathes Him.

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

Something sweet hangs heavy in the air. He recognises that bouquet so well; Aryeum stands a small ways away, nursing a bleeding arm. Shadowheart, exhausted of all of her spells, glares at Astarion until he walks up and sings a song under his breath to heal whatever wounds Aryeum has left. (“Song and dance suit you well,” Aryeum says, a kind smile ever on their face, “you’ve the perfect voice, and you’ve the theatrics to match a bard’s lineage.” at the time, he thinks it an insult, once he nurses in his chest. Later, he learns that Aryeum does not speak backhanded flattery, not intentionally.) Even though they have since cleaned up, the smell of their blood sticks to the back of his throat and each swallow he drives him to utter madness. Saliva gathers in his mouth and he whips his handkerchief out to dab at his mouth, wiping at imaginary sweat while the others are trying to gather themselves.

“Let us return to the Elfsong,” they say and Gale borderline moans at the thought. Without Lae’zel or Karlach, they’ve no one to take the brunt of everything save Shadowheart from the prior fight, and so the he walks with aches in his bones and his hands barely capable of holding his staff. Aryeum takes it from him, even though there are horrible bruises clinging to their face and they should most definitely see to an actual healer before resting. Astarion is the one who has to cajole them to the temple of Ilmater (“there’s another one in the Upper City, near the entrance to the Lower City,” Aryeum roasts a chestnut over the fire then lets out a cute yelp when it is too hot to the touch; Astarion picks it up and offers it back to them, the heat feels nice, “it is our belief that anyone can use reprieve. And oft those who travel to and fro Upper and Lower City tend to require assistance.”) to get any form of healing.

He shares a room with Aryeum, of course he does. No one bats an eyelash at their proximity anymore, not even after how much Astarion withdraws himself from them when Aryeum learns his deceit back at the grove. He used to see it in his trance instead of anything else; not really dreaming, just recalling the way Aryeum’s expression went from pensive, to confused, to wretchedly hurt. Cleaned up and no longer such a mess, Aryeum is a delightful beauty- pupils of golden hue that melt into the whites of their eyes, hair so soft to the touch. He cannot help keep himself from slinking close to wrap his arms around them, with them still in a short nightgown, staring at themself in the mirror lost in thought.

“Oh!” he has to grab their wrists when they are about to whirl around and try to fight off with a sacred flame, calming down considerably when they take a deep breath and his perfume floods their senses. They turn their head to look up at him, eyes wide and surprised. They smell of honeysuckle, chocolates and roses, lips parted slightly, and the last remnants of moistness clings to their hair still. He lifts their right wrist up to press a kiss to it, gazing side-eye at the mirror that shows them moving their arm on their own. “Perhaps Shadowheart was right, you need a collar with a bell on it. You scared me.”

Astarion murmurs against their skin, making them giggle from the puff of his lips. “I was just looking forward to seeing you tonight, darling,” Astarion says, pride blooming bright in his chest when he sees how Aryeum’s skin flushes a little, “finally allowed to have my sweet little treat, dangled temptingly in front of me yet out of reach.”

“You know I never meant to be so distant from you,” he reaches down to cup their chin, angling their head back so that they are gazing into one another’s eyes. Glancing at the reflection a little bit reveals to him the tantalizing spread of Aryeum’s neck, the expanse of their slightly chubby legs, revealed to him when they normally dress so modestly. It is perhaps what the inn offers and they slip into it with the intent of wearing trousers later; he’s glad he manages to run into them before they cover up. The hand not on their chin slowly slides down their front, stopping on their upper thigh before he grasps their leg and squeezes.

“So sweet.” he says and then bends down to kiss Aryeum, the chastest of brushes against one another before he leans back. They look up at with parted lips, wanting, and they try to reach out for him in lieu of requesting and he meets them halfway. He prods his tongue against their lips and for a moment they hesitate, unable to pull away because of his hand on their chin, and slowly their mouth opens to let him in, to wrap the muscle around theirs and try to coax them into reciprocating. Inexperience has their kiss a bit sloppy yet he will not prefer it any other way; he lets them fumble a little, squirming with the unease of not knowing what to do, before he finally took control of the kiss. He keeps them pressed close, making out with them until he hears their breaths stutter and their body tense, trying to curl away, until he finally pulls back.

The flush from before grows ever darker, slinking along their neck and down to their collarbones, slipping below the flimsy nightgown. “Your lips have ever tempted me, darling.” he presses another kiss against those quickly swelling lips, silencing them before they can try and say something in return.

“Astarion,” Aryeum manages out when he lets them go the second time, their free hand coming up to press against his mouth to keep him from kissing them silly, “oh, too much,” shyness takes over them and they bashfully remove their hand, though they end up jumping when his hand retreats from their chin to instead cup their extremely modest, little bosom. He will admit; many of the people he bed, if they are to have breasts that is, tend to have a more... ample bosom than theirs. Overflowing his palms or sinking heavily towards his face when straddling him.

Aryeum is so small in more ways than one; just cupping their breast through their nightgown has it fitting almost perfectly in his hand, just as heavy and as soft as any other he holds, but they are so delightfully small in comparison. His other hand comes to cup the neglected breast, feeling them both in his palms, and he shudders. “Astarion!” utterly embarrassed, Aryeum leans back, turning even redder if possible, “couldn’t, couldn’t you be a bit more patient until we get to the bed?” he watches in the mirror as their eyes slip shut, his sweet virgin whose arousal is stinging his nose, “the mirror...”

A little voice in the back of his head, hushed up and soft, tells him that yes, Aryeum deserves to be worshipped on a bed – on something comfortable and silky, pinned down beneath him while he kisses them all over their body, leaves behind bites, bruises, and hickeys on their skin, a reminder of how much he loves them, of what he is willing to do for them. After all that they go through, dealing with his vainglory and turbulent moods, having to bring to resolution the problems of everyone else, dealing with the future of naught but the demands of a taking God – they deserve to be loved. They deserve to know the pleasures of the flesh, gently and carefully, to be given a memory they won’t forget.

But.

But.

But they lean against him, not pushing him away; the smell of arousal is thickening between their legs, he can smell the way slick gathers between their still unrevealed folds. It smells as sweet as their blood, sweeter, singing for him to give it a taste. The way blood rushes to their face, warming it up ever further, swollen bottom lip wet with saliva, panting as they lean against him, trusting him entirely with their body. The mirror shall never reflect him perhaps, not with its silver lining and holy charm, but it shows Aryeum perfectly, as it is meant to – not a single crack to mar their reflection. He squeezes their breasts and Aryeum moans quietly, brows pinching together; their nightgown shifts with the movement of his hands, massaging the weight in his hands until he sees their nipples poking through their gown, dark and obvious.

“My lovely little sun,” he says into their ear, a kiss pressed against their small little horn before he nuzzles into their earlobe, “don’t you want to explore a myriad of pleasure tonight? Have a night so memorable, nothing else shall ever live up to it, ever again?” unless with me?

“Is that what you want?” Aryeum gasps a little after when his thumbs and indexes pinch their protruding nipples; there is something so obscene, so filthy to Astarion, in seeing someone so pious and pure in his arms like this, their nipples tight and hard from pleasure. “Anything you would give me, I accept, but is it something you truly want? Please,”

“I want nothing but you,” he swears, and he allows the sincerity to completely saturate his voice, “I want to pleasure you, I want to make you feel good, I want to make you fall apart and I want to introduce you to a world of pleasure that even Sharess Herself cannot help but watch. I want to lead you to temptation, and I want to make love to you.”

Meeting Aryeum’s eyes in the mirror, he lets a crooked grin settle on his face; his little virgin is all flushed up and pretty, like a juicy strawberry just waiting to be bit into. They reach behind themself to try and grasp at his legs; one hand behind his thigh, another on his knee, and they shift a little. Just a little bit of making out has them looking dishevelled and Astarion wants nothing more than to lock lips with them, over and over and over, until he can somehow train them to climax from that alone.

His cock aches from the idea: training Aryeum to take intense pleasure from the simplest things... oh, that sounds so delightful. Perhaps later, then, when his little angel is more ready for a relationship like that. Even if Lathander is to take them away, he can imagine them – years into the future – having to touch themself, plagued with memories of his hands, his tongue, his ministrations, and still whimpering the name of an undead into their pillow even beneath His watchful gaze.

“If, if it won’t, ah – I want to experience such joys with you,” their voice is loving, “I want to understand you better, as long as it won’t bring back any bad memories – I just wish to do whatever makes you happy, Astarion, and I’m happy that you are willing to be my first time, no matter my inexperience.”

He reaches down towards the hem of their nightgown and curls it up, aided eventually with Aryeum’s uncertain hands to help remove the short dress and throw it away, and Astarion sucks in a sharp breath. They still smell of their bath, so it makes sense of course that they are not entirely dressed – but to be greeted immediately with the sight of their bare vulva has Astarion nearly drooling with an intense hunger to worship it.

It is plumper than he expects it to be; puffy fat lips that are swelling with gradual arousal, looking already wet just from him groping their breasts through their nightgown. They are not unshaven, a mess of white curls that look so utterly cute on their vulva, and their clitoris still lays hidden below its hood when he reaches over to spread their lips, much to Aryeum’s embarrassment. He already wants to fall onto his knees and worship them, poke his tongue out and make them ride it to repeat orgasms until they are oversensitive and begging him to stop.

Their cute small breasts are even cuter bared; he wonders, briefly, if he can convince them to pierce their nipples, preferably with metal blessed by those of Loviatar. He knows that they hold respect for all of the pantheons, even those that do not deserve it; he is sure he can convince them that having a Loviatar blessed piercing on their cute nipples would be fun, even a sign of respect to her in a way that doesn’t mean actively engaging in her worship as a devoted follower. Then, he can tug and play with their nipples all he wants, made even more sensitive thanks to Loviatar’s magic -

“Beautiful.” Astarion hisses out, trying to steer away from his thoughts, even as his cock aches harshly, balls feeling heavier. Aryeum jolts, no doubt finally taking note of the bulge of his pants, and Astarion wraps his arms around them to keep them from running off.

“I wish I could see you, too,” Aryeum says softly, patting his arms absentmindedly, pointedly looking down at the ground instead of the sight of them completely naked in the mirror. “And I wish you could see yourself, you are so handsome, so stunning, it is arresting to gaze upon you.”

“Hush,” and he lays claim once more to their lips. He doesn’t move them away from the mirror, keeping them both locked before Aryeum’s reflection; cursed he may be to no longer preen at his own reflections, to brush off imaginary dust and to take care for the curls of his hair, at least he can see Aryeum in their entirety, unblocked by his arm or his body, especially with how much shorter they are in comparison to him.

They push against him for a moment, turn around so that they can look up at him without having to strain over their shoulder, and Astarion glances over their shoulder to look at their back; their tail wraps around their own ankle and he takes it in the ridges of their spine, the way it curves into their rear, and he hums approvingly at the image bared before him. A tug on his blouse distracts him and he leans back before helping Aryeum undress him, his body so pale when compared to their now warmer tones.

(But what did ‘blue-toned’ mean, before this? Their skin is the hue of the sun just barely rising over the horizons, orange-gold that isn’t too bright like most other tieflings are, a subtle hue to match the holy warmth they always radiate. But before this, they are blue, blue like the sky? The ocean? Or the many shades of paint artists are wont to use?)

Curious hands stroke along his abdomen; wiry strength lines him, muscular still where Aryeum themself is not. A soft thing that should have spent their life in prayer at their temples and monasteries, giving alms to the poor, not having to spend it trying to save a bunch of worthless nobodies -

They save Minthara. They save Minthara and Halsin. They save them both, because Aryeum feels the overwhelming grips of control the Absolute has over the drow, and their heart weeps over the idea of killing someone acting against their will. ( “The drow will plot and scheme,” Halsin tells them softly; he does not leave their camp, taken up by Aryeum’s sweetness as much as Astarion is, “but I trust for now that she will be on our side, and I will trust that you know what to do should she ever try and do something that shall put us in danger.” )

He hisses when their claws drags against the underside of his pecs and his hands have to shoot out to grab their wrists when they try to retreat, “it felt good, darling. Just a bit more careful.” hesitantly, their hands come to rest back onto his chest, touches soft and exploratory; they are extremely careful not to let their claws graze too much against his nipples, yet Astarion feels an accidental scratch and releases a guttural moan, the slightest bit of pain energizing his vestigial veins.

“I’m sorry,” they begin, and Astarion hushes them by forcing them to keep their wrists on his pecs. He looks down at them with teeth bared, Aryeum looking thoughtfully and bemused before they scrape their claw against his nipple again. The moan he lets out is embarrassing; he is not one to make noise in bed, preferring to be quieter, but this is their first time. It deserves to be memorable. He guides them with his own fingers to pinch, and ever the obedient, willing student, they do exactly that. Pinching his nipples until they are just as tight as their own, Astarion lets free the string of moans as they experiment; careful scrapes of their claw as to not hurt him, twisting his nipple enough to make it ache yet not enough to truly make it hurt.

When he feels their hair brush against him and the gentle, curious nip of their teeth, Astarion has to fight himself from throwing them down onto the floor with the intent of ruining their back tomorrow, to make sure that they won’t be able to even stand without the ache of this night to remind hir of everything they did together. Full lips wrap around the pink bud, eyes wide and looking up at him for approval, and Astarion pats their head.

“Good en,” he praises, “good pet.” he continues to pet their head encouragingly; their eyes slip shut and he shudders when they begin to suck, taking the bud between their teeth so that their tongue can flick the hard tip, careful not to bite down as they hold onto it. He will welcome the pain readily, yet it is not in Aryeum’s nature to ever want to hurt someone, even if they beg for it.

But he knows that their respect of the Gods leads to them being whipped by that Loviatar worshipper. He promises to them more penance should they ever find him in Baldur’s Gate. He should seek him out later, if he ever gets the time, if he ever finds a way to stand near Aryeum, to ascend, so that he may introduce pain as pleasure to his cleric, and see if he can turn them into a masochist.

He tugs them off harshly, causing their teeth to drag against his nipple and Astarion moans loudly, painfully hard where his cock is confined in his breeches, and he presses a soft smooch to their forehead when Aryeum looks concerned. “My pants, darling.”

Unthinkingly, they fall onto their knees. Perhaps they don’t even consider the inherent eroticism they project, down on their knees for him as though they are about to begin prayer. Their fingers undo the laces of his trousers, face scrunched up in single-minded focus. It is in this moment, as he looks back at the mirror, that he wishes he can see himself towering over them, looming as they kneel and begin to tug his pants down. His underwear strains pathetically with the weight of his cock, the front of it wet with his leaking pre; any further, Astarion thinks with some humour, and he is sure to leak and stain the leather of his pants.

He kicks the pants away when they are down to his ankles, Aryeum still kneeling down before him with their hands between their legs, as if to cover up their cute vulva. What a shame. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of his briefs, pulling it down carefully and Aryeum scoots back a little, eyes hyperfocused on his erection when it is finally free, bobbing in the air and wet with the pre-cum he leaks.

“Oh.” is the only thing Aryeum can muster out and Astarion can’t help the bark of laughter. They give him a playful glare before focusing back on his cock. His elven heritage leaves him completely hairless, which means the only thing greeting Aryeum right now is the pale length of his erection and the heavy swell of his testes, sinking low while his penis bobs before them. A single finger comes up to the tip where pre-cum beads, their index dragging it down his length to further stain it with his own fluids, before they lift their finger up to lick whatever traces are left behind. Their tongue pokes out like a feline’s. “It tastes... like metal,” they joke, smiling up at him as best they can when their face is flushed hot and betraying whatever normalcy they attempt.

He cups their cheeks and urges them up. For as much as he wants those full lips to sink down onto him, and how badly he wants to grab onto their cute little horns, big enough to use like handles, and force them all the way down until he hilts himself into their throat, that is far too much for the first night. And he plans to have more nights. He must. He needs to carve himself into their body if he cannot their soul, needs to pave his way inside so that nothing will ever make them forget how he feels.

Truly, well and truly, Astarion is in love.

With his hands on their elbows, he brings them to a stand then spins them around again so that they are looking into their reflection. Like this, they are a marionette in the image shown and Aryeum’s eyes flicker down. Understandable, of course; what he is making them do is extremely embarrassing for most people, let alone a virgin. To be made witness to the fact that they are wet, their lips fully swollen, and unable to see the source of their arousal, their wants, behind them – well, Astarion cannot think of anything more flustering than that for someone like them.

Kissing the back of their neck, then down their spine as he slowly lowers himself down onto his knees behind them, he nudges their legs open a little bit wider and they oblige him. It isn’t as good as if he can kneel in front of them, having them lean on him to try and get stability, but this is just as good. He leans in close, the smell of their arousal – one that has been perfuming the air subtly – overwhelming him now that he is so close to it. Just as sweet as their blood, sweeter, and he growls before burying himself into what he can of their vulva from behind.

They cry out in surprise, taken back by the sensation, and they let out a flustered giggle when he kisses their vulva; their lips are so wet and so utterly swollen, Astarion cannot stop himself from taking one long drag of his tongue between their folds. Above him, Aryeum gasps before bringing one hand forward, trying to keep themself steady with their palm flat against the mirror. He grabs the front of their legs, pulling their rear back so that they are practically sitting on his face, and Aryeum has to flail and place both hands on the mirror when Astarion buries his face completely into their vulva.

Their smell – their smell is so good. Astarion has never smelled anything this sweet, this addictive, this delightful in so long. He can feel himself salivating, tongue rolling out with the urge to lick and taste everything they have to offer. He wants to stay buried in their cunt forever, until their scent is completely engraved into his skin. He nudges back to press his lips against their hole, tongue giving quick kitten licks against it, and Aryeum squeaks, trying to pull away yet unable to because of his hands pulling them back.

More of their cum leaks onto his tongue, a sweet yet conflicting tangy taste that makes him want for more. He keeps himself buried in the ir folds, giving repeated licks to their hole before dragging his tongue against the inside of their labia, taking one into his mouth to suck on it playfully before going back to nuzzling into their drenched cunt. Above them, Aryeum’s voice is high and needy, nails scratching against the surface of the mirror. At some point they’ve both nudged closer to the mirror, probably in an attempt to make it easier for them to try and lean against it, and Astarion bets their breath must be puffing up against the surface.

With how much they keep moaning, sensitive and reacting to every swipe of his tongue like it is something burning them up, their hips constantly jumping from the sensation of pleasure while Astarion keeps dragging them back, to keep them on his tongue. Their clit must be so achingly hard by now, Astarion thinks, mind hazy with the thought of it; finally peeking out from its hood, swollen and hard, demanding attention that he refuses to give. He presses another wet kiss to their folds before backing away.

His mouth and chin are wet with their pre, and he looks up to see Aryeum trying to glance over their shoulder at him.

“Are you ready, sweetest?” he rasps out. The smell of their cunt so close – all he wants to do is to pin them down on the floor and properly eat them out; one of their legs draped over his shoulder, lower body lifted up to press against his mouth, hands holding them up so they can’t escape while he tastes all the delights they have to offer.

With a puff and a red-hot blush extending from their ears to their collar, Aryeum mumbles a response that Astarion can only assume is a yes. He takes them into his arms again, spins them around, and lifts up like a bride on her wedding day, and Aryeum laughs, long and happily, while wrapping their arms around his neck. “Astarion,” they giggle, “you’re being a bit eager, aren’t you?” and he can only respond with giving them a peck on the lips, standing next to the bed while he cradles them.

A wedding – wouldn’t that be so quaint? A sweet little wedding with their dearest sun, a ring to settle on their finger, perhaps under their gauntlet, or as a part of a necklace they keep tucked under their armour. A wedding before they are to deal with the Netherbrain, a private affair of just them and their camp.

He lays them down slowly, their arms still wrapped around his neck, bending down to follow him as their lips remain locked together. A soft murmur of a love confession against his lips when Aryeum backs away, just enough to let Astarion crawl onto bed with them and hold himself up. He takes their left hand and intertwines their fingers with his own, bringing their combined fist to press kisses against Aryeum’s knuckles.

Below, their hair fans around their head like a halo. A smile settles on their plump lips, expression growing shier the more Astarion just stares at them. This is what Lathander wants to take away from him. He brushes his free knuckles against their cheek and they turn their head over to brush their lips against his hand.

“I love you.” Astarion says lowly, and Aryeum responds by encouraging him to spread open his palm and they press their lips against there, too. If they are to agree to it, to let him apply makeup onto their stainless face, then he will apply a deep rouge to their mouth and a subtle kohl to their eyes. Greedy hands drag down their sides once he lets them go, feeling the subtle curves, before he lays one hand on their abdomen, splaying it out. Below is their engorged, desperate vulva; untouched and unsullied by anyone until Astarion.

Something sick curls low in his belly. His teeth elongate. “You haven’t fed?” Aryeum’s voice, breathless as it is, cannot hide its concern. They cup the back of his head and encourage him to press his face into their neck, where he normally nuzzles into before letting his fangs sink in. They smell like him, bergamot, brandy, and rosemary, mixing in with their own blend of honeysuckle, chocolate and roses. He presses two fingers against her dripping wet hole, index tracing its fluttering rim before he lets one slip in.

Tight. They are so tight. He pants against their neck, tongue rolling out to lap lazily at the expanse of skin bared beneath him. He doesn’t bite, not just yet, even though their blood sings with the rush of hormones, the sting of arousal so tempting a taste. His thumb grazes against their clit, delightfully fat as he rubs circles around it, her moans getting ever louder, yet impatience has him barely giving them a chance to grow used to the stretch. It is such a small, needy hole, clinging to his holes in a desperate bid to keep him inside.

T he sound their vagina makes is delightfully loud, enough for them to groan in shame about it. “Oh,” their voice is a little flutter, “ohh, please? I feel so empty inside.”

“ Darling, when you ask like that, how could I resist?” he teases, yet his voice is too rough for it to be casual. Pressing the head of his cock against their hole, he holds himself still for a moment. Backing away for a moment, he coos at the sight laid bare before him; their face scrunching up in anticipation, eyebrows pinched together and gaze fixed entirely on where he is about to sink into them, where their vagina will swallow him up completely, and Astarion sighs, happy.

This is where they belong, a nasty voice in the back of his head says. They belong in his arms, in his bed, wrapped up in the finest sheets and pampered, fed to excess so that more weight is added onto those dainty bones; perhaps he shall even have wizards come and cast a Wish spell of immortality onto them, so that they may be eternal together in each other’s embrace. He indulges in it for a moment, the thought of them loving him forever and, in turn, being loved forever more. The piercings he will lavish upon their body, ruby reds and dashing silvers, all his colours, branding them forever as his. A collar to rest around their delicate throat. They will still be allowed to dress modestly, of course, though Astarion would convince them to wear the most immodest underwear.

They belong with him, not in the arms of a God who answered him naught, and would no doubt demand Aryeum to slay him the moment they are no longer under threat of the Netherbrain. The circumstances of undeath are beyond his control, but still, still, he will be persecuted for the violence of another.

“Are you ready?” he rubs their hip. “It may hurt, I didn’t prepare you as well as I should have, but, you’re so tempting, so delicious...”

A hand rests on the back of his head to play with the back of his hair, ruffling the curls. “I trust you,” their voice is so sweet, even though it is a bit hoarse from all the moaning they do earlier, “so, please, satisfy this ache inside of me? Please – I need you to do it,”

“Of course.” and he does not hesitate any longer. He holds himself in his hand, presses the head of his cock against their hole, and feeds his cock slowly into the tight clasp of their vagina. He gnaws at his lower lip, careful to not catch himself on his own fangs, and Astarion returns to burying his face in their neck as he begins to sink in, inch by inch, into their soft embrace. T heir cunt is tight, just as he expects a virgin’s to be, yet with each second he sinks deeper inside, it is almost as if their body is opening up to him, and he huffs like a boar into their skin.

Animalistic, debased; that is all that he is, finally getting to take what rightfully belongs to him -

They press his face further into the column of their neck, his favoured side to bite him, and he cannot stop himself any longer. His mouth opens wide, teeth long and dangerously sharp, and finally he sinks his fangs completely into them at the same time he bottoms out into their vagina. A scream pierces the air, ripped straight from Aryeum, a sound of sheer and pure pleasure that he has never heard before, and Astarion’s eyes roll up into his head from the taste of their blood, hips mindlessly moving to thrust into them, the noises raunchy and wet, echoing in the back of his head .

Hormonal and alive, their blood floods his mouth, the sweetest ambrosia, and he whines, high pitched moans, into their neck, drinking them eagerly as a man starved and dehydrated in the desert. Below Aryeum trembles, tense and shivering, body quaking from his attentions. They are close, he can smell it from them, taste it on their blood, and he has to dislodge himself before he drains them dry in their bed. His tongue lashes out, cleaning up whatever of their nectar drips from their wound, his saliva already set to work healing it up.

His thumb finds purchase on their clit again, hard and swollen and desperate, and Aryeum keens, thrusting their hips up, grinding against him and trying to get more sensation from his finger. He presses down hard then begins to rub rough circles, and their voice gets caught in their throat. Astarion holds himself up to watch as their mouth opens up, tongue rolling out, the redness from their face lessened in part to the blood loss, and they shudder before tightening impossibly around him -

Liquid splashes against him, eyes widening when he looks down and – oh, they’re squirting. He drags himself out then bottoms out one final time while they are still orgasming, feels his balls draw up tight, before he gets this release, given reprieve from the burning hot need inside of his body. He shakes, hips humping up into their soft cunt as he begins to fill them up with all of his pent-up frustrations, whimpering pathetically with each throb of his cock inside of their warm clutch.

“I love you,” Astarion whimpers, “I love you, I love you,” and he kisses them repeatedly, peppering smooches over their face, and he reaches down for the blanket that gets thrown off from their romp and curls them both up into it, refusing to pull out of them, even as he softens and grows sensitive. “Thank you, you’ve given me a gift darling, a truly lovely, fantastical gift.”

“Hnn,” Aryeum barely says, body slick with their combined sweat, and they swat him away playfully, “mmm, Astar, m’tired...”

“ Sleep darling,” he says, “I will be here when you wake up.” with an incomprehensible murmur, he cradles Aryeum close until the spent little tiefling’s eyes flutter shut, their breathing evens out, and their heartbeat slows into something lazy and calm. When they awake, they are going to feel sticky and dirty, yet that is an issue Astarion will bring himself to care about later, when he isn’t so satisfied and the little green monster, draped in purple, isn’t purring contently in his heart.

F or better or for worse, Aryeum is his now.

What that means, perhaps ? What plans that entails?

That is for tomorrow to tell.