#Astarion never flays Tav

[astriel-nya]

"That's what you want, isn't it? To be mine? Forever?"

This is my favourite Ascended Astarion line, it was like he read my Tav's mind or something. No matter how their relationship could change within eternity, my Tav wanted to be bound to Astarion forever.

Personally my Durge Warlock Tav had already made a pact with a devil, and was born Bhaalspawn so what's another bloodpact with the person they love no less? Pretty much vampire marriage, and Astarion will extend Mepistopheles blessing onto you and let you consume his blood for this so you will get none of the downsides of being a spawn.

People keep saying Ascended Astarion is Cazador 2.0 however, I haven't seen any sort of behaviour that is like that? People bring up not being able to break up with him at the end of the game, but you only get to that point after agreeing to "Forever". If they didn't want that they should have rejected being turned into his spawn.

Astarion VS Cazador

Cazador made turning into a spawn incredibly painful for Astarion. However, you awake with full HP and it didn't seem to match Astarion's experience at all:

"I remember how it hurt when I turned to a vampire. My body writhed and warped while I was utterly helpless, the grip of death owned my heart as it beat its last."

Astarion listens to your Tav depending on what they ask for, Cazador wouldn't bother with this:

"Let it hurt"/"Be gentle"

Astarion will make being a spawn different from the relationship he had with Cazador as he will bless you so you have none of the downsides he was forced to ensure. Cazador literally tortured his spawn and whored them out, he would never extend the blessing as that would make their lives happier/more equal.

"Things will be a touch different for you than they were for me when I was a spawn." "I can extend Mepistopheles' blessing unto you"

Asks what you want at end of game, puts his plans of world domination on hold just wants to be with you. If he was like Cazador the tadpole has gone, he has full control of you why would he even bother asking you what you wanted let alone doing what you wanted:

Tav - “I want to see the world with you at my side” and he will say “Then you shall. We’ll travel the lands together, tasting everything Faerun has to offer. Perhaps we’ll find somewhere we’d like to stay for a century or two – perhaps not. We have a beautiful, bloody future to look forward to, my love. I can’t be sure what it holds for us, but I know one thing. This is going to be fun.” He genuinely looks so happy here, and excited for the future in front of him, he’s free of anything Cazador cursed upon him and can actually begin living.

In the datamined epilogues there is no indication that anything bad has happened in the relationship, like he suddenly became Cazador 2.0 or something they sound happy together:

“The Vampire Ascendent he chose to leave Baldur’s Gate with his consort and travel the world indulging in every delight it offered. Rumours of their debauchery abound, but all agree a night revelling with them will be the greatest or most horrifying night of your life.”

Astarion Ascends into a creature different from Cazador so just like with the Unascended route he has a chance to break the cycle of abuse. In both routes he's going to be traumatized, go back to old coping mechanisms and have loads to work through to get to a healthy place and both routes are great. He essentially gains more humanity by being able to enjoy the luxuries of the living, so I don't believe he just turns into some mindless, power hungry Cazador 2.0 incapable of love or feelings.

"If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being - the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living."

One thing I wanted to add with people saying after Ascending he treats you like a "pet" because of him calling you that petname after. Is that he literally calls you "pet" when you go into Sharesses Carrass when he's still a spawn. So that argument makes no sense. I even call my boyfriend pet as a petname irl, like it's not a big deal.

Both routes are awesome and both have grey areas and both could turn out to be healthy relationships just as much as turning into abusive ones :)) just because we dealt with Cazador doesn't mean anything is fixed instantly, it's going to take a long time and probably a lot of therapy in both cases for Astarion to start recovering.

[senualothbrok]

Here

Summary: After you save him from Orin's clutches, Gale has some things to work through. You show him that he is not alone.

Featuring a fireside chat with Astarion.

A response to this anon ask. I hope you like it 💜

Word count: 2.1k

Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort. Gale x reader/Tav.

AO3 link

A/N: You can watch Gale's reactions to being rescued from Orin's lair here (at 12.32) and here.

Thank you so much @dekariosclan for beta reading and being my marvellous Gale consultant, as always!

****

His scream tears you from sleep. It is shrill, piercing, a desperate flinch against untold horrors. You reach out for him as he gasps, clawing at his orb scar, choking for breath.

When you touch him, he thrashes, still caught in the talons of his nightmare. You see the scars left by Orin in his cloying sweat, his shaking frame, his subsiding shouts as he crumples into you. He cannot hide them from you, much as he tries.

“It was a dream.” You press his head against your chest, twining your fingers through his tangled hair. “You’re safe. You're home.”

He does not speak for a long time. His eyelashes flutter against your skin, his heartbeat jolting through you as he searches frantically for his glade of calm. When he eventually finds it, you feel his hands come to rest on the small on your back, steadying, anchoring. You hold him, torn apart by a gratitude as strong as grief. He is here. You could have lost him, but he is here. You will never let go of him again.

He clears his throat. When he moves back to look at you, his smile does not quite meet his eyes.

“My apologies, my love. I didn't mean to wake you–”

His voice is hoarse, broken. You shake your head. “You have nothing to apologise for, Gale. Absolutely nothing.”

He looks away for a moment. You know you have a brief opening, now, before the mask comes up, before the jolly dismissals and self-deprecating quips resume their well-worn routines. You place your hand on his cheek.

“Gale, you know you can talk to me, don’t you? Everything that happened–”

He jerks his head, taking your hand in his. His skin is clammy, and there is a hollowness in his gaze, though it is still tender as rain-kissed earth.

“I'm fine, Tav. Please don't worry yourself.” A brisk smile of reassurance, warring with the dark circles under his eyes. “Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.”

You are about to object, but the kiss he plants on your cheek is swift and firm. When he rises from your shared bedroll, you feel bereft.

“I'm quite alright. Nothing that a bit of fresh air and a quick walk won't cure.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, squaring his shoulders. The walls are up, and he is retreating into the night. Even as you ask, you know what his answer will be.

“Should I come with you?”

He huffs, bending down to kiss your forehead. “No, please. Rest. I deprived you of a good sleep tonight, and gods knows how many nights before this. I want you to take what rest you can for our battles ahead. I won’t stray far. Don’t worry.”

You cup his face tightly, desperately. “I love you.”

This time, his eyes smile before he turns away. “I love you too.”

*****

In the distance, streaks of dawn tease at the bruises in the sky. Sleep is a triviality that eludes you. You huddle around the campfire, fretting, trying not to mark the hours that Gale has been gone. Trying not to imagine all of the nightmares which were until recently Gale’s reality.

You fail. You think of how Orin must have flayed Gale’s mind from his body as he struggled, powerless and alone. You imagine his terror, not just of torture and death, but of the orb inside him. And you wonder whether he despaired as he waited, doubting that his love would come for him, fearing that his friends had forgotten him. Convinced that he was once again abandoned to die.

‘Of all the things on your very full plate, my welfare is not something you need to burden yourself with.’

You bury your face in your hands, a chaos of panic, love and guilt. It takes you a moment to register the presence beside you.

“Gods, you look awful.”

Astarion is peering at you like he is examining a torn gown. A trickle of blood stains his collar, the triumph of a late night hunt. He wrinkles his nose as he studies you.

“Do I need to have a word with Gale about laying off on” – his hand circles vaguely – “whatever it is the two of you do at night?”

You do not have the energy to glare at him. Instead, you glance towards the edges of camp, scanning for signs of Gale’s return. When you see nothing, you sigh. Astarion arches an eyebrow.

“Do I really need to explain why Gale might not be in the mood for that?”

Astarion tilts his head. There is understanding in the pause that follows. Astarion had been the one who helped you get Gale down from Orin’s altar, after all. He had seen the turmoil in Gale’s eyes, the blood on his limbs before the healing spells. He had felt Gale’s resistance when you both laid hands on him, easing him up. The fractured moments before Gale’s usual cheery gratitude snapped into place. Astarion would have recognised the signs better than anyone.

“He’s been having nightmares,” you manage. “But he won’t talk about them. He woke up screaming tonight. Then he went for a walk. He’s been gone for two hours.”

Astarion frowns. “If you’re worried for his safety, the wizard is more than capable of blasting people to smithereens.” He purses his lips. “Assuming he’s not magically restrained, like Orin managed–”

You wince at your rising dread. Gale is an archwizard, you remind yourself, not a defenceless babe. You fight the urge to smother him in care, to protect him and keep him safe at all costs. It is not what he needs. But perhaps you do not know what he truly needs.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

Astarion stares at you for a while. He leans back, brows furrowed, and you suddenly wonder if you give him enough credit. Perhaps there are things Astarion sees, despite his usual habit of deflecting things with thinly veiled insults.

“Sometimes, there are things that are better left unsaid.” He curls his lip. “Even for Gale.”

You ignore the barb, spinning towards him. “So Gale should just soldier on? Stiff upper lip, the show must go on? Even when he’s falling apart?”

“So dramatic, darling.” He tuts. “Who’s falling apart? He seems fine to me.”

You clench your hands. “The nightmares are getting worse, Astarion. Gods knows what Orin did to him.”

From the feathering of Astarion’s jaw, you know he can guess.

“And he won’t talk to me. Like he doesn’t want to be a burden. Like he’s sorry…” You scoff. “As if it’s his fault, that he’s the one who let me down.”

Astarion narrows his eyes. “If you’re suggesting that it’s your—”

“No, no,” you huff. “No, this isn’t about me. It’s about Gale.”

Astarion sighs. His gaze is weary as a scar.

“Some things are too horrific to share, darling. So atrocious that it’d be a nightmare to even hear them. He just needs to grit his teeth and get through. Survive.”

You struggle to keep the anguish from your voice. “Does he have to do that alone?”

Astarion’s mouth tightens. He averts his gaze. “Maybe that’s what he’s used to.”

You are taken aback by the resignation in Astarion’s words. Conviction rises in you, an unstoppable tide that weaves through the tents of each and every member of the family you have found.

“But he isn’t alone anymore. He doesn’t have to keep it to himself. He isn’t a burden, and there’s nothing he could do or say to drive me away. I’m here for him. We’re all here for him.”

There is a quiver in Astarion’s features. You have a sense of a door cracking open. A glimpse of something ancient and hidden.

“It takes a while,” he says quietly. “To get used to that. To believe it.”

The silence that falls over you is both heavy and light. Within it, a lifetime of loneliness and fear crashes against the battle-forged bonds of love and friendship. And you believe, with every fibre of your being, that love will endure.

Astarion jerks his head behind you. You turn, your eyes filling as they fall on what they seek.

“But if anyone can remind him,” you hear Astarion chuckle, “it’s you.”

*****

When you return to Gale’s tent, you try to settle him, but he is a flurry. His movements drag with exhaustion, yet are manic with determination.

“Is there something I can get you to help you sleep? A cup of tea? A warming spell? Do you need a–”

You embrace him. His breath catches, and you clasp him so close you can feel the points of muscle and bone. The weight of him, the miracle of him beside you. You will never take him for granted.

“Just you,” you whisper. “Here, with me.”

His lips tingle against your neck, his grasp tightening around your waist. For an eternity, neither of you let go. You are haunted by the shadow of your separation, chasing away Orin’s ghost with the strength of your need. When he dips back, his brows are steepled with concern.

“You’re troubled.” He traces his thumb across your jawline. “What troubles you?”

After all this time, he still does not understand. He cannot see how someone could love him so deeply that his pain becomes their own. He still cannot believe that someone could respond to his love by giving him their whole heart. That you could love him as he loves you. An outpouring of the soul. A sacred offering, steadfast and unending.

“That you’re troubled.” Your fingers interlace with his. “That you think your struggles are a burden to me - that I wouldn't want to share everything with you, including your suffering.”

He grimaces so sharply, it is almost a flinch.

“My love,” he heaves. “You quite literally have the weight of the world on your shoulders. It torments me to know I’ve added to that load, rather than easing it. If I weren’t such a fool to fall for Orin’s trap–”

You shake your head. The force of it stills him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Gale. What happened wasn’t your fault. And what you’re going through now…You don’t have to pretend that everything’s alright. I know it isn’t. I hear it, I see it, every day, every night.”

His eyes widen, the wrinkle between them deepening. You sense the knee-jerk apology that bubbles within him. Your grasp his hand tighter, the words tumbling from you like the sea surging against the shore.

“I love you. I’m here for you. I’ll never abandon you, no matter what happens. You can tell me anything. Everything. Whatever you want. And you can trust me, just like I trust you. Just like I know you love me, and will always be there for me.”

For a while, he does not speak. His gaze roams your face, searching for signs of doubt, hesitation, disapproval. But all you can give him is love.

You draw him back, sinking down to your bed roll. He softens as you curl into each other, his arm wrapping around your body. Your head nestles between his neck and shoulder, and you breathe in the sour tang of his sweat. He inhales deeply, nuzzling into your hair. Memorising you, just as you are soaking him in.

“You kept me alive, you know,” he whispers. “When Orin toyed with me, tore at me. The thought of you, your courage, your kindness. Your love. She could never break me, no matter what vile cruelties she inflicted. I had you.”

Your tears trail into the nook of his collarbone. His voice trembles.

“My foolishness, my carelessness… it could have got you killed. And when you saved me – when, yet again, you saved me from the precipice – I resolved to do better. I told myself the least I could do was cause as little hassle as possible.”

You lurch forward, your vision a blur as you take his face in your hands.

“Gale,” you breathe. “I love you more than anyone and anything. You are not, and will never be, a hassle. A burden. Never. You're the man I love, and you're everything to me.”

His eyes are bright as he brushes away your tears. You watch the shadows lift from his features as the truth of your heart washes over him, wave by wave. Slowly, reverently, he presses a kiss to each of your palms, holding them against his cheeks.

“What have I done to deserve you?”

There is awe in his voice. Wonder. And shimmering within it, the beginnings of acceptance.

You lean forward, circling the tip of his nose with your own. He lets out a shaky breath, his hands weaving around your back, pulling you closer.

“You don't need to do anything. Just be here, with me.”

You smile into each others’ lips, two rivers joining in the sea.

“I can do that.”

********

A/N: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! I'd love to know what you think as always, so don't be a stranger 🫶

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[thatfreshi]

As a prompt - maybe Astarion (or Tav for that matter) going absolutely feral (and i mean really) when someone or something hurts badly the other (or try to) ?

I don't know of it has already been donc by you and if it has sorry, really appreciate your writing though ! Thank you <3

Learning to trust is difficult

tw - themes of death, talk of injuries

"I just don't know how you don't seem to care! It's bad Astarion, really bad, and I'm not going to sit here and watch you hurt."

While you and the vampire were on night watch, you got jumped by some thieves scrounging around in the woods of the Sword Coast. He took the brunt of the fight, taking quite a couple slices to the abdomen.

"We'll wait til morning, like I said. Shadowheart will be rested by then, and we'll all be fine."

"Oh right, so you can bleed out? You think you're such a jester, don't you."

You already dealt with the perpetrators, making sure they were flayed across the grass, any hopes they had of stealing from you shot down from miles away.

"If it were that bad I would wake her Tav, but it's not."

Gods, he's frustrating. Driving you to the point of madness, constantly. For someone who finally has a second chance at life, he can be quite reckless. Instead of trying to argue with him further, you walk over to where he's propped himself against his bedroll, and start undressing his wounds. He almost tries to push you away, but the lightest touch of the cuts makes him lose his strength.

"Tav, stop it."

"No! Because you can wrap these all you want, but if you leave these like this overnight it's going to get nasty, and I know for a fact you can't stitch wounds like this."

"Then it is was it is."

"No, I'm getting her. Stay here."

Astarion grabs at your wrist. There's a dreary silence for a moment, and he refuses your eye contact.

"I've done this by myself, for how long? Do you have any idea what it makes me feel like, having to turn to someone who is practically a stranger, and put my life in their hands? I did that once my love, and I have regretted it ever since."

And you know exactly what he's talking about, that night in the alley, fragmented memories only covered up by digging through six feet of dirt.

"You would've died though."

"Perhaps it would have been best that way."

You know that no selfish reason you have about wanting him around could ever make up for all the things he endured under Cazador, that if he had bled out that night he would at least be at peace.

"This is different though. We're all working together, we all want the same things. Shadowheart isn't going to hold this over you."

"You don't know that. I mean look at me. I planned on seducing you and getting rid of you as soon as I could, all to keep myself safe. We will never truly know what the others want, what their intentions with us are."

"Then why trust me?"

He hesitates as you wrap his abdomen once again.

"I... I don't know... You're just, different."

"Then what's to say Shadowheart isn't also different? Or any of them for that matter?"

You cup his face in your hand.

"It's just easier to risk one of you. To risk loving you, and only you. Because if you betray me? Then I've played myself for a fool, and I can't have two knives in my back."

"You don't have to trust her Aster, but you need her right now. We need her, because I can't lose you either."

Your hand trails to his, and you feel at each other's fingers for a few long moments. He tries to come up with something to say, knowing he will most likely bleed out if you two don't wake the cleric.

"You trust me right? You're making that risk at least, taking that chance? Then trust that I'm trying to make the right choice for you."

Even if he doesn't bleed out, he doesn't deserve to writhe in pain all night, to which you're sure he would say something about how he's done it a million times before. Why, why does he try to be strong for you?

"Alright my love, wake her."

You get up without a word, planting a quick kiss on his forehead before leaving the tent, your feet gliding to where Shadowheart is sleeping.

"Shadowheart, we need you."

She's a light sleeper, like most of you, and wakes with the few simple words you speak.

"What it is?"

The cleric asks as she walks with you.

"Astarion. We had some unwelcome visitors on watch. It's... it's not pretty."

You come back to your tent, gently moving the fabric by the entrance as Shadowheart moves to him, focused on doing what needs to be done. She unwraps the bandages and you come to his side. He's silent.

"Lady of Sorrows, this is horrific Astarion. How long have you let this sit like this?"

It takes him a moment to muster the words, still clearly embarrassed to be receiving her help this late. You've learned though that he hates people speaking for him, so you just wait.

"It's been about half an hour. Tav and I have been arguing about getting your assistance. They insisted we wake you, and I insisted we shouldn't bother."

"Well, you're lucky Tav isn't as stubborn as you are, because this is nasty. While I'm not as familiar with vampire anatomy, this would not have sat well overnight."

She takes a moment to gather herself, before casting healing touch, letting the magic linger a little longer than normal. You watch as his pale skin slowly comes back together, stitching itself up like embroidery thread. Shadowheart takes a moment to admire her work, smirking slightly. Her expression then becomes somber for a moment.

"As much as I'm not the sappy type, please don't hesitate to get me when you need me. Despite how much you all annoy me, I'm still rather fond of you as companions. I would hate to see any of you go too soon, especially over something as simple as this."

Astarion says nothing in return, and soon after the devout Sharran leaves the two of you alone. The two of you lie down, wrapping yourselves up in each other, limbs entangled as if you're scared of being torn apart.

"I know it's hard, but you have to learn to ask for help. If not for yourself, for me. Because I can only do so much my star."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I yelled. It just really scares me, the idea that I could lose you."

He nuzzles into your chest, the movement dampening his voice.

"I don't think anyone's ever been afraid to lose me, except me. And I fear I lost myself far too long ago for it to matter."

You wrap your fingers in his hair, sitting in the sorrow with him.

"All things that are lost can be found. And we'll find you again my love, I promise."

He doesn't thank you, which you don't mind. After all, Astarion isn't used to having anyone to genuinely thank. But the way he lets you hold him, that slowly but surely the walls are coming down, that's his own way of saying it, saying that he's grateful. And as long as he lives to see another day, you'll take whatever he gives you, for as long as both of you live.

[ravengards-rogue]

✧ barbarian + gender neutral tav, bottom/sub gale, top + dom!tav, gutting a fish, horny to horny tadpole communication lol 18+

gale daydreams too long about the rough callouses on your hands on his skin.

you answer him in short sentences when he mentions them but he's come to realize this isn't disinterest. you just aren't one for talking much, and you listen to him intently. occasionally you'll remember something entirely arbitrary he's told you - and he'll feel his heart stammer like a boy in love and not a man of middle age.

he notices your hands first when he tries teaching you the weave. the times after, you're healing him because he's been battered relentlessly in battle. calloused hands - the kind of hands that wield weapons and massacre. gale has seen you rage so often, though he's never thought anything of it. you're polar opposites in all aspects but especially that kind of raw power.

(the story of them goes that you used to tussle with bears as a child. when asked to elaborate, you shrug passively. apparently all that matters is that you won more often than you lost.)

he likes your hands. your hands are calloused and scarred. all of you is scarred, but your hands especially. split knuckles and thick, coarse skin that's been split and healed with nothing but time. strong, capable hands that carry fresh hunt into the camp and butcher them close to the water so the blood can be washed away. his are soft and smooth, a calm life in the vibrant and advanced city of waterdeep has made them so. the most violence he's ever received until recently, a paper cut from an especially feisty tome.

gale spends too long looking at them. you notice his gaze, naturally perceptive. and gale - well gale flushes. he's leering, and his thoughts are all but appropriate.

he's not prone to shyness. but you're a little different from those he kept in his past. constructed with that sort of unfamiliar grit makes his stomach churn with desire that burns white hot. gods.

it's inappropriate - entirely. together at camp with a makeshift table and cutting board (a slab of wood, really). you're cooking together, and gale is watching you gut a fish. your fingers are soaked in blood as you carefully scale and clean skin. there's also a fresh body you've so morbidly carried for astarion to eat.

you glance at him, head tilted - brow taut with interest.

"something on your mind, wizard?"

"not particularly," he replies, trying to avert his gaze. you go back to your task, the barest amusement on your face.

"you're a shit liar." and then, as if you sense that you can't pull more out of him - he feels something electric brush against his spine. the tadpole, your tadpole. you reach out to him through it. the voice in your mind is entangles with his as he allows you to touch his thoughts. you never do so without being careful.

it's...oddly euphoric, makes his stomach feel honeyed with lust. a harsh way of speech coupled by a soft whisper. stop being lewd or you'll cook yourself on a flame.

it's an instant protest, though between you is only silence.

"lewd?" he says in a whisper yell. you don't reply to his exclaiming. nor do you mask your amusement. you're enjoying this. your hands make quick work of flaying the dead sea creature. the head goes into the soup. you dunk the bloodied carcass in water leaving delicate white fish behind, then you use a dagger to carve the bones from it.

the blood stains your fingers. even with the savagery you're always committing, your delicate with the flesh.

you press into his mind, a knowing glance at the way his eyes lock onto the gesture.

gale is hesitant to let you in again. you shrug.

"even if you don't want to tell me what ways you want me to fuck you," you say, low enough so that only gale hears it. "well. you're a bit of a lost cause on hiding it."

gale is so momentarily scandalized he just stops. a smile tugs at your lips as you look at him more directly this time. heat licks at his his calves, a little ashamed as he lets you in.

(the images conjured in his mind are imperfect but vivid. all of them terribly rough. his mind desires it more than his body, to feel the roguish warmth of your palms handle his limbs in ways so untender some gods would consider it against them. a harsh first around his cock or around his throat, thumbs pressing into pulsing heart. hardened touches rounded with tender praise.

fingers inside of him. gale laid out over your lap - tucked into you in some completely vulnerable way.

there's a single undercurrent desire, one for you make a mess of him and it's louder and more attention seeking than all the rest. the need to be under your thumb makes his cock twitch so hard it's painful.

he imagines himself spent in your arms, cumming helplessly. limp against the strength of your chest and arms. the thought makes his physical body shiver.

the idea lingers so deep in the recesses of his mind he wonders if they're being projected right.)

he severs the connection when the embarrassment catches up to him, waiting anxiously for whatever thing you might end up saying. there's a smirk on your face, a salacious little chuckle as you discard bones into a metal bowl fashioned on the slab you cut on. for an elongated moment, you're unreactive. it's so strange gale wonders if he might've conjured up the entire interaction.

you walk yourself around him to put something in the pot - fresh cuts of white meat, before you blow warm air against the back of his neck. he nearly jumps out of his skin.

your words are assured.

"didn't take you for a masochist," you hum, calloused palm underneath the velvet of his nightwear. he looks at you over his shoulder. you make it clear you mean every word of what you'll say. "but i'll fuck you however you wish, lewd wizard. try to focus on dinner for now instead of ogling."

with your task now finished, you place a single long kiss on the nape of gales neck before disappearing completely - slinking off into the night to wash your hands. gale feels blood rush between his legs as he clears his throat.

he grumbles as he waddles over to stir the pot, skin painted with pink and feeling no less horny than before. "easier said then done."

[sexyapostate]

fic: in his trembling hands

astarion/reader, astarion/tav, 3.3k words denial of feelings, injury recovery, FWBs catching feelings summary:

For two hundred years, not once has another person tended to Astarion's wounds; all healing was pragmatic, rushed spells to smoothen skin, to prepare him for the next time the Master felt like flaying him. Astarion has never needed to take care of another before. Not once. Not until you.

(read it on ao3 here)

[flowercitti]

Hi!! I loved your Tav/Astarion fic where they draw his face, it was so good and tender ; ; could i request something sweet where Astarion does something selfless for Tav? presumably after the graveyard scene in Act 3 where he's finally free to be himself! thank you!

Thank you sm im glad you enjoyed my other fic! 🌸🤍 And thank you sm for sending a request! Took me a little while to figure out what i wanted to do, but I hope this fits the theme!

Fluff/Angst/Gender-Neutral Tav

Astarion taking care of a sick Tav post-canon.

🌸

It has been a very long time since Astarion has cared for another living soul outside of his own.

What would he have done with compassion during those two centuries of torture? What good would it do him, to find himself caring, to find a morsel of kindness in his rotting soul? It would not have allowed him to escape Cazador, it would not have stopped the ache in his bones, the gnawing pain that ate away at his un-beating heart. Any softness inside of him quickly died with his screams of agony—or perhaps it had died the moment his heart stopped and his throat was ripped out, a corpse left to bleed out into the unforgiving dirt.

Astarion had woken up in his own grave, choking on congealed blood and forced to climb out through the dirt until his nails had fallen off. When he found Cazador there waiting for him, he knew that his life had ended a second time.

All he had was himself—trapped in his own body as he was, barely scraps of a person, skin and flesh that was named but left vacant.

He did not care for his supposed siblings. There was no point in feeling a thing for the poor, pitiful creatures that were just as trapped as he was. Unwilling perpetrators in his torture, but perpetrators nonetheless—sorry sacks of flesh that were just as fucked as he was. He thought—knew, for a long time, that none of them were going to make it out of this.

They were going to die here, enslaved and starving and empty, or tortured for the rest of eternity.

It was death that Astarion yearned for most after so long, when freedom seemed like the dreams of someone far younger and more naive than he was. It was barely a decade before he gave up, before he knew there was no point anymore. His body had been twisted, changed, and something wicked and burning pulsed through his veins—like the thick sludge of tar, like the foul stench of sewer water and waste.

Whoever Astarion was before—they were long gone now.

There was nothing left, no family, no friends, no lovers that lasted longer than a night. Perhaps he had a mother, perhaps not. He couldn’t remember after long enough, drowning in a cloud of pain, his mind swimming, thoughts and memories sliding out of his hands like water. Flashes of soft hands, of a motherly voice and the hum of a gentle melody to greet him at the deepest recesses of his mind. Maybe he had just come up with such a thing for comfort, he doesn’t know.

Days would pass in episodes of complete dissociation, his mind so utterly disconnected from his own body, eyes only catching flickers of lights and colors before he retreated again. His body would move and he would not know why, he would hear voices and he could never make them out, his mouth would move with noise that he could not hear.

Cazador hated it most—when Astarion was too gone to feel it.

“My sweet Astarion. Where have you gone, boy?”

Astarion was not sweet—his flesh felt putrid, like the peeling of rotten fruit, like he were flayed open and bare for picking. His mouth tasted like the blood of rodents and maggots, or the spit and release of another body he could not remember the face of. He felt like a retched thing, his blood poisonous and his mind infested, a disgusting thing that Cazador owned—a kept thing that did not remember what it felt like to be alive.

Other times, Astarion felt everything in bright, startling clarity. Every starburst of pain, every touch, every drop of his own blood spilling onto the floor. Cazador loved it when he screamed, when he was brought to pathetic tears, too broken to scramble for a semblance of dignity—but never so pitiful as to bother with begging. It would have done nothing, would have granted him no mercy, and would have only served to please Cazador’s sadistic whims. It was a lesson he had learned early, that he held no power, no control. What was done to his body was done, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Inescapable—pressing over his skin like a sticky film, keeping him trapped, keeping him present when all he wanted to do was slip away. It was a cycle, unending, and it went on for over two bloody centuries.

Any remnants left of Astarion’s heart had been carved out and eagerly feasted upon before his own eyes. He believed that he was never going to get it back, that he wouldn’t even want it, should it be offered. He had no use for it now, had no use for more weakness, more pain.

And then he finally tasted freedom again—and then there was Tav.

After two centuries of pure shit, of torture and existing as the barest sliver of a person, Astarion began to remember what it felt like to care.

It was fucking terrifying. It was exhilarating, gratifying, like waking anew. Astarion hasn’t even felt alive in the past two-hundred years, and now he feels like he’s been washed clean and left a different person. Hopefully for the better, this time around, and so much of it is due to Tav and their persistence. They helped him wipe Cazador’s sorry face off the planet, and stayed at his side every step away, patient and kind when Astarion didn’t deserve a bit of it.

He cares about them, even when he had thought he’d forgotten how to, and he can’t help but be grateful for even having the chance to try.

And right now—Tav is sick.

They’ve barely left their bed in two days now, curled under thick furs and shivering, little more than a head that peaks out from under their cocoon. They only leave to piss or puke their guts out, before crawling back under the comforters and passing out.

It isn’t fatal, and it will pass within the coming week, even with the discomfort and pain. Tav is resilient and tough, has been through far too much to be taken by simple illness. Astarion knows that they’ll make it out of this just fine, that they’ll be back on their feet soon. They don’t need a bedside nurse, and surely not in the form of Astarion of all people—but.

He’s cradling a bowl of soup in his hands. Its heat is stark against the natural frigidness of his skin, and the chicken broth makes his stomach turn, food that would expel itself immediately should Astarion venture for a taste. But the soup is for Tav, prepared to the best of Astarion’s ability, and surely edible. He hopes.

He places it on Tav’s bedside table, perching himself delicately on the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t eaten anything today, darling.” He says quietly, his hand brushing gently over Tav’s shivering shoulder. It’s nearly noon now, but the room is bathed in pitch black to protect Astarion from the sun’s rays. He misses the warmth of it, now that he is unable to traverse under its watchful eye—but he dispels the thoughts quickly lest it sour his mood.

Tav makes a small noise, turning over to face Astarion, blinking up at him blearily. Their eyes are glassy, their face tacky with sweat, lashes fluttering as they try focus.

“Huh?” They mumble dumbly, tongue thick in their mouth, a hitch catching in their throat that’s immediately followed by wracking coughs.

Astarion winces, placing a hand on their forehead and almost flinching away at the temperature, “You’re nearly scorching, dear.”

Tav blinks, their brows furrowing, “Thank you.”

Astarion resists the urge to allow his head to sink down into his hands.

He only huffs instead, “Come now, I need you sitting up for this. If you spill all this soup on yourself after I spent so much time preparing it, I’ll be very—upset with you.” The words are stilted, far softer than the terse tone he was going for. True, genuine threats used to slip off his tongue so easily, even in regards to Tav—if he was pissed off enough. Now, he just sounds like a doting hen—a loving husband, maybe.

But Tav looks nearly worried, though moving easily with Astarion’s urging hands, propped up against the headboard, cushioned with pillows.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tav asks suddenly, their hand wrapping around one of Astarion’s wrists. They hold him there, a feverish looks in their eyes. “You—you haven’t fed in a while.” They pout, tugging at their shirt collar, as if they were preparing to bare their neck right then and there.

There’s something that twists behind Astarion’s ribs—tight and heart-shaped.

He pushes Tav’s shirt back up, lingering briefly over the warmth of their skin, “You’re sick, darling. I’m not feeding off of you when you’re like this. I shan’t starve without you, I promise.” He says lightly, taking the cooling bowl of soup in his hands, ignoring the violent churn of his gut. Tav looks nearly teary-eyed when he turns back to them, their lips twisted in discomfort, their gaze burning with fever. Astarion sighs quietly, taking the side of their face in one palm, silently delighted when they sink in to the gentle touch.

“Come now, don’t look so sad. How about this—I—I’ll feed you this time, hm?” His thumb traces over their cheekbone, “You needn’t be the one looking after me.”

Tav sniffles, “I like taking care of you.”

Astarion takes a measured breath, trying not to stare blankly at such a bold-faced admission. He thinks Tav may come closer to killing him than Cazador ever did.

“Yes, yes, I know dear. Now eat, and once you’re all better, you can be your perfect, doting self again.” He pulls his hand away reluctantly, but the warmth of Tav’s skin stays pressed into his palm.

But Tav seems to hum happily at the thought, gratefully accepting the spoonful of soup that Astarion brings to their lips. They make no obvious face of disgust, so Astarion decides that it truly is edible. That, or they’re too delirious from fever to even notice—but they eat the whole bowl regardless. They can barely keep their eyes open by the time its empty, their chest rising and dropping with slow, deep breaths.

“Lets lay you back down before you pass out. You’ll whine about the crick in your neck if you fall asleep like this.” Astarion tells them, bullying them back under the covers as they groan sadly, looking far too small and breakable against the large mattress.

“I feel awful.”

Astarion swallows, gently brushing his knuckles over their forehead. “You’ll get better soon, love. You needn’t worry.” The words sound as if they were meant more for him, a strange tightness in his throat.

He knows that they will be fine, he knows that. They’ve both been through worse. And yet—

He leans down, lips brushing over their forehead, far too hot and sweaty. He lingers for a moment longer anyways, listening to the soft murmur of contentment that leaves Tav’s mouth.

“I love you.” They mutter drowsily, their eyes flickering open for just a moment before they slip closed again.

Astarion breathes out, weak and shuddering.

“I love you too, darling. Now sleep, I’ll be back soon enough.”

🌸

Thank you sm for reading! If you wish to send me Astarion-flavored requests for fic or headcanons, they’re still open! ☺️🤍

[m3rricat]

Bog Bodies

Standalone oneshot. Some time after the Netherbrain fight, Cat wakes up next to Astarion one stormy morning. For the first time he surrenders to her fully during lovemaking, which is interspersed with her reflections on his growth and their relationship. Smut/character study mashup.

Pairing: Astarion/female Tav

Rating: explicit (for sexually explicit content)

Read on AO3

____

Cat’s waking creeps up slowly.

It is some morning some months into their new normal after the great battle, and she and Astarion are abed in their cramped little walkup. Today might be more of the usual: she heaving herself up to face the day when he turns in after their meandering talks, spending the daylight hours on one task to the next until they come together again when evening wears on.

But this isn’t that kind of morning. The light creeping around the heavy curtains is murky. Primordial. Cat feels the rumble of thunder in her chest more than she hears it.

The early storm builds outside, choking out the new day, stilling it, casting everything in a dull ochre light. The baleful glow from the banked fire in the hearth across the room mirrors it, bringing the suffocating atmosphere inside.

Head on her pillow, Cat stares at Astarion lying beside her, at the flawless curve of cheekbone pressing through flawless skin. She cannot speak. It is the thick air pooling in her mouth. It is the clench of emotion in her ribs that usually passes, but it is stuck now. Cycling, building.

His appearance cuts through the moldering light like a knife. Pale, cold. A stark contrast. But it does not hold any meaning. He is undead, but he is the farthest thing from cold, Cat thinks. He feels so very much, down to the quick, pain and pleasure both. That, and his stumbling attempts to give of himself to her when so much was taken—

The ache of affection in her chest threatens to swallow him whole.

It seeps into her bones, into her spine. Up to her brain. Numbing it, driving it to grasp, to hold him closer and closer until it hurts, until something breaks. To the point they are both wrecked, with him a smear down her front: proof of her devastating want.

And then—he does not move, but Cat knows that Astarion is now awake.

She tries to shake herself out of this strangeness, to come back to the flow of the day. The wry comment is on her tongue when his eyes meet hers, dark as pooled blood. The same lurking need she feels looks back, and she cracks open. The mess of her longing starts to leak out.

When his knuckle grazes her lips, she catches it, kissing it, wending her way around to the palm and down the soft inner wrist. There is no pulse there except what she presses into it, reverently.

He lies still as prey frozen in a predator’s sight, but his lips are parted, his eyes hungry as he looks at her. She heaves herself toward him greedily. It is hard going. The smothering morning still presses down, enclosing them somewhere out of the world.

As they lazily kiss and part and kiss again, Astarion’s lips wet and redden. Cat breaks off as his tongue finally probes against hers, leaving him groaning as she mouths up his fine jaw.

He is cold under her lips, under her hands on his bare chest. So Cat slides over him, straddling him, her mouth never leaving his skin. His fine fingers trail up her sides, pulling up her nightshirt. She leaves off her attentions reluctantly for the moment it takes to lift the shirt off her, baring her hot skin to sink down on his cold expanse, breasts and belly smothering his chest, his stomach, pouring heat into him.

Her lean body from the hard road is gone. Softened. But right now she feels as stripped-down and flayed as she ever did in those early days when their wild feelings clashed and tangled, scrambling for purchase. It stings all over, just as sweetly as it did then.

Her lips and tongue and teeth have trailed down to the juncture of his collarbones. Her hair is loose now, the braid having come undone sometime in the long, drawn-out minutes. Astarion’s fingers tangle in the tarnished-blonde muss, encouraging, echoed by his wordless murmurs and sighs. She skates her fingers across the slight swell of his breast. His breath hitches, his fingers tighten on her scalp as she brushes over the nipple. His noises and the squirm of his warming body pull at her center. She smiles into his skin, making her way slowly over to her new target, scraping over it again with a nail this time to tug a sharper gasp out of him before bringing her mouth to bear.

She has teased out some of what makes him break his silence—silence that is an absence of the former performative, ritual noises he had voiced over and over, for so long. His native tongue is rougher, less melodic. But he’s still far from an open book. She has asked outright how he wants her to touch him, but he sidesteps time and again with a quick smile and an offhand remark. She cannot figure out if it is because he can’t bring himself to say, or if he simply does not know after centuries of his wants being utterly disregarded.

Yes. Astarion is finally free of being the sexual object. Of being the bait. And he has held that line firmly in the subject-object divide. She feels the tension of it in him, even in quiet moments when he is loose and easy in her arms. Even as she knows he trusts her far more than the instincts carved in the deepest parts of him think is wise. He takes such comfort in being the actor, in inscribing pleasure on every inch of her flesh while teasingly withholding his softest parts from her. His enjoyment in giving pleasure is genuine, at least. The surest thing to get him hard is what spills from her mouth when he robs her of words.

These thoughts wind through the murk of Cat’s mind as she approaches no-man’s-land. This low on his torso, anywhere below his chest, and she expects his hand beckoning her mouth back up for a deep kiss, for the switch in position, taking her under him so he can subject her to his precise, passionate ministrations.

But this time, his hand lies soft and still, tangled in her hair.

She lolls her head to look up at him through her lashes. His head too is tilted to the side, laying on his pillow as he looks down himself at her. His eyes are expectant and scared and wanting, all at once.

May I? she asks, viscous air rasping out of her throat. Her hands trace slowly down his sides.

He has not taken a breath in an age. When it comes it comes like a resuscitation. Wheezing, almost violent. All so he can whisper—please.

The shudder of arousal that goes through Cat takes her by surprise. It echoes into him, shaking loose a moan as she turns back to her work, giving his nipple a parting graze with her teeth while she works down his chest. He raises his arm suddenly, hand going to his face. Cat’s gaze snaps to the expanse of skin now exposed, fingers skittering over to trace the weave of muscle on his side as it angles into his pectoral, his abdominals.

There was a time not so long ago when she might have been able to pick out every fiber of them. Astarion had been perilously lean when they first met. Breathtaking still, though for reasons that hovered between disturbing and ethereal. He had put on muscle on the journey, and now, afterwards, she has noticed a softening of his own. He is still made up of long lines and angles, of sharp acerbic points. But somehow, some way, the dark magic that powers him has spun the thinnest layer of fat out of all the blood.

She has not made any comment. Control and keeping of his body is, and perhaps will always be, important to him. If she brings attention to any change it will spike his anxiety, no matter how much she assures him that she prefers it. That she no longer winces inwardly to see him so stripped-down. She simply smiles to herself, relishing his growing comfort. And, more selfishly, relishing the plusher swell of his ass when her hands search it out.

Now she kisses down his sensitive side, sighing as his shivers stoke the growing need in her. The enticing dip of his waist is close, but she makes herself stop and circle back to his front, to just under his sternum.

She is at the edge of him now, where the bone and knit muscle of his ribs end and the expanse of underbelly begins. She glances up once more through her mussed hair. His gaze is glassy, but his want burns right through it.

With bated breath, she sets off down the soft stretch of his stomach. Prone like this, his muscles are relaxed, save for when they flutter under her lips, pushing ragged breaths out of his lungs.

There is no other sound of life coming from him. Certainly not from down here, under his flawless skin housing a mess of organs fallen to disuse.

Cat’s mind churns. He had become a hardened thing through the centuries, sharpening his edges and guarding his vulnerabilities as best he could. This softness, this vulnerable flesh served no purpose except to be a target for those who reveled in his pain. Images she had seen in his mind flash: the violence done to him, right here. What had been torn out of him where now her lips kiss him tenderly.

Then wetness—from her own eyes. Grief and love stick fast in her throat. She cannot take that pain away from him. It is woven into the fabric of his self. Immortal as he is, invulnerable as he is in many ways, it will not ever spare him from the scars of memory.

The thunder has been echoing closer in the dragging minutes. The rain comes down first in heavy, staccato drops, but then all in a rush, driven by howling wind. The building creaks under the assault.

Astarion had been made for a purpose, to take the lashes of cruelty and unimaginable violence and survive only to endure more, until the end of time. As Cat lies over him, between him and the roar of the storm above, her rabid need to protect him claws to the fore as she mouths her love into his belly. His fingers trace her cheek, the tenderness nearly tearing a sob from her throat.

A storm had been building that day too when she saw those bodies, when she had been made to go help her uncle cut peat at the inland freshwater bog. Ten years old she was. The waiting air had been too still, too quiet: so different from the gusting winds that heralded squalls above her home on the salt marshes.

Cat can still picture it perfectly: that tangle of limbs suddenly exposed by the cuts in the spongy ground, the two ancient lovers perfectly preserved, kept safe long centuries in the deep, airless peat. Here and now, the rich tint of the light of the room colors her and Astarion, staining them like the reddened skin draped over those old, old bones.

The last thing he would want is to be buried again. But Cat finds herself yearning for it, to meld in the earth with him until no one could tell where one ends and the other begins, forever safe from the thousand cuts, the inevitable erosion of life above.

She’s moved lower now, hand reaching for the laces of his drawers, tight over his hardening cock. He lets go of a long breath when he is released, when she slides them down past his hips. But she has other business, first.

She has given him head before, but he always coaxed her not to stray far, not to explore the soft juncture at his hips and beyond. She slides toward his side now, licking the delicious line of his lower obliques that cut toward his center, and then nuzzles down toward the soft crease of his thighs. She tugs his drawers down until he kicks them off. Gently she encourages him to cant his thigh out as she breathes in the tender, exposed skin. The smell that is him is trapped there. She loves the mixture he uses to scent himself, to cover up the slight aroma of death, but she loves this more, wildly and urgently.

His fingers on her scalp still do not direct her, but they twitch and caress with his own full-blown desire, shown plainly in his cock, now stiff on his stomach.

Heavy with lust and maddening love, Cat at last moves over him, taking him in her mouth in a swift movement that sends him hunching up toward her with a gasp.

She is done with moving slow and methodical. The sultry atmosphere is coming to a head, but they are still caught in the still light of this morning. They are the only two people in this world. Far away. Buried deep, as the storm rages.

She would bring him over the edge, again and again, delirious in pleasure until they both collapse, until they are pressed together in eternal embrace.

But then Cat hears him between his ragged breaths, calling her. She raises herself up and he is staring at her with such love it almost breaks her when he reaches for her, draws her to him. He wraps his arms around her almost delicately, looking at her like he is committing every one of her features to memory, just the way they are in this moment.

And something in his wide-eyed sweetness snaps the spell.

He devours her mouth hungrily as she sinks down on him. And she remembers—that is why she loves him, after all. Despite the crushing weight of the past he drags with him, he is still hungry. For life, for happiness. For her to be with him every step of the way. She’s told him before that he’s brave. The first time he thought it so ridiculous that he laughed. She has kept telling him. And lately, he still smiles, but his gaze has begun to reveal the slimmest, slightest belief in her conviction.

They lie tangled afterwards. Like the eternal lovers pressed in the peat, but so unlike. Cat feels light as a feather as Astarion nuzzles at her cheek, her ear, muttering something so absurd she bursts out in a cackle. And as he grabs for her, grin stretching to his fangs, she knows. The both of them will hurt again. But they will also live.

[morgana-ren]

Ascended Astarion is so full of veiled threats and warnings against you misbehaving and I love it.

I won't need to compel you, because you're going to be wonderfully obedient.

Meaning he absolutely will.

He also is definitely toeing the line of yandere.

"Don't stray too far. But you'd never dream of doing that, would you?"

"As much I wish to sequester you in a deep chamber of my palace and keep ypu all to myself..."

The looks and body language is so manipulative. He's so careful with what he says and how he says it. There's no definite answers to your questions or worries, he feeds you platitudes and empty reassurances without actually saying anything.

Its such a toxic, and definitely crossing the line into an abusive, relationship. Ascended Astarion feeds into my kink of being owned and subjugated so hard

Astarion is a very different kind of predator than Cazador.

Cazador was a lot of brute force. An abusive master that had no need to placate his slaves because he was bigger, stronger, and better than they were. They had to obey him by nature. He never had to worry about underhanded tactics because at the end of the day, they were incapable of hurting him. He didn't give a fuck about them beyond their usefulness to him. If they died or got hurt, he only cared because of how it inconvenienced him. When Astarion disappeared, he didn't care because he cared for Astarion in any capacity; it was because Astarion dared to disobey him and inconvenience him.

So how did Astarion survive? Through manipulation. Through subtle action. Through words dipped in sugar and sweet smiles that hid absolutely venomous lies.

Now he is the power to be feared. He is the powerful one. Sure, he could break bones or flay flesh or whatever else have you, but old habits die hard. Why use the rod when gentle coaxing will work just as well?

Astarion has a vastly different relationship with Tav than he had with Cazador. His old master did not care about him at all. He didn't care if he was miserable or in pain or in the process of having his soul utterly destroyed. Astarion was a means to an end to him. He did not matter at all. There was no need to waste kindness on him. He did as he was told or he was punished. A very simple but effective system.

Tav, on the other hand, is very important to Astarion.

Now, does that mean he won't hurt her? Absolutely not. If she gets mouthy enough, or disobedient enough, or gets out of line, he will absolutely hurt her. Not in the same ways that Cazador did, mind you, but just as dreadful. Just as soul-breaking.

His words act as a warning.

'Behave, and you'll be just fine.'

He's pulling the opposite move. He's brandishing the carrot rather than the stick. He's saying "I won't do this to you." as opposed to saying what he will do. He's leaving that part up to your imagination, but he is letting you know that your actions very much do have repercussions.

Cazador didn't really give a singular fuck about Astarion. But oh, Astarion cares about Tav. Or, perhaps care is the wrong word. He is obsessed with her.

He won't kill her. He won't flay her and mar her beauty. He won't lock her in a tomb underground where she can't be by his side. But he will make her obey. He has other ways of doing that, and he's telling you outright what they are and what he wants without technically saying it.

He doesn't just want Tav, he is demanding her.

He's effectively saying "You belong to me and are mine to do with as I please" without actively having to say it. Cazador didn't have nearly the finesse that Astarion does. He would just outright say that. But Astarion? He's a smooth operator. But it's not just manipulation at that point anymore, is it? You know he has the power to back up those threats. You know that if you anger him, you very much will not like the consequences. You don't necessarily know what he will do to you if you dare to try and leave him, but you know he will find you. You know you can't escape. You know a lot of people will die in his efforts to exert his control over you.

Astarion doesn't have to outright say "I own you" because he can say it without saying it. He has a very special way with words where thinking about the consequences of it might be worse than facing them. He tells you that he will lock you away, but says it in such a way that it sounds like there's reasons he doesn't want to do that, and that obviously if he has to, it will be your fault. He tells you he's not going to compell you, and that if he does, it will obviously be because you made him do it.

It's the beginnings of a tactic that you see a lot in abusive relationships where the partner isn't just an outright brute. It's a great way to keep someone under your thumb. It's a great way to keep someone subservient and obedient without having to hurt them every time they anger you.

"I'll never have to hurt you if you behave. If you don't behave, obviously I have to hurt you. But that would be your fault, wouldn't it?"

He is extremely unhinged, obsessed, and possessive while seeming entirely composed. He is warning Tav to stay close. To obey. To be a good girl. Because if she doesn't? Well, whatever happens to her is going to be her fault. He loves her. He's doing it to keep her safe. To keep her in line. He doesn't want to hurt her (right? oh, never, he'd never want to hurt her, surely it doesn't get him off to exercise his power over her.) He loves her.

But there's nothing he won't do to keep his beloved queen and consort his safe.

[fangsandfeels]

i've been thinking about your latest spawn siblings meta since you posted it. i don't know why, but i assumed all the other spawns used the same seduction method as astarion and were probably forced to sleep with cazador's victims, especially since that i saw how petras attempts to reel in tav if they're alone. using similar lines as astarion as if they were trained. astarion says that some of his marks were brothel-goers, so we know cazador forced him to pose as a prostitute, and i assumed that might've been true for all his siblings. (then again, we know astarion was cazador's favorite, and this was a bad thing for him. 'particular attention' was paid to his punishments. so he was also likely more vulnerable to the sexual abuse cazador could force them to endure)

but that was a very good point about the most productive spawns, leon and violet, were both likely able to use magic. it also kinda reinforces what astarion says about himself: sex is "my only talent, i'm fully aware" if you're cruel to him in his act 2 confession, or his breakup dialogue in act 3 if you didn't get the confession "these are the talents i have." even cazador's other spawns had other talents to lure in marks and could preserve some dignity, whereas astarion just had to resort to being used for his body. that must've been so horribly isolating and humiliating for him. it makes me wonder what tactics the others, aurelia dalyria yousen and petras, might've used.

Hi! Sorry for the belated response.

My thoughts about spawns and their differing luring methods are based purely on theory (we have no evidence that other spawns didn't use seduction to lure victims) and Cazador's glaring miserable inferiority complex. Also, when put in an entirely new situation and facing a choice (bring a victim or get flayed), each of the spawns had only what they previously used to be good at as their saving straw - so, to be more precise, Cazador didn't tell them to lure victims in any specific way. He just knew they would have to apply their skills in a new twisted way.

As for Astarion and why his method was mostly seduction...the more I think of it, the darker are my guesses. We all know who had been telling him that sex was his only talent. And if Cazador Turned Astarion when he was a young adult, still figuring himself out...I assume he took particular joy in taking Astarion's future and potential choices away from him, which also included reducing his sense of self-worth and making him think he is only good for his looks and body. He was not to discover any other talents he had. He was not to think that he was good for anything else or worth anything on his own.

So, the deep headcanon of mine is that Astarion was Cazador’s least favored spawn and the most favorite spawn to torture in any way possible because he reminded him of himself. Not in terms of personality, probably, but…maybe his mere existence made him bitter.

A young elf, probably (certainly) a beloved son who got to leave to explore the world, make his mistakes and choices, a beautiful snobby chatterbox who is yet to learn that actions and choices have consequences...All of it made him seethe because Astarion had something Cazador didn’t -- and while he would never admit it (he is a vampire lord! He is powerful! Feared! He has everything he wants!) he became obsessed with the idea of teaching “the boy” some manners, of magnifying his downsides and stripping him of his dignity. And the more he tormented Astarion, the more he saw himself (the part of which he hated and wanted to forget) in him, and the more he saw it, the crueler he got. I think that also explains why he is so fixated on Astarion in his diary; while he would certainly throw a paranoid tantrum if any of his spawns escaped, but in his obsessive notes, he refuses to believe that Astarion got away, that there is an ounce of fight left in him and that he hasn't broken him to the point where he would crawl back, begging for forgiveness. He seems to shun the mere thought that his punching bag, his favorite object for projection, has been stronger than him all along.

It's similar to how an abuser would torment, gaslight, and degrade the shit out of the younger person just because the latter has an entire life ahead of them, which makes the abuser feel inadequate about themselves. So they mask that sense of inadequacy with acts of cruelty, by exerting their power in any way possible -- while endlessly reminding their victim of their worthlessness as a person (without their "guidance", of course).

[notthisagainpls]

WIP astarionxgn!reader "my instincts are the enemy (I warned you)"

“You don’t have to seduce me, Astarion,” they say, carding their bare fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. The sensation draws a shiver from him that he can’t suppress. He feels hypnotized and rubbed raw beneath their gaze. “Tonight is already for us.”

 

They return to him carefully, mouth gentled and curious. He feels picked apart and wicked, feels like Tav has him cornered and found out. But he still can’t stop himself from melting against them, Tav capture his lower lip in a sweet kiss, leaning into it until he opens for them, and their tongue delicately skims over a fang.

 

He groans, his hips shuddering at the sensation, that new desire to be closer driving him up against Tav’s body, so that his hardness is unmistakably pinned against their thigh. They rock into him in answer, an electric and dangerous whine escaping them, and he swallows the sound whole, imagines he gets to keep it.

 

“I’d like to have you in the sunshine,” Tav says, sweeping bare fingers over his cheekbone. Their voice is rough and warm between them. “Somewhere your past has never touched you.”

 

He swallows.

Their words burn like new blood in his veins, he feels flayed open and seen. And he pictures it, sunshine warming the skin of his back as they wrap their legs around his waist. The color of their eyes in the light when they dilate and their pupils swell with pleasure.

“I can’t wait for the sun to rise, darling,” he whispers, already sneaking a hand up to hold their face and bring it back to his own. “You’ll just have to make me forget anyone else ever has.”

[memoiandy]

@not-so-lost-after-all Thanks for tagging me and being interested in my Tav. She is my baby and I thought a lot about her backstory so I am glad I got the chance to finally put a part of it into words. So:

Your Tav or Durge´s name and their partner:

Her full name is Elianna Lumin but friends call her Lany. Her one and only (dare I say thiramin even!) is s sassy gremlin called Astarion. ;-)

Tell us yout your character – anything at all!

She´s a Sun Elf wild magic sorceress and grew up with her papa in a small-ish community that focused on science, history and healing. Her magic was strong but never stable and since there were some „accidents“ when she was little, she focused on science – notably history, artifacts and a bit of healing. She acts like a bookworm and a practical freak but she actually feels so much. And since feeling too much makes her magic unstable, she tends to avoid it.

She always dreamed about adventures but never found the courage to leave her home. But she was forced to when her community was attacked and people got tortured and killed. It was bad… stuff from slasher horror movies. She lost control of her magic and accidentaly killed many of the attackers but some innocents also. The thugs put a blame on her and she had to run away. (They might not be just simple thugs but I am leaving this open if I ever wanted to think about a deeper revenge story for her.)

She run to a nearest big city - Baldur´s Gate - to get a on ship so she could leave the area. But being a young elven lass (barely 100 years old!) and inexperienced, she got in trouble (again!) and ended up in prison. And surprise, surprise, there was a smooth talking, handsome and suspicious white-haired Elf in a cell next to her. Yeah… that´s how she met Astarion for the first time, long before the events of the game. He got in prison for being too touchy with a young noble. He helped her escape and even though he originaly planed to bring her to Cazador (of course he was), they ended up having a little funny adventure together and shortly before sunrise, he helped her find her ship securely. Before leaving, she kissed his cheek and healed his arm that got flayed by Cazador the night before.

Astarion was shocked. He dared to have a few hours that felt different from his torturous life. He let her go knowing he will be punished for it. She was kind to him. She called him „sir“ and told him to stay out of trouble. In the end, he was tourtured again when he got back to the mansion because he didn´t bring anyone back. Both his legs got broken by Godey. But they healed in a couple of days. It took longer to forget that young elven girl with sad eyes and gentle healing hands. She got pushed back in his mind as another failed hope, another „mistake“ that got punished. Until they met decades later. The girl that got away came back into his life and this time she stayed and helped him get his life back.

Lany did not forget him. You don´t forget Astarion. She even came back to Baldur´s Gate a few years later in hopes she could help that charming rouge who was obviously in big trouble. She stayed for weeks but never found him. For almost thirty more years she was on a run, living as a magical artifacts hunter (think female Faerun version of Indiana Jones). It was a lonely life but she learned a lot about the way of the world.

There was always something missing in her life (beside a stable home). Until she got abducted by a mindflyer ship and eventualy found someone who'd become her home.

What do they enjoy doing together?

They learn from each other. He teaches her to lockpick and how to fight with a bow and arrow. She shows him how to make new poisons. He tells her funny stories and reads adventure books. She sings him elvish lullabies when he has nightmares. They have a funny banter so they just love talking with each other. Joking, gossiping, coming up with a plan, explaining stuff. And they love being physically close to each other. It doesn´t have to be love making or kissing. Just holding each other is a bliss. Sorry if it´s too sweet but I see his romance as something darkly super romantic, so yeah, the sex is great but there´s soooo much more to their partnership.

What´s something your character´s partner loves about them?

She sees the good in him. Not just that he´s not as wicked as he seems to be. She saw through his mask even that night that started in the prison. She wouldn´t come back to search for him if she didn´t think there´s more to him. She sees him as a person with good and bad sides but chooses to focus on the good ones because she loves him. But honestly, she adores his cheeky, sassy, murderous persona. She doesn´t want a sweet guy. She wants him. That makes Astarion feel safe.

She is gentle with him, which annoyed him at first... but came to love her little affections later.

Lany is also smart and brave and has a dark sense of humour so she keeps him on his toes. He´s never bored with her.

Their life after Baldur´s Gate?

Treasure hunting probably for some time. Astarion deserves some adventures. And Lany loves that she has a partner know, someone who can share this with her. They´ll settle down a bit in the future and will have at least one child (I love the idea of papa Astarion). I know people love the idea of him having a daugher but in my HC his firstborn is a boy.

Something your Tav/Durge loves about their partner:

His humour, his endurance, his will to live. The way he is brave in face of his abuser. She has trauma of her own and wasn´t able to deal with it properly. Astarion listens to her story without any judgement and helps her find confidence to use her magic in battle again.

Their story is not that sweet though, she was very hurt when she found out he manipulated her during the party night and after. She knew he was not in love with her, of course she knew, but she never thought he´d be so… cruel. Logically, she understood why he did it. That he fell for her quickly. That he's telling her the truth now to get things right. But still... she was not used to be close to someone and that night was precious to her. It took some time after the confession for them to fully understand each other. But they made the effort because they chose it's worth fighting for and love is not always sweet and easy.

Something that your character and their partner both hate (about anything):

Cazador, of course. 😆

Astarion hates when people get too charmed by her because he wants her for himself. Lany hates when he is apart from her for too long. She worries a lot. She knows of she ever lost him, it'll be like someone ripped a part of her soul from her. Astarion feels the same but plays it cool. I am a sucker for soulmates and both Lany and Astarion are elves so in my HC they are each other's thiramin.

Tagging @madforhoran - I haven't heard about your Tav for a while!

Oooopf... this got super long somehow. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk. 😅

[stormyjane7]

Letting Go Together

Summary:

if you get confused or want more information on why this Tav doesn't want sex, i wrote a prequel to that. https://archiveofourown.org/works/53581099 As i said before, for this series this is based on the HC of my Tav, but i do not give any descriptions or name so that you, the reader, can insert yourself in! Enjoy!

TW: nsfw, mutual masturbation Read on Ao3

The trek from the grove to, and now through the mountain had been long and tiresome. Your crew of misfits now taking their night cap around the fire close to where the creche should be. You would attempt to seek out help there tomorrow for your worm problem. 

On the way here, you and Astarion decided that you would like to share tents as you were starting to get closer together. You felt especially safe around him after you shared wine and knife in the woods not even a tenday ago. You spent most nights up talking through both of your shit, even if you felt Astarion was holding back still, that it just made sense to combine tents and fall asleep whenever you felt like it. 

Your camp mates were unaware as to the true nature of the relationship. They knew you were close, but you have had to already rebuke a few passing attempts from others, stating simply that you were not interested in sex with anyone at the moment.They weren’t close enough to know the whys yet.

Astarion, on the other hand, was very well versed in why you were refraining from any sexual activity. It was a nice change of pace for him, even if it caught him way off guard. It was starting to get harder to stick to this mind set after sleeping next to him every night. You truly have never felt safer, but you also wanted to make sure you weren’t making a mistake again.

Tonight though, you decided to change things up just a touch. You wanted to have more skin to skin contact with your beau, so you shimmied down into your small clothes so that your bits were still covered but that you could feel more of him in other areas. He was pretty thrilled at the idea and joined you but only removed his shirt. Your clothes both now just piled up on the side.

He was letting you trace the scars on his back gently. You couldn’t make any of the infernal out, but you hoped with your soft touch you could erase some of the horrid memories that had been flayed into his flesh.  As you were placing a few small kisses on his upper back, a horrible crash sounded out in the camp. You grabbed a shirt and threw it on to run outside the tent.

Everyone was standing around a very fluffy and very panicked owlbear cub. It seemed to have been the one you had saved before at the goblin camp. You got closer and knelt down taking a swig of an animal speaking potion Halsin had thrown your way.

You found out that the poor thing was hungry and got it a bit of food. Scratch came over to help calm him down and find a good spot to rest for the night.

When you stood up you noticed that everyone was staring at you.

“Well soldier. Finally banged fangs?”

“Huh? Where in the world did you get that idea from?” “You happen to be wearing nothing but his shirt, Tav.” Wyll chimed in.

You started to panic. You look down and indeed, you were wearing only Astarion’s shirt. The top of your chest smalls were peeking through thankfully to cover where your breast would have been showing. You could feel your entire body flush red as you were truly embarrassed by this situation.

You coughed before speaking again. “No, we have not, banged, as you say Karlach. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but cuddles can be nice when most clothes aren’t involved.”

“I think that’s wonderful you’re keeping it chaste, well, as much as chaste as you are doing.” Wyll, ever the romantic, was thankfully helping the tension that had formed in the group. Pack of wild animals you thought, salivating at the mere thought of sex it seems.

You turned towards Astarion and quickly flushed bright again. The man was standing there, with fire in his eyes taking the sight of you in. You gulped as he reached for your hand to drag you back to the tent. He had closed and secured the flaps and had you in a searing kiss in a flash of a moment.

“Gods above, you truly test my will tonight darling. You look amazing in just my shirt.” He nipped at your ear which made you squeak. 

“Astarion..” He growled hearing his name from your lips like this. This caused heat to go straight to your center. You were in agreement, tonight would be a test of your resolve.

“I know darling, I know.” He said sweetly as he sat down on the bedrolls with a bit of a huff. “I will not cross that line until you are ready, I promise. But I can tell it’s not just me who’s heated tonight. Can we try something?”

You sat down facing him, “And what would that be?”

“We can still help each other get the obviously needed release we both need without any penetration of any sort.” Your face brightened at the idea. Was this something possible? Your experience was limited to the bastard that left you afraid to have sex again. While that time was consensual, the fact that he stole your dowry and left you pregnant, left a sour taste in your mouth. You had no lovers till now so you felt as if you were brand new to everything again. 

“We have a few choices, but here’s one I’d like us to try. Come sit on my lap. We can be together while we touch our own bodies.” He trailed off letting his words sink in. “No penetration, but being close to each other would be so nice.” He growled the last word.

“Mmm. That does sound nice. Okay let’s do it!” You start to take his shirt off of you when he tuts at you.

“Keep the shirt on, lose anything else you’re comfortable with.” He grinned up at you.

You went ahead and shimmied out of your underwear as he decided to go completely bare.

“Oh now I feel overdressed..” “Hush and come sit on my lap darling.”

Straddling his legs you sat down more towards his knees. Giving a glance down at his now upright cock, you started to blush. He is thicker and a tad longer than your last person. You wonder how in the world it was going to fit if and when you both decide to bed the other.

He leans forward and gives you a kiss as he wraps a hand around his aching cock.

You watch him quietly so many thoughts going through your head. You wondered how it would feel or even taste. 

“Darling as much as I love that I have enchanted you with my cock,” he smirks, “don’t forget to touch yourself too. I want to watch you as well.”

You flush at his words and nod. Slowly you lowered you hand down to your already slick folds. Your hand found your clit and rubbed in time to the speed Astarion was pumping his cock. Precum was already dripping from his tip. It made you salivate. 

Both your breathing started turning into pants. Watching each other stroke yourself was turning both you on so much. You lean forward to embrace him in another kiss. You both speed up as the desire was pulling you spiraling. 

“Oh gods I’m gunna cum.”  You lean into Astarion for support. 

“Let go darling.”

Your orgasm rips through you and makes you tremble against Astarion’s chest. He pulled you in for a kiss as you rode out the waves of pleasure. You could feel him tense while still stroking his cock. You pressed your forehead against his wondering if he’d let you touch him at this moment.

“Lean back darling. Let me see just how wet you are.” He breaks the silence. His eyes filled with so much desire. You nod at his request.

You lean back using your other arm to brace yourself. Youmove the shirt up to show your lower self. Your hand trailing back down to spread your lips open to show your lover. 

“Fuuck, Tav.” He pumped his cock one last time before his seed spilled out over both your stomachs. 

This time it was your turn to pull him into a kiss while he rode out his climax. He was a shuddering mess under you and you felt happy for once with this level of intimacy with someone. 

You both sit there panting for a bit. Astarion reaches over to grab a rag to clean his mess up from your bodies. 

“That was hotter than I thought it would be when I suggested it.”

You hummed in approval, moving off him to put your underwear back on. You flip down next to him. 

“That was amazing. Just what we needed I think.” You turn towards him. ”You think next time I can taste you?”

“Oh I’m sure I’ll allow it.” He smirks and snuggles down next to you covering you both in blankets so that you both could trance. 

[selunesdreams]

Somebody in the Hells Loves You

Chapter 2: Disorder

Summary: Florence hates camping, Gale anoints himself as cook, Astarion is a dick, Wyll is a sweetie, and Gale makes our girl cry with...figs.

Pairing: Gale x Named Tav/OFC

Rating: mature

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: OCD, baggage, blood, mild violence. See AO3 for chapter-specific warnings.

He chuckled. “Pain would be putting it mildly.” He rolled his eyes and lifting his head to the sky. “But, yes. If I don’t absorb strands of the Weave through magical items imbued with it, it hurts a great deal.”  “Oh, gods, Gale-” She fumbled in her pockets and retrieved a ring of color spray she’d found in the rubble. A child’s toy, really. She grasped Gale’s hand that hung limp at his side, firmly placing it in his palm. “Here. Please come to me if you need more.” His eyes widened in surprise, and he closed his fist around it. “Florence, you shouldn’t have to bear this burden on your own, sneaking me items that could help you-” “Stop.” she snapped. Realizing she was still holding his hand, she dropped it and smoothed her palms against her trousers. “You’d do the same for me, were it possible to alleviate the pains of my condition.” She shook her head. “But you can’t. So take the ring, and we’ll keep this between us until you’re ready to tell the others.”

Cross-legged on her bedroll, Florence watched the campfire as the logs chipped away, crackling and turning to ash. Through the flames, Gale dropped his bedroll and eased himself to the ground with a grunt.

“Well,” he pulled his pack closer to rummage through it, “Morena Dekarios has been advised of my sabbatical in Baldur’s Gate, and my Tressym is cared for. No need to worry anyone unnecessarily.” He produced a loaf of stale bread, breaking off a piece, and nibbling at it, offering Florence a friendly wink. “Did you get in touch with your family?” 

She shook her head, her eyes focused on the fire. “I’d like to see what tomorrow brings first.”

Shadowheart threw her things down between them, nodding toward the beach. Astarion stood there alone, staring at the horizon as the sun set over the water, unmoving. 

“He said he’d keep watch.” She informed them as she cut pieces of an apple away with her knife, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s like it’s his first day alive. Probably lives in the Upper City and has never touched a blade of grass in his life.” She said with her mouth full.

“Bristly fellow, isn’t he?” Gale asked, following her gaze. Shadowheart snorted in agreement. 

Florence shifted uneasily, hands brushing the rough fabric of her bed and feeling the grime that clung to it. She smoothed the edges, her fingers tracing the patterns, ensuring no dirt would get inside. She couldn’t help but wonder about the person who had slept in it before her. Perhaps they possessed a contagious disease, a rash that would spread, boils that would pop and flay the skin…

“Unfamiliar territory for you as well, Florence?” Gale’s voice broke through her morbid thoughts as he took a kettle from the fire. He poured the hot liquid into a tin mug of mixed coffee and passed it in her direction. She politely declined, knowing she’d never be able to sleep if she drank it this late in the evening.

“I’ve never camped before.”

Gale blinked at her curiously, the firelight dancing in his eyes. But before he could question her further, Shadowheart cut in.

“Afraid of a night in the dirt?” She sneered before softening the comment with a half-sympathetic smirk. “It’s not my first choice either.” 

Too exhausted to make further conversation, the three sat in comfortable silence. Eventually, Shadowheart stowed her knife under her pillow and laid down, rolling on away on her side. Gale stood from his bedroll and walked over to Florence’s, gesturing towards it.

“May I?”

“What? Oh.” She nodded and scooted aside so he could join her, hugging her knees. He sat down, one leg extended while he rested his elbow on the opposite thigh. 

“Could be our last night without tentacles.” He mused, eyes never leaving the fire. 

“I never thanked you for getting me off that ship.”

“How could I leave behind a damsel in distress?” He asked with a cheeky smile before waving his hand dismissively. “I owed it to you. If I hadn’t felt the need to pester you at your place of work, perhaps you’d have been home, tucked in bed, long before our captors came along.” 

“Don’t blame yourself, Gale. If anything, I would have been abducted alone had you not stopped by tonight. Were that the case… I’d be dead.”

He frowned and turned to face her directly. 

“Why did you leave the Academy, Florence? You were good, truly good. I could never make sense of it…” 

She chewed on her lip and glanced at the waning moon above them.

“I have an illness. It was too much to manage on top of my studies.” She said. “I was placed on academic probation for a…poor decision I made in the dorms. Then, the quality of my work decreased and…I was expelled.”

“Expelled? Probation? Whatever for? You’re hardly a troublemaker.”

“I opened a portal to the Hells.”

“Color me impressed, but the Hells? For what purpose, Florence? You have extraordinary talent with the Art, surely you weren’t seeking a patron-”

“It’s complicated, Gale.”

He gave her a dark, expectant look. “Try me, I’m good with complicated.” 

“You want to swap secrets? Fine. You first. Tell me where you got that arcane little tattoo of yours.”

He stiffened.

“Point taken. I’m a man with a great respect for privacy, especially my own. I’d probably do well to respect yours.”

As he rose to his feet and returned to his mat, Florence could see the subtle disappointment on his face, mixed with embarrassment. He combed his fingers through his hair, the strands slipping through his touch.

“Probably should get some rest.” He said and slipped into his bedroll, the soft rustle of fabric accompanying his movements.

Florence laid down, resting her head on her arm, and stared at him through the smoldering fire. She hadn’t removed a single layer of clothing, even leaving her boots laced tightly on her feet. Her eyelids fluttered shut, despite how hard she fought sleep, and as she opened them one last time before drifting off, she noticed Gale was watching her through the smoke.

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

As the first rays of the twilight peeked over the horizon, Florence stirred, greeted by the aroma of sizzling pork. Gale hummed a pleasant tune and skillfully cracked an egg into a pan over the fire. Astarion, having moved closer in the night, now lounged lazily, his disinterested gaze fixed upon the wizard’s culinary endeavors. Caught in a moment of observation, Florence’s eyes met Gale’s, and he responded with a gentle smile.

“Well, look who’s finally awake,” he remarked.

Astarion’s attention swiftly shifted towards her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Good morning, darling. Sleep well? You look cold.”

Florence propelled herself into a seated position, running her fingers through her unruly curls, which were now tangled and knotted from her sleep. As she did so, her thumb brushed against something crawling along the base of her neck. Startled, she sprang to her feet, letting out a piercing scream as she tried to shake off the unknown intruder.

Gale dropped his fork into the pan and rushed to her side, holding her by the shoulders as she spun frantically.

“Hold on, hold on, it’s probably just a spider. It can’t hurt you. Relax! Just stand still Florence-”

Astarion snorted as Shadowheart lifted her head, a groggy expression on her face. 

“Looks like we found the camp diva.” She grumbled, throwing off her covers and sitting up just as Gale dislodged a small beetle from Florence’s hair and threw it aside.

“There, it’s gone,” he assured her, as she blushed with embarrassment and mumbled a quiet thanks. Gale went back to the fire and scraped off burnt bacon remnants from the pan.

“Is that breakfast?” Shadowheart asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Help yourself.” Gale says, holding out the pan. She took a scoop of eggs and meat and settled back down on her bedroll. Gale prepared a plate and extended it to Florence.

“Hope you’re hungry.” 

“Um...thank you, but I don’t eat pork,” Florence replied, her pickiness adding to the lingering embarrassment from earlier. She chose not to mention that there was no valid reason for her aversion, fearing that it would only fuel her incessant internal dialogue about its cleanliness.

“Oh, my apologies. Here, try some eggs then,” Gale suggested, transferring a generous serving onto a new plate and trading with her.

She gazed at the food, and ignored her anxieties about cross contamination, giving in to the growling of her stomach. With no dinner the previous night, she anticipated this would be her only sustenance for hours. Gale’s culinary skills truly shone, and she found it easy to savor the meal.

“I’m…on a special diet.” Astarion said and flashed a grin as he packed up his things before walking to the beach and to watch the sunrise. 

“Special diet?” Gale echoed, brow furrowed. Despite the disappointment clear in his defeated expression, as most of the camp turned down his kind gesture, he maintained a cheerful demeanor and shifted his focus back to his meal. 

“Who knows?” Florence shrugged. “It’s good, Gale. Thanks for cooking.” 

The weight on his shoulders seemed to dissipate as soon as he heard her words, and his genuine smile in return filled her with a sense of warmth. 

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

There was so much blood. 

Her boots were drenched in it as she sat on a log in the Emerald Grove with Astarion, watching Gale and Shadowheart trade unneeded items they’d found amongst the Nautiloid wreckage with one of the Druids there. As she wiped her hands clean, crimson stained her clothes, more blood instantly replacing what she had removed.

It had already been a long and grueling day. After leaving camp, they stumbled upon Lae’zel, suspended in a cage above the ground, a trap set by a pair of tieflings. Florence had managed to convince them to flee without resorting to unnecessary violence. However, the githyanki showed little gratitude for her rescue, likely due to Astarion’s provocation, demanding her to “say please” before agreeing to release her.

Not far down the road, they followed the sound of shouting to discover a goblin ambush in progress. Without hesitation, they had joined the fray. Florence and Gale unleashed spells upon their enemies, while Astarion tore through in hand-to-hand combat. He was hardly a skilled fighter, but his reflexes were strong, and he looked the happiest he had since they’d met. Shadowheart’s aim was questionable, but her healing abilities were unmatched. Florence managed to kill a Worg and injure several goblins, relieved that her first non-creature kill was avoided for now. The morality of taking a life, even a goblin, was a burden she wasn’t ready to confront.

“Here.” Astarion interrupted her thoughts, handing her a relatively clean rag. “You seem like you need it.”

“What about you?” She noticed his own blood-soaked clothes, eccentrically made with seams splitting and years of repairs coming undone. Had he done it himself?

“A little blood never bothered me,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

She took the rag with a grateful nod, wiping away the blood on her face first. 

“I saw your thoughts,” she said, moving on to her arms. “I’m here if you need-”

“Look, darling, I’m not sure what you saw, but don’t worry your pretty head. I’m quite the socialite. I get around. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” His response carried a warning.

“No, of course not-“

“After all, why would I want pity from a girl who works in a Festhall?”

Florence froze, her mouth falling slightly open. “I…think you misunderstood the context-“

“Precisely. We saw snippets of one another’s day to day. Nothing to infer from. Let’s discuss more interesting topics, mmm? Unless you’re looking for a different type of company?”

“Sorry to interrupt.” One of the men from the fight approached, extending his hand and interrupting the interaction, to Florence’s relief. “I wanted to thank you for your help back there. I’m Wyll. The Blade of Frontiers.” He said with a wink, shaking her hand with a confident grip, but maintaining a polite gentleness. 

“The Blade of Frontiers.” Astarion drawled. “How can we be of service?”

“I’d like to travel with you, if that’s quite alright. I met your companions-” he nods in their direction, where Gale is bartering with the druid merchant, insisting the value of a rune he’d found must be worth more than the merchant’s offer. “We seem to share the same affliction.”

“You were on the ship as well?”

“I was. It caught me in the Hells while I was pursuing-ah!”

Flashes of a horned woman running through Avernus, red skin glistening with sweat, eyes wide with panic. He has to catch her, or else-

“Who was that?” Florence asked. 

“A devil I’m hunting. I’d appreciate help while we search for a cure. In the meantime, I’m just grateful for a place to camp.”

“I’m sure we can find a place for you to stow your blade for the evening.” Astarion purrs. 

Florence closes her eyes, taking a breath as she tries not to cringe.

“It’s great to have you, Wyll.”

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

Florence stood on the beach, her arms tightly wrapped around herself to ward off the chill of the northern wind as she watched the vibrant colors of the sunset. She looked over her shoulder and tried to smile as Gale approached.

“I found some figs. Washed them in boiling water, and let them cool. You haven’t eaten much today. I thought maybe you’d like them.” He offered. 

Florence’s eyes locked onto the bag in his hands, and she fiercely bit her lip to suppress the welling tears.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Gale’s eye widened with panic as he stood helplessly before her.

“No, no, it’s so kind, Gale,” she said, her voice choked with emotion as she sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her wrist. She dabbed tears from the corners of her lashes with a knuckle. The effort proved to be in vain, and she burst into uncontrollable, heart-wrenching sobs. 

“I’m not cut out for this.”

Gale pocketed the figs and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“None of us are, Florence.”

“Oh, stop. You know what I mean. I’m the least capable here. I can’t handle a spot of dirt. I’m afraid of food. There are bugs everywhere-”

“You have your own strengths. Nobody here thinks less of you.”

“Yeah? Because Astarion seems to think I’m a bloody idiot and Shadowheart has had commentary prepared for everything I do. I can’t blame them. But I’m not like this because I’m spoiled or think I’m above it…I swear.”

“You’re not an idiot. Not in the slightest.” 

“I can’t even pitch a tent.”

“Neither could Astarion. He flirted his way into getting Wyll to do it for him.” 

Laughing through her tears, she smiled in response to his comment. 

“I’m sorry for prying, Florence, but…your illness, it’s not an ailment of physical nature…is it?” 

A moment of silence passed between them before she spoke again.

“When I was younger, I was very sick. I nearly died. My father…disappeared, searching fora cure. But I survived, and after, my mother was so afraid my illness would return, that I’d leave her all alone. She doted on me, shielded me from everything, made me fearful of so many harmless things. Along the way, I developed this…condition. My head is never quiet. Constant thoughts of contamination and sickness and…I’m so petrified most of the time. It’s paralyzing.”

Without uttering a word, Gale listened attentively. He drew in a deep breath when she finished. 

“My tattoo…it’s part of a condition I have myself.” He revealed, pulling down the collar of his shirt to expose it. “The specifics are rather personal, but, suffice to say, it’s a malady that I’ve learned to live with. Though not without some effort.” He looked to the treeline behind her before meeting her gaze again. “I grasped for power that was far beyond what I should have reached for, and it nearly killed me.”

She stared. “Is this the reason for your year-long absence?”

“The nature of my condition is rather deadly, and not just to me alone. I haven’t even seen my own mother, to spare her the danger of being near me.” Gale answered quietly. “But worry not, should it come it, I will be certain that I remove myself from your presence before I pose a threat to you - any of you.”

“Are you…in pain?”

He chuckled. “Pain would be putting it mildly.” He rolled his eyes and lifting his head to the sky. “But, yes. If I don’t absorb strands of the Weave through magical items imbued with it, it hurts a great deal.” 

“Oh, gods, Gale-” She fumbled in her pockets and retrieved a ring of color spray she’d found in the rubble. A child’s toy, really. She grasped Gale’s hand that hung limp at his side, firmly placing it in his palm.

“Here. Please come to me if you need more.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and he closed his fist around it.

“Florence, you shouldn’t have to bear this burden on your own, sneaking me items that could help you-”

“Stop.” she snapped. Realizing she was still holding his hand, she dropped it and smoothed her palms against her trousers. “You’d do the same for me, were it possible to alleviate the pains of my condition.” She shook her head. “But you can’t. So take the ring, and we’ll keep this between us until you’re ready to tell the others.”

“I feel terribly having kept this from you.” His jaw flexed. “I know this is asking a lot of you, with few answers in return. But I promise, in time, all will be told.”

The two of them stood facing each other, their eyes locked in a silent exchange. The waves lapped at the shore behind them, and in the distance, a flock of birds settled into a nearby treeline, a spotted, black cloud on the horizon.

“About your…condition,” Gale began suddenly, “How severe is it? If it’s not too insensitive to ask.”

“The Hells…changed me, even for the short time I was there.” She closed her eyes, the memories flooding back. “When my advisor found me the next morning, I’d scrubbed my skin so raw that it bled. I’d have these compulsions to peel my skin away from my body - I practically went mad. When they expelled me, it wasn’t because I’d opened that portal in the dorms. It was because they were petrified the next time they opened my bedroom door, they’d be finding my body, rather than a ritual star.”

“And recently? I presume…things improved?”

“I lead a quiet life now. I go to work, I indulge in my music, I visit my mother. I live alone, and it’s these little rituals that help me maintain my sanity.”

“Sounds like minimal human contact, not much of a life.”

“I haven’t been touched by another in almost four years. I don’t hug. Maybe a handshake, but…” She hesitated, her throat tightening. “When you touched my arm at the market, it was surprising to me. It was the most physical contact I’d had in so long. But surely you relate - you’ve been a recluse too, no?”

He let out a bitter scoff as he kicked at the dirt. “I’ve isolated myself to protect others. I was at the market because I felt stable for the first time in a while, after absorbing a rather potent amulet. I just wanted an excuse to get out. When I saw you, I…was hopeful. I came to the Hanging Lantern because I’d hoped to experience normalcy, even if just for a night, before retreating to my tower.” He sighed, his disappointment palpable. “You can see how well that turned out.”

Florence reached out tentatively and brushed her thumb against his face, wiping away a smudge of dirt. Standing on her toes, she planted a soft kiss on his cheek before rocking backwards with a warm smile.

“I’m glad you’re here, Gale,” she said before taking the bag of figs from his hands and turning to make her way back to camp. As she bit into one, something nudged at her mind, and a faint whisper echoed in her head, Gale’s voice resonating with a gentle cadence.

I’m glad you’re here too, Florence.

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

a/n: Florence was born of my thought: how the hell would I survive being tadpoled? I have a boatload of trauma and an OCD diagnosis, so I know I'd be starving, scared of ALL food. I'm sure everyone's wondered at some point how they'd make it. (I mean, hells, I''m a contact lens wearer, I'm fucked.)

I hope you're enjoying so far. This is my first "Tav" fic where the events happen as in game, but I'll probably mix things up so they don't get too redundant. Thanks for reading! I appreciate the kudos/feedback, please leave more and connect with me if you'd like!

[zooburrygon]

Spawn Astarion x Reader

Word count: 3,000+

Request by A/N: Astarion and male rogue reader travel together and help Astarion to walk in the sunlight again

Warnings: very fluffy, light angst, scars,

Enjoy!

Tav was written as a male rogue in mind, but you are free to interpret how you would like

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌࿔♱࿔﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

“Darling if you’re going to go to sleep, please for the love of all things good, stop moving around so much.”

Astarion grumbled as he was lying on his back in his usual meditative position. The sun beat down onto the shield of the tent. You had gotten used to staying awake in the night, and asleep during the day, as your lover was cursed to the shadows. Rather it was Astarion who was struggling to adjust back to how he was during his time before the mind flaying parasite.

“I wish you could walk with me in the daylight.” You sigh loudly, throwing an arm out to the side to purposely flop over his chest dramatically. He turns to face away from you, revealing the patterned scars over his pale back.

“Well, then you should have just sailed off into the horizon with Gale. Then you would have your nice happy ending in the sunlight.” He grumbled in an almost sarcastic tone, though you could tell part of him meant what he said.

Without hesitation you moved in order to lay over his side, reaching to tilt his face in a gracious and catlike motion. His skin was cold as a corpse, but the gaze that met you held the life and warmth only found in the living.

“Tempting, but I'd rather spend my life in the shadows than live a day in the sun without you beside me,” your hand had slipped under his chin in order to cradle his face in a way you could see eye to eye.

“Gods, who taught you to be this cheesy love.” But despite his quip you could see reflected beyond the red of his eyes, that he was satisfied with your answer.

“Oh I wonder who?,” you leaned in closely to kiss his cheek, “but seriously i've been reading-“

“Oh nine hells, what should I expect?” He groaned in a teasing manner.

“I’ve been reading about a vampiric artefact whose power could supposedly allow vampires to walk in the sun’s light, bathe in rivers, ” you continued, “seriously Astarion it could be our key to getting you free; truly, honestly free.”

“Stop.” Astarion protested, his voice dropping in pitch suddenly.

“No seriously- it says it’s found in ruins not far from—“

“Stop it.”

Astarion pushed himself up into a sitting position and glanced off to the side, his eyes were transfixed on the only beam of sunlight spewing through a hole in the tent’s roof. You took careful note of how his fingers clenched at his bedroll, and the smile lines on his face straightened into that of a scowl. When he met your eyes once again, a far off distant look remained that usually only revealed itself in light of past trauma.

“And what would the price of such an artefact be? Take away my autonomy, my mind…take away you? Freedom comes at a cost; I know better than anyone,” he paused to take a heavy breath, “I just…I have it all right now. Do you understand how scared I am of losing it all over?”

Astarion had lived his whole life in the clutches of fear. It was largely dominated by the will of another being, whether it be the control of a tadpole, a vampiric master, or a lover. The trust required to put his life in another person so completely and fully had only ever ended in misery.

Until you. He didn’t know when he started to see you less as an unfortunate victim, but rather an equal. He remembers waking up next to you, not feeling guilty or ashamed, but for once in his life wanting more of what was to offer.

“Hey,” you took his liquid smooth hand, “we trust each other. If I thought I would lose you, I would never even take that risk. But we promised, remember? We promised I would find a way for you to walk in the sun once more.”

The vampire lowered his pointed ears as his distant look was led back by your thoughtful words. The sharp points of his nails clutched at your hand, and with softly spoken words, the gentle side he claimed to have lost came out.

“Darling it pains me just how blatantly hopeful you are in me. But despite all of that, I trust you, even more than I trust my own judgement sometimes.” Astarion admitted sheepishly, and you knew at once that he referred to the scar in view on his back proving what his purpose was to be before you came along.

“If you think this is what will make you-,” he paused to correct himself, “us, happy…then I will follow you through the nine hells and back. I’d rather spend a lifetime with you in the shadows, than without you in the sun”

His words knotted your stomach and squeezed your heart just so that the blood in your veins; which ever so belonged to him, seemed to thicken. Just as you did for the first time all those nights ago, your arms outstretched offering an embrace.

It was a more familiar gesture to the vampire this time, and he did not hesitate in burrowing his face in the crook of your neck and stretching his bare arms around your broad shoulders. You breathed in an intoxicating scent of red wine, and rosemary, and relished in the way Astarion’s silver hair tickled the bottom of your chin.

A kiss on the side of the mouth by plush lips welcomed you to kiss him back. You did so, meeting equally in a passionate dance of the pull and push of each other’s mouths.

His hands lost their grip and he dragged you backwards onto the bedroll. “You never cease to surprise me, love. You subverted every one of my expectations from the moment we met.”

Instead of answering, you tugged him closer, so that you could lay chest to chest on your side. Your arms slid into place to feel the cold, scarred expanse of his spine, and as the two of you settled into a comfortable position with his head tucked under your shoulders, he finally spoke.

“So, what artefact have you supposedly dug from the depths of your silly book?” He was ready to listen now, he trusted you, and if you were to live a life with him, he wanted you to be happy and free. He couldn’t let himself keep you prisoner in the shadows because of his curse.

The rest of the night was spent curled in his arms reading to him about a golden bangle adorned with rubies, and intertwined with ancient magic gifted to a long dead vampire king. He listened with rapt attention, and only mild suspicion, and before long the warmth of the day through the tent, and your hopeful words gave way to his slumber.

You kissed the top of his fluffy, white hair before settling in next to him. The ancient text in your hands closed on the folded page you made as a makeshift placeholder.

“Goodnight little star.” You murmured, as you burrowed your face in his arms to distract from the temptation of the daylight. Tomorrow, you would set off to the ruins of the vampire king, where your lover’s last true fetter would be broken.

﹒⟡﹒★﹒⟡﹒

The warmth was gone when you had awoken, and all that met you was the chilling feel of his pale arms around your back. Astarion was awake, and his red eyes contrasted the rest of his fresh, snowlike appearance this early in the morning. It was dark, but you could see the pink glow of his cheeks in the moonlight; you could understand how his appearance alone had led so many to their demise.

“Good morning darling,” he said this, as it was, in fact just the cusp of morning. It was a sacrifice to abandon your days in te sun for late nights and early mornings, but for him, you would give any ounce of light you knew, “We best be moving if we are to get to your…vampire overlord tomb by sunrise. You slept far past sunset, and I cannot wait another hour to be myself again.”

“Well get dressed then,” you mumbled sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes. Astarion used you as leverage to stand up before finding his gorgeous, silk shirt from the bedside.

“I don’t understand how you manage to keep that thing so pristinely white,” you comment and eye his toned body, forever trapped in youthfulness as he slips the shirt over his torso.

“A magician never reveals his secrets, love…but if you must know being a vampire you get very, very good at learning how to clean bloodstains from your clothes.”

“Well, we don’t keep secrets between us remember, so you best tell me before I lose another favourite shirt.” You tease him before slipping a tunic on yourself and changing into more fitting, battle ready pants.

You noticed him watching you with equal fervour as you changed, and silently made a note to yourself that once this mission was over, you were going to give all you could offer to him.

You strapped your dagger into its sheath and took your trusty longbow, which fit into a comfortable place over your shoulder. Astarion similarly chose to go with weapons fitting of his roguish nature.

A lithe hand reached out to invite your own, despite his tousled “morning” look, he gazed at you with only that of crimson, wide-eyed trust. “Shall we, my love?”

You took the offered hand, and together you opened the tent flap to walk under the pale moon, east towards the direction of the sunrise.

Heading east without guidance of the sun proved to be difficult, although Astarion claimed to be able to follow the constellations. It took many hours of travel by both foot, horseback, and by boat across a body of water. (To which Astarion clung to your back, making you do all the rowing in fear of getting wet.)

Luckily by the time you reached the dark, looming ruins of the vampire lord, the orange light of the sun had not yet come to banish the creatures of the night. Even still it seemed hard to believe the luminosity would dare set foot in a realm such as the one before you.

Astarion scoffed. “This seems disgustingly familiar. Why do vampire overlords always have to be so…particular in their choice of design?”

“This isn’t a palace or a place of worship,” you realised as you took notice of the arch protected by gargoyles, and the words carved into the stones, “it's a tomb.”

“I don't care bloody what it is, as long as it gets me into the sun so I can be with you again. Gods, it was so nice while it lasted.” Astarion’s fingers snaked their way around your wrist and he took the initiative to lead you to the tomb's dark entrance.

It was a tunnel, long, winding and dank, both of you glanced at each other before he confidently stepped into the shadows, having much sharper vision in the dark. You felt along the slimy bricks of the walls, under your fingertips; they were as cold and harsh as your days spent without sunlight.

Your foot slipped, and Astarion was quick to tighten his grip and tug you into his arms. You relinquished the feeling of his shoulders against yours before you let out a relieved breath. He kept one arm on you while another reached out to the side.

“I have got you, my little love, I know you are a creature meant to walk under daylight.” In your hands, he gave you a torch, long burnt out. You cringed at the rough feeling of the unsanded surface digging into your palm.

You knew he would most likely refuse to tear his own shirt, so you instead tore off the lower part of your sleeve to wrap around the old wood. Using flint and steel from your bag, you cast fire onto the cloth. The amused glint of eyes glowing in the flare met yours with delight in your vulnerability, as the room was sparked to life by flame.

You swallowed harshly as you looked at the path ahead. Though the caves seemed uninhabited, the spiders crawling away from the bright lights on the ceiling made shivers run down your spine.

“Do you think there’s anyone besides us down here?” You couldn’t help but notice the carving of a name on the overgrown wall. Vines snaked over it and moss wedged itself in between the crevices making it unintelligible.

“Well whoever is down here is going to be in for one if they meet us,” Astarion reassured you, “defeating evil vampire overlords is a favourite pastime of ours remember?”

You laughed hoarsely and tucked yourself closer to him, despite his air of tranquillity to keep you calm, you noted the way his hands were clenched and his eyes paid careful attention to each small detail. Astarion had a penchant for being able to convince the world around him of things that weren’t true, but somehow he could never fool you.

The hand not holding the torch took his, and you threaded your fingers together into a warm embrace. Your thumb found its way to the back of his hand to rub slowly and convincingly.

As you reached the end of the hall, your eyes both fell upon a large banquet table. The table had 12 intricate wood seats, carved out of a rich dark oak, ruined through years of rot, and water. Each was empty except for the head chair which lay against the wall, where a skeleton holding a small chest sat.

“So…that's it? No scary monster? There has to at least be booby traps?! I mean this place looks untouched!” Astarion threw his arms in the air, and immediately began to scour the floors for any trap, any small trick, anything that would prove that his freedom would have to be earned.

You decided to take the quicker path, simply walking to the skeleton and taking a deep breath before reaching to the bony hands and prying it out of its fingers. Someone had positioned this skeleton to sit in a patient manner; forever waiting for a successor to its bounty. The only barrier between you and the fabled bangle were two teeth shaped keyholes.

You got a sick idea as you glanced up at the fangs of the ancient body which lay before you. Your hand reached out and wrapped around the dusty, hard expanse that was the figure’s skull.

Astarion’s eyes bore into the back of your head as you removed the skeleton’s own to pry open its mouth in order to stick the teeth into the holes. You shuddered at the sound of cracking and crumbling bones under your fingertips before a sharp click rang out.

Astarion gave up on being cautious and rushed to your side. “Careful! This is only the fate of the rest of my life we’re dealing with!”

He gripped onto your bare arm, where the sleeve had been torn for the fuel for your torch. You tilted the cover of the chest upwards and inside the box lay a bangle. It was made of a simple iron and clad with a few inexpensive jewels, none as magnificent as the image drawn out in your book. Unsurprisingly, it was one of the few things grave robbers hadn’t touched.

“Well, I was hoping that it would be more up to my style, but this? It's rather disappointing for a vampire lord.” Astarion cringed at the sight of the plain jewellery so unlike what he usually adorned himself with.

“This was rather anticlimactic,” you agreed, but nonetheless still took his hand to present his wrist, “ but hey, let’s put this on and hope for the best!”

As you slipped it over his bony wrist it was clear he felt no physical change, neither mental advantage. He only felt the sensations of your hands moving over his own in a caress that remained to remind himself, even if he was unable to live in the sun, a life with you would be all he could ever ask for.

“It should be morning,” you moved to brush his cheek, “shall we my darling?”

A deep sigh of preparation echoed in the silence of the tomb. “We shall.”

The air became crisp and easy to breathe again the further you walked up the tunnel. The your feet felt weighed down by iron fetters against the slick stone, as you neared the light of the sun peaking over the horizon; usually signaling your time to return to Astarion’s bedroll for rest.

Astarion trailed behind, stopping just before he could reach the border where the sunlight danced with the shadows. You stepped into the sunlight basking in the rays that illuminated your back in pleasant warmth.

“Come on,” you reached a hand out to invite him out of the last chain that bound him to Cazador. The concerned scowl that painted his face deepened and his pointy ears lowered against his head.

“If this works, which it won’t,” Astarion quipped anxiously, “you know you can still take Gale up on that offer about sailing into the sunset.”

“Oh shut it!” You grabbed onto his wrist and yanked him into the light. He froze as you both waited with bated breath for his skin to become dry and granular as if he was made of sand.

Time ticked by, and all Astarion felt was the ecstasy of sun bringing colour back to his undead body. He almost was in doubt, and he slowly let go of you to take another step; nothing in his life could possibly be this easy.

He looked down at his body almost in disbelief before stumbling up the ramp the rest of the way to be in full view of the sunlight. He laughed and reached out his arms. Free, he was truly, honestly free.

“No mind controlling parasites! No being trapped in the shadows!”

You half expected him to no longer want to depend on you now that he could live out his life as an immortal, free being. As you stepped onto the grass he turned to face you, and his eyes shone with life he had not known since before his death.

For nearly the first time since you had grown to know him, he opened his arms for you to come to him. This wasn’t his celebration, he was happy for both of you, and what this meant in lieu of your future together. The ground beneath you raced by as your legs worked of their own accord.

You gripped his torso in a deathly tight hold and spun him into a dip. He clasped just behind your hair in order to keep himself from tumbling onto the grass below. You stared at his eyes, so piercingly bright, in such a way they seemed pale pink rather than blood red. They searched yours until they found what they were looking for.

“I never did get the chance to thank you properly for, well, everything you’ve ever done for me darling.” He knew you all too well; and as soon as you opened your mouth to protest he had put a finger to your lips.

“Oh shush dear, you aren’t making me do anything,” he smiled at you and you caught a glimpse of his pearly fangs, “besides all I was going to ask was a kiss anyways.”

The look of concern drained from your face into one of pure delight. “Gods I thought you’d never ask.”

For once in both your lives, everything seemed right as you sunk into a kiss. Your lips parted slightly, leaving room for you to feel the sharp pricks of fangs against them as it deepened. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you leaned him so far down it left both of you to collapse into the grass below.

The sun beat down on Astarion and you. Truly, honestly free. The only thing controlling him was his love for you now, and that was a control, for once, he found craving.

He leaned back as you rested your head upon his chest and folded your arms to glance up at him. You had never seen him with an aura to him that was so alive.

“This I could definitely get used to,” Astarion murmured with a smile gracing his lips, “I waited over 200 years darling. For you to find me, and now that you have me, we can live the rest of our days however we want. This is a gift you know, I won’t forget it.”

[edelgarfield]

can vampires grow out their hair. can they cut their hair. if they cut their hair will it grow back.

anyway i think astarion testing out new hairstyles post-canon is very cute. i think it probably starts on the road bc i refuse to believe he never ever ran out of hair product or sweated/washed it off. and i imagine the first time he has to show his face without it he feels exposed, but then tav/durge says it's cute, plays with his hair, and the others tell him it looks nice and he's like. actually this is great. everyone's paying attention to me and telling me how pretty i look. people should do this all the time.

idk i just feel like the same damn hairstyle for two hundred years would be boring as hell and astarion doesn't have the impulse control to resist dyeing/cutting it on a whim once he has some free time. (and like y'know. cazador would've flayed him alive for "ruining" his hair or mocked him for being vain so like fuck that guy) howls moving castle scene where astarion royally fucks up dyeing his hair for the first time and tav is just like sweetie i promise its fine your life is not in fact over.

obv the effect is diminished bc he cant look in a mirror but thats what minor illusion is for.

[tavyliasin]

THE FESTIVE ORGY SPECIAL IS COMPLETE

Listen, darlings, it ran long. This beast is over 12,000 words, because Haarlep, Raphael, Halsin, Astarion, and f!Tav just would not stop. They required more, they demanded it, and so here it all is for your enjoyment~ Samples of the smut below the cut, I might look at posting the full here in the future when I schedule the rest, but I'm uncertain as it will take a good deal of time and effort to do. CW/Tags

-------- SAMPLE 1 -------- “I hate you. You know that?” Raphael sneered, even as he allowed Haarlep to continue as they pleased, covering his wings with white feathers. Well, allowed was perhaps not the most accurate word as he was once more bound - quite literally - by their latest scheme. “Yes, yes, hellfire, brimstone, flay the flesh from my bones. I was hoping you might play the part a little better, Archdu- ” They paused halfway through his title, a far more wicked grin crossing their features. “ Archangel .” They finished on the last row of feathers, checking how firm the golden ropes and vicious daggers pinning his wings spread and open against the metal support were, ensuring he wouldn’t bother struggling. They floated back on a current of magic to properly admire their work, checking the book they summoned to their hand to ensure that everything was just right. Raphael was in his cambion form already, horns painted with gold with a large ornate ring suspended on fine thread between them as a glittering halo. He was dressed in a pure white robe that stopped midway down his thigh. Half of his chest was equally exposed, and his hands were bound with a thin but impressively strong golden rope in a mockery of prayer. A liberal application of golden glitter made his entire form appear to sparkle amidst the twinkling lights as he was held aloft at the top of an unreasonably large evergreen tree. Decorated soul coins hung from ribbons in the higher branches, out of reach of where most of the guests would be in the expansive hall below. The rest of the tree bore a variety of garish baubles, patterns of magical fire and dancing light cantrips being constantly cast by debtors hidden beneath the base, barely able to see from the ribbon-tied boxes they were secured inside, under strict orders not to let the decorations flicker or fade for even a moment. “Now, all you need do is sing .” Haarlep made a swift motion with their hand, their lovely little item buried deep inside Raphael suddenly coming to life and drawing out a prolonged whine from his lips. “Hmmm…you can do better.” Another motion sent the short mild shock of lightning through the pins piercing specific points up the cambion’s back, including several in the most sensitive points just above his tail and at the point his wings joined near his shoulders. This time, the noise from him hit a higher pitch. “Much better.” Haarlep smirked with satisfaction at the disappointed sigh as they left him without any stimulation again, only the feeling of what was there, the pained anticipation of never knowing when they’d next activate their little toys. “Now, you be nice up there, and you might just get your present later~” Their wings stretched in a lazy mimicry of flying as the magic carried them back to the floor. They noted the perfect view, if a guest were to stand in just the right spot beneath the tree, they would see everything . “Here. Hang that silly plant right here.” He motioned to one of the debtors who was helping decorate the hall, stringing the mistletoe on a fine thread they conjured from the high ceiling above.

---------- SOME TIME LATER ---------- Astarion was becoming impatient even as the incubus laughed and teased. He reached up and took hold of their horns, pulling Haarlep down by force to steal their kiss. The moment their lips met, Tav felt the heat rising quicker within her, breath quickening and heart racing as she watched crimson arms encircle the pale elf, claws digging in to his shorts. Behind her, Halsin had taken a drink from the tray of a passing servant. He filled his mouth with the warm mead, and guided Tav to face him, running his thumb along her lower lip as a suggestion, asking for the invitation. Tav mirrored Astarion, though more gently so as not to damage Halsin’s costume horns, and drew him into a heated kiss. She moaned softly as the now warmed honey-mead trickled across her tongue and down her throat, the wicked cinnamon hint raising her temperature to a fever pitch and quickly countering the bitter potion that she had swallowed earlier. She was beginning to lose herself to the feeling of his tongue dancing around her own, drawing out more low noises from her throat to match his own, when she felt a familiar tail wrap around her neck, a slight pressure tugging her away from Halsin. “To me, Little Thief, allow me to steal you away for a moment.” Haarlep purred against her ear on her right as she felt her other lover appear on her left, easily taking her place against the druid’s body as they exchanged dance partners in their infernal waltz. “A little taste from the source~” Tav felt herself easily swept up in their arms, wings wrapping around them both as they created a moment where it felt as if they were the only two in the room. Shielded from view, she felt her curiosity pressing in more sharply as she whispered the question into their ear. “What you said earlier…Where exactly is Raphael?” “You’re with me and thinking of him? We can’t have that…” The incubus almost sounded offended before they took her lips in a far more fierce kiss that the one they had shared with Astarion. Their tongue was swift and invasive, thrusting between her lips and filling her senses with a far more potent dose of the intense aphrodisiac ever present in their body. Tav found herself clinging to their body, muffled voice calling out her desire without words, almost collapsing entirely as the device began to hum its own little tune against her nerves. Haarlep held her tightly, lifting her leg around their hip and sliding their claws up the back of her thigh, only to snap the suspender painfully as the toy stopped moving and they ended the kiss with a sharp bite to the tip of her tongue. “Whose name is on your mind now, Rat?” They grinned wickedly as her vision grew hazy with desperation, burning from the inside out with a need for more, more touch, more taste, more anything as long as it was- “Haarlep…” She struggled to regain her senses. “You’re…trying to distract, Enthrall-” They licked the taste of her from their lips, the hint of blood adding a pleasant tang. “Not this time, hardly necessary when you’re already so needy from so little.”

------------ EVEN LATER ------------

Tav watched as the druid unwrapped his own gift, another ornate decanter inside, though the contents of this one were golden and bore the likeness of several fiends embossed into the crystalline glass. Entwined around the neck of the flask was a leather strap with silver buckle and green leaf detailing. “Do not think me ungrateful for the honey, I can tell it is of a fine quality, but… A collar, demon? Are you suggesting I am some kind of animal who must be controlled?” He raised an eyebrow, staring over at the fiend who stood almost as tall as he did, almost as a challenge. “Only if you want to be~ Wear that, and you will be at the mercy of the first name you speak until either they release you, or you may cough twice as a safe signal should you need it. You would be a difficult man to restrain with knots alone, but I can tell by your reaction that you are already considering the many benefits of using it.” Haarlep caressed Halsin’s shoulder for a moment, almost coming close enough for their lips to meet, before stepping back again to look towards Tav.

“Oh, right, mine’s last then.” She nervously teased the bow open, the paper falling away to reveal two items. The first was a dark flask, the glass itself looking like warm flames were moving within it, a thicker liquid swirling inside. “Do be careful with that now, Little Rat, do not get greedy . Just a drop or two in a drink should be more than potent enough, when you aren’t able to take it from the source.” At those words, they leaned in close tilting her chin up with a single claw and kissing her deeply, a sweeter passion to it, she might have been forgiven for thinking there was just a touch of genuine emotion. “Now, why don’t you look at the other half of your gift.” Their hand drifted down her arm, lifting her wrist as she still held the silk bag by the drawstrings. She passed the bottle of what was now rather obviously distilled aphrodisiac from the incubus themselves over to Halsin to hold for a moment as she began to pull the object from within the fabric. “This is…well, I assume it’s similar to other items you have?” “Not precisely.” They ran their own finger up the length of the decidedly phallic object, coloured deep red with familiar ridges along it. “Right now, it bears Raphael’s likeness , as you can tell. However, you can have it take the form of others, should you wish. All you need do is make a little deal with them - similar to my own, but far simpler. Just use it and kiss them while it is inside you, speaking their name whilst holding it will then transform it into their form.” “What’s the catch?” She eyed them suspiciously as they continued to caress the toy, squeezing at the tip for good measure. “When it’s in their shape, saying their name again while holding it will allow them to feel everything you do with it, much like you feel it if I take your form.” They grinned and dug a sharp nail just below the tip, and Tav once again heard that sound from above. “That…” She began, holding the toy in her hand as she had an idea form. “Haarlep.” She said once, watching the fiend’s eyes widen for a moment as they toy changed in size and shape, the hue changing to a dark tan. “So you did attune it to yourself when you made it, you cheeky devil~” Astarion winked at the incubus, watching the subtle changes in their face. “Haarlep.” Tav repeated, looking them in the eye as she took the item in her hand and began to run her own fingers up and down the length. “It is you…but not the one we know.” The incubus touched the toy quickly. “Raphael.” They uttered, in a hushed tone. “Do not think on that too much, Little Thief, some things even you should not steal.”

---------- AN - Yes, I did subtly tie this in to The Scent of Cinnamon, so if you want to know why this is Haarlep's form then check out the prequel series I'm writing here and meet Haarlep before they became Haarlep~ The Scent of Cinnamon on AO3 ----------

EVEN LATER STILL ---------- Haarlep licked their lips as they indulged in the waves of pleasure emanating from the table, but they made good on their word. They stood back for a moment, their spell bringing the still-bound angel floating down from on high in a parody of divinity, keeping his presence quiet from the elves who were devouring their rather noisy meal. Tav’s body writhed beneath the greed of her lovers. It was maddening, the heat of her blood slowly trickling into waiting lips, kissing away the pain, sucking just lightly enough to draw each new drop from the pinpoint wounds. It ached with need, both his and her own, and the soft moans close to her ear as he swallowed each little bit with delight could have driven her over the edge of her sanity with ease. Then there was the druid down below, his own satisfied moans vibrating the tongue that flicked and sucked with a long practised skill, teasing the building feelings even as his fingers curled inside to reach every point that made her want to scream. Perhaps she would have, if a kiss hadn’t sealed her lips. Haarlep was holding Raphael by his clothes, allowing him to bend down to reach Tav, but forbidding any touch but the kiss. They grinned at how he struggled, hands still bound in prayer, but at least he seemed a little pleased at the gift, and the way she returned his affection readily. Tav knew it wasn’t Haarlep, the body was similar but there were those subtle differences. His affections were more greed than passion, the distinct cinnamon edge lacking on a tongue that carried the taste of cherries. She was surprised at first, that the incubus was letting Raphael join them, but any shock was quickly overwritten by the heightened desire of realising what this might mean. Not that any of them gave her room to consider any hint of a coherent thought, kept on edge for so long the extra sensation of the cambion’s affections were driving her towards her climax. It seemed the others realised this, as they finally stopped withholding their touch whenever her muscles began to shake and instead redoubled their attack on her senses. Her legs pulled at the restraints as the orgasm made her whole body quake, muscles pulling tight in waves of overwhelming pleasure. She almost bit Raphael’s tongue as her lovers continued to work her beyond overstimulation until she moaned - halfway to a scream - into the cambion’s kiss. Haarlep pulled Raphael back when they were satisfied that Tav had come completely undone, already knowing the fiend was close to his limit too. Halsin stood from the end of the table, dabbing his face with a napkin as if he had just finished a meal in fine company, a quick healing word sealing the last of the wound that Astarion was kissing far more gently now. “A fine appetiser, was it not?” The incubus looked to the elves, now looking over at the bound “angel”, his wings still feathered though no longer pinned open. “It seems the head of the table has yet to dine~ Ah, but we should allow our delicious meal the pleasure of seeing her next patron properly, should we not?”

The blindfold melted away with a moment of heatless fire, leaving Tav blinking in the light of the room. It took a few moments for her vision to clear as she saw the full view of Raphael, halo and all, stood watching her reaction. It was hard to bite back the giggle as it slipped out in the wake of the afterglow still warm within her mind. “Nice of you to join us?” She wasn’t sure why it came out like a question, her thoughts were a complete mess still. “You will regret the mockery, Little Mouse.” “Make me.” She stuck out her tongue at him as Haarlep laughed now too. “Ah, my Thief, I love how you can steal the scant pride he clings to even now. Isn’t she perfect? Perhaps you should show your devotion properly, Archduke.” They returned to using his usual title, though made no effort to remove the angelic guise from his body. Instead they shoved him roughly towards the end of the table, kicking harshly at the back of his knees so he fell forwards. More strips of tablecloth were sacrificed as Tav felt his thighs tied to the same wooden legs that she was secured to, the heat of his skin clear against hers. They grabbed his horns next, pushing his head forwards between her thighs, his hands still bound in the prayer position. “Go on, you wanted to devour her, did you not? Do not think to waste a single taste.” Tav’s head pressed back into the hard table with a renewed moan, biting down on her lip as the fiend’s tongue began to clean her thigh, slowly moving upwards as he gave in to the commands of the insatiable incubus. Besides, it was not as if he had any complaints…all Haarlep was asking was everything he wanted, even if he was loathe to admit it.

------------- ------------- The rest is all on AO3 for now! I hope you enjoyed the samples~