#Prey Tav

[kaizanna]

The Company You Keep

The Blood Pet

Predator/prey dynamics, Astarionxf!Tav

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For the first time since their formal introduction, there was no trace of the tiefling’s usual charming smile, and her doe-like silver eyes were bright with alarm. Stepping back, the little beast tried to gain control over her expression again, but the damage was done. There was no missing how those fluffy ears pressed against her skull, how she curled her tail between her knees, or the sudden racing of her heart.

The instinct to hunt roared through Astarion at the recognition of her fear, hunger clawing so insistently that he felt lightheaded. She looked so deliciously defenseless, like a lamb separated from the herd. Prowling nearer, he breathed in her scent; the subtle sweetness of honeysuckle and musky sandalwood paired deliciously with the tartness of fright, making his mouth water.

First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.

Like a bucket of ice water was dumped down his head, Cazador's voice made Astarion falter mid-step. Of course. Of fucking course! The first time I've ever even felt the fucking urge to hunt someone, and I-

“I don't know where my master is, and even if I did- I wouldn't tell you anything.” As defiant as she tried to sound, the poor darling's melodic voice still quavered, and she was practically prancing in place, cloven hooves splashing in the water.

For once in his miserable undeath, that bastard's voice was drowned out by that vicious roaring tide of predatory need.

“Ah-ah-ah!” Feeling much like a cat with a mouse, the elf was torn between wanting to toy with her, and to pounce. With his shoes just barely out of the reach of the running water, she was also just out of reach. Briefly, he considered the rushing waters, before returning his attention to the tiefling. “That's not what I asked you, is it?” With a tentative step, Astarion submerged his foot. Under normal circumstances it should feel like acid brining his flesh, but now the only consequences were a wet foot, and a soggy sock.

Another boon granted by my squirming little friend, I see.

Emboldened, Astarion took another step forward, and watched her run her back into the rough stone of the cavern with satisfaction. The little beast's gaze flitted to her left and right, desperately searching for an escape. It was too late now, of course. Even if she screamed to awaken the others, there was nothing she could do to get away from him in time.

Though, it might have been fun if she had run.

Looming over her now, he braced his left hand against the wall beside her head, trapping her between him and the wall. Before he could settle in above her, she tried to use one of her little black horns to gore his cheek. Dodging her effort, he snatched a horn with his free hand, and yanked her head to the side, fully exposing her neck to him. Lavishing in the feeling of predatory adoration, he leaned down to coo his next words into her ear. “I asked… What. Might. You. Be?”

Even with inches between their bodies, he could feel her shivering, causing his canines to ache all over again. Focusing on the bites on the left side of her neck, Astarion studied them with vague interest. There was a relatively fresh bite on this side of her slender neck, perhaps having been made the same day she had been abducted. The scars around them, however, were deep and white from age. Clearly, the beast had been with her master for a considerable amount of time, and must have been fed from often.

Watching that lovely, frantic heartbeat jumping against the scarred skin of her throat, the desire to leave the imprint of his own fangs grew stronger.

What if I can bite her? I can walk in the sun, walk through running water- the rules of the vampire are broken. Why would Cazador's rules be any different? Astarion speculated, only to be drawn back to the present by her voice.

“I don't know what you-” Though she had tried to sound confident, a growl from him silenced her immediately, and he watched her throat as she swallowed nervously.

“Don't lie now, lamb. It's unbecoming.” For a moment, it seemed she was going to try to stay silent, but another rumbling growl brought her answer.

“I'm a blood pet…” Astarion grinned victoriously at her whimpered confession. Of course he'd been right. Between a vampire's thrall and a vampire's pet, her charms and behavior certainly had the airs of a cherished pet indeed. Willing servants like her kind were plentiful at the palace; pathetic little mortals all too happy to serve their bodies and blood to Cazador for the vaguest promise of his gift. Despite the contempt he felt for what she was, he nuzzled at the soft shell of her ear, tracing a path down her jaw where he placed a mockingly sweet kiss that left her covered in goosebumps.

“And now, do you know what I am?”

“I- I don't know.”

“I think you do, actually. In fact, I think somewhere deep in that fluttering heart of yours, you've known since you met me.” Astarion was thrilled with the sound of her skipping heart when his words sunk in. Though she tried to shove him away, it felt half hearted at best. Keeping her subdued was a simple matter of pinning her body fully with his, allowing him a chance to savor in her warmth.

“But vampires can't walk in the daylight!” She hissed defiantly, keeping her voice surprisingly low.

“Nor can we walk through flowing water, but here I am, aren't I?”

“But how?” Here, the beast sounded so sweetly bewildered, that he couldn't help but to chuckle, his lips close enough to brush the shell of her ear. Though it caused another shiver, there was little something other than fear in the action this time.

“Your guess is as good as mine, darling. Now, I must say- I am utterly famished and you smell delicious…” Astarion ran his lips over the healing bite wound, and opened his mouth wide, ready to add his own imprints to her skin when she spoke.

“Not my neck, please.” Though the plea was whispered, it surprised him enough to release her. . It was not the kind of request he'd been expecting. Retreating a step, he examined her tear-ruddied face with bewilderment

“What?”

“My neck belongs to my master.” The woman didn't look at him, just raised her hands to her face to wipe away the freely falling tears. So engulfed in his hunger, he'd barely noticed when she'd begun, and a pang of something he couldn't quite place gave him further pause. 

It would be a lie if he tried to say he hadn't had her pegged as an easy target from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, though for what was currently at war in his mind. As a shield? As a meal? As a gift for Cazador if everything blew up spectacularly in his face? Yet here she was, only concerned that he not bite her neck so she may continue to be her master's loyal beast. Though he loathed to admit it to himself now, he could only find her pitiful as she suddenly looked at him through resigned eyes.

“And that's your only request?”

“Perhaps don't kill me?”

Of course the concern for her own life is only secondary. Outwardly, he scoffed, bringing his hand over his dead heart like she had wounded him.

“I'm offended darling- truly. I know I came on a lit~tle strongly just now, but I did mean it when I said I was famished.” Astarion offered a deceitfully contrite smile. “And I must say, I've never had a darling little treat like you under fang before. Things like pigs, chickens,-” Rats. “- and other smaller game are my usual fare. Whatever I can catch, really.” Offering the hand he’d held over his heart, he continued. “So I do apologize for scaring you- I didn't intend to take my little game so far... Forgive me?”

The creature eyed his hand cautiously, before searching his eyes. Either she really was that easy to manipulate, or she had no idea what to do without a vampire around, because she placed her petite hand in his after only a short debate.

Far too easy.

Herding her back to the stoney bank of the underground river, Astarion brought her to sit next to her stack of clothing, then knelt beside her. With care, he flipped her arm over to expose her veins, and realized it too, was painted in old scars. These scars were very clearly made by a blade however, and the man wondered idly if he would be the first besides her master to bite her. Encircling her delicate wrist with one hand, he cupped her elbow in the other, and raised his crimson gaze to meet her silver stare. Since she was watching, he placed a kiss over one of the palest of the scars, and was amused by the gooseflesh that rose to cover every inch of her slate gray skin.

Partaking in blood had never been something Astarion found pleasure in. Choking down fetid rat blood whilst trying not to vomit in front of Cazador was commonplace. Their fur was always utterly vile from the odor and taste of the sewers, and the nauseating flavor was drawn in with every mouthful of blood. Chickens were a little better, since he was able to rip out fistfulls of the dusty feathers before drinking their musty flavored blood. After a particularly bright idea, he bought a bucket of pig blood under the guise of making it into a pudding. The blood had a nutty hint to it, and although he’d considered it among the least offensive tastes he’d come across, that was only so if he managed to get it right after slaughter.

Assuming this would be akin to the latter experience if he was lucky, Astarion sheathed his fangs in her skin. The first taste of her blood cast away all but two words.

Well…Shit.

Unable to control his own body, the spawn curled his whole body around her arm possessively, withdrawing his teeth to let her blood flow unhindered into his greedy mouth. With every beat of her heart, warmth spread through him, chasing away the pervasive chill that had coiled deep in his bones for as long as he could remember. Despite doing his best to keep up with her pulse, it felt as though he could never swallow fast enough, and he distantly mourned the steady stream that dripped down his chin.

All too soon, he could feel her heart start to slow, and as desperate as he was to drink the tiefling dry, he could feel her tadpole connecting with his. It was a wordless communication, and without wholly understanding why, he pressed his tongue firmly against the two puncture marks. Slowly, the wound knit together under his tongue. Once the bleeding had come to an end, Astarion gently lapped at blood that was cooling on her skin.

How long did I drink? Two minutes? Three? The spawn’s thoughts floated pleasantly through his head. It was a strange feeling- like being blissfully intoxicated, but also so intensely clear that it was like a fog was lifting from all his senses. Once her arm was free from any stray drops, he slowly released her, watching her arm come to rest next to a small pool of her own blood that had dripped down her thigh.  Raising a hand, he caught the lingering traces of his meal from his chin, and began to lick his fingers. Staring idly at her spread thighs, he debated on bending over to lick away the small trails there. But then, her thighs were stained with a nectar other than blood as well.

Tracing his gaze up her body, he noted the sprinkling of both a pale-silver and dusky-gray freckles over her wide hips. They came again to decorate from her narrow shoulders, and continued down the slopes of her breasts. Some time during his feeding, she had covered her face with her free arm, and must have bitten her lip in a bid to remain silent judging from the little punctures he spied there. Now though, she uncovered her face enough to stare through half-lidded eyes. Such a hazy look of pleasure was one he had seen before, though never truly worn himself.

Is that really all it takes for her? Lazily rising to his feet, he began to roll his neck, closing his eyes and enjoying the unfamiliar sensation radiating through his body. If only half of my other marks were as easy to bring to release. He didn’t bother to quiet the humorless chuckle that accompanied that thought.

“Do you feel better, Astarion? You certainly look better.” The woman’s tone was relaxed and clear, nothing like the trembling lamb he’d very nearly attacked. Amused, he opened his eyes to give her a playful response.

“I must say, I feel like I’ve drank an entire bottle of mead in a single sitting.” A dazzling laugh danced through the cave at his compliment.

“I’ve been compared to alcohol many times. Careful you don’t become an alcoholic.” The wink she gave at the warning was flirty, and he found himself offering her a wicked grin in response. 

He liked the way her heart skipped at the sight.

“I’ll have to be quite careful, it seems. But I do have to ask-” Astarion let his gaze drift down pointedly between her legs, before returning to meet her unabashed stare. “Does that happen often for you?”

“Often enough.” She admitted casually, though she sat up, crossing her legs at the ankle and cupping her hands in her lap. If she was fully dressed, he could have mistaken her for a noble.

“Ah… Is that why your neck belongs to your master?”

So quickly did a look of shame cross her face at the question, that Astarion very nearly missed it; when her smile had returned so sincerely, he doubted what he saw.

“You can certainly say that. Now then, if you don’t mind- it seems I’ll have to wash myself again, thanks to a certain messy someone.” Standing on shaking legs, she gave him a dismissive wave, then quietly clopped back into the river where her bathing supplies now lay scattered.

Though he stared at her scar streaked back for several long seconds, the vampire turned, and made his way to the hidden ladder. It wasn’t until he felt the clear night air caressing his face that he realized something.

The tiefling had used magic to charm him when their tadpoles connected. Though not a word had been spoken, she had gotten him to heal her wound- something he didn’t know he could do- and withdraw, despite his original intention to simply drain her to the last drop.

Fury coursed through him, his lip pulling over one fang in an awful sneer.

Me? She charmed me? How dare that wretched little- Slamming the trapdoor closed, he stormed away, gritting his teeth hard enough for them to ache once more, and clenching his fists hard enough for his nails to bite into his skin. The scent of his own blood disturbed him from his mental cursing, and he paused to look down at his hand in the moonlight.

Only a few hours ago, his blood had dripped like heavy molasses when one of those bandits had managed to hit him with an arrow, yet it now dripped freely. Of course he knew it was thanks to her that he felt this good, and that it was her blood that seeped from his wound so easily. Bringing the palm of his bleeding hand to his mouth, Astarion licked it away, only barely able to find traces of the honey-like sweetness of her blood beneath his own bitter flavor. As soon as it dawned on him he was actually searching for her taste, he scowled to himself, and pressed his tongue to the wound. When he pulled his hand back to examine it, he found the tiny wound healed over like it had never even been.

I suppose I can forgive her for charming me, just this once. Astarion mused to himself. Since she did feed me willingly. The rustling of a distant bush drew his attention, and he crouched low, turning on the balls of his feet in the direction it came from. The nearer he prowled, the stronger the scent of swine became, and the louder the quiet snorts became.

Pouncing, Astarion broke the boar’s front leg before the animal knew he was even there. As it squealed, he snapped his fangs into its jugular, practically tearing the artery apart. Blood gushed into his maw while the boar’s cries slowly faded into silence, its lashing hooves falling still. Once there wasn’t a single drop of blood remaining, the elf stood, wiping his face and looking down at his meal with disgust.

Wild and stinking, its odor pervaded his nose, and the bland flavor of the boar’s blood lay thickly on his tongue. Spitting out the remaining mouthful, a fresh scowl darkened his expression as he comprehended a massive drawback from drinking the tiefling’s blood.

Having lived his whole life drinking what amounted to gutter water, Astarion couldn’t fathom having to return to this. Drinking only from unthinking creatures, tasting and scenting only the malodorous and vile? Watching the people around him, and knowing each and every one was like an entire feast of flavors that he could never sample?

Leering down at the boar at his feet, Astarion made a vow to himself. I’ll learn how to control this tadpole, and no one will ever control me again.

—-

The heavy slam of the trapdoor echoed through the underground cavern, causing Vierae’s ears to twitch. Glancing over her shoulder, she waited, barely breathing, as she strained to hear any sounds come from where the encampment was. After several minutes, the woman's whole body deflated, slumping forward to hug at her knees. The shame she had felt from his otherwise playful question came crashing down on her, and she buried her face in her arms, choking back the tears that burned her eyes.

Pathetic animal. Can you not even control yourself in front of your owner? Caretaker Zadock’s sneering words still reverberated through her skull, making her wrap her tail around herself in a weak bid for comfort. Flinching against a phantom blow, she couldn’t chase his voice out of her mind. I eagerly wait for the day he grows tired of your little play and sends you back to the pens. Our master would never waste the gift on a beast like you, after all.

Dirty. I’m so fucking dirty- Vierae couldn’t get the feeling of her caretaker’s fingers off her skin, or his teeth from her neck, despite the years it had been since he had last touched her in such a way.

Snatching the bucket at her side, she filled it with the cold water and dumped it down her head, but it was not the cold that left her shivering. The feeling of her hair moving along her back was like a threatening caress, causing her to drop the bucket in her haste to tie her hair back off her skin. As soon as it was done, she searched for her soap, and found it bobbing between two rocks. While tears fell hotly down her cheeks, Vierae viciously scrubbed her skin, starting between her legs.

The tiefling had never been on the receiving end of her owner’s ire before, and was terrified of what was to become of her now. The elder vampire had given her a great gift of trust, allowing her to travel on the surface in search of finery to decorate his study with. Unlike any of the others in the House, she strongly understood her master’s taste in art and blood. Had he not sent her with Caretaker Zadock and his thralls, Vierae would have considered it to be the greatest honor she had received yet.

And here she was, repaying his trust by not only straying from her caretaker’s side, but also by allowing another to drink from her without his permission. The House would demand an awful penalty upon her, and she could only pray her torn flesh and broken body would be enough to appease them.

Vierae knew if she caused him enough trouble, her master would cast her aside without second thought. If he did, she knew her vicious caretaker would gleefully send her back into the Pens, or worse.

The soap bar slipped from her tightening grip at the memories of the Pens and Zadock’s chambers, and she choked on her silent sobs.

If the woman didn’t bring some sort of gift back with her, the life of finery she had worked so hard to take would slip between her fingers. From the moment he had reached out his hand, the pet had been fiercely loyal to her master; surely, he would understand why she did not return to him if she brought him a worthy gift? The idea of turning into a mind flayer and doing harm to the great House of her master was the only reason she had not rushed back to his side, after all. The tablets she had stolen from the nautiloid were secured in her pack, and she wondered if he would be able to read them. If the tadpole is what allowed her to make sense of them, they would be worthless as anything but paperweights.

Again, Zadock’s malicious laughter echoed through her mind, making her shiver.

They would not be enough. The strange amulet she’d seen Astarion pocket came to mind, but she quickly chased it away. The elf was a vampire, and she knew better than to try and steal from her betters. Then again… what about him? Astarion could walk in the daylight, and traverse through running water. Though he claimed he didn’t know how, if he was merely trying to protect a secret…

No one in the House could doubt my sincerity towards Master Valfein.

A rueful smile covered her face as she dumped the bucket of water over her soapy form. A secret like that would be enough to earn her a pardon from the House, and maybe even grant her freedom. True freedom, like the Pets who had willingly come into the House to serve had. Then, she might never again have to fear returning to the Pens.

Or to those bloodstained sheets.

Shaking the water from her body as she stood, Vierae returned to shore, and quickly dressed. Since the bites on her neck are what had given her away to Astarion, she made sure to take extra care to cover them with the lace collar she wore. Once she was satisfied, she made her way back to the campsite. Gale was still happily snoring away as she opened the door, and it brought a genuine smile to her lips. It seemed like the wizard slept deeply, and the bard found an odd comfort in the sound of life that she so rarely heard.

The sound of a quiet cough drew Vierae’s attention to Shadowheart’s tent, the flap of which was pulled aside to reveal the glaring half-elf. Fixing her face into an apologetic expression, the tiefling followed the beckoning wave the other woman made. Once standing before the tent, the whispered questions began.

“Where were you?” Shadowheart was openly suspicious.

“Bathing.” Reaching up, Vierae undid the messy bun, letting her wet locks hang down to her knees. She could tell by the way Shadowheart flinched, the half-elf had felt the cold water drip on her skin.

“How long have you been gone?”

“I’m not sure.” She lied easily.

“I thought you were keeping watch?”

“I have been- you’ve seen my ears, right?” As though to prove a point, Vierae perked her ears, allowing each one to swivel separately. The other woman only continued to look suspicious.

“Fine. Then I’ll take watch now.”

“Alright- don’t go to the river just yet.” At that statement, Shadowheart glared, climbing out of the tent.

“And why is that?”

“I just passed Astarion- he went to bathe.” The answer seemed to pacify her companion.

“Alright- I have no desire to spy on anyone bathing anyway.Go on then. Get some rest.” Shadowheart said, dismissive.

Obediently, Vierae returned to her own tent, pulling aside the silken flap to disappear inside. Settling onto the soft nest of pillows that made up her bed, she closed her eyes, and forced her breath to become steady. Though she was not as trusting as Gale was, she felt like Shadowheart at the least would look out for her while she slept, if for no other reason than her having come back to open the pod against the githyanki woman’s protests.

[barbaricjester]

Giggling and kicking my feet thinking about Gohma, my tav, simply trying to clean his armor in a river, or sitting by the fire at night, or any number of mundane things, when he notices Astarion watching him, in the same way a starved wolf watches a lame sheep.

And after several seconds of staring at each other, Gohma just- takes off running. No matter if he was kneeling, or sitting- the next second, he's up and tearing off into the trees, and it activates Astarion's prey drive so intensely that he chases him blindly, snarling, his teeth and eyes gleaming in the dark.

And then Gohma whips around and catches Astarion in his arms, and they collide, tumbling to the forest floor together in a pile of tangled limbs and laughter and kisses. UwU

[invinciblerodent]

he really said "🥺" didn't he

i want to sink my teeth into him and shake him like a badly trained dachshund

[neacle]

My brand of autism is getting annoyed at Halsin's bear-talk and flirting about hunt and prey when:

Grizzly bears aren't as aggressive as media makes them out to be

It's mostly females when they have cubs to protect

They very seldom "hunt" in the sense that most predators do. They eat berries and catch fish

If they wanted a really fucking dangerous bear, they should have gone with a polar bear

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Like the way Astarion lights up at the prospect of killing the Githyanki patrol and his excitement when Ethel runs and he's all "now it's a hunt !!"

Heroic Astarion who still fucking FROTHS at the mouth at a good chase because anything worth eating is a little dangerous. He's still sweet and emotionally available, but he also still needs to hunt to eat and that prey drive gnaws at him regardless of if he hunts innocents or bandits. He might as well try to enjoy himself (and he does. Without guilt. Durge is actually quite into it)

[ghost-proofbaby]

“By all means, sharpen your axe, dear,” his voice has dropped to a hush, and she feels a shiver run up her spine once she realizes just how close he is now. She hadn’t even noticed his hand creeping up between them until his fingertips were just barely brushing her throat. A hovering grasp, a mere breath away from wrapping around her, “And I’ll ready my hands.”

summary: aruna and astarion begin to have a few interesting conversations, but she can't seem to shake that part of her that craves to keep him close. the part of her desperate to convince her that she knows him.

wc: 5.1k+

warnings: continued memory loss, spoilers for the game (specifically for a conversation that you can have with astarion that isn't triggered by a cut scene or exclamation point lol), talk of hypothetical murder as flirting

a/n: possibly one of my favorite rewrites of a canon scene thus far. will always be mad we couldn't say 'strangulation' as how we want to go. but i digress. also to anyone who is unfamiliar with the game this might seem fast paced, but to anyone who has played the game, this is probably dragging. my bad. anyways, please enjoy <;3 and peep my nod of homage to the way i keep making bard tavs only to abandon them

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The tiefling, Zevlor, had proven to be an interesting conversation. 

He wants something in return for a favor. Of course he does. Aruna doesn’t even glance Astarion’s way, because she’s not in the mood to be told I told you so once it’s all said and done. She’d heard every huff and sigh from him as she’d talked to Zevlor, and she already knew he was less than impressed with how the conversation had gone. 

The grove is closing itself off. The refugees are at risk of being sent to their certain death. Zevlor wants them to speak to the druids. There’s a healer named Nettie who may be able to help them. 

There’s a healer named Nettie who may be able to help them.  

Aruna is an optimist, and chooses to focus on that bit rather than the performance she had put on back there. There’s hope yet – they just have to take the scenic route to get to their final destination. 

The group explores the grove a little bit, perusing several small booths that have been set up amongst the large caves. They all keep their distance, not yet deciding to approach any vendors, but Aruna still keeps a list in case they need resources: there’s a corner with a frail elderly lady who’s surrounded by tables littered with what Gale can identify as healing potions, beside her is a tiefling stirring some giant cauldron of what must be food as it smells delectable, and across from her is some sort of blacksmith who has a small shop set up with a depleted source of weapons and armor. All people who might be useful to speak to at some point.

But that’s for another day. The elderly lady piques Aruna’s interest for a moment, but Zevlor had said that Nettie could be found in the druid’s grove, and this was decidedly not the actual grove. 

Aruna watches Astarion like a hawk through all of it. And he knows that she’s watching him closely, because at some point he even teases her about it. 

“Say, shall I just creep over there and snatch one of those healing potions for myself, dear leader? I doubt the woman would notice it missing. I do have quite skilled hands.”

She’d nearly smacked him for the suggestion of theft, and he’d only cackled when she’d started to look around for any signs of guards that might have overheard his words. 

Just before they leave back to their camp for the day, for Aruna to mark this place on their map and begin to formulate some sort of plan for finding this Nettie come tomorrow, they find Wyll. Wyll, the human who had joined in the fight at the gate, tearing down goblins easily with eldritch blasts and the flourish of his rapier. 

He’s kind enough. Astarion is rolling his eyes when through that tadpole connection (which is once again, not as painful as it had been with the pale elf), a new quest is presented to them. Hunting a Devil with Wyll. Securing his companionship, increasing their numbers. It’s a small cost, Aruna decides, and she invites him back to camp without hesitation, fully agreeing they’d help him track down this Devil soon after speaking to this Nettie. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a bleeding heart?” 

Despite an additional body now joining them on their trek back to camp, Astarion still clings to Aruna’s side as she leads the group. 

“It’s not a bleeding heart,” she quips back, giving a quick glance to the map in her hands. Less for finding her way to camp, and more for engraving what she needs to draw out once they get back. “He has a tadpole. He needs us as much as we need him – the Devil will just be something to keep in mind.” 

“It’s a side quest, and side quests will sidetrack us,” Astarion points out as Aruna finally veers between trees, beginning to stumble into heavier bramble that they have to navigate in order to arrive at their clearing, “It’s going to take years for us rid ourselves of our little problems at this rate.”

Aruna rolls her eyes before stepping widely over a fallen log, “You’re being dramatic.” 

“Never denied having a love for the theater, darling,” Gods, his tongue is fast. Always equipped with a new comeback, always readied with a new nickname to make heat flash through her body. “My point is, we don’t have years. Time isn’t exactly on our side, if I’ve been listening to that wizard correctly.”

“Gale,” she corrects him absentmindedly, stopping for a second to gather their surroundings as well as allow the other three to catch up a little bit, “His name is Gale, and… and he’s right, I think. We should be weary of ceremorphosis.” 

Astarion waves off the reminder of Gale’s name as if he has no use of it. Which, at the rate in which he only seems keen on speaking to her, he might not. “We haven’t sprouted any tentacles yet. And our flesh has yet to melt off our faces, so to speak. However, I am curious as to what your plan is if any of that does start happening to one of us.” 

She starts to head west. Or at least, the direction she thinks is west.

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that at the first sign of change, I’d have to stop that pretty little bleeding heart of yours.”

Aruna nearly trips over her own feet. 

Is he seriously threatening me right now? 

When she turns to look at him, though, he doesn’t look one bit as frightening as she had expected. His hands are far from his daggers, and she swears there’s a smile playing on the corners of his lips. 

“I am open to suggestions,” he presses on, meeting her gaze and leaning forward, the face of playfulness, “Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.” 

He’s not going to kill her. There’s absolutely no way that there’s any weight to his words. If someone were going to choose to kill someone, they would not be indulging in this type of conversation with them, would they? 

She stares at him for a few moments, completely still and silent as she blinks slowly before finally saying, “You are odd.” 

It makes him laugh. A scoff that echoes through the trees around them as she starts to quicken her pace. Camp is near, the rest of their group isn’t far behind – he’s not going to kill her. She’s not worried about that, but she is worried for his sanity by thinking that this was small talk. 

“Humor me,” he calls after her. Even as her strides turn longer, he doesn’t struggle to keep up, “I deserve it after being on my best behavior at the grove.” 

She’d argue that he hadn’t been on his best behavior, but the more she gets to know him, the more she’s thinking that the way he had restrained himself today was him attempting to follow her rules. 

“I’m not sure,” she sighs, “How would you like to go?” 

Even in her peripherals, she can see him light up as he realizes she is actually humoring him. 

“I don’t think that poison is for me. Nor stabbing, come to think of it. I always felt decapitation was a fine choice. One good swing and then – nothing,” Gods, he’s thought about this quite sincerely, hasn’t he?  “But we were talking about you. What’ll it be?” 

Through the breaks in the trees ahead, she can see the camp. She could choose to ignore him, dart ahead and leave him behind without an answer. But for some reason, she found herself almost enjoying the conversation. There was something in his cadence, in the hand gestures she was only catching the tail end of. If she were going to question his sanity, she might as well also question her own, because she was actually entertaining what he was suggesting. 

“You said strangulation was an option?” she stops and turns to him, catching sight of just far ahead they’d gotten from the others. Probably for the best, given their current exchange. 

His grin widens. His eyes sparkle in the warmth of the setting sun. He’s beautiful enough to take her breath away if she’d let him. Literally, given what she’d just said to him. 

“Strangulation?” he parrots back. She’s taken him off guard, returning the favor of setting him off his kilter, “Can’t say that was the option I’d imagine you’d choose. It’s the least messy, of course, but you did strike me as someone who might prefer a classic knife.” 

“Or a goblin bow,” she says before she can even think of it. It rolls off the tongue easily, and the moment the words hang between them, they’re both smiling. She’s almost laughing, even.

Just hours before, she had almost met her very real and very timely death by the exact object of her joking. It hadn’t been a joke then – it had been a real fear, staring her right in the eyes as she had helplessly reached for daggers that she severely needed to grow more skilled with. 

And he had helped her. Saved her life, even. The exact opposite of the hypothetical they were posing to one another now. 

“Or… that,” he’s so close to being at a loss for words, she’s nearly proud of herself, “But this is all hypothetical, of course. I’m sure tomorrow we’ll find this Nettie and there will be no need for any gore.”

“Or we won’t,” she can hear the footsteps of the others now, not far off, but she’s in too deep to not finish Astarion at his own game, “And I’ll just have to sharpen my axe.” 

He takes a step closer to her, lips still curled. She’s glad she’s humored him – glad she can make him smile, make him laugh, even with such morbid conversations. They deserve a little bit of that joy, even if it comes by odd means. 

“By all means, sharpen your axe, dear,” his voice has dropped to a hush, and she feels a shiver run up her spine once she realizes just how close he is now. She hadn’t even noticed his hand creeping up between them until his fingertips were just barely brushing her throat. A hovering grasp, a mere breath away from wrapping around her, “And I’ll ready my hands.” 

Something inside of her sparks. Yearns, weeps, lashes out as his hand drops just before the other three join them. It wasn’t just his velvet voice or the brush of his breath against her cheek, it wasn’t just the alarming temperature of his hand and the way her body reacted to the mere thought of him putting it on her – it was a strange need for closeness. As if he had belonged there, pressed right against her, staring right into her eyes until she’d grown nervous that he could see straight to all the memories she couldn’t unlock quite yet. 

“Interrupting something?” Gale asks, oblivious, once the rest of the group has caught up to the pair. Astarion had moved away at just the right moment; just close enough for them to see they’d been talking about something, but not to catch that innocent movement of his hand that had sent Aruna into a tailspin. 

It had felt right. 

For a moment, his skin had been on hers, and everything fell into place. As if she didn’t have a brain riddled with holes. As if she hadn’t had to learn her name from some letter. As if she’d known Astarion for two hundred years, not a petty two days. The buzz of the frustration she has battled with since waking on that beach had simply quieted by her space being invaded by him.

She wants him close again. She wants to feel it again. 

Instead, she only lies to Gale, shakes her head and pretends like there had never been anything to interrupt. Acts as if her whole mind and soul are there with the rest of them, not lingering on that blip of a moment, stuck in a capsule of time in which Astarion had somehow made her feel whole again. She hadn’t even remembered a damn thing from her past – not a single vision, not a single thought of something as trivial as to what her favorite color might have been before the tadpole – but none of that mattered with the distraction of his presence. 

They carry on into camp. She knows she has an endless list of simple tasks to complete before she can fully rest for the night: she needs to speak with Lae’zel, she needs to help Gale ration out their supplies for dinner for the next few nights, she needs to update the map, she needs to curate a plan for the next day. 

She does none of the above. 

Some pathetic excuse is mumbled out between her lips in a voice she can’t even recognize as her own, claiming she’ll go gather some mushrooms or pick some berries for Gale to utilize for tonight’s feast. And no one stops her as she departs from camp, not even the pale elf who hovers by the fire Wyll begins to build, eyes locked on her in curiosity she doesn’t witness. 

He was right. Her heart is bleeding, a gaping wound in the center of it that gushes with every beating of her pulse. But for which it bleeds, she isn’t so sure.

Not quite the tieflings they met today and offered to help. Not quite the companions she’s offered to embark on personal journeys with. 

No, Aruna’s heart is bleeding, and she’s starting to suspect that it all begins and ends with the garnet eyes she feels on her long after she’s departed back into the trees.

—

“And I thought I was going to be the broody one of the camp.” 

Astarion’s voice should startle her, especially considering it comes from behind her in the woods rather than him approaching her from the rocks leading up to her perch, but it doesn’t. No surprise, no annoyance, no irritation – all she really feels is a deepening of a gaping hole inside of her that hasn’t subsided since her tadpole first connected with his. 

Upon her arrival back to camp, she’d handed over a pitiful handful of berries and a small bouquet of mushrooms to Gale, and had immediately retreated. She wasn’t in a talkative mood; she’d glanced around for somewhere to hideaway, and had landed on the small lookout atop a stone cliff not far from where Lae’zel had set up a tent. 

Most of her companions had set up tents. Where they’d gotten them from, she has no idea. But each one has found a corner to call their own in the camp, creating almost homey environments, except her. 

Her, and Astarion. 

She tilts her head ever so slightly as she shakes it, a small tsk falling from her lips, “Nope. I’m afraid that title has already been taken, my friend.” 

His footsteps are light as he approaches her side, hesitating before he awkwardly lowers himself onto the ground beside her. She’d offer up space on her rock, but her body was heavier than even the stone below her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to make any movement. 

They’re just out of sight from the rest of the camp. A thinner grouping of trees offers minimal coverage, a large boulder her current seat. She could easily walk out onto the stone ledge and expose herself, but she was already feeling a little too seen for the night. 

Has anyone ever told you that you have a bleeding heart?

She wonders if someone had, before all this mess, from a time she can’t recall. 

“Friend,”  he echoes her. His tone isn’t condescending, but rather curious, “I’m not sure I’ve ever-”

And then he cuts himself off, as though he’s caught himself in the act of opening up. He looks as if he hadn’t been in control for a few moments.

That draws in her curiosity well enough. She thought she had been burnt out for the day, beyond the capability to hold conversation, but he’s drawing her into it easily. Like a moth to his flame, like a moon stuck in his orbit. 

“Well? Don’t hold out on me now. I’m absolutely on the edge of my seat,” she only sinks into a more comfortable position to add humor to her words, “Let me guess. You never would have called someone such as myself a friend before all this. I understand if that’s the case-”

“I’ve never called someone a friend, period,” he interrupts. He says it all in one breath, and when she looks down at his face, nearly hidden by the shadows, it looks absolutely petrified. As if he can’t believe he’s just said that outloud. As if his mouth had moved without permission in order to spill the words out for her. 

The soft ‘oh’ that leaves her is completely involuntary. She isn’t sure how to respond to that – that level of vulnerability, the kind that is making him shrink under her gaze and curl his lips in disgust at himself. It’s not the kind of thing you’d reveal to a stranger. 

But Astarion feels like anything but a stranger, fight it as she might try. 

“If it would make you more comfortable,” she starts, and his head whips up to look at her in alarm, “I could always refer to you as an enemy instead.” 

When he laughs, it’s a symphony. She wishes she were lying, but the music of his joy fills her with an indescribable light, as though she might have just swallowed the sun whole. It warms every joint, every crevice, every shadow she has within her. For just a moment, all the monsters within her are quiet once again, content to sit and simply listen to him with a smile. 

It makes her want to run. It makes her breath catch, and a certain resentment begins to build against the way he can have this effect on her so effortlessly. It’s the same gut reaction as she’d had on the beach when Gale had also laughed for her, but more. 

It’s better than hearing Gale laugh. So, so much better.

Would it be better to not fight this wonderful blanket of deja vu? If she just loosened her fists, unclenched her jaw, she could let it anchor her easily in an almost comforting manner. Even after the echoes of his amusement had long faded, it whispers to her in the dark. 

She’s terrified of the way it feels; it feels as though she’s spent countless nights listening to that laugh. By a campfire, in dark tents, in shared beds. She’s heard it withheld with constraint, free without care, hushed for the sake of others – for a moment, she swears, she knows Astarion’s laugh like the back of her hand. And that, that indescribable feeling, is what stokes all her fear. 

“You know, perhaps you’re a bard,” he jokes once he’s calmed down, waving a hand through the air without purpose. 

“Ah,” her smile she hadn’t even noticed finally falters, remembering what had happened outside of the Grove. She needed to speak with Gale, as well. She’d just add it to the list. After another moment, she swears to herself that she’ll see to doing all that she must before retiring for the night, “So I see you’ve heard of my little identity crisis.” 

He tilts his head back to look at her fully, and she’s moments away from genuinely offering to share her boulder as a seat.

As if to stop herself, she makes another bad joke. Maybe he’ll laugh, and she’ll have no room to say something stupid, like offering him a seat next to her. Letting him close to her again. “Gale is a terrible keeper of secrets – noted.” 

There’s still ghosts of giggles on his lips as he sighs, pressing two hands into the dirt behind him and leaning his body into a reclined position. 

“Not entirely. Less that he’s terrible at keeping secrets, and more that I’m particularly skilled at learning them. Ask anyone the right questions, and their pretty tongues will always sing.” 

He rolls his ‘r’ when he says pretty, and that gaping hole nearly enlarges itself enough to swallow her up.  

This surely isn’t how their nights are supposed to go. They’re strangers. Surely, surely, they should be more guarded. Less jokes, more awkward silences. Less revealing of who they really are, and more false pretenses to cover up the truth.

The quiet is nice. It’s exactly what she had been seeking out when she’d sulked away from the others for a moment to herself, and Astarion neither adds nor takes away from the tranquility. He’s just there. If she tilts her head just right, leans back to an even more horizontal angle, he’d leave her line of sight entirely. 

She doesn’t. She keeps him there, safe in her peripherals, no longer trying to unknot all her emotions that draw her to him. She knows the letter still waits for her in her pack, and there are conversations to be had, responsibilities for her to shoulder. But for a brief moment, it’s just them – it’s just Aruna, and it’s just Astarion. Two unfortunate souls stuck with tadpoles in their brain, and now each other. No more, no less.

The moment passes eventually. 

“Do you truly believe I’m a bard?”

She isn’t sure why she asks that. But she’s handed over her trust to him freely thus far, a few more inches can’t hurt. 

“Hm?” he hums, rolling his head on his shoulders, a tension under the surface she only sees glimpses of in the moonlight, “Oh, who’s to say? I’m not all that well-versed in magic, being a-”

“Wait, don’t tell me,” she stops him quickly, scooting to the edge of her boulder, ankles now swinging dangerously close to him.

He peers up at her curiously, brow furrowed, “Don’t tell you… what? That I’m a-”

“Let me guess,” she nearly begs. 

The last three days have felt anything but normal. Tadpoles, mysterious letters, lost memories. Guessing someone’s class just felt normal. She needed normal, if only for a moment. 

“By all means,” he lifts a hand, flourishing it in invitation, “Be my guest.”

She presses her elbows into the tops of her thighs, studying him intensely as her fists squish her cheeks. And he lets her – he even tilts his head back to the sky, clearly putting on a show as her eyes scan him intensely. He’s used to it. He’s used to being the center of attention, of being something pretty to gawk at. He slips into the role far too easily to not be accustomed to such. 

The longer she looks at him, the more she notices. 

The surface level is what she drinks in first. Soft, white curls that nearly glow under streams from the moon. Lashes so long that they brush the porcelain skin of his under eyes. Perfectly pointed ears. And a perfectly sloped nose, albeit a little crooked if she were to scrutinize it too long from the side. Somewhere along the ridge, it’s almost as though he’s experienced a break that never quite healed right. Laugh lines that dig in deeply to his cheeks, but that almost fade from existence when his face goes as slack as it is currently. He’s not a young boy, not by any means, but there’s a certain youth to him in this state that could break her heart if she tried to contort it into a perfect metaphor. He’s a devastatingly beautiful stranger. His confidence is well earned.

But his confidence is only the surface of it all. Once she scratches past the way he doesn’t seem to falter under her careful observation, the layers practically reveal themselves. He appears relaxed, she’s been under the assumption that he’s been relaxed this entire conversation, but as she lets her eyes fall to his shoulders, she sees a tenseness that she hadn’t noticed before. One that can’t be brushed off by his current position or the weight his palms are balancing. His neck rolls with it, and she gets the smallest glimpse of his neck beneath the high-neck of his collared shirt – a scar. It flashes for only a second, giving her no time to know exactly the shape nor circumstance, but it’s there. An imperfection. A spanse of skin on him that holds a story she certainly won’t get out of him tonight, not when his shoulders still nearly tremble with that tenseness. 

He’s not a damsel in distress. She doesn’t know why the letter insists that she save him. 

“Well,” his voice finally startles her, breaking her from her trance, “Are you going to gawk all night at my ethereal beauty, or are you going to guess my class, young bard?” 

She’s decidedly not a bard. She knows it the moment he properly refers to her as such. Really, she has no idea what a bard is, but she almost wishes she was if only to let him be right. 

“I only know the few classes that Gale has mentioned in passing,” she admits into the night quietly, her voice a whisper. 

His eyes flutter open at that. Gorgeous, piercing red.

“And which ones are those?” 

She knows now that he’s wearing a mask. Maybe not a heavy one, maybe not a thick one, but he’s wearing one all the same. If she were more clever, she’d put on one herself. Simply for protection. A shield for whatever game the two of them were playing at. 

And yet, she can’t seem to find the mind to dig through her arsenal and mirror him in defenses. 

Instead, she prattles off the list Gale had rambled on about to her. Sorcerers, wizards, warlocks, druids, clerics. He’d mentioned paladins in passing, but never elaborated. Really, he hadn’t properly elaborated on any of them. He’d simply reassured her again that he had books for her to read back at camp. 

None of those books were in her hands, at the time being. All she had right now was Astarion. And surprisingly, he appeared to be feeling particularly helpful. 

“I see,” he nods, looking out over the camp. Gale begins cooking for all of them, Wyll rests by the fire, and the other two women of the camp are nowhere to be seen. In their tents, presumably, “Well, I can tell you that I am none of those. I don’t wield quite as much magic as those who are.”

“Quite as much?” she mimics back, a smile creeping up on her lips, “Are you insinuating that you do hold some?”

He chuckles in response, “Of course I do. You aren’t this beautiful and intriguing without having a little bit of magic, dear.” 

Something flashes in his eyes when he takes on that tone with her. A faint taunting, a gentle flirtation. But when she looks in his eyes, they’ve lost some of their glimmer. His words are playful enough, but the feeling doesn’t extend beyond his voice. 

She wants to poke and prod, pry till her fingers bleed and he’s cursing her name. Because she knows he would. If his little slip ups just in this conversation and his reactions to them are any indicator, Astarion hates nothing more than to offer up any vulnerability. And yet, for her, he already had. 

He’s admitted that he’s never had a friend before. It’s a small detail, petty in nature, but it is a stepping stone nonetheless. 

Tonight’s not the night. There will be other nights to spill the blood of honesty. 

“Oh, of course. My mistake,” she plays along, feeds into his act. The insatiable animal inside of her prefers his company, after all. His simple presence is a soothing balm she can’t quite place, and she’ll do anything to drag out their time, “I’ll keep that in mind during my studies with Gale.”

Speaking of the wizard, she catches the tail end of a cautionary glance from him, his head whipping away from the direction of herself and Astarion. Whatever he’s managed to scrounge for dinner is done, plated to the best of his abilities as Shadowheart crosses camp to join him.

They’ll have to join them soon enough. 

As soon as she realizes this, she has another realization, looking down to find Astarion watching a nearby tree with vexed interest, “We’re going to act like this conversation never happened come morning, aren’t we?” 

We’re going to pretend like you never opened up for a fraction of a second. Like I didn’t let my guard down as well. Like we didn’t sit in the forest like two well-acquainted souls, protected by the moonlight as we shared laughter and a kinship forgotten. 

We’re going to pretend like the thing ripping apart my chest doesn’t know you, somehow, someway. 

“I suppose so.” 

She hops down from the boulder, keeping her balance easily as she turns to offer him a hand. But he’s already standing back up, completely ignoring her offer as he brushes away the dirt on his legs and palms. 

She swallows hard, nods slowly. “That’s fair, I suppose.” 

It was nice while it lasted. 

Even after the dust has long since been discarded off his body, he makes no move to walk down the slope of the miniature cliff and rejoin the other companions. He’s waiting – waiting for her to take the lead. Just as the others had during their travels thus far. 

She’s selfish. So, so ardently selfish. But before they leave this space, before they abandon the serene moment they’d been granted, she has to learn one last thing about him. If nothing else, she’d like to say she knows the very basics of who he is. 

His name, the fact that he’s never been privy to friendship before, that he is a very guarded individual with a superior skill at hiding that mask, and whatever his class is. 

And that she has to ‘save him’. Apparently. Allegedly. 

“What is your class?” she asks, voice steady and head held high as she only looks at him. She doesn’t care if Gale spares them any more side glances. 

His head tilts curiously towards her, “What? Giving up so quickly?” 

“Well, if we’re to pretend this conversation never happened, then-”

“I’ll tell you what… bard,” he starts, but when she shakes her head, he’s quick to correct himself, “Or… not bard? Regardless. Once you’ve figured out your own class, see if you can then figure out my class, hm? Read those dreadful books our camp cook has assigned to you, and then get back to me.” 

She knows what that is.

It’s more than playful banter. More than him hiding away secrets.

They won’t be pretending that this night never happened – not even close.

taglist:

@emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson

[stardivingsea]

As an Absolute shock to no one, I accidentally made my first Baldur’s Gate 3 play through into a personal tragedy.

As a shock to myself, my obsession with this game made me want to draw again so someone take this thing away from me before I stare at it too long!!

[grapecaseschoices]

[prettyboykatsuki]

i have many many many critiques about wylls story, most of them being about the fact it's just so lackluster in game when compared to other companions which is a shame. because wyll to me is and has the potential to be an even more emotionally compelling companion. and he was early access!! he was so gritty in ea please bring him back larian i beg of thee. the way he was rewritten has stripped him of so much nuance and depth. wyll to me is such a wonderful character to me because of what he represents, which is heroism so down to his core he never gives up on it even when he ought to

his goodwill and nobility are ceaseless. at the center of his story is betrayal trauma, his agency over himself vanished into thin air. mizora turns him into a monster and there is no turning back. he has become the thing he's despised, the things he's hunted for his entire life. and we know so little about that canonically because of the way his story is set up but its hinted time and time again that he struggles with his reality deeply and even that cannot make him turn away from the city he loves so much.

if larian would go back to clean up and fix his story (which im truly praying to god they do) i want them to touch on what wyll must be going through as he continues to try to ground himself and deal with his newfound reality. i want them to touch on the abandonment he experiences because of his father and the inevitable burden his title as blade and hero has on him. because these things obviously compel him, they're hinted at all the time but they were completely stripped of him in final release and its fucking disheartening... larian please im begging you. thats the love of my life. please.

but for now i will do it with fanfiction and gather enough wyll fans to make a fuss about it . peace and love

[manyothermusingsofmine]

sometimes I sit and think about a scenario where Astarion meets Willow before the plot of BG3 happens and how I think Cazador kinda yanks Astarion back on bringing her in as a victim (I think Cazadors commands are often given telepathically and his spawns can't disobey when it pops up in their minds) And Cazador's excuse is that she's too high profile and too many people would notice if she vanished from the scene

[omni-occultavtur]

muscle memory

The oath she doesn’t remember swearing is iron in her throat, lashing her back from the promise of gloryglorygore splattered over the sand.

The grit of sand beneath her feet is oddly familiar. The phantom limb of a memory flails in Athalie’s mind: something hot clutched in her hand, oozing jammy over her fingers as she runs, cold winter air lashing her skin and splitting around her horns as someone’s shouts fade into the distance.

She shakes herself and returns to the ravaged beach: the smell of burning flesh and scorched cartilage smoking up the air, sunlight glittering sharp and imprecise on the water, the sticky cling of drying blood on her skin. It’s soaked thickly through sections of her tabard, invisible but now flaking off the dark fabric, far too much to have come from just the fiends aboard the crashed nautiloid—and Athalie knows that when she awoke in the pod, her hair had already been matted with blood that smelled of foreign flesh.

She wrings out her braids and does her best to squeeze out congealed viscera from the two buns atop them as well; the waves make it difficult to tell whether or not her efforts have made much of a difference at all, but at least her reflection looks less crimson-dyed. The internal debate of whether or not a dunk in the sea would restore more of her hair’s actual colour goes undecided when something explodes in the distance: Athalie jerks back, her body moving on experienced adrenaline to propel itself over the sand and into a battle-ready stance, warhammer out and at the ready before she’s quite aware of what’s happening.

Nothing leaps out from the shadowed arches of the crash. The waves lap quietly at the shore. The mangled corpses on the beach stay dead.

Athalie relaxes and smashes the skull of the first one she comes across—just to be sure. His pockets are bereft of anything but an empty bottle with a long-faded label; Athalie pockets it anyway, figuring it might be of some use as a distraction later.

She comes across the half-elf from the nautiloid as she makes her way down the beach; Athalie crosses her arms and prods her with a foot. The woman doesn’t stir, but her chest rises and falls.

It would be easy to turn its motion into the final crest of a sanguine wave—turn the woman’s skin into butterfly wings, her intestines into lace adorning the slick sturdiness of a sundered ribcage—Athalie’s chest throbs, blood singing hot and high as it splits in her veins.

The oath she doesn’t remember swearing is iron in her throat, lashing her back from the promise of gloryglorygore splattered over the sand. Her knuckles go tight on the handle of her warhammer, trembling slightly as the blunt, terrible head of the instrument shivers in the air.

Athalie unwraps one hand from the metal and presses it to the gold thread in the sword emblazoned over her chest. “My hand is iron, my fist against the greater evil. My arms are the scales of justice, upon which I weigh even myself. No mercy for the wicked. My cause is my purity.”

The mutter is heavy on her tongue, comforting despite the way their flavour contorts under a heady yearning to shed copper, to feel the warm ooze of lifeblood washing over her hands.

Pain wracks Athalie’s skull and radiates down her skeleton, seizing each limb until she nearly drops the warhammer on the half-elf. Inelegant. A waste.

She flings it behind her and drops to her knees. Her grip is too harsh on the woman’s upper arm, but it’s the only balance Athalie can exert over the vicious horror longing to realise itself with her body.

“Wake up. I know you’re alive. Get up.”

[kaizanna]

I finally finished the first real chapter of The Company You Keep!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51604864

[thcdoomed]

I feel like in the companion verse for Dronia, the worst possible path she could take is letting her grief consume her and allowing herself to let the dhampirism control her, to just give into the thirst and bloodlust and lose whatever made her a kind and nurturing person. Where she becomes no better than what she hates and is an angry shell of who she was.

[fangswbenefits]

Questions

Summary: Your curiosity drives you to ask Astarion a very unexpected question, and he's more than happy to give you a proper reply.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Astarion's POV. Innocent/inexperienced Tav being a tease. Precum. Praise kink. Oral sex (mild). Edging. Body worship. PiV. Creampie.

Word count: 2.7k

“What does an erection feel like?”

Astarion nearly dropped the dagger in his hand.

He was effectively caught off guard in a way that made him blink.

Twice.

“What?”

“What does an erection feel like?” 

You were smiling so sweetly and innocently that to an outsider, it might seem you had just asked him to fetch you a cup of tea.

He was officially stunned into silence and not many could take pride in such an accomplishment.

But you.

You had a way with words that could have his head throb from annoyance as well as his cock throbbing from lust.

Your hands were laced behind your back as you took sure steps in his direction with a sweet smile dancing on your lips.

He glanced around the forest clearing, quite taken aback by your sudden bluntness in such matters.

“And what prompted such a thought in that pretty little head of yours?”

With your smile spreading wider, you came to a full stop in front of him just as he sheathed the dagger at his hip once again.

“I was just wondering,” you said with a mere shrug. “I mean, I already know how it feels when… when we…”

“Fuck?”

Astarion would seldom be this forthcoming with you, but he truly enjoyed how you’d fluster so easily for him and from his choice of words.

You nodded.

Gods. 

He would never tire of how adorably oblivious you could be to your effect on him. 

“So you want to know how it feels for me, is that it?”

You nodded again, rooted in place as he began circling you like a predator studying its prey. Such an intrusive yet unbelievably arousing question had him almost salivating for the tease he was about to shower you with.

“As selfless as I am, darling,” he began with a tut, inching closer and closer to you. “I would like to know what I’d get in exchange for this delicate information.” 

He saw you swallow, still holding a sweet smile. “What would you want?”

Feigning pensiveness, he cleared a few specs of pollen that had gathered on your shoulders. “A kiss.”

“Where?”

Astarion would love to immediately sink you on your knees and have you plant the softest kisses along his cock.

But he would have to start slow with you, so he could revel in your inexperience.

He tapped his cheek twice with his finger, now close enough that he could feel your warmth. 

“So… a kiss for each piece of information?”

He grinned approvingly. “Lovely idea, darling.”

You closed the gap and moved to press your heated lips on his cheek.

It came as no surprise that he began to feel the faintest stir down below, letting him know just how weak he was to your sweet advances. But what truly made his cock harden even more was knowing you weren’t actively trying to seduce him.

You were too innocent to think a simple kiss to his cheek could turn him on.

So he’d let you know.

He’d show you.

“It feels very, very distracting,” he started, already mourning your warmth when you pulled away. “Especially when it’s due to sexual arousal.”

You blinked, waiting for him to go on, but what you didn’t know was that Astarion wasn’t one for charity.

Even when it came to you.

“Well? How about another kiss?”

You flinched. “Oh! Right… where?”

Oh, you were making this so easy for him. 

He would be fully hard in no time if he played his cards right with you.

So, he tapped his lips.

And you didn’t even hesitate to press a fleeting kiss on them.

But before you could move away, he gripped your wrist. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tutted, holding you in place. “A proper kiss.”

“That was a proper kiss.”

“Not if I can’t even taste you,” he said with a dramatic pout.

You nodded, promptly taking his lips in yours in a rather chaste kiss, and then Astarion went in for the kill.

He could always taste the inexperience and hesitancy whenever you gave himself to him like this. Masterfully, he parted your lips with his skilled tongue, and nearly groaned from how receptive you were to him.

The familiar lull of a throb around his cock was almost too distracting and he had to fight back the urge to immediately pull your body fully against his, so he could grind on you.

Surprisingly enough, and before he could tease your tongue with his fangs, you broke the kiss.

“Astarion, you’re not playing fair,” you said with that adorable pout that always made him want to have you on all fours for him.

But besides that, Astarion was not one to play fair, yet he’d make a single exception just for you and this specific moment.

He was too eager to entertain your unexpected curiosity.

He smiled innocently. “I do apologise for getting ahead of myself. It’s hard not to with you…”

And he truly meant it.

You were an exercise on self-restraint and he wished he could lavish you in bliss whenever possible. But he also knew you needed your space and to also be the one to take initiative, so he’d often patiently wait for your move.

And what a move this was.

His trousers felt too tight already, and he had to adjust his growing erection with one hand, which evidently caught your eye.

“Are you hard already?”

Already?

As if it was a hard feat with you being such a tease…

“I will show you if you give me your hand,” he proposed deviously. “It would be easier for me… and you.”

You gave him an adorable wicked smile as you placed your hand in his. “Surely you must remember how it feels without having to have one.”

What a tease.

Your words sent a couple of jolts of pleasure straight to his swelling cock, intensifying the pulsing.

He guided your hand to his crotch, and couldn’t hold back the grunt that rumbled in his chest as you gave him a tentative squeeze.

You delectable little minx…

“How does it feel?” you said, smile never wavering.

“Extremely distracting… and pleasurable.”

Another squeeze.

“What else?”

He would come undone in his trousers if you kept pushing him like this. 

“I feel the urge to be inside you.”

Your eyes widened. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, feeling his cock twitch under your palm. “No. But I would very much like to press you up against the nearest tree and slide it inside you.”

Maybe he wasn’t as patient as he thought he was.

Maybe he didn’t really have time to play his cards right.

He was so incredibly turned he thought he could easily die again just from the tease and frustration.

Unexpectedly, you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his other cheek.

“Can I… touch it? Will you tell me how my hand feels?”

Astarion nearly froze at your seemingly innocent suggestions.

Perhaps his love for debauchery was contagious and you were catching up and learning from him. Not that he was complaining, but his endurance might be at stake should you continue to further edge him with your sweetened words.

“You can do whatever you want,” he simply said, driven by the lust and agonising need for release.

And then you did something that nearly made his eyes bulge out.

You kneeled in front of him.

Gods above…

Eyes fixed on his as you struggled to undo the lacing at the front of his trousers.

The first beads of precum had already begun to drip from his tip.

He hurriedly helped you, fingers quickly loosening the fabric and creating an opening for you to take the next step.

And you did.

With another sweetly innocent smile, you pulled his trousers down just enough for his cock to bounce free, earning a sigh of relief from him.

Your fingers wrapped around him and his hips instinctively bucked from the sudden squeeze.

“How does it feel?”

Astarion wasn’t a man to be at a loss for words, but he couldn’t bring himself to string a couple together to answer you.

A single string of precum dangled from the tip and he now knew he needed to feel more of you or he might lose it.

“A kiss…” he said almost pleadingly, placing one hand in the back of your head.

You offered him a pout. “Where?”

He closed his eyes and let out a growl, rolling his hips as he fucked your hand.

“Gods…” he moaned aloud when your warm lips touched the swollen tip of his cock.

This had his eyelids snap open at once just so he could marvel at the sight of his precum dribbling down your chin.

But the near blinding pleasurable sensation came to a halt as you pulled back, darting your tongue along your lower lip.

“Tell me…”

Then you were on your feet again, but never letting go of his cock.

“I really want to ravish you…” he said impatiently, slowly taking a few steps into you, so you would walk back.

“Why?”

He wanted to fuck you.

No.

He needed to fuck you.

“Why what?” he growled, removing your hand from his throbbing cock, which earned a whine from you. “You keep touching me like that and teasing me with your words, and I will not last.”

In fact, he had lasted longer than he had expected, given the torture you were submitting him to.

“Was that your plan all along, my sweet?”

You shook your head, nearly tripping on a single twisting root that emerged from the ground.”No! I - I was simply… curious…”

Oh, he was going to adore making you sing for him. 

“Were you really?” 

Your back was soon pressed against a large oak tree and the most devious of smiles crept into his face.

He had you just where he wanted.

“You wanted to know how an erection feels, did you not?”

You bit your lip with a curt nod.

“I can tell you how it feels inside you,” he taunted, lips close to your ear and cock pressed against your shirt, staining it with precum. “Would you like that, darling?”

Your reply came in the form of a gasp that he quickly swallowed with a kiss, gripping your chin in between his fingers and applying enough pressure so that you’d part your lips for him.

You quickly caved in with a strained moan and his tongue slipped inside so he could taste your innocence.

Dexterity wasn’t a skill for everyone, but it was one he had harnessed and honed over centuries, and it came in handy in a vast array of situations.

Being able to undo your trousers with the fingers of a single hand was the one he was most proud of.

He felt you melt into him as he tugged at the tight fabric before yanking them down, and all of this without breaking the hungry and urgent kiss.

With a single finger he realised just how soaked you were for him, which was to be expected. Your body reacted to him in a way that further reinforced his devotion to you. It stroked his ego in the right places and tugged at the frayed ends of his sanity.

This time, he was the one pulling away, so he could drop on both knees as if readying himself for a prayer.

Your eyes were half-closed and heavy with the overwhelming weight of desire when you stared down at him.

With two fingers, he parted your folds and saw the delicious throbbing swell inviting him in.

And who was he to deny such invitation?

He leaned in and pressed a soft and lingering kiss on it, proud to earn the most adorable whimper from you as your hands flew to tangle in his curls.

“Astarion…”

He would die a thousand times over just for your praise and for your pleasure.

Nothing made him harder than your sweet cries as his name rolled out of your tongue.

He pressed two more kisses before raising to his full height again and chuckling in your ear. “You’re ready for me.”

You nodded eagerly.

Your despair was so adorable he could come just from how you were desperately grinding against him, the lower half of your shirt drenched in his precum.

With one hand, he pulled your leg up and apart just enough to grant him full access to you.

With the other, he angled himself at your entrance and was met with barely any resistance as he slowly pushed inside, grunting as you immediately began to tighten around him.

“Do try to relax, darling… allow me to at least bury myself fully inside.”

But he knew all too well it was merely wishful thinking.

He was getting undeniably closer to the point of no return.

You did try to comply with his request, lopping your arms around his next for added support as he pushed further inside. However, he was aware you couldn’t fully help but to instinctively clamp around his cock, squeezing his bulging veins and welcoming his precum.

His lips were on your ear once again. “You feel divine and I don’t think you need my words to know that.”

The first thrust dragged a soft mewl out of you and he held your leg in place, knowing all too well your knees would soon buck under you from the sensation of being fucked so deligently.

At this point, he was edging himself once he managed to set a steady pace, wet and sloppy sounds filling his ears.

You always took him so well.

He glanced down just so he could witness your wetness coating his cock each time he pulled back, only to ram it back inside with a desperate grunt.

“So… i-it feels really good, right?”

His eyes met yours and his rhythm faltered momentarily as he was surprised you were still trying hellsbent on getting your question answered.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he growled, his balls beginning to tighten as he reached the edge. “It feels ridiculously good.”

You immediately clenched.

Of course you did. 

You adored being praised and being shown you were taking him so well.

Not wanting to reach his peak himself as your contractions would aid him reaching his, he pressed the pad of his thumb against your pulsing swell and rubbed measured circles around it.

“Let go, darling,” he urged, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his focus. “I’ll catch you.”

He quickened his pace, entering the final stages of his insenset climb to the height of his bliss. His hips snapped more vigorously, the lewd sounds that he drew from you further testing his sanity.

You came first as intended, squeezing so hard around him he could no longer keep his eyes open and having to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

His name spilled from your lips like a broken prayer that any self-deserving God above would be a fool to ignore.

Someone this divine deserved to be heard throughout Faerûn and Astarion took immense pleasure knowing he was the source of your immeasurable pleasure.

As your contractions caused you to squeeze tightly around him, he felt himself let go and immediately felt his own bliss wash down over him, his lower abdomen rhythmically contracting and his balls rise up as the first ropes of cum began to shoot inside you.

He let out a guttural groan as he stilled as deep as he could, eager to feel his cum begin to slide out.

He would always come too hard and too much for you.

The amount of cum always surprised him, but he had grown to accept he was meant to fill you to the brim with his seed.

Surely enough and your contractions began to subside, he felt a few droplets drip out.

He pulled his head back so he could see just how flustered and out of breath you were because of him.

“Did that answer your question?”

Your laboured breaths were too endearing and he smiled proudly.

You swallowed hard. “You cheated…”

He gasped dramatically, still buried inside you. “I did no such thing. I simply found a better way to satisfy your mind, darling.”

Masterlist

[lassieposting]

Been thinkin about Astarion + vampire biology so have some headcanons and the bits of game lore they're based on

Dialogue establishes that Cazador has been successfully passing himself off as a regular noble for centuries, and Astarion confirms that while he's considered a bit reclusive, he does mingle with the upper class of Baldur's Gate and has a property specifically for hosting fancy events.

Vampires are camouflage predators, whose primary hunting strategy is to blend in with their prey until the perfect time to strike. Their ecological niche is not a particularly safe or stable one - they live hidden in plain sight, usually in sizeable cities, for easy access to prey, but they know that if they are discovered they will be rooted out and killed or driven away. They are rarely able to get away with attacking in public, where city guards might rush to the aid of a screaming victim - they have to isolate their target before killing it. The ability to blend in, to be overlooked by their target, until it is too late is essential.

Cazador is, as far as we know, the only true vampire in Baldur's Gate

This is because true vampires are aggressively territorial. Like most apex predators, they eat a lot, and need substantial territories to support them - even moreso if they have a partner or spawns. Ascendant!Astarion would need to hold onto the entire city, as Cazador did, to be able to feed himself and Tav without raising suspicion.

True vampires are relatively rare, but there are more of them than there are cities, so it's not uncommon for one to set up in an occupied city and try to oust the sitting resident. The challenger usually believes himself to be as strong or stronger than the current tenant: these territorial disputes usually end in at least one death, so they're not to be entered into lightly.

Astarion is very obviously a vampire: his fangs are visible, as are his bite scars; he's so pale multiple people comment on it; his eyes are red, etc.

Astarion is not a healthy vampire.

This is a man who has been kept on the knife's edge of starvation and tortured regularly for 200 years, and to another vampire, that would be clear from the state of him: Astarion is a camouflage predator who is so malnourished he is no longer able to blend in.

Tav will get an up-close look at his transformation over the course of the game and during the years afterwards: the more healthy and well-fed Astarion becomes, as his body catches up on its immense energy deficit and begins to recover, the better he will be able to mimic a living elf. His skin will be able to bleed, or blush, or bruise, none of which he's capable of while actively starving. Hia fangs will retract until he needs them, not invisible but less obvious - having them out all the time is a response to severe deprivation; he's so hungry his body can't risk losing prey to the split second it takes Cazador to snatch a rat back, so he's permanently in bite mode, hyperaware, ready to strike. Some body functions will come online that he didn't even know he had, the ones that are supposed to help him blend in - his eyes will start producing pigment to look darker, less scarlet and more burgundy, to be more easily mistaken for brown; his lungs will make him breathe automatically even though he doesn't need it, he'll start being able to eat normal food without getting sick again, though he still won't get any nourishment from it; he'll heal faster. He'll even be able to get drunk, though he'll burn through it very quickly. As it stands, all those extra systems have been shut down by his starving body - they're useful, but nonessential, and he needs every single bit of energy funnelled into just keeping him alive and functional.

There is probably an intentional bit of psychological warfare against the spawns on Cazador's part here - him starving them strips them of their natural defences, and every time he makes them leave the mansion to hunt, they have to do so knowing that they're poorly hidden and vulnerable. But it's established that true vampires treating their spawn poorly or outright abusing them is A Thing, so it's not the only reason - he sees them as property rather than people, he keeps them weak so they won't plot against him, he's acting out his own trauma from Vellioth on them, he just wants to - but it does feed into it.

Astarion can, at one point, identify old blood as belonging to the player character. He also gets excited at another point if an enemy character runs away, stating, "Now it's a hunt."

He says that "even stale, [he'd] recognise that bouquet anywhere." This confirms a few things for us:

He has a vastly superior sense of smell capable of identifying individuals by scent and - since he can tell who the blood belongs to even after some time has passed - following scent trails.

This confirms that although city-dwelling vampires may primarily hunt via luring a victim to a secondary location before killing it, they still have the "stalk down and chase" predator instinct. Since Astarion can't lure wildlife anywhere, this is almost certainly how he's been hunting to supplement his diet when he's not using the player as his personal caprisun.

The fact that he can scent out prey before killing it means he has this ability all the time - he can smell blood while it's still safely inside the owner's body.

So scent is probably relevant to how vampires process the world. The more time each companion spends with him, the more he gets used to their scent, starts associating it more with safety and camaraderie than with a potential meal, and so he becomes more relaxed around them. As he learns to link the player's scent with love and comfort and trust, the more likely he is to retreat to their tent over his own when he's injured or afraid or having a trauma moment. When he's fond of someone, something of theirs will go conveniently missing - he's moving their scent into his little safe space, it's comforting for him. He can tell when his lover is hurt or aroused or frightened - though not which of the three applies - from a distance, because his sense of smell can pick up the spike of adrenaline rushing into their bloodstream.

But that also means that he can never feel like he's got any distance from Cazador while he's living in the mansion - even if the man isn't in the same room, the entire place reeks of him, and it makes Astarion feel like Cazador is breathing down his neck all the same. Ascendant Astarion would have a really, really hard time sticking it out in that mansion with stale Eau de Cazador all over the place. It means that he's put instantly on edge by the faint scent of one of his siblings as he walks through the lower city - when seven vicious, territorial apex predators are confined to a single small dormitory, several hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year, fights are going to be nasty and frequent, and although Cazador wouldn't allow them to kill each other, considering how many of his siblings refer to him as weak or a runt, Astarion probably didn't win them very often. So. Having a highkey advanced sense of smell is a mixed bag.

[whirlybirbs]

please god give me "[ CLING ]: having finally been reunited, the sender pulls the receiver into a tight, overwhelmingly relieved embrace, clinging to them and burying their face in their shoulder" with astarion and gale.

┊ astarion ancunín + f!tav!reader┊ CLING

His voice is a near shriek — full of irritation.

"What is wrong with you, hm?!"

"Astarion, I am not in the mood—"

"Oh, well pardon me, my dear lady," comes the snarl of a snarked jest as he follows hot on your trail, "Had I known you weren't in the mood, I would simply have kept my mouth shut and let you die!"

"I had it handled!" you fire back, throwing your hands in the starry, night air and very much ignoring the inquisitive looks from the rest of camp. Astarion does not let up, in fact he jogs to follow more closely than before — right on your boot heels.

"He had a knife to your throat!"

"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened!"

"God, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met—"

You finally reach your tent and slam your pack down on your makeshift vanity. Inside, the stolen wares rattle amongst pinched gold and silver. A few scrolls, a few potions; enough to get you and your rag-tag team through the next few days on the road.

You'd embarked into the town at sundown, with Astarion by your side, to pull a few old tricks. You're not a stranger to the silver-tongued methods of a thief. A few plucked lute strings, a few batted eyes. Usually, it's quick work. But, tonight you'd met a bit of resistance behind the town's tavern.

At the edge of camp, it's darker. The moon is hung half-full in the sky, and you gather your matches lighter to ignite your trusty lamp. However, the moment you move to flick the ignition, there's a hand on yours.

"Will you listen to me?"

"I told you," you huff haughtily, "I'm not in the mood, Astarion—"

Suddenly, he slaps the pack of matches from your hands.

It hits the ground a few feet away.

You look up at him, brow wrinkled in shock and confusion.

"...Rude..."

His face is set in a firm frown. And then, suddenly, he's pulling you into an embrace that is as unpracticed as it is rough. Your arms are cramped to your sides as the vampire presses his face hard into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel him huff, and then soften slightly.

Your attitude melts away.

"Don't do that again," comes a quiet, desperate utterance. You swear it will cling to your throat forever more; the sound of his true intentions, "As much as I hate to admit it, you've grown on me."

Your eyes slip shut. "...I'm sorry."

He scoffs. His nose, cold and delicate, brushes the skin of your throat.

Astarion can feel the thrum of life beneath your skin there; a familiar feeling. His heart pangs in want. He knows your scent best — comforting. Home. Even if you aren't entirely aware of it.

...But, he'll keep that to himself for now.

And maybe forever.

┊ gale dekarios + tav!reader ┊ CLING

It's a long trek back to camp — and by morning, you've never been happier to smell the last embers of a fire that's burnt noon and night.

Morning rays, fresh from the dawn, spill over the horizon as you meander into the camp. There's dew on your boots and blood in your hair. The gash along your side has long since coagulated into a sticky, cold mess; your leathers are drenched in all sorts of gore. Not all your own. Most belonging to the three Gnolls who had attempted to take you along with your hunted prey for the camp's dinner.

You lost the boar, your favorite bow, and a good amount of pride in the scuffle.

The moment you cross the threshold of camp, you can taste the tang of magic in the air.

You know, immediately, that it's Gale.

Perhaps it's your own awareness of the Weave, or a particular tenderness for the Wizard himself, but you feel him before you see him.

And then, it's a crushing embrace.

His toiling is long forgotten the moment he lays eyes on you, in all your brutality, and he can't help but surge forward with enough momentum to nearly knock you both breathless.

"Where the hell have you been? Avernus?" he mutters, one hand moving to gently cradle the back of your head. His palm is warm, radiating already with a healing magic that alights the air with the smell of lavender.

"Met a bit of trouble fetching us dinner—"

"Karlach will have your head," Gale says, leaning back to eye you up and down as a warm sweep of light graces your edges. You feel it, like a touch white-hot against bare skin. Intimate. Caring. Different entirely from Shadowheart's healing entirely, "She has been out all night searching for you — Astarion, too."

"I'm fine," you mutter — pointedly keeping the fact you had been chased up a tree by the aforementioned Gnolls to yourself — hands falling to his waist, "And I'm ruining your robes."

"Hush."

The magic pulses hotly, and you slip your eyes shut at the intrusion. His sternness comes robed in warmth. A safe sort of thing.

Gale pulls away only long enough to plant a kiss on your brow.

AS ALWAYS: prompts are here, the ask box is here.