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strawberrykidneystone · 2 months ago

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mistletoe

sevika x fem! reader

summary: sevika had never really gotten into any holiday traditions, but you were determined to make your first winter season together memorable

a/n: guys it actually feels like christmas this year im so happy

tags: tooth rotting fluff, kissing, cuddling

ao3 version

ty for requesting anon!!

when sevika came back from work one day to find your shared house covered in winter decorations, she was a little dumbfounded to say the least. the holidays were never really a thing for her family and she had never properly celebrated it, unless you count getting shitfaced in a bar since she had work off “celebrating”. there were little christmas knick knacks on basically every available surface, poinsettias, holly, and garlands galore matched with twinkling lights. she had never actually seen a hallmark movie but from what she’d heard, she was pretty sure she just walked into one.

and to top it all off, there you were with a wide smile on your face, standing at the door to your kitchen with two steaming hot mugs full of hot cocoa waiting for her as soon as she got in the door. you had a green, white, and red patterned sweater on that looked slightly itchy with a pair of sweats, clearly ready for some serious cuddling, which she was definitely in the mood for after the day that she just had. she looked around the house with a bit of child-like wonder in her eyes as she shucked off her coat and emptied out her pockets into the bowl by your door, “holy shit.”

“do you like it?”

“it looks like an elf threw up in here.”

you rolled your eyes and happily glided over to her, pressing the steaming mug into her chilled hands. it did snow in zaun, but it turned to more of a slush as soon as it hit the ground which was sad, but it was better than no snow at all in your opinion. plus, it was funny to see a sleepy sevika fall on her ass in the morning when she went out to get the paper.

“is it pretty throw up at least?” you asked sweetly as you fluttered your lashes up at her.

she took a second to glance around once more at your winter wonderland and took a big gulp of the chocolate liquid while pretending to think, licking the mustache off her upper lip with a satisfied smiled, “yes it’s very pretty, almost as pretty as the girl who decorated it.”

you blushed and smiled giddily as she pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek, her scarred lips were a comfortable warmth against your skin. you chatted about your plans for the outside of the house as you followed her into your shared bedroom, not missing the groan that sevika let out when you mentioned her potentially having to go up onto the roof.

but alas, she would do it for you.

after she had changed out of her work clothes and into her comfy ones, you practically dragged her into the living room that now had snowman throw pillows with matching blankets arranged onto the couch. the two of you curled up on the sofa with your respective beverages, sevika spooning you with her back against the upright cushions. thankfully, your sweater wasn’t as itchy as it looked and was quite soft pressed against her skin, a welcomed warmth against her tank top-clad torso. clicking through the channels with the tv remote, you turned on a fire background on your television while the two of you chatted about your respective days and enjoyed each other’s company after only seeing each other briefly for a goodbye kiss in the morning.

when your talk slowly faded into a comfortable silence that was only broken when one of you yawned, the two of you slowly got up from your cocoon of warmth with you carrying the dirty dishes into the kitchen as sevika quietly trailed after you with a warm hand pressed into the middle of your back. she hugged you from behind while you stood in front of the sink and buried her face into the crook of your neck while you washed the mugs, softly pressing a kiss onto your shoulder every so often. you screeched as she teased her cold metal hand under your shirt and smacked it away, a boisterous laugh leaving your lover as she peppered a few apology kisses down your neck. drying your hands off and turning around in her arms, a lazy smile tugging on her lips.

“c’mon big mama, let’s get you to bed,” you cooed and pulled her along behind you, leading her with your hand laced in her flesh one. she squeezed your hand in hers, gladly letting herself be led to your shared bedroom as she gave a playful slap to your ass with her mechanical hand that earned her a playful grimace as you glanced over your shoulder at her.

suddenly stopping in the doorway of the kitchen, sevika barely had time to stop before she would’ve plowed you onto the ground. you grinned up at your girlfriend who had a very confused look on her face as you dropped her hand when you spun around to face her, your hands mischievously clasped behind your back.

“what?”

you silently pointed up to the plant hanging above your heads with the bright red berries shining in contrast to its pointy green leaves.

“we’re under mistletoe.”

“okay?…”

“the tradition is that you have to kiss whoever you’re under the mistletoe with.”

“baby if you wanted a kiss you could’ve just-“

you covered her mouth with you hand before she could protest and shook your head, “tradition!”

she sighed against your hand and grabbed your wrist to peel your fingers off of her mouth.

“alright alright,” she grumbled as reached forward and rested her hands on your hips, pulling you in so close that your torsos were pressed together.

you grinned at her as she humored your “silly holiday traditions” and pulled her down into a passionate kiss, throwing your arms tightly around her neck. the taste of hot chocolate still lingered on both of your mouths, making the kiss all the more sweet as your lips interlocked in a practiced dance. your heart filled with so much warmth as you silently swore to give sevika the holiday season that she deserved, especially to make up for all the ones she missed celebrating in years prior.

sevika hummed and pulled back from the kiss before it got too heated, resting her forehead against yours with her eyes closed in contentment.

“you better not be under this stupid plant with anyone else.”

you smiled and rubbed the tip of your nose against hers, “wouldn’t dream of it sev.”

a/n: guilty pleasure during this season is mistletoe by justin bieber

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

#sevika #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x female reader #sevika x fem! reader #sevika x fem reader #sevika fan fiction #sevika fluff #strawberrykidneystone #strawberrykidneystone writes

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brain-rot-central · 1 year ago

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Hey Jealousy

Rating: M/borderline E? (for now) Pairing: Spawn!A/Fem!Tav Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: NON-CANON, 18+, degrading speech, somewhat dubcon for certain parts but not totally?, adult themes, mentions of past sexual relationship, alcohol mention, alcohol use, blood mention, possessiveness, jealously, stalking, dry humping, ANGST, some fluff, bitter petty nonsense overall tbh

Summary: Astarion and Tav split at the end of the game due to a huge miscommunication. She tries desperately to move on, Astarion not so much. He finally gets ahold of her, aaaaand some messy feelings come out.

A/N - 1/28/24: Reuploading this! Not much has changed; mostly pulled it for grammatical editing purposes. Hopefully the story flows a bit better now!

The tavern is bustling with the usual weekend crowd. Upbeat music fills the air of the small establishment as this evening’s band continues their set. Drinks cascade like waterfalls into the hands and mouths of the tavern's parched patrons, each desperate for a distraction to drive out the unsettling reality of their lives, albeit for a few hours.

Astarion is perched in a corner of the tavern, circling the tip of his finger around the edge of his wine goblet. The unpleasant flavor of piss and vinegar lingers on his tongue from the spirit, mouth salivating. He sucks his teeth instinctively, trying to rid himself of the taste.

Reaching into the pocket of his favored violet and gold doublet, he retrieves a small vial of crimson liquid. He pops off the stopper and deposits the contents into his cup, bringing the cylindrical glass to his mouth to lap up the small droplet that rolls down its side.

He hums in satisfaction as the sweet flavor spreads across his tongue, floral and lively, before returning the stopper back atop the vial. Using a single finger, he swirls the additive into his wine, bringing the goblet back to his lips for another sip.

Ah, much better.

Surveying the bar, Astarion catches the attention of a young elven woman. She's aesthetically pleasing on the eyes - blonde hair with tan skin. Were he here for another reason, he may have tried his luck with her.

Astarion nods politely. The woman then rises from her seat, walking toward him. “Shit,” he mutters to himself, adjusting his positioning. He hurriedly repockets the blood vial within his doublet and hangs his head low just as she takes the seat at his booth, opposite him.

“Well, you’re certainly different from the usual fare,” she says, confidently. “Not often we get you teu-tel-quessir folk in here.”

Astarion absently swirls his wine. She believes I'm a moon elf?

Assuming that she's a regular of this tavern, this woman may be somewhat oblivious. Were she not, she’d have realized this is his third visit this month alone.

Astarion decides to play into her little game - he’s compelled to see how long he can keep the charade going. “I’m but a weary traveler, just passing through,” he lies. It rolls off his tongue like the caress of an old friend. Creating a fictitious life for himself is something he’s had quite a bit of practice doing.

“Is that so? I, too, happen to be passing through here.” The woman places her elbows on the table and leans forward, giving Astarion better access to the cleavage threatening to spill over the top of her bodice. His eyes fall briefly to the woman’s chest, but he doesn’t look at her face. Not yet. “Got the room rented out upstairs for a couple more days,” she adds, tone hushed.

Sliding her hand toward his, she gently rubs her fingers over the ones he has encased around the neck of the wine goblet. Astarion shudders, not expecting such an intimate touch, and finally lifts his gaze to meet her own. “Care to make a few mistakes with me?” she asks.

Astarion snickers. He can tell part of her story is a facade, though he doesn’t care enough to discern which.

“My apologies, love, but I’ve made enough mistakes to last a lifetime,” he replies. Pulling his hand from her, he grabs his wine by the cup, bringing it again to his lips. “I’ll have to decline.”

The elven woman softly hums in disappointment, standing up from her seat at the booth. “Such a shame,” she says, “you really are something beautiful.” She raises a hand to her lips, kissing the pads of her fingertips before extending them out toward him. Gently blowing on her fingers, she says, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Astarion raises his cup to her and she walks off, returning to her group of friends on the far side of the tavern. He groans a sigh of relief.

Wasting little time resuming his attention on the crowd surrounding him, another is quick to catch his eye. He's seen her before - long auburn hair flowing down her back with streaks of blonde scattered throughout. She wasn't dressed in her evening best, but even so, the blouse and slacks she wore left little to his imagination.

She's sitting at the bar in the middle of the tavern, a young tiefling gentleman holding her attention at present. He’s not her usual type, Astarion notes to himself, though he remains transfixed on their interaction.This is the second man he's seen this evening trying their hand at impressing the young human woman.

A smile forms on her lips as she converses with her current suitor. Astarion once again swirls his goblet of wine before bringing it back to his mouth for another taste.

He knows this woman, rather intimately, at that. He’s held her hair within his hands, traced the outline of her jaw with his fingertips. The smell of her skin is ever present in his mind. The saltiness of her sweat on his tongue as he lavishes her throat, the intoxicating roll of her hips against his as he bites down into the tender flesh of her neck… the rush of blood cascading down his throat.

He swallows thickly around the memory.

They've been together a handful of times throughout their travels to save the Realm from the threat of the Absolute, but that was neither here nor there, at this point.

The tiefling begins skirting his fingers along her forearm, and she leans into his touch. Astarion seethes from his place in the booth, a rush of warmth flooding his core and quickly spreading outward to each of his limbs. It’s been months since they decided on this new agreement, though his reaction is just as strong whenever another encroaches on her.

Astarion looks on as the red-head gently pats her companion’s arm before standing from her seat. His eyes follow her toward the back of the tavern. After downing the rest of his drink in one quick swing, he’s following her, careful to keep just enough distance not to rouse suspicion.

The music from the band thumps loudly in his chest as he draws closer to the crowd of people gathered before the stage. Lucky for him, they’re so entranced by the show that they hardly notice his mindless weaving, trying not to lose sight of his target. Astarion stops for a moment to refocus, looking around. It doesn’t take him long at all to zero in a glimpse of those fiery locks disappearing down a hallway off to the side.

His feet bring him to the start of the long corridor and he peers cautiously around the corner. The woman is not to be found, likely in the powder room. Astarion sighs, some of the built up tension beginning to wane from his shoulders, and comes to stand with his back against the window across from the facilities.

The residual tension within him is beginning to bleed into anxiety and doubt the longer he waits. His mind is rapidly exchanging scenarios, all of which cause his stomach to become unsettled. Gooseflesh spreads over his arms and the fine hairs covering them stand on end. Why is he doing this? They'd agreed to be friends and nothing more. It’s his fault for not being able to honor his end of the deal, he knew, but by the Gods, he simply does not care.

Since the first drops of her blood spread across his tongue, Astarion knew something within him changed. He wasn't sure if it was due to her being his proverbial “first,” but he felt… compelled by her from that moment forward. Bonded almost, in a strange way.

In a sea of crimson, her blood would always sing loudest to him. It horrified him in the beginning, recalling memories of Cazador's puppeteering ways. The fear ebbed into compassion, after a time. As their physical relationship grew more intimate, compassion melted into an overwhelming desire to guard her. A want to protect what was his, finally his, after so many godsdamned years of pure, absolute shit.

Their… whatever it was they shared, was his. And he would gladly throw his life on the line any chance he could to insure its sustainability.

He catches a glint of red in his peripheral vision again. The human, oblivious to his presence, begins her trek back to her seat at the bar. The thought barely has time to process in Astarion’s head before his body reacts, reaching out to grab the side of her arm, pulling her back toward the wall with him.

“What the-!” the woman exclaims in shock. Her other hand comes up to begin swatting at the offending appendage. She stops midway as her eyes meet his face, recognition washing over her. “Oh, Astarion,” she says, voice flat, “what… what are you doing here?”

A practiced smile graces his lips as he releases the grip on her arm. “Am I not free to seek my own pleasure, darling?” An uneasiness begins to take root again, mind scolding him once the words leave his lips. What in the hells kind of question is that?

Astarion clears his throat. “I was simply out for a drink before returning home when I saw what appeared to be a fire in the middle of the bar.” Unsure of what response he's hoping for, he's praying she doesn't catch onto his desperate attempt at recovery.

A quick blush spreads across her cheeks and she bows her head, giving a genuine smile. Astarion huffs out a breath in relief.

During their time together, Astarion would often tease that her hair reminded him of a raging fire. Eventually, he adorned her with the pet name of “spitfire;” she thoroughly enjoyed solving the majority of her problems through brute force. She favored it, evidenced by a deep blush that would spread across her features.

Not unlike the one rising to her face at this very moment.

Were he honest with her, he’d tell her that this isn’t the first time he’s followed her since they parted - watched helplessly from afar as she rotated through potential nightly suitors. He chooses not to, however. Chooses to not tell her that he’s noticed every man she’s taken home has platinum hair. How they’re always of elven lineage.

She seems to buy his excuse as she visibly relaxes before him. “Oh, no, of course, Astarion,” she sighs. “It's uh, it's been a few weeks, hasn't it?” Her eyes are soft as she shifts her weight onto one hip. “How have you been?”

She's nervous, he can tell. She's doing that thing with her lip, chewing the inside of it. The rush of blood in her veins crashes and bellows in his ears as her blush settles deeper across the top of her chest.

“As well as one would imagine,” Astarion replies, “after having their heart broken.” There’s an air of nonchalance decorating his tone. A well-worn smirk tugs at his lips. He's fuming inside at the thought of another touching her, but he doesn't want to play his cards outright yet.

No, he wants to see her squirm, wants to inflict just a touch of the torment he's experienced since their parting.

What a spiteful creature.

Her expression falls flat, jaw tensing. “I'm not sure what you mean by that,” she retorts in a meek tone. She pulls her shoulders back. "I-I thought we agreed to be friends, no?”

Astarion glances over his shoulder to see the young tiefling gentleman from before passing behind them. Their eyes meet, Astarion furrowing his brow. His jaw tightens, lips curling upward, and the peaks of his fangs are visible. He watches for the tiefling’s reaction, elated to find that the boy is clearly shaken by his display. The Tiefling turns to speak but decides against it, turning his back to the scene before him.

Astarion sneers.

Yet another unworthy fool.

Though… a fool who has touched her. Something he and only he should be privy to.

An inferno erupts within him.

Astarion grabs the young woman by the arm again and leads her toward the supply closet at the end of the hall, making quick work of the lock. Astarion scans their surroundings before opening the door and shoving her in, a small squeak pushed past her lips from the impact of his hand on her back. Quickly closing the door behind him, he yells, “Ignis!” a fireball lighting the lone torch in the room.

“Astarion, what-” she shouts in protest. Before the opportunity arises he’s back on her, pinning her in place to the wall with his hips. His hands fly up to cup either side of her jaw.

"Do you truly believe I meant that?" he growls low in his throat, their eyes meeting in a whirlwind. “That I only wanted to be friends?” he adds, mockingly.

He's desperately searching her face for something, anything to show him he's not alone in this. Her tense expression stokes the fire raging within him.

Suddenly, he's spiraling.

The small voice in his head, his conscience, is yelling at him to stop - to pull back. She’s made it quite clear how she feels, you love-sick idiot.

Logic fails him - he cannot form a single cohesive thought. Not when she's looking at him like that.

A doe caught unawares in the middle of a forest. Eyes blown wide, mouth slightly agape. Not unlike those he's hunted multiple times in the past. His chest heaves as he drinks in her expression, a wave of heat rising up within him.

The compulsion is overwhelming, rapidly losing the battle with the rational part of his brain. Bitterness bites at the back of his throat like acid.

He absolutely must continue.

“Is that why your home has become a revolving door?” Astarion says, watching her face shift.

“Excuse me?” the human asks, offense evident in her tone. A rhetorical question, though he pushes forward.

“Of men who look just enough like me?” he continues, driving the thorn deeper into the woman's side.

Suddenly, she’s stone, cold and unwelcoming. Her face twists into something sour, nose scrunching up in disgust.

“Astarion Anunín… Have you been stalking me?” she nearly yells.

Oh, he has her right where he wants her.

"The color of their hair does always match my own…” Astarion ponders aloud, head tilting to one side. “Have any of them fucked you as thoroughly as I have, darling?" he chides.

Pulling in a quick, ragged breath, the young woman shudders beneath him, her head falling forward. Her hips involuntarily twitch against the knee he’s suddenly wedged between her thighs and she whimpers, biting her lip to stifle the sound.

“Astarion…” she groans, eyes falling closed.

She’s upset, he knows. Yet, he’s privy to how she can barely resist the call of his body against her. Why not use that knowledge to his advantage?

A heavy flush settles across her face and she reopens her eyes, looking up at him through hooded lids. Astarion sees it then - the unabashed desire emanating from her.

How ironic, he thinks to himself, that her eyes have a hunter green hue. At this moment she feels like prey, wrapped up in a delicate satin bow, all for him.

The remnants of his eternally damned soul sing in delight at her unraveling before him. Saliva pools thick on his tongue as he lavishes the thought of pushing forward, closing in on her.

Astarion leans toward her, cocking his head again to one side. “Hells, Tav… Did it really never occur to you that we made love the last time we were together?" he asks quietly, mouth hovering just above her lips.

Tav shivers beneath him, body writhing against the wall she's leaning against. Her hands come up to press against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as she grinds herself again on the knee between her legs. The flush on her face is so deep, practically matching the color of her hair.

“Y-you’re hardly playing fair,” she huffs out. She moans again, genuine and clear, making little attempt to subdue the noise. Astarion groans in response before closing the distance, finally capturing her lips in a kiss.

He’s timid at first, wanting to gauge her reaction. Tav doesn't resist nor push him away, giving him the encouragement to continue. Her jaw grows pliant under him and invites him deeper into her mouth, tongues entangling for a quick moment. The kiss is brief - just enough until she settles beneath him. Both of their chests heave as they part.

Astarion’s eyes rest upon her lips before he draws his head back. His hands fall from her face and he lays his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head.

"My biggest regret is that I lacked the courage to tell you with words..." he admits, voice trailing off. The ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he adds, "so, instead, I used the one tool I'm most versed with.”

Tav's pupils blow wide at the implication of his words.

Of course, Astarion used his body - used himself as an instrument. Again. To him, this is familiar territory. This is safe.

This is all I’m good for.

"It appears I must have gotten my translation wrong," he quips.

Tav shakes her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t wrong…”

She adjusts herself against the wall as Astarion’s leg falls back into a normal position, no longer wedged between her.

“I was so sure… and then the morning after, I- '' She cuts herself off and swallows. “I didn’t know what to think, Astarion.”

Astarion pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps back from Tav to give her space.

“I don’t understand,” he begins, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I made my position rather clear that morning. About…” He shrugs his shoulders. “Us. This.”

Huffing out a quick laugh, Tav shakes her head again, her discomfort in their current conversation mounting. “You started talking about being free, and-”

She stops herself again, choking back a sigh. “It just seemed so selfish to ask you to be with me. You were just getting yourself back, after so long.”

Tears begin to gather at the corners of Tav’s eyes. Gently with the pads of his thumbs, Astarion wipes them clean.

“Oh, my silly little love,” he says, lowering his face to place a chaste kiss upon her forehead. “How I wish you would have spoken to me first.”

Tav’s hands come up to cover his, removing them from her face. “I think… I think I need to go,” she tells him, urgently.

Nodding in silent agreement, Astarion lets her dip out from under him, seeing her inch closer toward the door.

Before she grips the door’s handle, she turns to look at him. “...Can we talk more about this?” She quickly gestures to their surroundings before adding, “In a better situation, maybe?”

Astarion can only sigh, chest rising and falling heavily. “Of course, my dear. Do you have a particular place in mind?”

Her eyes fall to the floor. Tav knits her fingers together nervously, rubbing her thumbs over the other. “Well… where are you staying?”

A quick laugh escapes his throat and he averts his gaze. His voice is soft and tender as he focuses on a broom leaning against the corner of the wall behind her, “...I went home.”

Tav furrows her brow before asking, “What do you mean by home?”

“Home, to Cazador’s,” he states, devoid of emotion. Astarion’s eyes fall back onto her, watching as she adjusts her posture.

“It’s not as though I know much else,” he continues. “I lack the gold or the ability to work. I have only what I’m able to pilfer off the unassuming, and I’ve grown tired of playing such a role.”

Astarion sighs heavily again before adding, “There are a number of… resources available to me, now that Cazador is gone. It would be foolish of me to squander them.”

Tav only nods in his direction, her expression falling flat. “Alright,” she says, “I’ll meet you… there, I guess.” She unlaces her hands and turns around, heading back toward the door.

“Tavaria,” Astarion calls to her as she wraps a hand around the door handle again, freezing in place at the use of her full name. “If you do decide to visit me, you’re going to need the passcode for the tower door.”

Looking over her shoulder, Tav waits for him to continue. Moments pass between them, the air growing thick and stale within the small closet. When she doesn’t speak, he pushes forward.

“It’s spitfire,” Astarion tells her.

He hears more than sees the small inhalation of breath she takes as his words register. Turning her head forward again, Astarion watches her finally twist the knob to the door, pushing it open. Tav steps out of the closet, looking at him briefly before disappearing down the corridor of the tavern.

Astarion slumps against the cool stone of the supply closet wall, light now pouring through the open doorway. His head is throbbing, an uneasy ache beginning to take root deep within his chest.

What a day.

#astarion #astarion x female tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion smut #astarion angst #jealous astarion #possessive astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion romance #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion fluff

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jadeshifting · 2 months ago

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— GALAS AT MALFOY MANOR

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

a MALFOY GALA is less about having fun and more about proving you belong—if you can keep your wits about you and avoid spilling wine on your robes, you might just make it out unscathed

— the INVITATIONS are delivered by sleek black owls with embossed emerald parchment, each one radiating a subtle but unmistakable don’t even think about declining energy. declining is possible, but only if you want to be talked about for months

— FIRST IMPRESSIONS, arriving guests are greeted by enchanted lanterns that light the winding driveway, their flames flickering in perfect synchrony. a house-elf in pristine livery opens the grand doors, and Narcissa herself offers the faintest of smiles as you step into the marble-floored foyer

— the ATMOSPHERE practically drips with opulence, from the enchanted chandeliers glittering like constellations to the string quartets playing hauntingly beautiful tunes. it’s all about showing off—not just wealth, but power

— the MANOR is decked out to perfection, with enchanted roses blooming in every room and marble floors that reflect the candlelight. guests can wander the gardens, but you do not open random doors—who knows what cursed artifacts are lurking

— the GUESTS are a who’s-who of the wizarding elite, with sharp smiles and sharper tongues. everyone’s dressed to kill, literally dripping in jewels and designer robes, and no one’s above a bit of genteel gossiping in the corners

— DRESS CODE is strictly black-tie, wizarding style. robes must be tailored to perfection, and any magical embellishments—like self-adjusting hems or floating crystals—must be tasteful. Narcissa will notice, and Draco will most definitely make a subtle dig at you if your outfit doesn’t meet the mark

— THE MALFOYS; Lucius and Narcissa glide around like royalty, greeting everyone with icy politeness. Draco’s usually lurking near the drinks table, equal parts brooding and charming depending on who’s watching

— the banquet tables of FOOD are insane—tiered platters of exotic delicacies that practically float into your hands. expect flaming desserts and cocktails that shimmer like liquid starlight

— DRINKS, the bar is stocked with rare vintages, including Malfoy estate wines and liquors that glow faintly in the dark. The signature cocktail of the night features some absurdly rare ingredient like powdered unicorn horn (ethically sourced, allegedly, but you know no one truly believes that)

— the SEATING ARRANGEMENTS are very strategically assigned by Narcissa herself. expect rival families seated just far enough apart to avoid an outright duel but close enough to exchange cutting remarks. if you’re at the main table, congratulations—you’ve made the inner circle for the evening

— the POLITICS make every conversation a chess game. compliments are laced with subtext, and alliances are solidified or shattered over a glass of wine. it’s not unheard of for a marriage to be proposed or a business deal to be sealed between bites of pheasant

— GARDEN STROLLS, between courses, guests often wander the enchanted gardens. hedges shaped like serpents and peacocks loom large, and fountains spout shimmering streams of water that occasionally form words like Prestige or Legacy. don’t get lost—the statues might move if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be

— the ENTERTAINMENT is always top-tier—enchanted ballet performances, fire-breathing dragons (contained, of course), or dueling demonstrations in the courtyard. if you’re lucky, the family’s private orchestra might play a piece commissioned just for the evening

— occasionally, a guest might be granted a private tour of the MALFOY LIBRARY, which is more like a cathedral of books. if you’re invited in, it’s a signal that Lucius or Narcissa considers you very important—or that they’re about to offer you a deal you can’t refuse

— the DANCE FLOOR of the ballroom opens up after dinner, and it’s the place to be seen. couples glide across the floor to live orchestral music, their robes trailing behind them like spilled ink. if you don’t know how to waltz, you’d better fake it or stay far away

— someone always makes a DRAMATIC EXIT and leaves in a huff. whether it’s over an offhand comment or a subtle power play gone wrong, there’s almost always a flurry of robes and the slam of the front door as a disgruntled guest Apparates home

— the GOSSIP is unbelievable, and by the time the gala is over, the rumor mill is in full swing. who danced with whom, who got too drunk on enchanted champagne, and who dared to challenge Lucius in a political debate? everyone talks about it for weeks

as the evening winds down, you’ll find Narcissa giving parting gifts wrapped in silver and green, while the house-elves discreetly clean up without a sound. no one leaves feeling quite the same, not that they’ll admit it

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

#hogwarts dr #shifting to hogwarts #hogwarts scripting #shifting motivation #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifting script #shifting blog #shifters #draco malfoy #draco malfoy headcanon #slytherins #slytherin headcanons #shifting to harry potter #shifting community #shifting realities #shifting

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thebigbiwolf · 1 year ago

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Spittle Part 2/2 (Coming Soon) - Astarion/F!reader

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throws of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk), more tags will be added once the fic is fully posted.

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence Read Part 1: Here

The elf scoots closer. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to it while you’ve still got your wits about you.” Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can do this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right. You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to ease your suffering. There’s just one part of this you can’t seem to make peace with. “I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles. As you blink, several beads of liquid drip down the side of your face. “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.” His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness. “My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” His words trail off as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.” The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine. He means it. He means every word. “Okay.”

#lets just say daddy took away the dubcon tag #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #that comic sans trick works btw #i wrote 1k words today which is a LOT for me and my busy uninspired ass

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leighsartworks216 · 1 year ago

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My Sunshine

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Part 2 Here: Tumblr link - AO3 link

This is probably definitely ooc but I needed to get it out of my brain anyway. I also have not seen any actual gameplay (aside from the romance scenes) so this won't be 100% canon compliant

For @niermortem bc I need you to read this and suffer (affectionate)

Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, grief/mourning, blood, injury, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,146

Masterlist

AO3

You raised your goblet of wine in the air, smiling blindingly bright at your best friend. "To another case solved, and another criminal behind bars!"

He laughed and clinked his goblet with yours. The red liquid sloshed against the edge, almost spilling into yours. You each drank deeply.

"You make that toast after every trial," he bemoaned, but a stray chuckle ruined his disapproval. "It's a minor court for minor offenses - It's not like I locked up a serial killer."

You huffed and nudged his shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short! What you do is incredible, Astarion. It's so rare for an elf as young as you to get appointed as a magistrate. That's worth celebrating."

He hummed, smirk dancing across his face. "You're younger than me, my dear, and from what I've heard you're doing just as well." He gestured around the room.

The light of the fireplace cast odd shadows of your figures against the wall. Between the flickering shapes, Astarion could see the several paintings hung up on the wall. Portraits, landscapes - all formed with careful brush strokes and intense patience. It was no mean feat. He'd grown up alongside you, witnessed your struggles with charcoal and accuracy. He'd even posed for a few so you could study anatomy and shadow. Pride swelled in his chest thinking of those shaky, rough sketches and seeing the confident, soft strokes that composed the paintings.

You avoided looking, staring into the fire. For the briefest moment, he wanted to smooth out the crease in your brow and remove the frown from your face. Instead he gripped his goblet tighter and took another drink.

"I wish I could be as proud of them as you are, my sunshine. But when I look at them, all I see are mistakes."

He sighed quietly. "Your parents still don't approve, then?"

"They approve my profession - finally - but they think my execution is lackluster. I paint like a human."

"You paint like a god, darling."

“Ah,” you chuckled, “is the praise being turned back on me now?"

He smiled and raised his goblet. "A toast to the greatest artist Baldur's Gate has ever seen and will ever see again."

After a moment's hesitation, you raised your glass and knocked it against his. He threw back the last remaining contents, a drop of red falling from the corner of his mouth and down his neck. He finished off the rich alcohol with a contented sigh.

A clock on the mantelpiece chimed. You leaned back on your hand to look up at the old thing. It was a gift in lieu of payment, handmade, from its gears to its wooden casing. It chimed 11 times in all. Astarion sighed.

"One last drink for the road." You offered him the last of the wine in your goblet, and he drained it easily. “We can finish the rest tomorrow.”

“Mm, and what will we be celebrating tomorrow?”

“Anything and everything.”

He smiled fondly. What gods could have been kind enough to create you?

He rose to his knees and held your cheeks in both hands. “I look forward to it.” You closed your eyes as he planted a kiss on your forehead. It was almost a ritual, after so many years of doing it. Once he pulled away, you rose to your own knees, held his face the same way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Stay safe on your way back.” You pulled away to look him straight in the eye, an exaggerated expression of seriousness on your face. “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t have anybody to absolve me in court.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be fine, my dear.”

“You’d better.”

You stared numbly at the headstone. Your eyes scanned the words over and over and over again. You could recite it if you wanted to.

'Astarion Ancunin 229 - 268 DR'

He was only 39. He was just a child. A child buried 6 feet under your boots, hidden away, wrapped in sheets and sealed in a wooden coffin. Thirty-nine. He was only thirty-nine.

The sun was beginning to set. There was not a cloud in the sky. No chance for rain. The only water that fell were tears, and yours had long since dried up. Everyone else left hours ago. They'd touched your shoulder, shared in your grief, promised to pray for you and Astarion. If you were perhaps a bit more naive, a bit more desperate, you would have pleaded to the gods to bring him back, no matter the cost.

You inhaled shakily and tilted your head back. The sky was so beautiful; a vibrant array of orange and yellow and blue. You cursed it, for your best friend would never get to share in its beauty with you ever again.

When you looked back down, you forced your eyes not to trace the carved stone any more. It wasn't safe at night. If you looked again, you'd never make it back home.

A hint of white in the corner of your eye stole your attention. A flower. Its petals curled back and around, almost touching itself. Blue and yellow mixed within its center, but the very tips of its petals were bright white.

Your feet felt like lead as you moved toward it. Deep prints were left behind at the end of the dirt mound. Your legs were stiff and creaky from standing so long.

When you reached down to pluck the flower, you stopped. Hand outstretched toward its stem. You'd be killing it to mourn your friend. And in an hour, it will be droopy and wilted, dying on top of the grave. But if you left it, come two days from now, it would be closed and dried up anyway.

Your frown dug creases into your skin. Lines around your mouth and between your brows. You never realized before how quickly beautiful things die. The lines smoothed slightly when you brushed the delicate petal with your fingers. It was as soft as his hair had been.

"Look after him for me," you croaked, voice raw and unused. It cracked when you whispered desperately, "Please."

You rubbed your eyes as you backed away. The burn of tears stung the back of your eyes, but no water was produced. And you needed to get out of here. It hurt too much to stay.

You allowed yourself one last glance at the grave, before you turned and left. Your home never felt so cold, so uninviting, and so empty.

You’d never been much further than the city’s limits before, yet here you were. Lost, infected, confused. The blood on your hands terrified you, but if you hadn’t fought, you would be dead. A voice in the back of your mind haunted you with memories. Unbidden, you often recalled tidbits of your life 200 years ago. This time it reminded you of Astarion, flipping knives and sneaking up on you for a laugh. He would have been much more suited to this awful situation than you were.

Your hand fell to your pocket, pressing against a hidden journal tucked safely away. You would be lost without it. It’s all that’s kept you sane all these long years.

A shock of white hair up ahead caught your attention. A man, searching down a hill, beckoning. “Hurry,” he urged in a whisper, “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered.” He kept his back to you, but something in the way he spoke seemed familiar. Or maybe you were just so tired. “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.”

You flinched, frowning at the way he said ‘killed’. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. Perhaps it sounded too confrontational. Perhaps it was the dark turn his voice took. But you swallowed down the discomfort. You weren’t going to abandon someone in need.

“I can.”

You stepped forward, ready to grab at your dagger. It was quiet. The soft rustle of dry shrubs was all you could hear. You stepped a little further.

A loud squeal made you jump out of your skin as a frightened boar ran from the grass. You stumbled backward. Before you could trip yourself up, a rough arm wrapped behind your neck and dragged you down to the ground. A knife pointed at your throat.

On pure instinct, you grabbed at the blade. It dug into your palm and fingers, but you couldn’t let go. You could feel the man applying pressure to keep it at your neck. If you let go… You shuddered to think what could happen.

“Shh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” Deep crimson eyes stared into yours, contrasted by the pure white of his hair and the smirk toying his lips. He looked oddly familiar, too. Had you passed him somewhere before? No, you would remember a man like him. “Now, I saw you on the ship. Didn’t I? Nod.”

The command has you nodding with no hesitation.

“Splendid,” he purred. His voice turned serious then. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you grit out. Blood trailed down your wrist and stained the cuff of your sleeve. His eyes flickered toward it for a moment. “They took me prisoner, too!”

“Don’t lie to me! I- Argh!”

Behind your eyes the tadpole squirms. It’s jarring and uncomfortable, and so are the images that come with it. Dark city streets seen through someone else’s eyes. They scan every passerby, studying them. But just as you urge to see more, it’s gone. All you’re left with is the sensation of fear.

The man grunts again. “What was that?” he demands. He pushed the knife even closer to your neck, despite your best efforts to keep it away. “What’s going on?!”

The fear from the memory quickly intermingled with your own terror. Your heart thumped in your ears. The words came tumbling out of you before you knew what you were saying. “Please, please just put the knife away and we can figure this out.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Calculating. And then the pressure faded and you could let go of the dagger. His arm let go of you, and he watched as you scampered away one-handed and struggled to your feet. He stood defensively, keeping his hold on the knife.

“You’re… not one of them.” You could feel his eyes searching you up and down. “They took you, just the same as me. And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards.” He laughed weakly. “Apologies.”

You cradled your hand to your chest with a frown. Nobody would blame you if you shouted insults, left him to deal with this on his own, took care of your own issues. But you couldn’t. “Apology accepted,” you sighed.

He smiled. It felt plastered on, like an actor’s during a play. “I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

The last of his words was drowned out. Your heart raced, flooding your ears as a tidal wave of emotions swirled in your chest. That name. In all your years, you only knew one elf with that name. What were the chances of another carrying the same one?

Slim to none.

But it can’t be him. He died.

It has to be him. It has to.

“Darling?” He chuckled nervously, waving a hand in front of you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If you weren’t so dazed, maybe you would have laughed. But you just stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Your eyes burned. A lump crawled up your throat and you weren’t sure if it was bile or a sob.

“You died,” you finally gasped out. It was only a whisper, but Astarion’s ears picked it up as if you’d shouted it out. His grin faltered, entire aura of confidence and sexuality falling with those two words alone. “You died… My sunshine.”

Astarion stepped back, holding his dagger up as a warning. It still dripped with your blood. His face was dark. You’d never seen it as gravely serious as this. “Who are you? How do you- How do you know that?”

Your old name - the name you had as a child - lingers in the air. He stares at you with eyes hopeful and distrusting. There is a war in his mind. You can see it in the way his dagger wavers in his hold. How he looks you up and down, studies your face. He’d grabbed you, even made you bleed - you weren’t just a fucked up figment of his imagination. But he still couldn’t fathom it.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“I don’t care how! Just prove it!” The shout is broken and desperate.

You fumbled. Everything you knew about him fled your brain in an instant. You searched for memories in the dirt, in the dry bushes, in the curls of his hair…

Cursing, he watched as you ripped a book from your pocket. Even though you’d grabbed it with your uninjured hand, blood stained the leather binding. You held it out to him.

“These are sketches I have made every day for two hundred years.” You stepped forward, urging him to take it. “All of them are of you.”

A part of him didn’t want to listen. It wanted him to remain unaware and oblivious for the rest of his godsdamned life. The mere idea of the truth - of his past being exposed to this corrupted thing he’s become - terrified him. How easy it would be to run away. To hide away forever.

But he would never be free. Always a slave to the burning questions. Forever wondering just who you were, and if you were telling the truth.

He reaches past his knife and takes the journal. With use of his leg as an aid, he’s able to remove the string tying it shut and flip open the book.

On each page is his face. Several of them. Smiling, laughing, pouting, focused, and a thousand more expressions. After 200 years, he doesn’t quite remember what he looks like. He couldn’t recall if his hair had always been white, nor the shade of his eyes. But tucked away is a crude sketch, not of his face, but of yours. It looks like a child closed their eyes and scribbled. At the bottom of the page, in what is undoubtedly his handwriting, is his signature.

You watch desperately as he puts his knife away. He’ll have to clean it later, but he isn’t thinking about it now. Both hands freed, he flips through each page. At the beginning, the portraits are unrefined and rough. The lines are sketchy and smudged, as though someone had tried wiping away their mistakes. With each page, they get better. The lines become confident and smooth. Even further still, the style is almost elegant, but the face has become unfocused. The eyes begin losing form. The mouth feels off on the face. On one, the face has been erased and redone several times over; so much so the paper has begun crumbling. The last drawing held little resemblance to him anymore. This one was freshly done. The lines were sketchy once more, uncertain. The only recognizable features were his ears and the curls of his hair. Even the shape of his face was lost to time.

“After you… After I buried you, I…” You take a shaky breath, fighting back tears. “I didn’t want to forget you. So I sketched you, every day. I thought I’d always remember that damn smile of yours, but… I didn’t. Little by little, you were stolen from my memories, until all I had left was a vague impression of who you were, what we did together. Even looking at the old sketches couldn’t bring it back. But I kept trying.”

Astarion’s face is the epitome of sorrow when he looks up at last. There are deep set creases around his mouth and eyes, aging him - an odd concept for an elf. He looks so lost. “Where did you go?”

You frowned, and Astarion wished he could smooth out the crease between your brows. How could he forget your face? After all Cazador did to him, made him do, how could he forget you?

“After you buried me,” he clarified.

“I couldn’t bear to stay. I sold all my paintings and I left. I didn’t get very far.” You chuckled weakly. “Just stayed with my parents.”

His face lights up. “What name are you going by now?”

“Tav.”

“Tav,” he repeats. The name is different in his mouth. Not good or bad, simply there. New. He wishes he could have been there when you chose it.

You took a deep breath. It was time to ask the big question, the one burning a hole in your chest. “How are you alive?”

The corner of his lip twitches up, somewhere between amused and dismayed. “It’s a rather long story, my dear.”

“I’ve waited 200 years to hear it.”

He chuckles at that. It’s genuine, but a sour note still lingers. He closes your journal, deftly ties the strings, and saunters to stand in front of you. The intoxicating scent of your blood drives him mad. It’s so close, but he could never forgive himself if he told you the truth and you ran away. Truthfully, after so long, he wasn’t sure how you’d react. But it still felt too heavy an admission.

He slips the book back into your pocket. With both hands, he reaches to cup your face, but he stops. The motion feels wrong. He wants so desperately to hold you again. You even lean toward his palm. The tip of your pointed ear brushes his fingers. But he can’t. His hands fall back to his sides, and he plasters a smile on once more.

“Come on, darling. Let’s get you cleaned up before you attract something.”

You nod and follow alongside him as he begins leading you toward water. The bleeding has mostly stopped by now. The cut still stings, exposed to the air. But the pain feels distant. It hardly matters when the man you’ve spent two hundred years mourning is alive and with you again. And he’s changed - there is no way to deny it. His hair, his eyes, even the way he spoke had more of a lilting tune to it than it once did. But he’s here. He’s real.

“For the record,” you begin, stepping close enough to brush arms as you walked, “it’s good to see you again, my sunshine.”

And, oh, if that didn’t make him feel alive once more.

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icanhearcolors · 1 year ago

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Close Encounter

Summary: A conversation between my Tav and Astarion inspired me to write a short one-shot (I lied it's a series) reader insert about what I think would happen if they met before they were taken by the mind flayers

pt 2 | pt 3

This is pretty much my first attempt at reader insert so be nice to me pls ;-;

Lemme know if I made any grammar or spelling errors

Word count: 2.9k

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

“I’ll take the most you can give me of whatever has the most alcohol in it”

You announce, slapping some gold coins down on the scuffed wooden bar. The barkeep who probably hasn’t had any business for the past hour startles out of his daydream and glances at you in surprise. He’s a dwarf, with a braided beard and kind eyes, and if it weren’t for the creaky wooden step stool he climbs up on to take orders he would barely be able to see over the bar top.

“Bit early in the night for that wouldn’t you say?” He asks as he climbs a ladder to retrieve a glass from the shelf above his head. You glance out the window as the last few rays of the setting sun color the night a deep reddish purple before it fades into a comforting black.

You slide another gold coin across the bar. The barkeep smiles,

“Perfect time for some chultun fireswill if I say so myself miss.” He winks, slides the hefty glass full of orange liquid your way, and swipes up the coins before turning to another customer making their way into the tavern. You hold the glass up to your nose and sniff its contents. The fumes coming off the heavily spiced spirit has your nose burning and your eyes watering- perfect.

You tap the glass on the counter and knock it back. You manage to get a few swallows in before your brain catches up to you and the fireswill burns a searing path from your throat into your stomach, settling there and warming you from the inside out. You slam the glass down and cover your mouth with your hand, trying and failing to hold in a fit of coughs.

“Easy now.”

A cold hand lands on your shoulder, cooling your heated skin, and you turn, bleary eyed, unprepared for what you find.

He’s an elf, a very very pale elf- but not sickly pale. He just looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a century or two. His hair catches your eye, a shocking shade of pure white that makes his skin seem tan in comparison. It’s shorter than most elves keep their hair, and it curls in every direction, framing his face beautifully. Once you recover from your initial dazed attraction to him you attempt to level him with your meanest glare that you hope says piss off. He raises his hands in playful surrender and smiles disarmingly at you.

“Rough day?” He asks in a drawling voice. You take him in. He’s wearing a clean white shirt under a set of padded leather armor, and spotless black leather boots. He looks every bit a spoiled noble that has never seen a day of work in his life, but his hands are calloused, and his eyes look haunted. Speaking of his eyes, they’re quite an alluring shade of red. What an odd color for an elf-

His eyes narrow perceptively, as if he’s reading your thoughts as they flit across your face. He turns away, gesturing at your drink and turning your gaze away from his unique appearance.

“Most Baldurians don’t even touch that stuff until well past midnight, are we celebrating or forgetting?”

You turn your body away from the charming elf and stare into the last few sips of your drink.

“We aren’t doing anything. I’m here to drink, not to talk.”

“Forgetting it is then. Excellent.”

From the corner of his eye you see him grin roguishly, the flash of his white teeth sending a curious spark of adrenaline through your system. Before you can discern why you suddenly went from warm and buzzed to fight or flight, he turns away, tossing a blue coin purse onto the bar and calling for the barkeep, allowing the alcohol to calm your frazzled nerves once more.

“Excuse me Lydon, I’d like to buy our grumpy friend here a drink that won’t burn a hole through her stomach,” He leans over the bar and drops his voice to a low murmur as if he were sharing a secret, “got anything good for me?” he practically purrs.

The dwarf, Lydon, flushes a deep red and grins coyly at the mysterious patron, “Maybe. But I don’t have enough for everyone Astarion, what if someone comes asking me how she got the good stuff and all I’m willing to sell them is stale ale and swill?”

Astarion’s answering grin is downright lethal.

“It’ll be our little secret,” He winks. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

Lydon blushes even darker if that were possible and mumbles something about having a type before trodding off toward the old wooden door behind the bar. You’d never related to anything more. Astarion turns toward you and raises an expectant eyebrow.

“Waiting for a thank you?” You ask, wrestling with the instinct ingrained in you to be polite. Your tendency to people please is what landed you in this run down tavern in the first place. You don’t know this elf, and you don’t owe him anything.

“Well I wouldn’t say no to a little gratitude darling- especially not from you” his eyes trace a path from the top of your head to your scuffed leather boots and back up again, stopping at the blush on your cheeks, he smirks, and meets your eyes again. He steps closer to bump your shoulder with his teasingly, and stays there, close enough that your arm brushes his.

“But no my dear, I’m not waiting for a thank you. I’m waiting for a story.”

“Oh yeah? Keep waiting.” You growl, and he tosses his head back, a genuine laugh bursting out of him. The sound of it is contagious, and you fight the urge to grin yourself. You nearly manage it, save for a slight twitch of your lips that he of course notices.

He tsks, shaking his head at you “I saw that. No use hiding that smile from me, love. The damage is already done.”

You glare, this time with much less hostility.

“Who are you? I’m morose and drunk on purpose, elf, and I will not let you wrestle me from it.”

“My name is Astarion” he says with a wink and a mock bow before he leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, “and I’ll wager you’ll let me do a lot worse than that before the end of the night.”

Your breath catches, your pulse picks up, and you’re about to lose yourself in those strange eyes of his when a loud creeeeeaaak and a crash causes both of you to leap away from one another. The dwarven barkeep’s old step stool seems to have finally given in. He lay sprawled on the floor behind the bar, his foot caught in between the split wood.

“GODS DAMMIT” He howls, kicking off the stool. He sighs and hobbles up to you and your new… companion. You can see nothing but his angry eyes and the flushed red tips of his ears as he pours your drink and reaches up to hand it to you. When you grab for it he pulls it out of your grasp and stares at you with a threat in his eyes.

“You didn’t see that.” He snarls at both of you.

“See what?” Astarion feigns ignorance, looking around the room dramatically for whatever the dwarf could possibly be talking about. The barkeep rolls his eyes and hands the drink to you before limping off to find a chair to stand on.

You breathe slowly through your nose.

In.

Out.

In.

You will not laugh.

You have self control.

You take one glance at the pinched “I’m trying not to laugh” look on Astarions face, one that probably mirrors your own, and you explode in a fit of giggles so intense they make your stomach ache.

Astarion can’t hold it in either and slaps the table in his silent gasping laughter, the two of you making quite a scene, but somehow you really don’t care.

You wipe tears from your eyes and sigh once your laughing fit subsides, your sour mood a distant memory despite your best efforts to cling to it.

“How dare you,” You whine half-heartedly. “I was so committed to my bad mood and you had to go and ruin it.”

Astarion’s eyebrows lower in confused amusement.

“Awww you poor sad little thing. I’d apologize, really I would, but unfortunately for you I’m not sorry.”

You take a swig of the drink he bought for you. It tastes of cherry and currant, and you have never had something so delicious from such a tiny little tavern.

“You should be” you murmur, hanging your head, the humor fading as you’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place.

Astarion notices your shift in demeanor and reaches down, lifting your chin with a cool finger and bringing your gaze to his.

“About that story,” He smiles encouragingly, and you give in.

The alcohol must really be getting to you now, there was no other explanation for the warm, safe feeling that hummed under your skin. Astarion was sweet, and attractive. His attention felt good, and before you could even make the decision to trust him you were already talking. You told him how you were a magistrate in the lower city, complained how the court system was broken and corrupt, and how the judge only appoints magistrates that unthinkingly obey his preferences, never allowing them to make their own judgements. You had tried for months to get on his good side but you think all you did was obliterate any meager scrap of respect he did have for you, and now every interaction you have with him he barks orders at you like you’re his dog and then dismisses you. You were thinking of finding a new profession altogether, but the lower city was plagued with crime, good people died every day because of it, and you had the power to help at least a little if only your boss wasn’t such an asshole. To your embarrassment you began to tear up as you finished your story.

Astarion for his part never interrupts you. He listens with rapt attention to your woeful tale, an indiscernible look on his handsome face. You try to turn your head away as a tear escapes your eye but his grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to stay right where you are. He wipes it away with his other hand and stares at you for a moment, seemingly deciding something.

He reaches up and drags a hand through his hair, releases a held breath, and plucks the glass from your hand, drinking what was left of its contents in two gulps. He brings the glass back down to the counter, a drop of the crimson wine dripping down his chin. The image gives you an odd feeling, like you’re missing a revelation that is only just out of your grasp. He glances behind you, and you turn and follow his gaze to another rather pale looking elf, this one with darker hair but similarly colored eyes watching the two of you with rapt attention. Goosebumps rise on your skin and that fight or flight instinct is back in full force. Your heart begins to pound against your chest, understanding the danger that you’re in even if you do not.

“Smart girl” Astarion murmurs, and you whip back around to face him.

He wipes his face with his sleeve and grabs you by the hand, pulling you off the bar stool.

“W-what are you-” He places a hand on your lower back and begins deftly guiding you through the raucous crowd of drunk Baldurians. One stumbling wizard in the crowd pats his pockets down and cries,

“Has anyone seen my coin purse? It’s blue!”

“Walk faster” Astarion says into your ear, his warm breath whispering across your neck. You do as he says.

After what feels like a lifetime of dodging drunk elbows and slipping through temporary openings in the crowd you reach the exit, and Astarion rushes you soberingly into the cold night air.

“You stole that guy's money didn’t you?” You accuse.

He doesn’t even have the decency to deny it,

“What are you going to do darling? Arrest me?” is his reply.

He doesn’t slow down for a single second, ushering you into a dark alley near the tavern.

“Astarion what are we doing? You can’t just wander into abandoned alleyways at night! This is how people get kidnapped.”

His startled gaze clashes with yours in the dim light for a moment before he laughs. Not an amused genuine laugh, but a pained, choked sound that claws its way out of his throat involuntarily. He runs a hand through his hair once again and then turns away from you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“It is indeed, darling,” He whispers so quietly you have to lean towards him to hear it.

“You have no idea.”

You don’t have time to react, the alcohol slowing your reflexes, before his hand is around your throat and your back is against the brick wall of whatever building is behind you. You reach up and grab his wrist, eyes widening in panic. For a flash you see in your mind your body lying asphyxiated in the revealing light of morning, another victim to the merciless city of Baldur’s gate, and you prepare to fight like hell, when Astarion lunges for you and…

Kisses you?

Your brain short circuits, all thoughts drifting away with the sensation of Astarion’s mouth on yours. His hand around your throat gentles, his long fingers drifting over your skin until they press into your pulse point, feeling your racing heartbeat.

You fist his shirt sleeve in your hand. Maybe it's because you’re smashed, maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time someone kissed you, maybe it’s because you know no one that’s ever kissed you has been as good at it as this man- whatever the reason may be, you kiss him back.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, stepping closer until his body is pressed against yours. You reach up to do what you’ve been dying to do since you first saw him and feel the soft strands of his hair.

He leans into your touch and it emboldens you to kiss him deeper, your tongue scraping against something… sharp?

He gasps and pulls back, just a few inches, staring into your eyes. He seems to be searching for something, almost desperately.

You stare back, equal parts terrified of and enraptured by this beautiful stranger.

Finally, he drops his hand from your neck and steps back, the cold air assaulting you once more as you crash back down to reality. You gaze at Astarion, confusion written all over your features.

“I can’t do this” He laughs. It sounds just as pained as the last one.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t bring you to him”

His head snaps up to the sky, studying the stars.

“I still have time to find another. Petras saw me with you, he’ll tell Cazador if I come back with someone else. But I can lie. I can say you knew what I was, escaped before I could lure you back. Maybe he won't question it. I’d spend a few weeks in the kennels but it could be worse. I can’t tell him I changed my mind, I can’t spend another year in that tomb.” He’s rambling now, not to you but to himself.

He rubs his face in his hands and takes another stumbling step back.

“Go” Is all he says.

“Go? Go where?” You mumble, feeling cold and strangely a little hurt by his retreat into the shadows.

You don’t have dark vision, in the dim torch light much of his face is now hidden from you, but his eerily red eyes seem to glow like a cat’s now in the dark. The sight fills you with dread. Pieces begin to connect, the hundreds of unsolved missing person cases, the handful of eyewitness accounts claiming they saw the missing leave with someone. The descriptions varied, but a few details remained constant. The unknown person was always charming, flirtatious even, they tried to get their victims intoxicated in some way, and they always had a pallid complexion, red eyes, and sharp canines. Sifting sluggishly through your muddled memories you can even recall a couple of accounts of victims leaving taverns on the arm of a white haired pale elven man.

Astarion was a vampire.

“Go back to the courts,” He begins, “and never apologize to Judge Eruien. Stand up to him when he’s being an ass, he’ll never respect you otherwise. Go back home and lock your doors safely behind you. Never invite anyone in unless you trust them implicitly. Go back to your life in the sun, make Baldur’s gate a little better just by being in it, and if you ever-” He leans toward you, his face inches from yours once more. Now that you know what to look for, you catch glimpses of his uncomfortably long canines with every word that he speaks.

“See anyone with eyes like mine again… run.”

With that he steps back into the shadows. They seem to swallow him whole, and you do run, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you never told Astarion the name of that judge you were lamenting about.

In the years that follow you take his advice, and your work life drastically improves. Enough so that you feel comfortable asking the old elven judge about his former magistrates, a tear dripping down your cheek as he tells you what he can recall about a white haired elf with golden eyes and a promising future that was ripped away when he was murdered almost two centuries ago by a gang of Gur that didn’t appreciate his final ruling.

A month later you wake up in a nautiloid.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #angst #oneshot #baldurs gate astarion

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skyrim-forever · 1 month ago

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WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone and welcome to another wip wednesday ❤️ I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and I am tagging:

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @dirty-bosmer @captain-of-silvenar @lucien-lachance @pocket-vvardvark @theoneandonlysemla

@firefly-factory @ladytanithia @sulphuricgrin @changelingsandothernonsense @umbracirrus @moriche

@hircines-hunter @scholarlyhermit

So I have been encouraged by some lovely friends (you know who you are ❤️) to explore a Modern AU Theomar as spies. Have no idea if this will end up on ao3 as life is in a strange place right now but I've been playing around with how to incorporate events of Skyrim into a modern context. But this snippet is mostly them flirting at the bar 😛 Under the cut because suggestive a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up whore ass behaviour

“Can I get a between the sheets, with Colovian brandy if you have it?”

“I’m afraid we’ve only got Cyrodiliic brandy and Geef.” They have Geef but not Colovian? Puzzled as to how the brandy from Morrowind is more common here, she orders the closest of the two.

“I’ll take the Cyrodilic.” As her suspicions were correct, the bar is almost empty save for a figure on the other end, it takes no time for her drink to appear. “Thank you.”

The citrus of the orange liquor is delicious and burn from the brandy is familiar, thoughts of having five or six more tempt her; nursing a hangover at work was not the worst. That too was familiar, once she had even given a briefing to the Director after an attempt to empty the city’s sujamma supply. Wretched headache but she was good at her job. If not for the fact there was a meeting scheduled for first thing in the morning tomorrow, a meeting to establish the collaboration with those Altmeri Dominion diplomats, Theodora would have thrown her uncharacteristic caution to the wind. But tomorrow required everyone to be at their most professional to be thrown into the den of vipers, as her colleague Dram put it. Dramatic as always. Yet, she harboured a few concerns of her own. An odd way to describe them as even she knew they were not here in the spirit of diplomacy, that was evident based on her prior interactions with the Thalmor in Cyrodiil. Sarce they were, but it was obvious they had a need to put their golden hands over everything. The war hadn’t stopped, it just became hidden.

As she finishes the drink, the last of the liquid is not yet swallowed when another is brought to her.

“From the elf over there.” Too focused on drinking and thoughts of work, the agent forgot such a basic skill in her line of work: observation. Bringing the figure from her periphery to the centre of her vision, her concerns about the Altmer she’ll meet tomorrow are exchanged with intrigue at the one looking at her. Looking at his strong jawline and thinking about how satisfying it would be to grip his black tie, it doesn’t matter that he has a buzzcut. Different in very many ways he was. Offering him a smile and downing the drink, she approaches the stool beside him, sitting as she starts the conversation.

“What are you drinking?” It’s almost unfortunate how handsome he is, now close enough to see the details on his face. Only somewhat knowledgeable on guessing a mer’s age, she can tell his over one hundred but beyond that she’s uncertain. Not that it matters. The slight chuckle he does is attractive, as is his voice.

“Supposedly a Fine Elven Wine.” Very fitting she thinks. “Yet it is neither fine nor a wine, certainly not Elven.” Taking the glass from his hands, swirling it for a moment before she sips. Gagging at the taste. The mer laughs harder now.

“Gods, that is disgusting. Here, let me get you something better.” Once again flagging down the bartender, she orders him a Collequiva, a fancy imperial wine. Watching as he has a taste, it seems it is satisfactory.

“Hmm, better than I expected. Thank you…” Ah names, might be good to do that now.

“Theodora” she says.

“Ondolemar.”

Introductions out of the way, names all that needed to be exchanged; personal details kept under wraps due both to the secrecy of her work and her desire for privacy. Any other information he would need could be figured out after. In the event she found herself in his lap she could let him know what treatment she expects; deciding to start leading them there, she asks him a question.

“Do you often buy human women drinks from across the bar?” His people in particular frowned upon such relations, would be good to gauge where his thoughts on the matter lied.

“Would you believe I do not?”

“I would actually.” Why did he then…

“You look too exquisite to sit alone at the bar, I have a feeling that this was not part of your original evening plans.” A bit taken aback but such a compliment as she was used to very different words from men, but the rest of his response is curious. It was a leap in logic to assume that off of what she is wearing alone, but it was correct. How did he know that?

“And what would you know of my plans? Maybe I wanted to get dressed up just to sit at the Winking Skeevar?” He dryly chuckles, drinking more of her recommendation.

“Well then. I would say there are better bars to do that at. This one leaves much to be desired.”

“Then why are you here?” She says.

“My residence is nearby, it is convenient.” A reasonable enough answer, she had done many things because it was convenient at the time, many men fell into this category. Not the best but around. Good enough for the job that was pleasing her. Perhaps her eyes should not have lingered on his forearms, the neatly rolled fabric that was tight around the middle of them. Not lingering now, they trail up and over his torso as she imagines ripping the white button up off, let the buttons scatter and litter the floor.

Returning to his initial comment on her appearance, she questions the word he used.

“So I look exquisite?” A straightforward start, she’s curious where he’ll go with it.

“You do, that is a lovely dress.” A straightforward answer, safe. It’s too safe so she amps things up a bit with a little test to figure out what kind of guy he is.

“Hmm, well I’ve been told before by men that it does not leave much to the imagination.”

“Then they do not have a very good imagination, now do they?” Another sip, more than a sip, a full mouthful and then he continues. “A simple man imagines merely the body, they neglect to think all which you can do with it.” Her widened eyes have him mistaken that he overstepped in his words, something which could not be further from the truth as she is imagining all the things she’d like to do with him. “I may have already had too much to drink.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, Ondolemar.” Her hand reaches for his tie, tracing her hands along the complex knot securing it and enjoying the fact that although he is smirking, how he tenses does not go unnoticed. “I like a man who is forward.”

#wip wednesday #oc: theodora #modern au #theomar #theomar spy au #im just having a silly time #hehe girly complaining about having to meet dominion diplomats tomorrow #yeah meeting them tomorrow ;)#i sure hope this guy you're *totally not going to sleep with* sn't one of them #omg that would be so awkward to walk into the office and see him #haha there's election fraud

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thechaoticdruid · 2 months ago

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|This Bites| (9)

Astarion x Chubby! F!MC

Plot: Something crazy happens when Winnie and Astarion try to set up an arrangement for Astarion's dietary needs.

Content/Warnings: Sexual humor

Chapter 8: Woot woot!

Chapter 9: Right here!

Chapter 10: Hopefully sooner this time ;-;

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Oh so you're the one Becca mentioned? Come in then, and be quick. I don't want anyone catching on to my business.” The blonde haired boy quickly ushered them inside. Becca and Winnie followed him in. The inside of his house was absolutely covered from head to toe in extravagant gothic decor. He even had what looked like a stone gargoyle head above his fireplace. The curtains were long and thick, keeping any trace of sunlight out. In front of the fireplace was an elegant looking armchair along with a coffee table that a light grey laptop sat upon. Off to the side on another table sat against the wall, decorated with several jars of green liquid and an assortment of strange creature-like objects (Winnie was pretty sure one was a cat skull). Jimmy was a short and petite young man who appeared to be about 25 years old. He spoke with a slight lisp, likely caused by the false fangs he wore in his mouth.

“So…about the blood…It's uh for this vampire bat I've been taking care of.” Winnie began.

“And you need human blood for your bat?” Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

“He's uh..very…….” Winnie stuttered a bit, getting nervous as she scrambled to come up with a story.

“Her bat is a very rare breed. One that primarily feeds on the blood of primates. But because there are no chimpanzees running around the neighborhood you can see our issue.” Becca stepped in, quickly trying to save Winnie from any kind of suspicion.

“I can't just give out handouts. If I'm going to let you take some of my supply I'll need payment.” Jimmy went on to sit on the couch as he spoke.

“Not only do I go through great lengths to secure this blood, but it is vital that I keep some on my person at all times. Otherwise it could lead to dire consequences.”

Winnie was about to speak when she felt something crawl down her back.

“Dire consequences you say?”Astarion's mocking tone chimed in from behind them. “Well, we best be careful how much we take then.”

“Wait, who are you and where did you come from?” Jimmy's blue eyes widened in surprise as a tall curly haired man appeared.

“Oh I've been behind Winnie this entire time! I'm surprised you didn't notice me sooner.” Astarion chuckled, giving the blonde a forced grin.

“Star!-” Winnie gasped in surprise as she noticed Astarion had hopped out of her coat and shifted behind her. Jimmy gave her a questioning look.

“Star is his name.” Winnie quickly continued.

“I am Winnie's lover.” Astarion added with smugness.

“He's my boyfriend. My annoying and eccentric boyfriend…” Winnie huffed and gave the elf a slight side eye.

"Rude!" Astarion scoffed and crossed his arms.

All she wanted to do was get in, get the blood and go home but no he had to make a scene like he always does.

“Anyway I really need some blood. How much do you want for it?” The brunette haired continued, trying to divert attention away from Astarion.

“200 dollars a pint.” Jimmy crossed his arms.

“You can't be serious! I need much more than that.” Winnie snapped.

“This stuff isn't easy to come by!” The blonde hissed almost literally as he barred the very clearly fake fangs in his mouth. Astarion rolled his eyes with a look of disgust as he stood behind Winnie. The vampire seemed to mutter something under his breath as he gazed over at the strange young man.

“Come on Jimmy Winnie really needs this. And 200 dollars for a glass of blood is insane.” Becca insisted, taking a step towards the short male before suddenly a door opened.

“Jimmy, what’s going on in here?” A tall dark haired male walked in. His eyes were an icy blue and his skin was like ivory pearls. In Winnie’s mind he was almost as pretty as Astarion. Almost. The dark haired male had a softer, more slim physique.

“Just some business to take care of Val.”Jimmy said, trying to shoot the other male away.

“Valentin!” Becca spoke up as the two of them locked eyes. “Maybe you can talk some sense into Jim. He's trying to charge my friend 200 bucks for a pint of his stash.”

“Seriously Jimmy. You don't even need this crap.” The dark haired male rolled his eyes.

“I DO! If I don't I'll lose control!” Jimmy argued.

“I'll only need about maybe a few liters a month.” Winnie insisted before suddenly Astarion stepped in front of her.

“Now darling, clearly our friend here needs the blood far more than we do. We'll just have to go and get some from the hospital. Maybe let them know to send extra blood his way to help with his little condition.” Astarion looked over at Winnie and then at Jimmy with a sly smirk.

“You're going to talk to them?! Wait! We can work something out!” Jimmy began to sputter. “I'll give y'all half a gallon a month. For 50-”

“Jimmy…” Valentin growled at him.

“Fine 30 dollars. Deal?”

“That sounds good to me.” Winnie nodded with a smile before taking out her wallet and pulling out the amount of cash she needed. Jimmy then begrudgingly went to fetch the half gallon he owed them while Val sat on the couch with his laptop and began to start a game, apologizing for Jimmy's behavior in between starting his laptop.

“Oh right.” Becca suddenly looked at Winnie.

“Wyn, this is Valentin. He's Jimmy's roommate. The three of us went to school together.” The red head explained with a sweet smile. “Val, this is Winnie. She's my coworker.”

“A pleasure.” Valentin gives Winnie a ghost of a smile, his icy blue eyes sending chills down her spine. Astarion gives Winnie a slight smirk before placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Ah….g-good to meet you.” Winnie replied shyly with a small wave before she gazed over at Valentin’s laptop. Winnie’s eyes widened as she noticed the black haired male was playing BG3.

Valentin hummed quietly as he clicked through his mod list. One of the files immediately caught Winnie’s attention. It was a familiar looking cheat mod.

“Where did you get that mod?” She asked, her body shaking in fear. If that mod was what she thought it was they might end up having a hell of a time dealing with whatever comes out of it.

“Oh this? I found it on Nexus a while back. Haven't had time to play since then because my work schedule is hell.” Valentin said as he clicked on the button to continue his save. His computer began to blink suddenly before suddenly turning off. Then a spark of electricity shot out of the laptop through the charge cable and into the wall before suddenly the lights flickered on and off.

“Hells…” Astarion gasped slightly before looking towards the front door and sniffing. “It can't be…”

“Star, is everything okay?” Winnie asked with a face full of concern before suddenly the vampire began to leave the house, bolting out the door.

“Hey!” Winnie called after him before glancing back at Becca.

“You go after him. I'll make sure everything here is taken care of.” Becca stated.

“Sorry.” Winnie said before running out the door. Luckily for Astarion the sun had set on their way to Jimmy's house. It took a few minutes for Winnie to catch up to him and by the time she did she was panting hard.

“Ast-Astarion, what the h-hell?” She panted out as she looked over at the white haired elf. Astarion glanced back at Winnie.

“Winnie, be careful. I'm not sure what's going on, but I think I-” A beam of electricity zipped through the power lines before bursting out into a ball of light and ricocheted off a nearby building. Eventually it stopped right above the two of them and began to form a swirling vortex. Before Winnie could even think something came hurtling out of the vortex and landed right on top of her, crushing her against the dirt below. Something large and squishy was pressing down on her face, making it a bit hard to breathe. Whatever had fallen on her was really warm. A couple beads of sweat had even begun to drip down her face.

“GET OFF OF HER YOU OAF!” Astarion snarled out, fangs barred as he shoved whatever had fallen on Winnie off. The young woman was dazed. It took her a few moments to realize she'd just been sat on before she then got to her feet with a bright red face

'Well…. I'm pretty sure I just lived through someone's wet dream…'

Astarion quickly moved closer to Winnie, his hands hovering over her shoulders.

“Ah fuck. Sorry bout that.” A familiar female voice spoke as Winnie regained her composure. Standing in front of the two of them was a nearly seven foot tall tiefling they both knew rather well. Karlach Cliffgate. The tiefling barbarian companion from Baldur's Gate and one of Astarion's friends.

“You better be sorry! You could have killed my Winnie!” Astarion hissed, showing his fangs like a guard dog.

“Astarion, it's fine.” Winnie grasped one of his hands gently, receiving a gentle but firm squeeze in return.

“The hells it is! She could have crushed your skull!” Astarion placed a hand on Winnie’s head, gently moving a lock of hair out of her face before cupping her cheek.

“I'm fine Astarion.” Winnie said a little more sternly as she looked him in the eyes. Astarion pouted slightly with a frustrated sigh. “Besides, it's Karlach! Your friend! She's actually here!”

“Fangs! You're here! Gods am I glad to see you! Everyone has gone missing and…Ah shit where in the hells are we?” The tall mountain of a woman looked around in confusion.

“We have a lot to explain, but right now it's probably best if we get you somewhere…” Winnie trailed off as she noticed her friend catching up to them.

“Wyn, everything is set up with Jimmy. Val even agreed to deliver the blood-” Becca stopped in her tracks as she suddenly spotted their new companion. The redhead clutched the container of blood she was holding tightly as the world around her seemed to slow down.

“B-Big….W-Woman….” Becca stuttered out as her face flushed dark red, heart pounding at ninety miles per hour. Her eyes were glued to Karlach as soon as she came into view.

“Uh….Is she okay?” Karlach asked with a dumbfounded expression.

“Yeah she's just a bit surprised I think.” Winnie replied, rubbing her neck nervously.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Sorry for the wait! Honestly my mental health lately has been meh... And inspiration just hasn't been coming to me as much as it did last year. I Will continue This Bites since I actually know how I want it to end but updates may be shorter or more spread out. I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Hopefully I'll get another project out before Christmas 🤞🤞

~Druid

@seradyn , @plimsim , @astarioffsimpmain , @marcynomercy , @iamsexytrash , @gaymistakeboi , @divineknightmare , @tinyfreakgirl , @misscrissfemmefatal, @gianchan-de @jaksfanficsaver , @the-disaster-in-waiting , @hp-art-studio , @im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @dajeong , @iamnotokei , @the-pale-elfs-love , @geminipridekitty , @just-a-refrigerator , @vixstarria , @ellaprime7, @beewilko

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vapeandgo · 2 years ago

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Sour Power: Enjoying Elf Bar Blue Sour Raspberry Vape

The best thing about the Elf Bar Blue Sour Raspberry is that simply anyone can use them, and one does not need to follow a maintenance regimen to get the best user experience out of them. These products are pre-filled with e-liquids and nicotine salts used for the vaping process. It helps get the nicotine directly into the bloodstream at a slow and steady pace over a significantly long period. The result is a decidedly smooth experience of vaping. The Elf Bar Disposable Pen products also ensure a smooth throat hit at all times.

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grey-vapour · 2 years ago

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Exploring the World of Vaping: Flavored E-Liquid, Lost Mary Vape Flavors, Uwell Caliburn G2 Pod Kit, and Elf Bar Disposable

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#Flavored E-liquid online #Lost Mary vape flavours #Uwell Caliburn G2 Pod Kit #Elf bar disposable

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urundeaduncle · 3 months ago

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jealous Astarion and clever Ilmrae not much more to it ೃ⁀➷ enjoy

“This place makes me run cold, and that’s really saying something.” Karlach shook an invisible chill off of her body as the party sauntered into Reithwin Town. The Shadow-Cursed Land had a sinister air about it but something about this desolate town was particularly grim. The signs of former life decorated the area like a grotesque reminder of all that were taken by the curse. There was no turning a frightful eye, no way of escaping the plight at hand. Even with the large glowing moon lantern, Ilmrae shivered at the thought of dark corners, and necrotic imbued monsters. Both of which the party had plenty of experience with. It had been a couple days since their first arrival at the Last Light Inn and they were beyond tired. Even Ilmrae, leader and under-dark dweller themselves, was ready to see the sun.

“From stinking swap to this nightmarish hell realm-you really do spoil me, darling.” Astarion quipped, batting sarcastic eyes at Ilmrae. They rolled their eyes at his comment.

The Moonrise Towers would not be far off according to Jaheira’s instruction. When they arrived, Ilmrae was not sure what to expect. So, all things considered, Reithwin Town would at least be detour enough to give their fearless leader time to think.

“The Waning Moon?” Karlach read out loud, the dingy sign hanging in front of the building. “What’s say we pop in there?”

“Certainly can’t fair much worse in there, than we already have being out here.” Gale responded

“And maybe there’s booze!” The tiefling beamed, elbowing the wizard a bit harder than she realized.

Ilmrae turned her gaze to Astarion and then back at the tavern, nodding their head towards it like an invitation.

“Great gods-you want to go in there? To do what? Toast to our parasitic infection?” The vampire huffed. “Well, not when you put it that way, no.” Karlach sighed.

“C’mon you undead grouch, lets live a little! Beside’s standing out here is giving the creeps. I wanna go in.” She whined.

Astarion looked at Ilmrae as if to ask for help, to back him up but they were already heading towards the entrance of the bar. “I really am the only one with any sort of eloquence around here.” He exhaled, dragging his feet towards the entrance.

Pushing the main door open, the party was met with an all too familiar odor. Death. Ilmrae quickly took note of several zombie stumbling about the bar. They braced themselves, a green cloud of eldritch energy swirling from their hands.

“Wait.” Karlach said stepping forward. “I don’t think these guys are out to get us. Just let me try something.”

“Karlach-don’t!” Ilmrae hissed. “OI! STINKY!” Karlach bleated, waving her axe around teasingly.

One of the undead patrons lifted it’s head in response. It’s eyes were cloudy with infection, and it’s limbs hung loosely by it’s sides, but it did not approach. It simply cocked it’s head to one side confused and then ambled forward, clearly disinterested in picking a fight with the group.

“Gods Karlach, what was that for?” Ilmrae groused. “Dealt with a zombie or two in my day. Just wanted to make sure they weren’t some super shadow powered freaks.”

“Right because we haven’t run into enough of those, have we?” The vampire mocked. Ilmrae ran a hand through their hair before speaking again but was cut off by the sudden introduction of another voice.

“YOU THERE! COME SIT. DRINK!”

The party peered around the banisters to get a better look at the one charging the thundering orders. Towering behind the bar stood an impressively large undead elf. He wore a haphazardly sewn leather mask that only showed his right eye, and on his back; a massive barrel of mysterious liquid that gurgled with his every move. Apart from his stature the elf was also outstanding in his mass. Each limb appeared waterlogged, swelling beyond its capacity and his stomach bigger still. A deep cavernous suture ran down the length of his gut, either side of it puckered and bruised. With every step he took Ilmrae found themselves bracing for it to break open like a damn, releasing a most foul river of entrails and fermented alcohol.

“SIT. DRINK. TELL TALES!”

Ilmrae eyed the group before cautiously approaching the bar, signaling for the rest of them to stay back. The elf swung his arm backward, elbowing one of the valves on the barrel and it spurted a stream of steaming liquid. A substance Ilmrae was unfamiliar, and quite frankly, uneasy about. “GO ON THEN! DRINK. LET IT BE DRUNK.”

Astarion narrowed his gazed. He didn’t trust the hunk of flesh bartender and feared for a moment that Ilmrae might be so naive as to drink the strange beverage. Ilmrae liked a good time more than the next drow but they weren’t stupid. Drinking that concoction most likely meant turning into one of those cloudy-eyed, undead barflies and they knew better than to accept plain offers from strangers.

The drow grabbed the gauntlet and appeared to throw the drink back with such gusto, it made the entire party’s breath hitch. It was all an act of course. Ilmrae pretended to wince at the strong flavor, before flashing the party a sly grin. Karlach visibly relaxed, prepared to scold them but she was cut off.

“NOW, TELL TALES! GUTS AND GLORY! STEEL AND SEDUCTION.” The undead barkeep tossed back his own serving of the mysterious liquid, stumbling a bit as he spoke. The barrel on his back glugging horribly with it. Ilmrae studied his position, deciding on if they could be a convincing liar in this situation, and if it was a good idea at all.

“C’MON! STORIES, I WANT A GOOD STORY!” The elf slammed his fist on the bar, rattling the entire thing. Ilmrae understood his urgency and began spinning a tale about an unjust ruler. One that ended with him being gutted by his own people. The elf listened silently until the very end. When the drow was finished, he cocked an eyebrow at them. Not completely convinced by the story but entertained nonetheless. “MORE! DRINK. AMUSE ME!”

“Darling! I love your stories as much as the next bloated oaf but don’t you think playtime with the bartender is over?” Astarion gestured at Ilmrae to wrap up the charade. His prominent nose pointed to the sky in annoyance. Someone was getting bored. Ilmrae held the vampires gaze until he was forced to look away, completely vexed. He huffed something about ‘a waste of time’ to Karlach before turning around completely.

In response Ilmrae simulated a long chug of the mystery drink, and started up on their next tale. One that featured themselves as the main character. A quiet night, the moon hanging overhead peering down on the scene below. One where Ilmrae and Karlach find themselves tangled up together in her tent and they didn’t miss a beat. From first kiss to climax, the details were so fleshed out you would have thought it were all true.

“I hear you loud and clear, soldier! You come see me next time you need something to warm you up!” Karlach nudged the vampire playfully, who was clenching his jaw to keep from interjecting as Ilmrae’s story came to an end.

“SPLENDID! MORE. MORE!” The elf chortled dreadfully, while rapping his cup on the table.

“I think we’ve all heard quite enough.” The vampire spat out the last two words, his carmine iris’ whet with jealousy. Ilmrae stood up from the bar, meeting Astarion’s gaze. “Very creative, I didn’t know you had such an impressive imagination.” He sneered as he turned to join them on their way out.

“NO! DON’T LEAVE! DRINK. STAY.”

The group quickened their pace as they left the tavern, the sound of heavy footsteps, and thick glugging following behind.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

When the group finally arrived back at camp, they were still laughing over Ilmrae’s storytelling escapade; Karlach throwing around half serious seductions, and Gale recounting the tale with shakespearian eloquence. Ilmrae had tried to downplay their teasing, seeing how Astarion had spent the entire trip home, silent. By the time they arrived he hadn’t even bid any of them good night, not even his companion. In fact he moved with such swiftness, the drow had not noticed until the others turned in shortly after.

“My dove,” Ilmrae cooed, peeling the front of the tent back. “Not poking around Karlach’s tent tonight, I see. What changed your mind? Enlighten me.” He said sharply. Each syllables curled around his lips like they were refusing to leave him. He was cold and appeared completely disinterested despite his words.

“Astarion,” They paused, getting on their knees to meet his far off gaze. “I have only, and always wanted you.” Ilmrae reached their hand to cradle the vampires chin, but was met with a larger gap between them as he leaned away their touch. “No,” He sighed, his eyes narrow beneath his brow. Ilmrae’s stomach dropped, and for a moment, could sworn they were falling. “Prove it.” “What?” They whispered.

“I said, prove it.” The vampire leaned in, nipping softly at their neck. Ilmrae’s concern slid of their face, revealing a new expression. “As you wish.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You wound me, Astarion.” Karlach gripped her chest, feigning a gruesome death. “I really thought I had a chance for a moment there.” Astarion stood confidently, chest puffed and hands gesturing about. Ilmrae smiled as they emerged from his tent to join the two. “Gods! There you are! I gotta tell you soldier, I haven’t heard sounds like that since I was in Avernus.”

A thick blush covered Ilmrae’s face, but they didn’t turn away. The drow beamed at their lover. “What can I say, he’s a really really great storyteller.”

Astarion grinned, clearly feeling fully satiated by the whole scenario. There was nothing he loved more than a clean victory, the idea that everyone in camp was more assured than ever, that Ilmrae was his, and he was theirs.

#spawn astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writers and poets #baldur's gate 3 #dnd #bg3

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yari-mutt · 4 months ago

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i was trying SO hard to meditate last night but whenever i got any sort of ongoing quiet in my mind and i could focus on my matta my mind would just play the "mega faggot. robo bitch." vine really loudly and i ended up having to stop because it was 2:30 am on a monday morning and i am a full grown adult dog dude living with its parents giggling like a schoolgirl at a 6 second, decade old video of a man throwing toy cars. all while im sitting in the full lotus position looking like im about to tell you that your solar plexus chakra is misaligned and that you need to buy my new child labour crystal of maiming to fix it. but yah i gave up and hit my elf bar and slept on my floor because it seemed like it would probably be a fun thing to do. i do think that i should be allowed to drink any glowing liquid i though i think im built different

#meditation #vines #megafaggot #robo bitch #yariposting #chug jug #caninekin #dogkin #canine kin #therian #canine therian #yari posting #dog kin #dog therian

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halla-hunts-the-wolf · 5 months ago

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Ma'hallain prevents Lucanis' survival from being outed to his family members, and Lucanis wants to talk about it at the worst possible (or perhaps best) time.

Warnings: Alcohol mention. Written before Veilguard's release.

Pairings: M! Rook/Lucanis

Word Count: 783

The melodic trill of a bard’s lyre cuts through the patron’s laughter, filling the tavern in Treviso with more delight and happiness than most of its usual inhabitants had felt in a long time. The Qunari occupation in Antiva had created a rift among the people, as the nobles tried to keep the peace while the common folk itched to drive the unwelcomed militia out. It wasn’t in the Veilguard’s best interest to interfere in politics. They had more significant concerns, like ancient Elven Gods roaming the earth and demons raining from the sky. Yet, they couldn’t bring themselves to look the other way when approached by the Antivan Crows.

They wanted the Qunari out of their city as much as the common folk, and in return for the Veilguard’s help, they promised not to tell Catarina Dellemorte that her grandson, heir to the Crow’s metaphorical throne, was alive and within arm’s reach.

Being blackmailed wasn’t something Ma’hallain appreciated, but the cheerful uproar from the locals made driving the occupying Qunari out seem worth the effort, even though he had a few bumps and bruises to mend. There was also an enjoyable side benefit to making deals and risking his life: keeping himself in pleasant company.

“Thank you,” Lucanis’ shadow looms over the table, bathing Ma’hallain in darkness. He can see the outline of a dagger attached to the assassin’s hip, and he remembers watching it cut through the air, striking down foes with innate precision.

“We have to look out for our own,” Ma’hallain says, his neck resting against the back of the wooden chair. You look different, upside down.”

Lucanis arches a brow, and his upper lip twitches, threatening a smile. “How many of those drinks have you had?”

“I’m serious,” Ma’hallain insists, ignoring how his mind seems to buzz, his body warmed by one-to-many drinks by the fire. “You look happy.”

Lucanis rounds the table to sit across from him. He settles in before reaching for the tankard on the table. His nose twitches as he whiffs the elf’s drink. “I am,” he continues, encouraged to speak his mind with the notion that Ma’hallain may fail to remember the conversation come morning. “You see, I came to a startling realization today.”

“Oh?” Ma’hallain leans against the table, his cheek resting against his hand, scarred skin pressing against his calloused palm.

“I knew we would encounter the Crows once we came to Treviso. My fate could only remain a secret for so long, especially as I traveled with you across Thedas. I resigned myself to meeting with my grandmother and facing the consequences. I also expected to see Illario at her side, prepared to take her place as the First Talon now that I had lost all rights to the position. To be clear, I don’t mourn that loss, but I dreaded seeing the betrayal in his eyes.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand if you explain the circumstances.”

“Maybe, but the mere thought makes my heart pound. Killing comes naturally, yet the thought of despairing my cousin had me wanting to turn tail and flee. I don’t often feel cowardly, but I felt my heart pound at the prospect of seeing my family after I allowed them to believe I had died. My point is this: I didn’t want to return to them. Not yet. You bought me more time by making a deal with the Crows, even if that meant fending against the Qunari on my behalf.”

“We have to protect our own,” Ma’hallain dismisses the other man’s gratitude, although the lingering smile on Lucanis’ expression causes his heart to skip a beat. The nervous thrum beneath his skin has Ma’hallain wobbling in his seat. He reaches across the table to reclaim his drink. The liquid sloshes near the bottom, and his gaze cuts toward the bar.

“My point is,” Lucanis continues, intercepting the elf before he could flee toward the tavern owner, who ignored their celebratory patrons as they wiped down tankards and cups. “I realized I had a friend in you today, Ma’hallain.”

Ma’hallain’s eyes meet Lucanis’ from over the lip of his tankard. “We weren’t friends before?”

“You were an ally, someone I was still learning to trust.”

Ma’hallain nods slowly, “Well, can I buy my new friend a drink?”

Lucanis pushes himself to his feet, hand poised in the air as he prepares to help Ma’hallain should he stumble a step. “Might I recommend something that tastes better than whatever you’ve been consuming for the past hour?”

Ma’hallain shrugs, leaning against Lucanis’ shoulder before they reach the bar. “I’ll drink whatever gets put in front of me, Dellamorte; just make sure I get home in one piece.”

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #Ma'hallain rook #rookanis

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