#barking and meowing too but hes so fine that it doesnt cut it

[punk-o-ween]

chris, hey chris. chris sabin. hey. SO … PLEASE GROW UR BEARD BACK OUT BBG PLSPLSPLSPLS AND KEEP THE GREYS TOO AND GROW UR HAIR BACK OUT TOO AS WLEL IF YOU LOVE US PLS THE KIDS MISS YOU

[lumienyx]

Could you write something about astarion getting to eat a dish with garlic in it for the first time since he became a vampire?

I assume that the tadpole would let him do that and think getting to experience food youre basically allergic to again is an experience.

Maybe it doesnt taste the way he remembers and doesnt compare to memory (based on my experience with milk based products)

Delectable Treats

A/N: honestly I just wanted to write this exact scene as is but then the idea uhhhhh well it got away from me XD not quite into crack territory (hopefully) but definitely there with a hefty dose of humor and fluff🥺 hope you enjoy✨

Rating: T | Pairing: Astarion/Male Tav | Words: 2,362

Tags: Humor, Fluff, Banter, Astarion Being Astarion, Astarion POV, Appropriate Use of Illithid Parasite Powers

Summary:

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic; he has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says, “Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all?"

Or, after a violent altercation that leaves most of the crew dead or incapacitated, Astarion ends up cooking dinner for the newly healed and revivified. It goes as well as you… wouldn't expect, really.

Read on AO3 or under the cut ↓

Astarion lets out the heaviest sigh he can manage, making it all kinds of dramatic. He has an audience after all. He turns to said audience, looking them straight in the eyes, and says,

“Can you believe I’ve been relegated to this? By my own lover, no less.” He only gets a headshake and a slow blink in reply. “Have you nothing to say about my misfortune? At all? And this is after all the treats I’ve given you! Scratch? Tara?”

Scratch barks at him, circling around himself a few times as he wags his tail. Tara keeps staring at him with a calm, collected expression which Astarion can swear is almost sympathetic. She then allows a gentle, drawn-out meow.

“I mean, it’s like we’re just tools for them, aren’t we?” Astarion goes on, lifting the lid to check on his… experiment. Seems fine, for now at least. “You, Scratch, ever bound to chase that muddied pathetic excuse for a ball—remind me to buy a new one next time we’re out, by the way.”

He focuses once more on the spell he has active, heating the metal contraption further as the time is just about up.

“And you, Tara—are you forever fated to hunt down rare scrolls for Gale and be his comfort object?” Astarion goes on. “Well, I mean, that is what cats are—”

Tara cuts him off with a hiss.

“—I mean, tressyms are for, of course.” Tara’s hiss melds into a threatening growl, which Astarion completely ignores. “But me,” he sneers, “cooking? Beyond humiliating."

Scratch barks his agreement. Tara flaps her wings in another half-hearted threat, before sliding closer to Astarion, no doubt asking for apologetic pets.

With another painstaking sigh, Astarion relents, running his hands through her soft fur. Scratch soon joins, too, never one to miss out on affection offered freely, and so Astarion has to alternate between petting them both. As he bakes dinner. For everyone in camp but himself. 

Astarion supposes it's kind of his own fault for not keeping his mouth shut but he prefers to blame everyone else anyway. Shadowheart for casting her new 'blessing' of a protection spell on them before their party left. Clueless herself that the spell would deal damage to her for every wound the targets suffer, and so she just up and died spontaneously while staying back at camp. Lae’zel up next, killed by a far-too-lucky blast to the head. Gale drained dry of almost all life within him with a necrotic energy so strong that Tav's Counterspell did nothing against it. Karlach and Wyll both trapped by Hold Person and hit by a rock—luckily not quite killed, but very much incapacitated.

The Underdark truly was a place too dark and full to the brim with terrors.

Astarion and Tav managed to avoid most of the damage; Astarion by hiding and Tav with a Globe of Invulnerability that came into effect far too late to protect the others. And so, the both of them ended up dragging dead and disfigured bodies of their friends back to camp, where Halsin, a newly resurrected Shadowheart, and Tav tended to the wounded—and Withers to the dead. The quite gory sight made even Astarion uncomfortable, the spilled blood not inducing any hunger, just crippling anxiety for those he has come to call friends.

“I suppose dinner will have to wait,” Halsin says somewhat grimly, somewhat as a joke as he takes in the gravity of the situation.

“If it’s not anything difficult,” some doubtless evil force prompted Astarion to say, “I can take care of that.”

“Can you?” 

“Really?”

And suddenly, Astarion found himself directed to a meager stash of ingredients—because the bigger one is located in Gale’s pocket dimension for preserving any and all food, which they now cannot access with the wizard comatose. It’s how he finds himself here, now, opening the metal contraption serving as a poor substitute for an oven, kept hot continuously by a Heat Metal spell Tav modified to run past its one-minute time limit. Lying there on the makeshift cooking trays is perfectly cooked, aromatic garlic bread along with a few hefty pieces of beef lathered with the variety of vegetables Astarion had found in the stash. He’d thrown in the spices they had as well, and by the way the meat smelled, he’d added just the right concoction of those.

This is absolute insanity, Astarion decides. Though he can’t help but feel strangely satisfied with his efforts. He hopes, though he’s loath to admit it to himself, that Tav enjoys it, at least.

It all starts to seem even more like a fever dream as Astarion returns to the campfire to find all of his companions in an adequate state of healed or revivified. Some drinking water, some leaning hard on the booze. 

“My painkiller,” Wyll insists, holding tight to his wine bottle. 

“Give it back and eat first,” Shadowheart reprimands him, herself still looking more like a walking corpse than a living being. 

It’s then that Astarion cuts in with the announcement that dinner seems to be, by all means, ready.

There’s skepticism, at first. Gale scowls, unable to accept that they decided to ‘trust dinner to a vampire whose diet only consists of blood and self-glorification,’ rather than wait for his rather lengthy return from nigh-eternal sleep. Tav smiles as he cuts himself his share, but the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the look in them a bit apprehensive. Karlach says, well, they’ve gotten through the sheer hell sprung up on them in the Underdark, they can survive food poisoning, right?

Astarion simply lounges with his head on Tav’s lap in their childish-looking circle around the fire, wishing he could drop dead a second time in his increasingly agonizing existence. Preferably right there on the spot.

Though when Tav runs his hands through Astarion’s hair, the touch soft, and warm, and perfect—Astarion thinks that maybe that’s payment enough for enduring all this slander.

“I’ll remind you,” he says, waving in Tav and Halsin’s direction, “that you explicitly asked for this.”

“Wait, listen!” Karlach’s eyes grow wide. “Holy hells, this is actually good!”

“What?” and that’s Gale, “I don’t believe it.”

“Hm. Neither did I, but by Vlaakith, it truly does taste… palatable.”

“Palatable? The bread is fucking delicious! Astarion, how did you manage it?”

“Is it a flavor illusion?”

“Did you steal it?”

“Did you hire one of your ghouls to do it?”

“No, ghouls wouldn’t know how to cook, Tav, stop acting the idiot. But maybe he has some imprisoned, tortured chef we’re unaware of?”

“Honestly, sweet Shadowheart.” Astarion lifts his hand to his chest in mock offense. “I would never stoop so low.”

“Then how?” Gale frowns, chewing slowly, so evidently confused as to why he isn’t disgusted by it.

Astarion only grins. “Trade secret.” Mentioning nothing of how he was himself quite concerned about the end result. He hasn’t cooked anything in hundreds of years—what felt like eternity, really. 

But there was a time—and the memory of that time is too precious and painful to be lost even to Cazador’s hold. A time when his mother fell ill of a magical ailment that required a most complex and lengthy treatment. When his father was ever so busy with magistrate business, begging his only son to support his mother in any way he could at home while he worked his way up, growing desperate as their family fortune dwindled. And so, Astarion had to learn to cook from scratch, opting for baking and boiling with just the right concoction of spices to make even laughably simple meals tasty nonetheless. Something his mother could stomach even during the most severe fevers and his father would eat cold as he returned from late nights at the office. Astarion barely remembers either of their faces, barely allows himself to utter their names in his mind, but these flashes of memory stay etched too deep into his brain to be forgotten.

“Well, I admit it,” Wyll says then, returning Astarion’s attention to the present. “I owe you an apology for the mistrust, Astarion. But I honestly thought this would taste like ashes in my mouth.”

“It would only taste like that to me,” Astarion says, “don’t you worry.”

“Oh!” Tav throws him a strange look. Astarion still can’t quite get used to the beauty of those eyes, especially as they reflect the firelight, blue and green reflecting the flame’s auburn hue. “I just wanted to offer you to try. I—I forgot, sorry.”

Astarion shrugs. “No need to apologize, darling,” he mutters, “it's my burden to bear.”

“But it’s literally melting in my mouth, it’s that good!” Karlach persists, quite loudly.

“I’d say it might just be because of the…” Shadowheart motions at the entirety of Karlach. “The heat, but I agree.”

And so commences another round of compliments Astarion can’t quite deny are lifting his mood.

Well. Seems like he’s valued after all. He sees Scratch and Tara watching him through half-lidded eyes as they doze by the fire. Envious, no doubt.

“Listen,” Tav says suddenly, putting away his plate, the food just half-finished.

Astarion asks, “Something wrong?” from where he’s still resting on Tav’s lap.

“Not at all.” Tav has that dangerous glint in his eyes, the same one he gets when he’s describing a new terrifying way he’s bent metamagic to do his (sometimes downright insane) bidding. “I was just thinking.”

“Quite dangerous for us all,” Astarion remarks, lifting himself up to sit facing his lover, “if you’re thinking of doing something… questionable again.”

“When have I ever made a so-called ‘questionable’ choice, love?”

“Oh! Remember that time you crushed me—and Gale by the way—with that bloody sun temple?”

“Anyway.” Tav averts his eyes. Astarion is glad to see he’s still embarrassed about that particular debacle. “What I was thinking is that… the tadpoles allow us to read each other's thoughts, yes? And use the other’s senses—I mean it worked when I showed you your face, right?”

Astarion’s already slow enough heart skips a drawn-out beat as he remembers. Connected to Tav’s mind, resonant with his soul, seeing through his eyes: a reflection Astarion has all but forgotten. Silver curls framing a face that seemed so new yet painfully familiar. Red eyes staring back at him—a prettier shade than the gory blood-red he’s always imagined.

“I remember,” he says, “how could I forget? You insist on showing it to me every day.”

Tav smiles. “Because it makes you happy.” And Astarion can’t help but smile in turn. It does.

Tav opens his mouth as if to say something, then thinks better of it. Chews on his lip, considering. Then finally asks, “Let me in?”

Astarion frowns at the proposition, still unsure of what Tav has on his mind. But he’s long gotten over the initial distrust he harbored. There really is no going back, Astarion supposes, now that he’s shown his cards and revealed just how much he cherishes Tav, relishes his closeness. How thankful he is for Tav's painfully earnest sympathy regarding Astarion’s past interfering with the present. His patience is another precious gift, as Astarion grows used to the simplest touches once more, just now comfortable with all kinds of intimacy that don’t quite lead further, thoroughly enjoying the chastest of kisses.

And so, “All right,” Astarion says. Closes his eyes and opens his mind to Tav’s.

It feels familiar, a rush of warmth that makes him shudder. A foreign presence in his thoughts that’s welcomed, because it comes with peace and no hint of deception.

“Open your eyes,” Tav prompts, then. Astarion does—only to see Tav offering him a piece of the garlic bread from his plate.

“I can’t—”

“Just try it.”

Frowning, quite confused, Astarion still accepts the piece. Takes a tiny bite and—

“Oh.” His eyes grow wide. “Hells. What the?..”

“It worked?” And Tav is smiling at him, that childlike joy illuminating his face as it so often does. “I supposed that the senses we share through the connection aren't just limited to sight. It could be taste as well. How is it?”

“Erm,” Astarion himself is quite speechless, too focused on the taste buds that are finally working the way they’re supposed to. The bread is sweet-tinged with a slightly salty base, so soft it melts on his tongue, buttery but not overly so. “It’s. Well. Uh. I can taste it. ”

“You can.”

“It’s… strange. Such a… unique flavor. I don’t even have a memory to compare it to,” Astarion muses, treating himself to another bite. "It's quite like I'm trying it for the first time." He mirrors Tav’s smile unconsciously, feeling a giddy kind of happiness bubbling in his chest. He can’t quite tell whose it is. Maybe it stems from them both. “But actually—it’s delectable, if I say so myself.”

“See what I mean?” Gale grumbles from someplace too far off to bother Astarion’s reverie. “Thrives on self-glorification.”

“Thank you, my love.” Astarion leans in for a gentle kiss. Draws it out, moving his lips softly against Tav’s, melding their thoughts so that what forms is one unified feeling of contentment. Happiness. Love—the most delightful gift Astarion’s been given. “Still, you make my life all the better,” Astarion whispers as he draws away. “You treat me so kindly and yet ask for no favors in return. I’m feeling increasingly guilty about it, truth be told.”

“Don’t.” Tav shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Your happiness is a reward precious enough.”

“And how do I make you happy?” Astarion demands. “Right now, this very moment?”

Tav sneaks a glance at the others, who are all doing a rather piss poor job of ignoring Tav and Astarion’s little moment of closeness.

“Let’s get away,” Tav suggests, voice barely above a whisper. “Enjoy dinner in private. If I get a few more of those kisses out of you—I might just be the luckiest person alive.”

“Darling.” Astarion grins at the idea, though Tav must already feel his excitement through their connection. “Nothing would please me more.”

~~~

thank you for the read💙 I'd love to hear your thoughts if you enjoyed it!🥺

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