#Astarion doesn’t look remotely old

[rawrsatthetree]

Been seeing it circulate on Twitter that Cazador looks younger than Astarion and I’m sorry but no he fucking doesn’t 😭 Cazador looks significantly older than Astarion like he’s closer to Halsin’s age.

[pursuitseternal]

“Lend You a Hand”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | E | 1.6K

🎨 by @kowashites (full nsfw in ao3 link)

Summary: His Consort has been away all day, and Lord Astarion has plans for some fun to be had in public… and in the privacy of your skirts. One Mage Hand, one Vampire mating bond, and it’s going to be a long walk back to the Palace.

CW: Inappropriate use of Mage Hand, dirty talking you through it, orgasm control and delay, vaginal fingering, aka the DnD Vampire equivalent of a remote vibrator and a phone.

Inspired by OGY’s amazing NSFW audio “In Public, Darling?”

Ao3 link | Astarion Masterlist

It had been a long day of meetings and social calls, of new important and powerful people to influence and bribe. Astarion didn’t expect you back at the palace quite so soon, so a few drinks with a couple of your old companions back at the Elfsong shouldn’t be a problem… should it?

After an hour of hearing how the Selûnite encampment was progressing, how the once Blade of Frontiers had settled into rubbing elbows politically, you felt a ringing in your ears, a tingle up your spine, and a voice in your head.

“Not so desperate to return to me?” Astarion, purrs down your bond. “Not upset at me, are you?”

His laughter is warm and taunting. He’s up to something, you can tell just by that tone. “I was just about to leave…” you think back at him. Only to receive a tickle of laughter in your ear.

“Step outside,” he commands, “I have a surprise for you…”

You obey, knowing his games are always… satisfying. Well, teasing and merciless until they are oh, so satisfying. As you exit, you look around for that head of tousled curls and those glinting red eyes. Nothing.

“Not here, darling, somewhere less public, but not by much…” his voice seems to creep from the alleyway, sounding in your ear as if he’s around the corner. You follow, a suspicion flickers in your head, one that’s confirmed when you see the glowing blue Mage Hand beckoning you closer. It presses a single, tingling digit to your lips before wandering that ice cold touch down the lines of your dress.

“You’re so good at hiding your thoughts, your desires… Why don’t we play a game? I’d hate to think you’d been out having all sorts of fun without me…”

“What sort of game?” You smirk as you reply.

“Hmmm, I’m going to make you come before you get into the door. Doesn’t that sound delicious, darling? Just to remind you how desperately you need me, how desperately you depend on me…”

That Mage Hand instantly flies under your skirts, sliding up your thigh until it sinks two magic digits knuckle deep between your thighs.

You squirm; a groan, a gasp, a noise of pure desperation slips from your mouth.

“Ahh, there it is, one of my favorite noises, that little bit of a gasp. Don’t fret, darling. Start walking… keep it together, and get home to our palace, dear Consort…”

“You can be such a controlling prick, you know that?” You taunt him back as you start to walk, your legs splayed a little to make room for those magical fingers digging in your cunt.

“Isn’t that part of the fun? Part of the game?” He purrs his taunt in retaliation. “Just think of all the fun things I can do to you in public… in the privacy of your skirts…”

“Fun for you, perhaps,” you grunt back as he digs those remote fingers to stroke you in just that right spot, the one that makes your knees go wobbly.

“Oh darling, I’m hurt. I thought we had something special going on here. After all, I’m doing all the hard work. All you have to do is keep that polite smile on your face and walk.”

Your breathing is rapid, and even your pale cheeks are beginning to flush with excitement. With every step, you feel the thrusting and prodding and burrowing inside you. A short walk, you console yourself. So close, it’s just… a bit more as you head down the bustling street, a hair closer with every step to the Central Wall and then to the tower entrance.

But that’s when his thumb joins the myriad of sensations between your thighs. “Fuck,” you curse aloud, your knees buckling until you have to catch yourself on the wall beside you.

And then that purring voice tickles inside your ear again. “Desperate, pet? I do so love to hear when you’re desperate.” His presence fills your mind, even as those fingers thrust and crook, thrust and crook in time with your air. Except now, you stand stock still, just trying to catch your breath and not fall. “That’s it, darling, steady yourself, I wouldn’t want you to trip.”

Your thighs shake as that hand catches you just right, your fangs biting through your lower lip as you quake and fight with all your strength not to puddle your mess on the stone streets.

“Mmm, delicious, I can hear your breathing, feel your heart racing. Hells, you’re desperately close, aren’t you? You’re just outside Sorcerers’ Sundries, aren’t you? Tell me, do all those innocent mages think something is wrong with you?” His voice grows more excited, frenzied, as if the idea of you getting caught with his literal hand up your skirts is getting him hard… which it undoubtedly is.

You can taste blood, a welcome distraction from the constant movement in and out… in and out… “Damn you to the hells!” You curse, your hips rolling on what looks like nothing. Your secret pleasure source, those deft, dexterous fingers show no mercy as you go careening towards your peak.

“My lady,” the kind vendor nearest you offers gently. But you just round on them, baring your own set of teeth in agitation to scare them off.

Your ferocity is rewarded with a warm laugh in your ear and a perfect circle of that magic thumb over your clit. “I’m sure you’re quite a sight by now. How sweet of them to come to your aid… my damsel in distress. A pity I’m the only one who can save you…”

He pulls those fingers out entirely, and you keen into your palm, crying tears at the absence and burning denial.

“Walk, pet. Get to the gate before I continue…”

It’s a promise and a threat, all in one velvet, sugar-sweet phrase.

You focus, feeling that cool shimmer of magic hovering over your skin, just brushing your thighs as you force yourself, will yourself, to take one step… then another. You have to tell your brain, as lust-hazy as it is, to breathe, to move, to smile and look demure. Even if on the inside you’re raging, blistering hot with need. You can’t even weave two words to curse your love, to snap at him for how much you’re suffering at his hands with this little game.

Suffering… and loving it.

A few more steps, and you managed to climb your sorry ass and slick thighs up to the walls of your home…

“Good darling… good Consort,” his praises pour over you, soothing and stoking your desire afresh somehow all at once. You almost tumble up the stairs in your delirium, the rush of pleasure as those fingers sink their cool touch inside you makes you moan, caught off guard, loud enough to bounce off the stone walls of the tower.

A few quick, shallow movements and you’re near the brink again, so quickly.

“Sweetling, tears already?” His satin syllables caress your ear, only adding to the rush of heat and wet between your thighs. “You sound… frantic, desperate. Desperate enough to beg.” That wicked, rumbling chuckle races down your spine and tickles your brain. “Beg for it, my love, what do you want from me?” The Mage Hand slips out mid stride.

“Come! I want to come!” You scream aloud as you make it to the parapet, one hand on the door to the palace as that Mage Hand sweeps its thumb perfectly over your clit and those cool smooth fingers crook just right.

You can hear his laughter from the other side of the door, the wooden panes barely muffling that annoying, perverted, deep-chested giggle. You grit your teeth, pushing on your bond as you come undone, as your slick soaks those magic fingers and your belly clenches and spasms until you lose your breath.

It’s all you can do, to dig deep and force your feelings back at your love, the bastard that he is. A smile turns your panting, slack-jawed lips as you hear his own groan. That’s all the encouragement you need. You throw your debilitating lust and mind-numbing pleasure through your linked minds… and the gut rending thud of a fist against the door, the way the Mage Hand disappears as he loses concentration… the way you hear his breath ragged and voice rough as he comes too….

You grin, feeling your mutual pleasure and delight shimmering between you, it makes your walls throb and your mouth smile.

Just a twist of your wrist, and you open the door to see him, the great Lord… the Vampire Ascendant… with sweat on his face and a cheeky, annoyed grin as he hunches forward to catch his breath. One hand grips his own cock at the head, cum leaking between his fingers… The other rakes his silver curls back, a meager attempt to regain some semblance of control. “Well, here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed and her thighs just soaked for me,” he croons, content even as he smirks at you, breathless. “To bed, I think…”

You give a brazen smirk. “This time, I want your real fingers without the distractions of your little game in public…”

He laughs, his true lips whispering in your ear. “Oh well, I suppose, there’s fun to be had in private, darling.”

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter One

A Baldur's Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: Brand new to Baldur's Gate, without friends or family but with a dream job as an archivist at Baldur's Gate University (that barely pays anything), Liv is introduced by a friend of a friend to Astarion whose social media career seems to be stalling and is therefore willing to rent out his spare bedroom to her.

The roommates mostly avoid one another, and in a burst of loneliness, Liv joins the new app everyone in Baldur's Gate is talking about: The Weave. Who knows, maybe she really will meet someone and fall in love...

Read on AO3.

___________________________________________________________

The music is no longer blaring and the lights are no longer strobing, but they might as well be for the way they continue to echo through Astarion’s mind. He sits at the cleanest of the empty tables in the Elfsong and nurses an end of shift drink. It feels nice to have a solid span of five minutes without anyone needing a damn thing from him, so he finally decides to check his notifications on his smartphone. 

He doesn’t get far. 

“Fangs!” Karlach yells as she approaches. How the red-skinned tiefling manages to have this much energy after working a full shift should almost certainly be studied. “Third time working this week. Everything alright?”

He glances quickly at the notifications waiting for him, but he sets his phone down with a sigh and puts on the same smile he’s worn most of the evening. “But of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

Karlach sets down her own glass of cider and angles her broad body sideways into the booth he’s claimed. Their fellow employees are beginning to clean up the ravages of the evening in the old bar turned club. With the overhead lights on and the music no longer shaking the space, the room looks rather ordinary and a little dingy. He hates it here. 

Karlach doesn’t. She works here full-time, happy to be a bouncer or the life of the party at the bar, she’s equally at home doing either. He only picks up the odd night or two on the weekends when money is tight. He works hospitality for the VIP guests, smiling and pretending he doesn’t hate their guts. But lately, money has been tighter than usual. So to the Elfsong he trudges. 

“Just don’t usually see you working here so much. Not unless you need a new computer or camera or something.”

He sighs. “If you must know, Chirper is taking a much larger cut from creator funds than ever. So…despite my content doing just as well as it has in the past…there’s less cash flow.”

Karlach nods and takes a deep drink. “You know, I told you to get a smaller apartment so that you wouldn’t be in this position.”

He had purchased his very fabulous, very spacious apartment with the first of his suddenly insane income when he’d started going viral for his roastings of men with terrible fashion sense on Chirper. Now he has a whole consulting business remotely helping men dress less terribly, but the bulk of his income still comes from his merciless Chirper threads making fun of men in power with terrible sense of style. He loves that apartment for all it represents: freedom, security, and ownership. Those things just don’t come very cheap these days and neither does his mortgage. 

“I’ve got it handled, Karlach.”

“You hate spending your nights here,” she replies. 

And she isn’t entirely wrong. Karlach loves the press of people, the attention, but she doesn’t have to take shit from anyone and people still love her. He spends his evenings here smiling and mediating and generally hating himself from dusk until the bar closes a few hours before dawn. It’s his choice to be here, but sometimes when a certain song comes on or he catches just a whiff of the right mix of booze and perfume he’s trapped all over again in a very different club. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of other marketable skills though, so the pay here is good when needs it. 

“It’s fine, really.”

“Have you ever considered getting a roommate?”

He tilts his head at her in disdain. “A roommate, really? That’s your solution?”

“Oh come on, it’s not the worst solution. Consistent income every month would give you more freedom, you’d spend fewer nights here.”

“I just need to figure out how to make the side things more profitable. Or get more sponsorships or whatever. It’s just that so many of them want me to wear their clothes and have personal content. Which doesn’t really work for me,” he says. 

Karlach is one of the few people in the city that knows exactly what he is. Who knows what he was before all this and still doesn’t shrink away, doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s grateful, of course, even if he still can’t quite fathom what she’s getting out of the arrangement. 

“They still wanting you to show your face?” she asks. 

Objectively, he has a very good face. He’d love to show it off on social media, but a truly charming byproduct of his condition is his inability to do that. Oh, he’s tried all sorts of things, but the outcome is always the same: a blurred smudge where his face should be. 

He nods. “I keep telling them that my anonymity is part of my charm, but everyone wants ‘get ready with mes’ and peeks into the ‘real life’ behind the influencer. I miss when the internet preferred everyone at arm’s length.”

“I don’t,” Karlach scoffs. “Look, I only bring up the roommate thing because my friend Gale told me to keep a lookout for a friend of his who needs a place and you have an entire extra room and bathroom you don’t use.” 

That is not true, he uses the closet in that bedroom regularly. “Gale who works at the library?” Astarion tries to remember. Karlach has lots of friends, and it would probably be good of him to pay more attention when she talks about them. 

“Yeah. Guess she’s a new archivist or something. If she’s anything like Gale, she’d be steady and dependable. And unlikely to be prone to throwing large parties.”

There’s a slew of reasons why getting a roommate is a terrible idea, but on the other hand…it would be nice to have money coming in through no labor of his own. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, let me know, and I’ll pass your info along.” 

His phone buzzes on the table; he sips at his drink rather than turning it over to see exactly what it is. 

Karlach glances at it meaningfully. “Is it the Weave?”

He shrugs and grins. “Probably.”

“I still don’t understand how you manage to get so many matches on there. I’ve matched with exactly two people in the last month, the first one ghosted me and the second was great until they started asking for feet pics.”

“Mystra favors me, what can I say?”

“I’m not sure how an AI algorithm for love matching is favoring you over me. You’re not even looking for anything serious. How many people have you met up with from it? I’m betting six or seven.”

His smile turns feline. “Darling, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He hasn’t actually met up with anyone from the app at all. He likes the anonymity, of chatting with someone without having to worry about being himself. He likes having someone’s undivided attention, especially when he can control exactly when he gets it. He enjoys having someone to constantly talk to, to ask about his day, the possibility of building something. But there’s always a point that he cuts it off. It’s easier, cleaner that way. Besides, he rather prefers to be the one to cut things off before it can get too far or too insistent about meeting in person. 

He knows that makes him broken. And he’d rather not admit that to anyone, so letting them believe the lie is far, far easier. 

Karlach sighs. “Maybe I need to go try out some new coffee shops or something. Then maybe Mystra will match me with some new people.”

The whole draw of the app is that it tracks your location and finds others in your life who also use the app, and then matches you with them, anonymously of course. There’s something romantic about the idea that maybe you’ve already met the person you’re conversing with through the app. But all you get is their screen name and pronouns. The rest of it is up to you. 

“Trying to game it? Let me see your profile, maybe I can help.”

Karlach hands over her phone, and the first thing he looks at is her username: HotCliveMama34. “Well there’s your problem,” he says as he hands the phone back. 

“What?”

“You’re matching with people who think you’re a mother!”

Karlach looks offended. “I am a mother.”

“Your dog doesn’t count…besides are you sure he’s a dog? He looked more like a bear in the last picture you posted.”

“Clive is my child. My favorite, best, most wonderful child. If someone can’t handle me at my Mama K, they don’t deserve me otherwise.”

Astarion shrugs. “Fair enough.” He envies her confidence that who she is should be enough for anyone. That it’s someone else’s problem and not hers if they don’t love her just the way she is. 

“I should go, it’s getting late,” he says, draining his glass and standing up. 

She offers him a wave and a smile. “Later, Fangs.”

As he walks away he checks his notifications at last. 

KissMeQuick: I haven’t ever told anyone this before, but it’s really easy talking to you. 

RomanceJunkie: hey hope work is good, wyd after?

Mystra, new match alert: HeartacheHero.

Every last one is a Weave notification, nothing real at all. 

***

Most people have a compulsion towards preservation. It’s why they keep report cards with high grades and hang up their children’s art on fridges. They’re constantly keeping or looking for mementos, magnets from every place they’ve traveled or pictures snapped in front of buildings and structures. Liv Vires has always been interested in what people keep and what they don’t and how to ensure knowledge isn’t lost. But for someone whose entire career is focused on preservation, she has managed to cut herself loose from almost every vestige of her old life in the span of one short month. 

She has to race to keep up with Lae’zel as she strides with a singular purpose through the university campus and toward the large, domed library building. Students and the handful of seemingly ever-present tourists instinctively shift to make way for her, and Liv simply follows in her wake. Baldur’s Gate University sprawls in the oldest part of the city, with hundreds of years of history contained in its old stone architecture. It's not just a place of learning; it is also a pilgrimage of sorts. 

This job is still new enough that every morning Liv cannot help but gaze up at the collection of spires and towers that make up the inner campus of BGU, still a little in awe that this is where she gets to work each day. Liv had left Cormyr in a hurry, in the type of impulsivity borne of nothing but desperation. Her relationship with her family had always been strained, but then the Laughably-Awful-That-We’re-Not-Thinking-About had happened and broken everything irrevocably. And honestly? It had been a relief in some ways to finally have a legitimate reason for cutting off her family completely. But it didn’t leave her feeling any less unmoored. And suddenly, Cormyr had felt too damn small. Her family knew too much of her life, her friends. She’d needed a change so radical, so all-encompassing that it wouldn't leave any space for her family. And so far, she hasn’t once looked back.  

Liv feels lucky for the new job, the new city, the new life. But it is still somewhat overwhelming. When she finally catches up with Lae’zel, she gestures to the bookstore on the corner, the one with the coffee shop on the second floor. “I was going to go grab some coffee, you want something?”

Lae’zel looks rather annoyed, but Liv can’t tell if it’s at the question or if that’s just how Lae’zel generally is. Lae’zel has been generous enough to let her stay at her small, rather spartan apartment, and Liv is just trying to not be too much of an inconvenience until she finds her own place. “Tchk, I do not need coffee, but go if you must.”

“See you in a few,” Liv replies, hurrying away. She still hasn’t quite figured out Lae’zel’s moods or tone or what any of it means. She hates her reliance on other people right now, and all the ways that Lae’zel doesn’t quite allow her to pay her back. She had jumped on a train and left Cormyr like a thief in the night with nothing but the job offer in hand. She was grateful for Gale, who had remembered her from their shared undergrad in Waterdeep, and had recommended her for the archivist position and then promptly promised to help her with the move to a new, unfamiliar city.

It wasn’t that she hated her librarian job at Cormyr’s public library, but she’s an archive conservator. Archivists and librarians are not the same thing, and while they’re both small, interconnected worlds. Liv was sort of tired of wearing a bunch of different hats. This job not only got her away from her family but is exactly the type of work she’d always dreamed of. It would be perfect if she could just find a fucking apartment of her own though…or a roommate where she doesn’t have to sleep on the couch. 

She’s been frequenting this particular coffee shop within this bookstore enough in the last two weeks that the baristas recognize her, and it’s nice to start feeling like she’s becoming part of a place. She grabs her coffee and heads into the library, flashing her work badge to get around the tourists eagerly vying for a view of the old convocation house and its fancy ceilings. She makes her way up the long, steep staircase in the old building before finally arriving on the floor of the archives, where she follows the snaking path of books to her small cubicle. 

These days most of the archival work happens digitally, so they all have their own desks and only work with the rare books in specialized ‘clean rooms’. She’d be more annoyed, but it means that she gets to bring in her coffee. 

“Ah, good morning,” Gale greets her, leaning on the corner part of her cubicle wall. He dresses the exact same way he did nearly ten years ago all thick sweaters and sports coats. He wears the years well though, the only hint of passing time is his longer hair with peeks of gray at the temple and a slight crinkling around his eyes. 

“Morning,” she smiles. “How are you?” She finds it hard to believe that she’d once thought him arrogant during their studies in Waterdeep. It’s only been a few weeks since they reconnected, but Gale has turned out to be her most steadfast friend through the upheaval of her life. 

“I’m doing wonderfully, and I have some rather good news for you.”

“I love good news in the morning.”

“A friend of mine knows someone in need of a roommate,” Gale grins. 

“Thank the gods,” she says, and then promptly lowers her voice. “I think Lae’zel is getting very annoyed having me around.”

“It’s a small space, it’s to be expected,” Gale says with a bit of a wince. Gale had also offered to allow her to stay with him, but she has a mild allergy to cats. The allergy doesn’t stop her from spending a few hours in his place, properly medicated of course, but it would be impossible to live there for any length of time.  

“Who is this friend?” 

“It’s a friend of a friend, but Karlach wouldn’t send me his information unless she believed it would work out. His name is Astarion. I’ll text you his info. I’ve never met him, but Karlach says he’s some sort of fashion consultant, and sometimes works hospitality at a nightclub?”

“In my price range?” Liv asks. That’s been the biggest hurdle of this whole move. Archivists are highly specialized so naturally they make hardly any money. Unfortunately, finding a place that’s affordable and isn’t student housing has been an absolute nightmare. And while she could live next to a bunch of rowdy undergrads, she’d really love to not do that in her thirties.

“Yes, and much nicer than any of the places you’ve been looking at. Karlach says it has its own room and bathroom.”

“Damn. I’d live with almost anyone if it means that kind of privacy. I’ll shoot him a text. Thank you.”

Gale shrugs. “What am I here for? Oh, did you see that we got that Karsus manuscript yesterday evening? I’ve been dying to get my hands on it. Want to help me with the page scanning?”

“Hell yeah. I’ve got some requisition requests to respond to first, and I’m hoping I’ve got a lead on an earlier copy of the Baldur’s Gate charter. So give me an hour?” 

“It’s a plan.” As he walks away, he texts her Astarion Ancunin’s contact information and she promptly sits and spends far too long crafting an introductory text. 

Liv: Hi there this is Liv Vires, Gale Dekarios gave me your contact information. I hear you’re looking for a roommate? 

She rereads the text at least three times after sending it, hoping that it sounds friendly enough before giving up on staring at it in hopes of a reply. There is no immediate reply anyway, but then ten minutes later her phone buzzes. 

Astarion: Hello. That depends entirely on how ugly the furniture is that you propose to bring in. 

Oh good, he’s got a sense of humor. What a relief. She stares at his reply while she thinks through her response. 

Liv: In that case, I’ve got great news: I don’t have any furniture at the moment. I suppose we could negotiate your input on future purchases. Otherwise, I’ll just promise to do my best not to clash with the curtains.

Astarion: If we keep my input on the table, then I suppose I do have a room available. I assume you’d like some pictures of the place? 

Liv: We can certainly negotiate. And sure, I’d love to see the place. 

A few moments later she receives several pictures of a very nice apartment. It’s a hells of an upgrade compared to the rundown and downright falling apart places she’s been looking at. Something tells her that this is too good to be true, but the more she looks at the immaculately clean kitchen, the living room with large windows, and the empty and waiting bedroom it becomes very hard to care. But she can’t shake a sinking feeling in her stomach: there’s no way she can afford this. 

Liv: Your place looks amazing, but I’m worried that our friends may have misunderstood what I can actually afford. I can’t go over two grand. 

Astarion: That’s what I was told. This is a little bit different since I own the apartment, your contribution helps me afford my mortgage in the capitalistic hellscape we inhabit. 

That actually makes a lot more sense, and she immediately relaxes. She looks back through the pictures again, trying to get a better sense of it. The bedroom is already semi-furnished with a bed and nightstand and the closet looks rather large. The Liv she was before, the one who hadn’t left Cormyr or her family would be more meticulous about this whole thing. She would ask more questions and track down backup options for her backup options. But it was impulse that got her to Baldur’s Gate, and it’s worked out so far. So, she’s determined not to overthink this one too much either. Besides, the more she texts with Astarion, the better she feels about the whole thing. 

***

Two days after making initial contact, swapping social information, and ironing out a rental agreement he shamelessly stole from the internet, Astarion’s new roommate arrives at his door. This whole thing has only been a mild inconvenience so far, so he’s hopeful it will actually work out for the best. The most annoying part was that he had been using the closet in what will now be her bedroom as his second closet, so finding space for those clothes in his own room had required a fair bit of creativity. Otherwise, she seems exceedingly normal, nice, and boring as all hells. Karlach says that’s a good thing. 

He’s spent the past two days stalking Liv’s social media in an effort to figure out who she actually is. He hasn’t learned much. Her most recent post is from almost two years ago posing at the beach with a woman he can only assume is her sister since they share the same dark hair and green eyes. Otherwise, she’s proven to be an enigma.

But Liv hasn’t arrived alone. When he opens the door he is greeted by her and a small, terrifying githyanki woman dressed in a smart pantsuit and holding a box. “Oh, hello there,” he says, stepping aside at the door. 

“Nice to actually meet you,” Liv says brightly. “This is my friend Lae’zel, she came along to help me with my things.” If he’s not what she expected from their brief text exchanges, there’s not a hint of it in her expression. 

“I’m here to ensure you pass the vibe check,” Lae’zel says without a hint of a smile and strides inside. 

Liv for her part turns a rather shocking shade of pink. She’s also dressed as formally as Lae’zel, wearing a deep purple blazer that’s tailored so well he doesn’t even have a critique of it. Perhaps they’ve both come to move her in straight from work. 

“Vibe check?” He raises a brow in her direction. 

She attempts a smile that’s more of a grimace. “Well, I am moving in with a person I’ve only just met, so I guess you can’t be too careful.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry, I already hid the bodies and had the carpets cleaned of all the blood of my enemies.”

“How thoughtful.”

She’s only carrying one large suitcase and a backpack. Lae’zel had a bag in addition to the box she carried, but still, it’s a rather sparse amount of stuff for moving. “Where are the rest of your things?”

Liv gives him a confused look. “This is all I’ve got. I told you I didn’t have any furniture.” 

Sure, but still. She had said she’d moved here recently, somewhat in a hurry to accept a new job. He just didn’t realize exactly what that might mean. He follows her as she steps into the apartment properly. “This is the kitchen, obviously.”

Lae’zel stands in the living room, eyes sweeping over the large windows covered by thick enchanted curtains. Enough to let the light in, but also offering protection from the sun for him. 

“Are these enchanted?” Lae’zel asks bluntly.  

“Of course, my furniture is expensive, and I won’t have it damaged by the sun’s rays. The curtains are set to open at night, part of the enchantment.” The lie is somewhat less believable than he’d like since he’d bought the apartment fully furnished and hasn’t bothered to change a thing about the generic decor. Including the couches that though nice, are not exactly the pinnacle of luxury. 

Liv and Lae’zel exchange a disbelieving glance. He’d decided rather abruptly that he was not sharing the fact he is a vampire with Liv. Karlach had encouraged him to be honest, but no matter how much Karlach trusts Gale, Liv is a stranger.

“That seems excessive,” Lae’zel replies.  

Liv jumps in looking somewhat awkwardly between him and her friend. “Well, best to protect your investment. I guess that means eating on the couch is out?” 

He stares at her for a moment before he finally catches her meaning. “Oh, yes. Obviously.” He steps around them both. “Your room is this way.”

The apartment is rather open concept. The living room and kitchen are connected, the two bedrooms sit opposite each other flanking the kitchen area. Her room is the smaller of the two, but not by much. It’s sparsely furnished, the same as it was when he moved in. A bed and a dresser with a nightstand and nothing else. 

Liv surveys the room, the emptiness of it. He’s not sure what she’s seeing, but she smiles. “It’s perfect.”

She seems like someone who smiles a lot and who has a perpetually sunny disposition. He finds it annoying, but he really doesn’t want to find someone else now that he’s gone through all the work of getting her here. “It’s an empty room, but it’s yours. Assuming I pass the vibe check, of course.”

Lae’zel glares at him, he thinks. It might just be the way she looks at everyone. Hard to tell. “It’s questionable at best.”

“A glowing review!”

Liv seems to be stifling a laugh as she steps between them. “I think we’re good, assuming I have also passed the vibe check?”

He’s surprised by the question, by the deference to him. As if his comfort also mattered. “Of course.” He holds out the key. “I’ve got a work call, so I’ll get out of your way.” He has nothing of the sort, but he’s done standing here awkwardly with these two. 

“I’ll see you later,” she says with a grin, hand closing around the key. He pulls away immediately, avoiding touching her. 

It’s an effort to keep smiling. “It’ll be unavoidable now, darling.” And then he strides away to the relative safety of his room.

[rawrsatthetree]

“Oh Astarion looks old cause of trauma and stress”

HE’S A VAMPIRE. ARE YOU STUPID?!?!

Trauma and stress he experienced as a Vampire. Vampires don’t physically age. They’re frozen in time however they originally died. That’s like a big part of the vampire deal. He looks the same as the day he died.

Why are we still saying this he doesn’t even look remotely old.