#gale truly ate with this

[sophsun1]

Queer As Folk – 1.02: Queer, There and Everywhere

[quinn-of-aebradore]

So I finally went back and redid the final boss as Rowen to see if I could get the epilogue party despite her save being old and! I was successful!!! The whole thing was so fucking cute, I’m obsessed. I recorded the whole thing and I will definitely be going over it later to pull out favorite moments but for now! Have some hugs!

[dekariosclan]

Professor Gale Dekarios of Blackstaff Academy: Now, class, I believe I’ve shared with you how I was kidnapped on a Nautiloid, hmm? How I teamed up with a group of adventurers, found the love of my life, saved all of Faerun? And how, through all of that, I still managed to focus on learning whatever new spells were made available to me, even if they required intensive study?

Students: *nodding*

Gale: Excellent. *shuffles papers in his hands, looks down at them, frowns* Then you’ll understand why I’m a tad irritated that half of you couldn’t be bothered to complete your assignments because *squints at papers* ‘your Tressym ate your homework’? *Looks up at class* Truly? That’s the excuse you’ve decided to go with? I myself used to come up with some very creative tales, but I know for a fact that you all do not have Tressyms!

Student: It wasn’t our Tressym that ate it, Professor Dekarios. It was yours.

Gale: …

Gale: *turns to shout over his shoulder* TARA! A WORD PLEASE

[leighsartworks216]

Screaming crying crawling up the walls for your top tier Astarion content

Idk if you’ve seen this, it’s floating around the internet (I think it’s a tweet?) it says something like “I want someone to grab my face and say ON PURPOSE, I WILL CARE FOR YOU ON PURPOSE” and I’d love to see our love-deprived bi-centurion react to something like this.

Like maybe he’s caught feelings for tav and is starting to feel bad for manipulating them and starts self-sabotaging by saying/thinking stuff like ‘you only THINK you love me but it’s not real, I’m sorry I made you feel this way’ and tav getting v v serious and replying “I never loved you by accident”.

Him being confronted by the fact that things never would’ve gotten this far if they didn’t let it, if they didn’t choose him, that they’re still choosing him and that it has nothing to do with the act he put up or the situation he constructed, if they wanted nothing to do w him they could’ve and would’ve dipped.

Idk I’m just spitting ideas, have fun babe ✌🏻

- 🦇

I wrote this at 2am but I did proofread it (it's almost 4 now 💀)

Also the original tweet is by Jenny Slate (@/jennyslate) and says, "I just want someone to grab my little face and scream 'ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU'"

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: self-doubt, references to manipulation, self-deprecation, references to dissociation, dissociation mention, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1,392

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

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It began one night, almost a week ago. Astarion had gotten into the routine of joining you in your bedroll after feeding, cuddling close and relaxing to the steady sound of your heartbeat. That night, a week ago, he didn’t. He delicately bit into your skin and pulled away before you were even slightly dizzy, murmured something about how you’d need your strength for a fight tomorrow, and slipped off to hunt for animals. Truly, you didn’t think anything of it, then. And maybe you got so lost, so caught up in your daily stress, that was why you didn’t register it for so long. Comments under his breath about manipulation immediately covered up with Gale requesting a magical artifact or Shadowheart and Lae’zel fighting.

So, a week went by. And the realization finally hit. Guilt ate away at your stomach, but wallowing wasn’t going to help. When night started to creep in, your companions slipping into their tents, you slipped into Astarion’s. Sitting in a pile of pillows, he looked up at you with a smirk and a ‘Hello, darling’, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were dark. Distant.

“I’m sorry I haven’t given you the attention you need,” you start. A baffled look flickers across his face, but it is not given the time to settle.

There is a twitch at the corner of his mouth, like it’s a strain for him to keep smirking. “It’s perfectly alright, darling. You’ve been busy running around camp, helping people - I understand.”

With any other person, this would have seemed a perfectly reasonable response. An apology accepted, a mutual understanding - the relationship goes on. Except, this was Astarion.

You sit down nearby, close enough to reach out and touch. Any closer and you worried you’d overcrowd him. You always tried to let him come to you first, though he usually struggled to initiate anything.

“You’ve been distant, too,” you point out. He begins to form the words to apologize, but you shake your head to stop him before they can build a sentence. “I’m not upset, I don’t need an apology. I just wanted to know why.”

To be honest, he didn’t expect you to notice. He assumed, quite stupidly, all things considered, that you would be too preoccupied to notice him slowly slipping away. Late night cuddles dashed for hunting, hand holding forgotten as he trails along at the back of the group, kisses never lingering and the ones that did lacking any emotion behind them.

“Is something wrong?” you prompt gently. “If it’s too much, we can work out what would be better for you.”

Guilt stabs at his own non-beating heart like a wooden stake. He’s drifting and you still throw him a rope, still ask for him to grab on and pull himself away from his past, from dissociating with the slightest hint of affection.

He smiles wryly. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” he teases, but it comes out a little too strained to be a joke. His fingers fiddle with the corner of the page of his book. He finds watching the paper fold and bend is much more interesting than looking into your eyes.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he says, but the endearment feels like fire on his tongue, “but it’s not real. This isn’t real.” Your brow furrows as you stare at him. He can’t bear to see the realization cross your face. “Two hundred years of manipulating - of course I would trick you, too. It’s instinct, darling, I don’t blame you.” Red eyes finally meet yours. You look confused, of course, but there’s an air of determination, like you’re ready to fight whatever plagues him. “But this… love… it’s not real. And for what it’s worth, I am sorry I made you feel this way.”

He expects anger. He expects tears, even. Crying and shouting and ‘How could you?!’s and ‘I can’t believe you’ve manipulated me all this time!’ But it never comes. You frown, sure, but it’s leagues away from being angry.

“You think… you manipulated me into feeling this way?”

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Admitting it feels bitter. He blames it on his growing fondness for you, but he knows it cannot possibly be returned in any genuine way. Not with his underhanded tactics surfacing at every passing glance, soft brush, and gentle smile. “Come now, darling,” he smirks again, building a wall to separate himself from the shitshow that must be just ‘round the corner, “who could really love me?”

That only succeeds in making you frown further. “Astarion, I’m not with you because you’ve tricked me.” The baffled look from earlier surfaces again, but it lingers, mixed with doubt. “I understand that you started this to manipulate me into protecting you, but I’m not here because you successfully influenced my emotions - To be perfectly honest, I could tell from the start.”

He laughs dryly, suddenly, like it startles him. “And here I was thinking I’d learned some subtlety.”

You don’t laugh with him. You don’t even smile. “I chose you, Astarion. I still choose to be with you. Because I want to.”

Any lingering mask of confidence fell from his face. The creases around his mouth became more prominent as he frowned. His eyes darted around, glancing around your face for any tells of deception, any hint that you’re making this up to make him feel better. “How can you be sure? How do you know you’re choosing me and not just buying into another act?”

“Astarion.” You get on your knees and hold his face in your hands. He stares up at you with big, round eyes. “If I wanted to, I could break up with you. I am not staying because I feel stuck, or because I feel obligated to. I love you. On purpose. On purpose, I am staying with you. On purpose, I choose you.”

He opens his mouth, but no words form. His mind is reeling, chasing to catch up and process everything, all the while jumping and flipping, trying to find excuses or reasons why you shouldn’t care for him. He swallows the lump building in his throat. He speaks in a whisper, too stunned to speak louder. “Are you sure?”

Your whole face softens. Determination turns to fond affection, frown lifting into a soft grin. “Yes. I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his forehead, and he closes his eyes to savor it. It’s been a week without allowing himself your love - he deserves to enjoy it once again, even if he feels guilty for it. He wishes his thoughts would just shut up and let him have this. “If you still need space or time, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving. Just,” you pull his face back, “please talk to me about this next time. I know things have been hectic, but I’m never too busy for you.”

He sighs, slow and soft. Relieved. “Of course, my love.” He adores the way you smile brightly at the endearment. He turns sheepish. “Ah, could I, possibly, join you tonight? It does, admittedly, get rather lonely passing the time alone.”

You kiss his cheek. “Of course you can. C’mon, I’ll even play with your hair if you’d like.”

He chuckles, genuine this time. “I very much would.” His book is set aside, the page he left off on lost as he takes your hand and follows you from his tent. He can’t help himself from squeezing your hand in his, like he can’t quite grasp the fact you are physically holding onto him. Even when you lay down first and he settles in next to you, arms wrapped around your middle and his head on your chest, it still feels hard to believe. But the way you wrap your arms around him and gently detangle his curls and scratch lightly at his scalp cannot possibly be from his imagination. Nor the way you press kisses on his forehead and temple and hair with sweet praises and words of affection. His mind is not kind enough to imagine such tenderness.

Laying there in your arms, listening to the steady beat of your heart and even breaths that fill your lungs as you slip into sleep, is the closest he has ever been to true contentment.

---

Tag List:

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[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Astarion with a chef s/o who loves sharing her cooking with everyone?

He wants to like this. Truly.

The first few decades of being a vampire Astarion missed the taste of food. Disgusted that he had to resort to rats. Feast on blood and death. When he was allowed out, he would always try to sneak meals out as Cazador never allowed him anything but the rats and vermin, but he soon realized that he had no appetite for it. Blood was all he craved. Even the rarest meats just tasted of nothing in his mouth as he chewed. He also realized very quickly that what he was missing was not food but the memories of it he could never capture again.

Astarion knew that [Y/N] was an excellent cook.

They boasted a resume of some of the finest restaurants and taverns in Baldur's Gate and Faerûn. Claiming they were a 'culinary adventurer' before all this mess started. The rave reviews from the public and their camp left no sense of exaggeration on their skills, so if anyone was going to cook something for him, he would like it would be [Y/N]. With their clever cooking skills and all the love they poured into it, surely this would fill him up, right?

Yet still, nothing.

"Everything alright Astarion?"

The vampire looked up to see [Y/N] clearing their mains. His own plate embarrassingly full compared to the almost licked clean ones of their camp mates. He really tried. But all he managed to muster was a few bites and to push the food around. "Oh yes darling. Delicious as always." He replied though. Charming smile in place as he handed them back the food. Guilt coiling into his stomach along with the few bites he ate for wasting it.

"Well, I hoped you saved room for dessert. I tried something new today."

"Dessert? My, what decadence." Shadowheart commented before sipping her wine.

"Sweets are for children. I won't be having any."

"Can I have Lae'zel's then if she's not going to have it??" Karlach asked as the githyanki folded her arms in full resolution against sweets.

[Y/N] came out of their prep area they had made in camp with a tray. Lined with small bowls and handed one to all around the fire. "Pudding?"

"What's so special about pudding?" Shadowheart asked as she poked at her own bowl of goo.

"First of all, it is not 'pudding'. It's sanguinaccio dolce. A southern sweet cream based dish made with bitter chocolate and pigs blood. There's a lot more work in that than just 'pudding'."

Astarion looked up from his bowl with about as much surprise as everyone else. "Whoa whoa whoa. There's blood in this?!"

"I mean, yeah. It's where the 'sanguin' part comes into play in the name Karlach."

"I'm not eating blood!" The tiefling remarked, with a level of disgusted that Astarion felt was warranted but still hurtful.

"There's blood in the roast you just ate. You had no problem with that." [Y/N] remarked.

Karlach seemed to start back tracking. "Well...yeah but...that was cooked...."

"So is this. Try it. You might like it."

"I've actually heard of this dessert before." Gale commented as he examined his spoon full of pudding critically. Like it was a science experiment. "It was mentioned in a few books I read. Not often mind you. It is certainly an acquired taste. More of a traditional dish than anything."

"Look. If you guys don't want to eat it...."

"No, no. I'll give it a try."

"Once you've had a tadpole in your eye I suppose...." Shadowheart said, before swallowing a lump in her throat just before the pudding.

They all took a bite in unison. The expressions of the others lost to Astarion as his eyes lit up. This was actually very good. Really good.

His mouth was filled with blood and dark chocolate. A sensual taste and sensation as his tongue was coated with the velvety soft dessert. And he could actually taste it. Was this what people meant when they said food was better than sex? Because he could almost believe it now.

Astarion ate his dessert with gusto, while the group continued to in trepidation, as [Y/N] came over to sit beside him. No dessert. Just observing their handy work. "What do you think?"

"It's delicious." It might have been the first time he meant it. "It's certainly a...unique concept. What inspired you to try it tonight of all things?"

"You never eat my cooking." Astarion was taken aback. Although honestly, he couldn't be that surprised. They had eyes. They knew he never cleared his plate like the others. "So I wanted to make something I hoped you would eat."

Astarion was surprised. All this effort just for him? No one had ever put in this much effort for him. Or any effort at all. He felt incredibly moved. But of course, he couldn't let them know that. "I eat you darling." Astarion quipped as he slid closer to them. "Isn't that enough?"

"It's not the same." They told him. "Cooking is my life. It's my passion. I wanted to share it with you."

"Are you suggesting our relationship isn't passionate enough?"

[Y/N] chuckled. "Not like that. But...I want more than that. Sharing our interests and hobbies. Not just our bodies." Astarion sat there for a moment. Contemplating their words as he stared at the now empty bowl.

He had heard the phrase before of ‘food nourishes more than just the body, but the soul’. He thought it was some other ridiculous saying like the food was better than sex comment and shrugged it off. But now, Astarion thought he could understand it.

He felt full for once. Not just by the small dessert, but for with the effort, the time they put into it, the thought. He knew very soon his usual instable hungry for what really sated him would be back, but for now he felt….content.

“I suppose I’ll have to start developing some hobbies.”

[Y/N] chuckled. Then gave him a kiss before they took his bowl and went to clean it. He licked his lips once they were gone. Still tasting sweet chocolate and ruby red on them. Already hungry for more.

[vermilionskiinmorning]

Beginning of the End | Durgetash

Summary: In which durge is scouting for a discreet entrance to Wyrm's Rock Fortress and has a series of failed skill checks that result in her ending up in Banite custody

Words: 6k

------

A storm was brewing overhead and threatening to unleash itself upon the city of Baldur’s Gate as Feravel picked her way along the rocky outcrops at the base of Wyrm’s rock fortress. The dense cloud cover blotted out the moon and any stars that might’ve lit her way in the darkness but thankfully as a half-elf, she could make out the platforms and handholds as she came across them. Falling from a cliff would’ve been an embarrassing way to go and who knew how long it would take her friends to find her. Perhaps, she ought to have told them where she was going despite what would’ve surely been a host of protests and offers to accompany her, but this needed to be done quietly. It was a single man scouting mission. The clouds which had only begun to form as they’d all ate together on the elf song patio hadn’t signaled the intensity of the winds that would follow though. Still, Feravel was fleet of foot and felt confident she’d be able to complete her reconnaissance and return to the tavern without too much trouble.

They might disapprove of her methods, but her friends would be grateful when they didn’t have to sneak through the fortress to reach the prison. A stealth breaking and entering to rescue Florrick would benefit them by allowing their continued freedom of movement around the fort. It would also allow them to scout out the entrance for Ansur’s lair which was somewhere beneath the prison according to Wyll’s book on the matter. As long as they weren’t caught doing it.

As she hopped down to a lower ledge, Feravel was struck by a niggling feeling in the back of her mind. Thankfully it was not the familiar sensation of the parasite squirming around in her head, but more the feeling of something familiar yet forgotten. Something Feravel couldn’t quite put a finger on; like she’d done this before -been here on this particular cliff before.

Scouting. A mission. Some one  she had to find. Not some thing . A way in. Through a rocky crevice maybe ? Climbing up to reach it. Somewhere natural rock and hewn stone met. Squeezing down a narrow passage. He’ll be pleased. An excellent gift. Her lips curled with pleasure .  Focus, need to be silent. The guards are near.

Then the rain started, startling her out of the odd visions and musings that didn’t feel truly her own. Refocusing Feravel started moving again not having realized she’d come to a halt. Wherever that place was, it had to be close by. Just around the corner perhaps? She’d have to scale a particularly steep incline to reach it.

Suddenly, as she was reaching for a handhold there came a strong burst of wind whipped through the night knocking her slightly off balance. It caused her to lose footing on the slick grass and her feet to go out from under her. She crashed to the ground and slid several feet almost tumbling over the edge of the outcropping she’d been working along. The scream of shock she let out as she’d fallen was entirely against her will, but even with the wind, Feravel felt sure it carried. Cursing herself, she lay there silently listening to the roaring of the wind and the churn of waters down below trying to make out any sign she’d been detected. With her dark cloak, it would be unlikely a sentry would see her through the darkness even if she had been heard. Still, she was reluctant to move and give away her position should someone high above be peering over a rampart at that very moment. Or would a steel watcher’s mechanical gaze be able to pierce the gale and see the smallest glint of a buckle or a stray ray of dim light catch her blade?

Moments passed, and she couldn’t be sure how long she waited for something, anything to happen. But Feravel heard nothing, saw nothing, and eventually, she relaxed. Finally, she pulled herself to her feet and assessed the damage. She would surely have a bruised tailbone and some superficial scrapes come morning. A small price to pay.

Her thoughts returned to the feeling she’d had about this place. Whatever it was and however she knew it mattered little. That crack in the wall had to be close by. The feeling of Deja vu was strong. She’d just have to follow it.

Just as she was reaching for a rock that looked familiar, she heard the chink of an armored boot behind her and stilled. No one could’ve seen her.  Except mayb e…  Feravel turned to see an armored elf wearing a mask covering the top of his face and standing closer than she’d thought he would be.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Feravel cocked her head slightly to the side sizing him up. He was larger than her, no Halsin to be sure, but taller and broader than her short and   curvy stature   nonetheless. And in his heavy armor, she would likely be quicker with no mail or plate to weigh her down.

“Really? Where is here anyway? I was out fishing when this storm rolled in and blew my boat-“

“Cut the shit.”

He was readying to strike. She saw him gripping the hilt of a dagger at his belt.

“Look saer, I’m not looking for any trouble here.” Feravel scoffed, taking a tentative step back.

Her movement sent the elf into action and he struck faster than she expected. The pommel of his dagger came down on her temple before she could even draw her blade to parry. As her body went limp Feravel felt the weapon slipping from her fingers and the darkness closed in on her vision.

Up on the top floor of the fort, Enver tapped his fingers rhythmically on his desktop as he listened to a report being read out by one of his aides. The recitation was interrupted by a knock at the door which caused the man to stumble over his words and glance at the archduke. When Enver made no move to answer or even acknowledge the knock, the man continued speaking. Then the knock came again. An irritated twitch pulled at Enver’s brow. His followers knew how much he loathed being interrupted and yet whoever it was knocked again.

“Enter.”

Enver spoke sharply above the voice of the underling who quickly silenced himself in response. A brief scuffle ensued just outside the door before it was wrenched open so hard it bounced off the stone wall. In walked an armored Banite elf commander dragging the short squirming cloaked figure with their hands cuffed at their front. The elf shouldered the door shut with difficulty as the cloaked prisoner was still attempting to extricate themself from his grasp.

“And what exactly is this about, Luka?” Enver snapped. “Prisoners are taken to the dungeon for the Flaming Fists to deal with.”

Luka huffed irritably. He released the figure and gave the prisoner a rough shove forward causing them to topple to the ground. They gave a huff of frustration as they gathered themself.

“Apologies, my lord, I would have taken her there except she’s one of that group of adventurers you mentioned.”

Enver’s brown raised. He strode swiftly across the room and flicked back the cloak’s cowl. Feravel looked back at him with an irritable expression.

“Out.”

He dismissed Luka and the aide without another word.

The fire crackled behind Enver’s back as he observed Feravel’s disheveled state. Her cloak dripped steadily onto the rug, her leather boots were marred with mud, her hair askew and, her cheeks flushed. The traces of irritation had been wiped from her face though as she fixed him with a disinterested mask - a look he’d once known well.

As Enver studied her, Feravel scanned the stone-walled room for an escape. The balcony she’d fled from on her previous visit to this office was shut with a latched door. So there'd be no quick escape there.

She was not only embarrassed by what she’d gotten herself into but flustered at having to deal with Enver again. Of course, he'd have his Banites on the lookout for her group. Why couldn’t it have been a Flaming Fist? She'd been taken to the prison, then at least all she’d have to do was escape. Astarion would surely have some sarcastic commentary on the art of stealth when this was over. It took more than a modicum of effort not to let her thoughts show on her face.

“You know, if you wanted to see me again you didn’t have to get yourself caught snooping around my fort.” Said Enver, off-handedly.

His tone was so self-assured. He was greeting a friend. Same as before.

“Well if you wanted to see me again you didn’t have to have me arrested on sight.” Feravel challenged archly. She gave a rather pointed look at the cuffs secured to her wrists.

Enver paced the short distance back toward his desk beside the fireplace.

“You’re the one who was sneaking around my dear. What did you think would happen if you were caught?”

Feravel huffed and rolled her eyes. “Jail? Most prisoners aren’t brought directly to the archduke of the city are they?”

He didn’t answer immediately only humming vaguely in response. Enver pulled out one of the drawers and began rifling through the various objects inside. Upon locating the item he desired, Enver shut the drawer with a snap and turned his attention back to her.

“No, they are not. So were you anyone else, you’d certainly be correct, but you are you. And I’ve taken the liberty of bolstering the Flaming Fists's numbers with some of my own -that is to say those loyal only to myself and lord Bane.”

Feravel twisted her hand minutely in the cuff trying to gauge how difficult it would be to free herself. They were rather snug. Perhaps if she squeezed her fingers together and tugged, but Enver was watching her. She’d have to wait or distract him somehow.

“Well,” said Enver when she made no comment. “If you’re supposedly not here to see me. Then what are you doing here?”

“Oh seeing the sights. I hear storms on the Chionthar are a quiet sight after all.” She replied flippantly.

Enver rolled his eyes. He came around to the front of the desk to lean against its edge.

“You expect me to believe you were skulking around in the dead of night to see a storm you could’ve watched perfectly well from the docks or any other number of places in the city.”

A slight smirk quirked the corner of her lip as she retorted. “Damn. You know what, I didn’t even think of that.”

“Fera…” Enver began warningly, looking tired as the hour warranted. “What were you really doing?”

Her answering shrug was sarcastic. Subtly as she could manage, Feravel used the movement to tuck one of her hands behind the folds of her cloak.

“I was….” She trailed off as something behind him caught her eye.

Her eyes drifted to the mantle over the fireplace, on it sat a black statuette of a knight with painted golden embellishment. Unlike most of the decor in the archduke’s study, the statue was Enver’s. Usually, it was on a desk, next to a stack of papers in another office. Seeing it made her smile, but only to herself. Feeling her lips start to form one even then, Feravel immediately forced them into a slight frown instead.

“I’ve been here before.” Her words were uncertain.

Enver nodded slowly at her, looking a mite concerned. As if contemplating whether the damage to her mind was more extensive than he’d originally thought. Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder to locate what had caught her eye, but nothing seemed out of place.

“Yes my dear. Just a few days ago.”

She twisted an edge of her cloak in her hand, fisting the fabric, and sighed in frustration. “No.  Before .”

A sudden spark of hope flared in Enver’s eyes but he hid it quickly behind an impassive expression. Feigning disinterest, he waved a hand dismissively. “Perhaps. I hardly knew of all your comings and goings. We were both very busy you understand.”

A hidden passage. Exactly what she'd been looking for. Sneaking silently, invisible, through a stone corridor. An office on some lower level of the fort. A gurgled cry and blood rushing over her gloved fingers. Excitement rushed through her. About to leave, but something caught her eye. Black and gold, a knight. Pocketing it. A bloody dagger clattered across a desk. Placing the knight beside the dagger. A grin of satisfaction.

Then his voice close to her ear. “Thank you my dear.”

A caress.

“You knew about this.” She said more confidently.

Enver leaned forward slightly. He couldn’t fully contain his interest.

“I came here…” Feravel trailed off again. Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for something unseen. A further prompt for her memory, but nothing came. Nothing in the duke's office was familiar, but her gut supplied the answer anyway. “To kill?”

She returned her focus to him.

“For you. Why would I do that?”

Enver smiled just slightly. “Well that’s not the first time you've asked me that question.”

Feravel furrowed her brow. “The temple of Bhaal kills for its own sake. You said I was an assassin for you. Why though?”

A look of fondness flickered across his features. “It wasn’t an originally part of our agreement, you drive a hard bargain. But I managed to make it worth your while in the end.”

It was him that looked far away then. In his mind, Enver must’ve certainly been somewhere else. A memory they had once shared that now, she may never recall.

“Then later we became partners and -as you know- more.”

She didn’t like the way he talked about her. The way he knew her when she didn’t know herself. His recollections. The intimacy. It felt like listening to someone describe a night of black-out drinking except it wasn’t just a night. It was her life.

Enver withdrew a key from his pocket and held out a hand to her. Grudgingly, she dropped the hem of her cloak and went over to him. She held out her hands but made sure she left a respectable distance between them. He met her eyes with intensity as he took one wrist at a time and unlocked each cuff. Holding her hand in his lightly as if not to startle her and cause her to withdraw.

“Partners don’t usually kill for each other.” She said, tactfully choosing to ignore the latter half of his assertion.

“Well my dear, that's not entirely accurate is it? It depends on the line of business." Enver paused, then added. "It took us several years to get to that point.”

“Partners or assassinations?”

He chuckled. “Both.”

She had forgotten about Enver still holding her hand until he brushed his thumb across her palm. Instinctively she made to pull her hand back and for a moment she felt his grip on her tighten before he relaxed it, allowing her to withdraw. When Feravel looked up at him he was already looking at her, waiting to meet her eye.

“I don’t expect anything from you.” He said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “That’s sort of a different tune.”

He was frustrated. “I won’t lie, I’d go back to how we were in an instant. But if all we can be is partners, so be it.”

She wondered if there was an unspoken “for now” to the statement. He appeared sincere if not disconsolate at the idea, but in all their dealings thus far Enver had been truthful. It was clear though that he wanted more from her and this proposed partnership. Perhaps she could convince him to abandon the plot and they could defeat the brain together.

To avoid meeting his gaze again as she considered the possibility, Feravel cast a look about the room again. It was finely but impersonally furnished except for the statue which had prompted their current line of discussion.  

“Why did I give you that knight statue?” She asked, curiosity having gotten the better of her.

Enver was surprised, but he recovered quickly. He glanced over his shoulder at the knight and then back to her. Suspicion darkened his eyes.

“You said you didn’t remember anything.”

“I don’t,” Feravel said defensively. “Well, I didn’t. I mean, it’s only a few pieces here and there. It’s complicated. I didn’t remember things before but...now sometimes I get feelings about things? And when I saw the statue, it was familiar. Then I saw it, in my mind, on a desk with a dagger. You thanked me.”

He watched her, assessing her and her truthfulness.

“You said you thought of me so you took it. I designed the steel watch aesthetic based off it.”

Feravel didn’t know what to say. An insignificant trinket and she’d felt compelled to give it to him. The same feeling that told her it was his told her the statue wasn’t a stationary model, but that the limbs could be manipulated -tinkered with. She could almost feel the smoothness of its armor and hear the soft clicking as she positioned it. The thought came to her in her own voice,  He does like tinkering with those odds and ends in his workshop.

“Have you remembered anything else?”

Enver’s tone was sanguine, but when Feravel tore her gaze from the statue she saw him looking at her attentively.

“Well…” She swallowed. Her thoughts went to the night of the coronation. Kissing Gale in front of the fire and then dreaming of doing the same with Enver. A flush crept up around her throat. His expression was expectant. “Nothing, important.”

Enver’s eyebrow arched, but let it go and didn't question her further though he burned to know. She chewed on the inside of her cheek anxiously. Now that she was free she should be trying to escape. Instead, she asked. “Tell me something about me?”

“What sort of thing?” He responded curiously.

Feravel strode over to an armchair beside the fire and took a seat. She wasn’t sure about what she was doing, but something in her wanted to know. Had she been sweet? Normal, even slightly, once? What made a man like him love someone like her? Their relationship seemed so contrary to the image she'd conjured of her former self.

“Something…ordinary?” She posed, then added. “Was I more than a Bhaalspawn?”

Enver watched her thoughtfully from where she'd left him.

“You've always been more than your title. You had a penchant for pretty things. Not necessarily expensive or flashy, but the easy beauty of the world.”

“Pretty things?” She asked a tad incredulously.

He chuckled as he strode back into her field of view. Enver went to stand beside the armchair across from the fire from Feravel, resting an arm on its winged back.

"Don't expect the child of the lord of murder to appreciate anything besides blood and death?" He teased. "I certainly wouldn't have before I met you. It was odd to me at first the sort of things you took. At one point I even considered you might have a collection of mementos from your victims, but you didn’t do it every time. Eventually, I realized it was just things you liked.”

“Like what?” Feravel interjected.

“All sorts.” He said. “Ribbons, flowers, art, shoes…a little knight statue.”

Enver paused then added. “There was a fine black velvet embroidered jacket that appeared in my wardrobe once.”

“I collected things. And gave you gifts...?”

“You did -on occasion." He gave her a fond smile before abandoning the armchair. She turned in her seat to watch him at the table they’d eaten at a few nights ago. It now held a bottle of amber spirits and a pair of glasses which Enver set about pouring himself a drink from as he continued. “Once I realized what you liked, I left things where you’d find them. A few things appeared in their place, the jacket I mentioned for example.”

Was it just the urge that had turned her into a murderous monster then? Before her brain had been scrambled, she'd lived with it for so long that it changed her but now it was like she'd been reinvigorated against its darkness. 

“And the knight?” She asked.

Enver sipped from his glass before turning to look at her again.

“It was the first thing you gave me.” He said. Then chuckled. “Directly at least.”

Feravel furrowed her brow.

“I had seen this bracelet. It was only copper, but the smith had done truly elegant work. I always meant to go back and have a ring made to match it.”

He cleared his throat.

“Anyway, you brought gave me the knight and a ‘freebie’ two days later.”

Feravel hardly heard the latter half of his words over the sound of her heart beating out of her chest at the realization that she knew the bracelet he was speaking about. It had been on her wrist when she woke up on the beach. She remembered absentmindedly fiddling with it for comfort as she fell asleep the first several nights. It was beautiful but at the beginning of their journey, they hadn’t any supplies. She’d felt conflicted about selling it at the time but hadn't understood why. It was just a copper trinket. The trader in the grove had given her a fair price.

A tear rolled down her cheek. She was hurrying to wipe it away and didn’t notice Enver had come over to her offering a glass of the amber liquid. Feravel accepted it, taking a drink.

“I was wearing it when I woke up. The necromancer at moonrise…she left it on me.”

Quick as a whip, Enver cut off anything else Feravel might’ve said. “You were at moonrise?”

The firelight cast a dark shadow over a good portion of his face affecting a foreboding look. 

“Uh yeah. We just-“

Enver cut her off impatiently. “That’s where Orin took you?”

Feravel’s expression darkened. She hadn’t meant to mention what she’d learned in the mindflayer colony under the tower, but it had just slipped out. Thinking about the mutilation and pain she’d suffered there was too difficult to stomach. Despite not having any memory of it, the necromancer's gushing delight in discussing it had been repulsive. All Feravel could muster in the way of a response was a curt nod. Enver’s previously soft expression twisted into an ugly scowl at her confirmation.

“I had assumed she took your body to the temple of Bhaal…” He trailed off.

A wave of irritation coursed through Feravel and she couldn’t help the word vomit that followed.

“Yes well she in fact was more sadistic even than I possibly gave her credit for. You’d know better than me though.” Feravel snapped. “Orin scrambled my brain, unmade me, and then left me there after she put a tadpole in my head. But so lucky I was to have such a skilled -or especially sadistic, depending on your perspective- necromancer around to ‘piece me back together’. One I surely picked. If I’d known her skills would be put to use on me, I think I would’ve picked a poorer one. The necromancer- she experimen- defiled…”

Feravel swallowed hard. She cast a glance at Enver then and saw that he was stock still. The only indication he was even listening to her as he stared blankly into the flames was the white-knuckled grip on his glass.

Feravel’s tone was more measured when she added. “I killed her.”

Enver’s jaw twitched.

“Good.”

After a beat or two, she was unable to stand the silence and changed the subject.

"I'd forgotten about the bracelet..." Feravel said. "But now I wonder if she had some idea about it and was taunting me. I'm not sure how though..."

She trailed off. In her mind, she could see the pod where she'd been held prisoner. Blood spattered on the inside of the door and the necromancer's tools on the table nearby. There was no reason she shouldn't have taken the bracelet. It wasn't worth much, but Feravel had been stripped of everything else.

"Forgotten?" Enver asked. "You said you woke up with it."

He glanced towards Feravel's wrists only to be dispirited at finding them bare. Guilt at an action she couldn't possibly have understood the consequence of roiled through her. Sighing, Feravel shook her head in frustration. 

"Well, I did, but you have to understand..." She got to her feet and headed towards the table he'd abandoned the bottle on. With her back to him, it was easier to continue. "I didn't remember anything when I first came to. And-" Feravel sighed, squeezing her eyes closed momentarily. "A girl's got to eat."

Silence.

"They left me with nothing. Just the soiled clothes on my back -and in retrospect, those likely weren't even mine! The others...they had their possessions they'd been taken with at least. All I had were visions of carnage. I didn't think I could mean anything to someone then if my mind was so full of violence. The shadow of you didn't come to me for days. And by then I'd already sold-"

Abruptly Feravel was spun around and Enver was there looking down into her hazel eyes with an unreadable stare. Briefly, she thought he might be angry, but when he spoke his manner was measured and controlled.

"I forgive you -if that's what you needed to hear."

Feravel let out a breath she hadn't recognized she was holding. He raised a hand to her hair toying with the pieces of hair that had escaped her braids. It made her acutely aware suddenly that his other hand rested comfortably at her waist.  She couldn't resist closing her eyes as Enver stroked his fingers reverently through her hair pulling it down from its buns. The strands tumbled down around her shoulders in disarray as her hair had already been a mess, but he didn't seem bothered by it. He continued to comb his fingers through her hair absently gently working through any knots he came across. The sensation was so soothing that Feravel couldn't help exhaling a faint sigh of contentment. Once he'd finished one side of her head, Enver rested that hand at the base of her neck allowing her to lean into him as he went to work on the other. 

When he finished, they were both still and quiet. Feravel didn't dare open her eyes and break the spell of serenity his ministrations had cast over her. Though she was still keenly aware of how close he was, so close she could taste the scent of the bourbon on his breath.

Leaning forward wasn't a choice she consciously made, but the feeling of his lips against hers was almost a relief. The moment their lips met, Enver's hand was there cupping her jaw drawing her into a deeper kiss. Any common sense Feravel might've had slipped away as he caressed her with his thumb. She wrapped her arms around his neck automatically pulling him down as much as she could whilst standing up on her tiptoes. Enver made a soft sound of what she was sure to be satisfaction, but she didn't care just then. Their kiss became more fervent from that point with Enver's hand leaving her jaw to roam over her curves reacquainting himself with her. Meanwhile, Feravel's nails dragged over his scalp causing him to groan with pleasure and grip her thigh hard as he slid his hand down it. Everywhere he touched left a sizzling heat behind which had her feeling weak.

He stooped slightly to grab her behind the knees and scoop her up causing her to automatically wrap her legs around his waist. The next thing she knew her back was up against the wall and he was kissing down her neck. Feravel let out a gasp.

This escalated quickly. Too quickly. What was she doing?

"Enver."

He moaned against her neck and slid his hands up the back of her thighs. Feravel couldn't help moaning softly as well in response as he pressed himself against her. But they shouldn't be doing this.

" Enver ."

"Fera."

Her name on his lips was so sinful that she almost gave in. It wasn't fast at all. He knew her, all of her so intimately. His grip on her was firm and steadying. How many times before had they done this? They were meant to be together. It felt so right. She let out a quavering breath. A wave of pleasure washed over her as he rocked his hips against her with more urgency. Bursts of hot breath swept over her chest as his open-mouthed kisses reached her collarbone. His calloused hand slipped under her shirt exposing the skin beneath to cold stone sending a jolt of reality directly to her brain.

"Gortash!" She said sharply.

And Enver stilled immediately then slowly drew back enough so he could see her face. His expression was unreadable.

"We can't..." She trailed off.

Fire ignited in his dark eyes. "And why shouldn't we?"

"For starters? There's Ga-"

"If you mention that wizard to me. I will have him dragged from that tavern and executed right now." Enver said darkly.

And she knew he meant it.

Anger flared in Feravel and she pushed Enver hard in the chest knocking him off balance enough that he had to release her or risk falling. Enver was forced to stagger a step back in his effort to keep his footing. Feravel ended up scrambling to catch herself and avoid falling into a heap on the floor. 

"You'll do no such thing!" She snapped as she righted herself.

Enver glowered at her, but his voice was steady. "And who's to stop me, my dear?"

Feravel clenched her teeth.

"I am the archduke. He's nobody. All of you are. You may think you're here to play the hero, but let me be the one to disabuse you of that notion. You have some powers to resist the brain, but that means nothing in the face of the power I wield in this city. Your little group walks free by my good grace. Because of my affection. For.  You .”

"I don't even know you!" Feravel exclaimed. "It's just fragments! And this feeling... I don’t know but I love Gale."

Enver's fingers balled into a fist and she thought he might be about to hit something, but he didn’t. He drew in several measured breaths before fixing his posture and speaking in a deceptively relaxed tone.

"As you say, but know if he sets foot in this fort, I will kill him."

Feravel furrowed her brow.

Enver continued. "You want to play this little scenario of yours out, fine. I won't hinder you."

"Scenario? What are you even talking about?" She snapped. 

Enver stalked away. Irritation emanated off of him in palpable waves even from across the room. He went to the table and poured a drink. "This distraction with the wizard."

"Distraction?" She repeated numbly.

Enver lifted his eyebrows and raised his drink for a sip, but it never made it to his lips because she’d walked up and slapped it out of his hand. Bourbon splashed against the wall and glass rained down the stone.

"For your information, Gortash, that distraction is my life."

He sighed. "Stop acting like a child, Feravel."

"A child? Stop acting like an arrogant prick then!" She raged.

"This isn't your life. This was a mistake. You should've been here all along, but we can recitfy that now. Join me." He reasoned.

Join me.

It set off a reaction in her mind as the phrase rattled around bouncing off other times he’d said it.  A proposition, job, invitation, request, partnership, demand.  All moments she could only grasp the essence of. Any sense of full understanding was impossible though they were like smoke through a screen.

Feravel pressed her lips into a firm line to prevent a verbal outburst of the frustration she felt.

“I can’t.” She said finally.

Enver tapped his finger on the table.

“You want to.” He asserted.

Deflecting, Feravel said. “We can be allies. But we’re going to destroy the brain.”

Enver balked. “We’ll discuss the matter further once you have Orin’s Netherstone.”

Feravel narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’ll not be giving up the plans I swore to you to carry out -with or without you- as easy as that.”

“I guess it’ll be a tense negotiation then,” Feravel said flippantly.

She was unable to respond though because a sudden pain shot through her temple and a voice entered her mind.

"Fera?" Gale's tone was that of suppressed anxiety. "Where are you? Are you safe?"

Before her, she saw their floor in the Elfsong shrouded in thick darkness. Gale was sitting up squinting at her empty bed through the darkness. She could feel his nerves, his tense need to connect. He wasn't just searching the room for her. Fear flooded through her that he might be seeing what she was and Feravel shut down her side of the connection as firmly as she could.

"Feravel?"

Gale's anxiety spiked at the rebuff and likely the taste of fear he got before her wall came up.

"I'm fine." She responded.

"Feravel?" Enver's voice.

"Shut up."

Hands on her shoulders. Two pairs of brown eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to focus on one conversation at a time.

"Where are you?"

"Trying to find a way into the fort."

Feravel tamped down the guilt she felt at the lie for fear he'd sense it.

"In this weather? I thought you'd been kidnapped!"

She sighed audibly.

"I'm fine Gale. I'll be back. I need to focus."

She almost thought he'd abandoned the connection but then his voice came again.

"Are you safe?"

"Yes."

"If I don't hear from you in an hour, I'm going to wake Astarion."

She cursed.

"I'll be on my way back before then."

And Feravel pulled herself out of the connection.

Blinking a few times as she readjusted to the flicker of the firelight, Feravel found herself seated back in the armchair with Enver kneeling before her. His brow was creased as he surveyed her with a look of mild concern. Heaving a sigh Feravel made to rub her eyes but found her hands captive in his larger ones.

"What was that?" he asked sternly.

Pursing her lips, Feravel planned on telling him to buzz off, but the look in his eye made her pause.

"Tadpal things...if you must know."

"Oh." He sounded strangely disappointed.

"Anyway." She went to pull her hands away, but he didn't let go. "I've got to go."

She tried to stand, but he followed her up still holding her hands.

"Gortash." Feravel said warningly.

"Enver." He corrected.

Warmth flooded her chest. "Enver. Whatever."

He smirked amused. "Fera."

"What?" She hadn't meant to snap, but the way he said her name made her flustered.

Enver puckered his lips as if for a kiss prompting Feravel to scoff. He laughed.

"Don't be so shy my dear."

She rolled her eyes and pulled her hands back sharply. Ignoring the satisfied look on his face, Feravel went to step around him in the direction of the door but he cut her off. Taking her by the waist,

Enver pulled her close and leaned down to her level.

"No need to be sour. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just one to seal our newfound alliance."

Feravel narrowed her eyes gauging his seriousness. Unconsciously, she wet her lips. Before she could make any protestation, Enver swooped down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

"Goodnight."

She huffed and pushed away stalking off towards the door without looking back. Outside the fort, she was grateful for the chilly rain on her flushed cheeks. As she started walking Feravel opened the tadpole connection with Gale sending the quick message that she was safe and on her way back.

------

Notes: This was just supposed to be Feravel learning more about her past, but durgetash things. Next one of these is gonna be pre-tadpole lobotomy and hopefully more durge-y. I've got several ideas, but I'm a tad nervous about my Bhaalspawn portrayal. So wish me luck guys.

[mssr-crumpled-paper]

Peeta and Gale: being a character

Consider this post a continuation of this.

So, as I've said, I had a really hard time relating or believing in Peeta as a character when reading THG. This post aims to point out some of the points why I believe Peeta is more a concept than an actual character (and how that's incredibly unfair for Gale).

On Peeta:

The first, and most obvious point, is that the purpose of Peeta's character is to represent Katniss's conscience, but also to be the "better" choice. Idk about everyone else, but it was always glaringly obvious to me that Peeta would be the endgame for Katniss, one way or another. He was made with the explicit intention of being the perfect partner for Katniss, and a perfect person in general. Notice how he has no substantial flaws of his own, is distinctly devout to Katniss even without knowing anything about her personally; and every mistake that he does make can easily be chocked up to his care for Katniss or trauma from forces he can't control.

We know virtually next to nothing about Peeta as well. Please be kind and name me 1 instance where either of Peeta's brothers' names were mentioned anywhere. Like in the books, not on a wiki page. None, no names for his dad, for his mom, for his family. Barely know any of his friends, except for Delly.

We also do not know his relation to District 12 or the Seam. Now, many people will argue that this would be pointless, but I believe not. Peeta, for him to truly be able to exist as a character in his own right, needs to be considered within the context of his community. And since we don't get ANY, it makes all his talks of "people are starving," and "kids in 12 are struggling" seems unconvincing. Like was he poor? Absolutely. He also ate bread regularly, never had to take out tessarae, never had to hunt or kill, and he was a merchant's kid. Half of the people from the district, who are so closely or at least somewhat related to Katniss, we never see him interacting with ever.

In combination, all of these elements make it so that Peeta is basically devoid of an actual character other than "good guy with bread." Readers are free to project whatever image they see fit onto him, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect husband, the perfect brother. He didn't even mention his family twice after losing them, and I won't assume the pain wasn't horrible for him, but he quite literally said "No one needs me." Of course they need you Peeta, they're your family? He felt almost disconnected from the context surrounding him, making it hard for me to truly buy into his character.

On Gale:

The first thing we know about Gale is that he is Katniss's best friend, the person who knows the real her, the one who she can let loose with. Immediately this is a lot of information to work with. Considering the fact that Katniss up until this point didn't seem too fond of people in general, Gale is set up to be a good guy with a sense of love and respect for his friend. And since we meet him in the forest, one can assume that he's struggling as well, or at least rebellious. It's also very obvious within the first chapter that Gale is a flawed character (re: him snapping at Madge, which he acknowledges as a tactic of the Capitol).

This fact is elaborated on right after, when we are told that Gale is also a fatherless hunter running around in the woods. His family is poor, and he's the sole provider for the family. He has three younger siblings, one of which is just a baby, and a mom. Like Katniss, he's put his name in for tessarae for a long time, and provides for a 5 persons household mostly on his own. We know the name of Rory, of Posy, of Hazelle, his mother who does laundry for work, who later works as a house-keeper for Haymitch. We know that Hazelle placed a lot of trust in both Katniss and Gale. We know that Rory has to eventually put his name in more times to get tessarae.

We know Gale's relation to the District. He's generally popular with kids his age at school. He banters and interacts with the people at the Hob. He hunts for game and provides for the district. He holds a hatred for the Capitol that was larger than himself and Katniss. He understood their methods of systemic oppression. He was generally class conscious about his condition, and his thirst for righteous revenge stems largely from the suffering that people of the district and he himself go through. He saved his district to the best of his ability when it was razed to the ground, and he joined the rebellion effort because he genuinely believed that would liberate his people.

There's a lot more I can say about the wider context of Gale as a character, but on a whole he feels real. Very flawed, very angry, and very real. SC makes no pretense about Gale being someone who cares deeply for his district, for Katniss, and for his family. That's a sense of solidarity that I can cling onto. He exists within that general context that he was put in, and therefore makes more sense.

[bloodsuckingfiends]

Of Stars & Blood - Chapter 6

Summary: Feeding time and unexpected vulnerability.

Pairing: Astarion x Elendil (named Tav)

Warning: angst, blood, fluff

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: I've been sitting on this chapter for a while now because I keep overthinking everything that I write and whether it's enough or not. Anyways, I'm excited about this one!

Series masterlist

AO3

Getting to the Shadowlands was easy enough, it was the getting through that was difficult. Having to fight off shadow- cursed beings at nearly every turn was certainly exhausting, but taking down the drider was Elendil’s breaking point. Her skin broke out into gooseflesh at the thought of the giant arachnid, but the moon lantern was worth the discomfort in the end. 

      With the lantern acquired, it was no difficult task to come across the Last Light inn, where after some exploring, the party settled in for the night, setting up camp within the boundary of the shield. After bathing and getting into soft trousers and a loose corset, Elendil rests on a blanket just outside her tent, sketchbook resting on her lap, and charcoal she had saved from the previous night’s fire, between her fingers. Her eyes fondly look over the rest of camp and her companions she’s come to enjoy the company of. 

Gale sits reading by the fire, engrossed in some ancient tome he had found. Lae’zel sits with a sword held out, carefully sharpening the blade as Karlach tries to make a cheerful conversation with her, and Wyll helps Shadowheart prepare ingredients for health potions. Astarion however, is nowhere to be found.

“That’s quite the drawing, darling.” 

Elendil jumps, nearly smudging her work from the sudden movement. The pale elf stands just behind her, watching over her shoulder as she works.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, my sweet. We’ll have to work on those instincts of yours.”

Elendil playfully rolls her eyes at him. He was admittedly a slightly better rogue than she. But only slightly.

“Mind if I join you?” Astarion asks, and she shakes her head, patting the space beside her. He sits next to her, long lithe legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Elendil’s breath catches in her throat when he leans on an outstretched hand and peers over her shoulder, his cheek just mere inches from her blushing one. He hums low in his throat, eyes scanning over the parchment before them.

“How long have you been an artist?” he queries, and Elendil’s heart sinks. He doesn’t remember.

“Since I was a young girl.” she answers, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

“Well it’s quite exquisite work, you’re truly talented.”

“My father, he was the best portrait artist in Baldur’s Gate.” she continues, hoping to spark a memory for him.

“Oh really? Perhaps I know of him?” Astarion raises a brow in genuine curiosity as Elendil’s brain screams “You do! Of course you do! He only painted you and your parents dozens of times to the point our parents became good friends!” Instead she says, “Algar. Algar Linseed.” 

She takes a breath. And another, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Astarion takes a moment to think.

“That sounds familiar, but I’m not sure.” he finally says. Elendil smiles, the familiarity being enough for her. She continues sketching the view before them, shading the folds of the tunic Gale wears.

“Good thing it’s charcoal you’re using. It hides the horrendous shade of purple he’s wearing.

Elendil chuckles and gazes up at Astarion, confirming the look of distaste she was so sure she would find gracing his features.

“It is a very… bright shade, isn’t it…” she muses of the wizard’s preferred color, then notices Karlach chowing down on some dried meat she had pulled from her pack.

“St- Astarion?”

“Hm?”

Elendil looks over at him again, his eyes still locked on the fire.

“When was the last time you ate?”

The way he stiffens at her question and almost immediately relaxes, doesn’t go amiss to Elendil.

“Oh darling, I’m fine, no need to worry about me.” he waves a flippant hand. That wasn’t going to work on her though.

“You haven’t asked to feed from me in days, and it’s not like there’s much in terms of tangible wildlife for you to drink from around here.”

“Really Elendil, I’m fi-” “I want to help you.” she cuts off his attempt to brush the conversation under the rug.

“It’s been 3 days.” Astarion finally admits, and chances a quick glance at Elendil before adding, “I’ve gone longer. I’m fine. Truly.”

Her heart breaks at his admission. As long as she was around, he wouldn’t ever have to go hungry again.

“That’s far too long. Come here.” she says standing from her seated position and holding out a hand for him to take. He obliges, and follows her lead into her tent. Astarion watches as she takes a moment to straighten things up. His gaze wanders from the candles she’s lighting, to the various things that Elendil has decorated her tent with. Her bedroll was draped with blankets and pillows of different colors. Books sit in small stacks next to the head end, and drawings are pinned to the walls of the tent. A few depict their fellow companions in varying positions and points in their journey thus far. Astarion steps forward, peering at the rest of the drawings; drawings of him. Elendil comes up behind him, glancing over his shoulder this time.

“Sorry, I know there’s a lot.” She starts to explain.

“Who is it, if I may ask?” Astarion speaks softly, admiring her precise lines.

Elendil pauses, confusion bringing her brows together. Looking over at him, she sees that he’s serious. Not a hint of playfulness on his face.

“Star, it’s you.” She doesn’t even bother correcting her use of his old nickname.

“Oh.” Is all he says for a moment, taking a deep breath he no longer needs. “I haven’t seen myself in 200 years.” 

It suddenly all makes sense for her. Of course he hasn’t seen what he looks like. His reflection no longer exists due to his vampirism. The last time Astarion truly saw himself was also the last time she had seen him. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have taken them do-“

“Thank you.” He speaks almost reverently, “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

Elendil’s  fingers reach out for his, interlacing them and giving his hand a squeeze. He looks down at her, and gives her a small smile before clearing his throat.

“Well, darling, I don’t suppose that’s what you brought me in here for, is it?” 

“I thought I’d offer for you to feed, that is, if you would like to.” She shifts her feet nervously, not wanting him to feel forced in any way. And he doesn’t. In fact he internally revels at the idea that she gives him a choice in things. Something he’s long forgone until recently.

“Yes, I would like to.” His words come out tentatively, though he tries to remind himself that he is safe here, that Elendil only means well, and that truth is reflected in the smile she gives him in response. She leads him over to her bedroll, sitting down on the plush blankets. He hesitates a moment, then sits across from her.

“How do you want me?” Her voice breaks him from his thoughts and redirects him to think of the previous times he had been asked that question. Ice runs along his spine, and he almost moves to leave but Elendil grabs his hand again.

“I’m sorry. I meant to ask what would be easiest and most comfortable for you?” 

“You can lie down.” he finally decides.

She begins to lay back, crossing her hands over her stomach, and patiently waits for Astarion. She’s more than willing to take as much time as he needs to feel comfortable and safe. As he moves to kneel over her, he feels a sense of ease wash over him at the content look on Elendil’s face. Her hazel eyes are briefly closed, and when she opens them, she looks into his. Astarion feels his undead heart stutter, and then leans forward, hand pressing into the pillow beside her head. 

As she gazed upon him in his most predatory form, he felt almost… self-conscious. Of course he’s fed on her while she was in a conscious state, able to observe his every move, but something about this time felt different somehow. 

 His nose lightly brushes against Elendil’s pulse point, cold lips pressing a delicate kiss to the warm skin of her neck. There’s a sudden hitch to her breath at the touch of his lips, and Astarion almost hesitates if not for her hand reaching up to hold one of his own. His fangs puncture the delicate skin of her throat, and the first drops of Elendil’s lifeblood deep across his tongue. Her hand squeezes his for just a moment at the initial pain of his canines piercing her vein, before relaxing in his hold. 

All of his senses are overcome by her.

The more he drinks, the more he can feel her running through his circulatory system. The taste of her so good, that his own brain becomes foggy, and his body moves of its own accord, his arms looping beneath her to hold her to his chest. A whimper slips past Elendil’s lips as she clings to him. Completely engulfed in her, Astarion misses the way that her heartbeat slows beneath her rib cage, her breaths becoming uneven. He pulls away when he feels hee fingers weakly tapping on his shoulder, before hee hand falls limp at her side. He brushes a hand across his mouth, smearing deep crimson over his porcelain skin.

“Shit.” he curses when his eyes focus on the elf in his arms. Her eyes are closed, skin no longer flushed, but instead nearly mirroring his own pallor. Her breaths are barely perceptible to even his heightened senses. Panic floods his system and the blood now running through his veins runs cold. He gently lays her down, scrambling around her tent to find health potions, anything that will aid him. 

He eventually finds a few bottles stashed away in her pack. He gently pulls her to lie in his lap, and tilts her head back before uncorking a bottle. Slowly, he pours the liquid into her mouth, making sure she doesn’t choke as it makes its way down. Setting the empty bottle down beside him once the potion is successfully dispensed, he holds her and waits for the potion to take effect. Astarion observes her features and the rise and fall of her chest, his nimble fingers coming up to rest on the slow pulse at the side of her throat. Time seems to crawl, and then the thump beneath his fingertips begins to become a steady beating, and lashes flutter against flushing cheeks. If he still needed to breathe, he would have released a breath of relief at the sight of Elendil finally regaining consciousness. When her eyes met his, a nearly missable smile graced her lips. 

“I’m sorry.” The apology makes its way past his lips without a second thought, before she could even comprehend what exactly it was that he was apologizing for.

“For what?” her brows knit together in confusion, that is almost instantly matched by Astarion.

“For going too far, losing control.” his eyes glance around the room wildly, as if searching for the sense he feels Elendil has lost. She looks back at him with kind eyes full of understanding he doesn’t feel that he deserves.

“But you didn’t lose control.” is all that she says, and Astarion can’t help but let out a haughty snort at the audacity of such a statement.

“I lost enough control that now you don’t have nearly enough blood flowing to that pretty little head of yours, and clearly can no longer think straight.” He taps a finger to her forehead for emphasis and she frowns.

“I’m perfectly clear-headed, and that’s because you have enough control to have stopped. You controlled yourself and didn’t let anything happen to me.”

“You lost consciousness.” Astarion is all too quick to point out.

“I also lose consciousness while fighting when I lose too much blood.” Elendil counters. “I don’t blame you, I’m not mad. I’m okay.” she says, emphasizing that last word. 

He replays it in his head. She’s okay. She’s alive and okay, and here. 

Astarion had gone through so much loss over the years, that he couldn’t bear the thought of another weighing down on his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what to call it, what was happening between the two of them, but he found himself enjoying it. It felt frivolous and fragile, and good.

He feels his eyes begin to well up, overcome with an emotion he’s not sure what to label, and he looks away so as she doesn’t catch the beginnings of his tears.

“Well, thank you. For taking care of me.” she says, fingers fiddling with the frayed edges of a blanket. 

“Really, it was no trouble. I should be thanking you, for letting me feed on you tonight.” Astarion looks away from her fidgeting, “I should probably head back to my tent for the night.” He begins to stand up before Elendil catches his wrist in her grip.

“Stay.” she says it so quietly, he barely catches it, “Please.” An unexpected moment of vulnerability, and she almost takes back what she asked of him, until Astarion’s voice cuts through her racing thoughts, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Of course, darling.” 

Elendil returns his smile, and fluffs the pillows on her bedroll, making the space more comfortable for the two of them. Astarion kicks off his shoes, and lies down beside her, crossing his arms over his abdomen. Elendil shakes out a blanket draping it over the two of them. She lays on her side and whispers, “Good night, Star.” before they both drift off into the most peaceful sleep they both have had in weeks.

[astarionfreak]

For the smut game

1 and/or 13 with A.A. x Gale please?

Oh, fuck. Great idea! Yes. 🧛🧙

1. "I need you inside me."

13. "Please, please let me come."

!! Warning: This deals with chronic pain (Gale still has the orb). Ascended Astarion appears soft on the surface, but there is some sketchy shit going on behind the scenes tbh.

Snippet for the smut ask game. | Previous answers here.

There was no denying that the ascension changed him. Gale sensed the difference immediately. Astarion seemed sharper, leaner, hungrier.

There was also no denying that Gale found him very attractive. Before the power, but even moreso now.

Astarion walked in the sun without fear. The appetites of man returned to him. He ate food in addition to blood -- and although he often chastised Gale for cooking, "There's no need for you to ever lift a finger again, my love." -- Gale found pleasure in the small act of service.

Gale busied himself in the kitchen, putting together one of his favorite meals, when pain got the better of him. He stumbled back from the stove and gestured for one of the many servants to come take over. Wordlessly he retreated to his chambers.

As luck would have it, the aching void that gnawed away within him had remained relatively stable. However -- to put it simply -- it hurt. Some days were worse than others. Today was one of the more difficult ones.

Gale only intended to stay in the Crimson Palace for a tenday, two at most. Just until he located the Netherstones. Then he would return to Waterdeep, where he planned reforging the crown. For himself. Obtaining his own power.

He promised to make a place in the Heavens to share with Astarion. Together, they would be Gods. Better than the ones who had turned their backs on them.

Better than Mystra. Stronger.

Unfortunately, despite numerous attempts, they had been unable to locate the stones. 

Meaning the orb remained. An ever growing threat and -- quite literally -- a painful reminder of his shortcomings. Each day it got worse. The fetid thing was hungry again.

And while Astarion could not hide his displeasure when Gale consumed magical artifacts -- he did continue to provide them when necessary. For that, Gale was extremely grateful.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. Astarion had power in abundance while the cursed magic that lived within Gale slowly robbed him of everything.

Gale stumbled into their bedroom, stripped himself of his robes, and lay, clad only in underwear, between soft, silk sheets in their bed. That is where Astarion found him hours later. Curled up into himself, in the quiet, dark room.

Astarion slipped between the sheets. He pressed his firm chest against the other man’s back, one arm snaking over Gale’s body to pull him close. Astarion pressed a ring against Gale’s chest. “I stole this from a patriar today. The absolute fool had the gall to demand I bow. Can you imagine? Me? Bowing to anyone? At least he was considerate enough to be wearing this ring when I cut off his fingers.”

Gale held his breath as he let the magic flow through him, feeding the angry pit. Just enough to settle the storm inside. It wouldn’t be long before it demanded more though.

More. More More. Always hungry. Never sated.

“His mistake is my gain, I suppose,” Gale mumbled. It took him a moment to settle back into his body, the pain subsiding enough to allow him to breathe through the fog. “Thank you for this.”

Astarion’s hands wandered down Gale’s body, beneath the hem of his underwear, fingertips dragging across his skin as he approached his cock. “Well, I simply can’t have you wasting away in bed all day now, can I? It’s unbecoming.”

Gale sighed softly and pressed closer. “I am beginning to suspect something is wrong with me beyond my . . . affliction.”

Astarion bit gently at Gale’s earlobe. “There is one thing we’ve yet to try. I’m positive I could get past the taste if you would just allow me —”

“No, Astarion.” Gale rolled onto his back and met Astarion’s eyes. “We have truly no idea how the orb would react to me becoming a vampire — a spawn, no less. I will forge my own path to immortality.”

“Yes, the Netherstones. You have all but dredged the Chionthar and yet — nothing. Aren’t you a bit curious as to why?”

“Curious? What are you saying?” Gale stiffened as Astarion’s fingers curled around his cock. His lips parted and he gasped as Astarion’s deft hand pumped once, twice over his length. “Is there something you aren’t telling me, Astarion?”

Astarion propped himself up on an elbow, staring down at Gale with a smirk. “I have my . . . theories. Perhaps I’ll divulge them after we’ve indulged in each other.”

Gale tried to study Astarion’s face, searched for the man behind the mask — but it was hard to think when Astarion’s hand was on his cock.

It became even more difficult to think when Astarion pressed his lips against Gale’s. Despite the orb’s increasing instability, he still had this. No amount of excitement seemed to trigger an explosion.

There was little hesitation between them, much unlike the first time they kissed. Now, when they were together, it was with total abandon. As though nothing else mattered. Perhaps that was true.

Gale found himself gasping into Astarion’s mouth when he shifted to straddle him. Then he kissed, down Gale’s jaw, his chest, his stomach. Lower, and lower, tugging his underwear down past his thighs to expose him completely.

Astarion’s eyes were dark with lust. “One rule, darling,” he purred. “The same rule as always. Do you remember?”

Gale curled his fingers in the sheets, prepared to hold himself steady. “I shall not come without permission.”

Astarion smiled, breath warm against Gale’s erect cock. “That’s my good boy.”

Astarion always made unraveling Gale seem so effortless. In this bed, the very words he relied on often failed him. Astarion always reduced him to a whimpering, submissive thing. Tonight was no exception.

Even when the head of Gale’s cock was bumping up against the back of Astarion’s throat, Gale knew he was not the one with control. He would not break their rule. Even if the threat of punishment did seem alluring, at times.

When the sweat dripped down the back of his neck, when his breathing was labored, and when the sheets had become a tangled mess from his squirming, that’s when Gale finally broke. That’s when he began to beg.

“Please, please let me come, Astarion,” he choked out between moans.

Astarion dragged his tongue across the head of Gale’s cock, then looked up at him with a devious grin.

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won’t,” Astarion teased. “I could be convinced if you tell me what else you need.”

Gale licked his lips, staring down at the flawless man before him. He knew what Astarion wanted to hear. He wanted it too. “I need you inside me,” he whispered.

“Then you’ll get everything you need, my love,” Astarion purred.

[evercelle]

Hi, Gods, can I just please say how much I love your Gales of Song animatic? I really loved the transition from wisp to Barbatos, the way you draw braids (Clever! I've always struggled with them, but your method is so helpful!), the use of colours and greyscale, and your *wings*, gosh I feel it is so rare to see well drawn wings, especially ones that don't feel flat! Wings are one of my favourite things to draw, and yours are such a treat! I won't lie, I cried quite a bit the first time I saw it, and I still frequently return to it months after. I truly thank you for creating it 💚

man... making that animatic truly felt like I had been possessed by the spirit of Loving Venti Barbatos Genshinimpact (': it ate up all my spare time for one week to learn how to use AE and do all the drawings, and there's parts i wish i timed better now, but I'm really happy you still rewatch and enjoy, every so often...!

venti's deep care for mondstadt, and the way he cherishes the ideal of freedom the bard taught him, are both inextricably tied to the love and loneliness that defines his existence... it's that part of his character story that's really moving. glad it moved you, too. tysm for your kind words!!

[spicedrobot]

GIVE ME THE BLOODWEAVE!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🥵🥵🥵🍆🍆🍆💦💦💦

yessir!! I tried to keep this Act 1-centric since you're not that far in the game. <3333

-

Gale stirred the porridge bubbling over a low fire. He had taken on the mantle of camp cook, a position that hadn’t been delegated to him, but one he performed regardless. Most of his fellows hadn’t the skill for it, and he was always awake well before the rest. 

Dawn touched the horizon. The air still had a bite to it, the grass cold and dewed at Gale’s feet. He huddled closer to the fire and added a few spoonfuls of pulped, fresh raspberries. As he mixed, a sweet, subtly tart aroma rose, melding with the warmth of cinnamon and cloves. He smiled. Cooking was a pleasant distraction, and he was good at it, not just by his own estimation, but by those of his companions.

Well, most of them, anyway. The only one who hadn’t yet partaken was the mysterious Astarion. The man often stayed in his tent past breakfast, and he always had one excuse or another not to eat a single bite when he did grace his peers with his presence. 

It had become something of a game for Gale, trying to find something the man would eat. The porridge was a bit of a change in tactics. It was a humble dish, to be sure, but hearty, easy on the stomach, and delicious, too. Each portion would be topped with crushed, roasted almonds and fresh honey that Tav had harvested the day before.

Your move, my pale friend, Gale thought, as he called his companions to eat. 

-

The days passed. Gale cooked and schemed, but Astarion never ate. 

Then they found the boar. 

That night, as Gale lay awake, sleepless as always, he heard something outside his tent. Familiar voices: Tav and Astarion, one’s gasp, another’s worried swear. 

He wasn’t sure if the encounter was friendly, but as Gale reached the flaps of his tent, he froze, awestruck by what he saw. In the fire’s light, Astarion’s sharp teeth, his crimson eyes, his hunger, revealed him for what he truly was. Obvious, so obvious, in retrospect. Gale felt fearful and foolish—miffed too, truth be told. Vampires were known for their killing and cruelty. How could they trust him after he attempted to hide his true nature? 

But anger fled with a sudden thought and a cold smile. Wasn’t Gale doing the same? Though if the sleeplessness, the hunger, had anything to say about it, his own predicament would be revealed sooner than than later.

His companions seemed to have come to an understanding, so Gale laid back down and gave them privacy. He tossed and turned, longing for sleep to come. His only comfort was this: at least he now knew why Astarion had been so unwilling to eat the meals he prepared.

-

Gale was no stranger to hunger. He was a man of robust appetites, a gourmand, an avid reader, a lover of magic, of power. In the end, it was the latter that had gotten him into this mess. Saddled with a hunger stranger than one for blood, a hunger that could no longer be satisfied with the threads of weave that had used to feel like feasts. 

Sleep was more impossible than before. And a certain calm despair rose in its place. Listening to the sounds of the night, hour after hour, knowing respite was out of reach. Especially when his companions snored. Or when they met together in the dark. It should’ve been the quiet sighs and moans that drew his attention. But mostly, he perked at the quiet words of Tav and Astarion as they met for the vampire’s nightly sup. Astarion made it a performance as he did anything else, flirting and posturing, the act akin to a mealtime prayer. Tav was a quiet, contemplative man by nature, but Astarion sometimes managed a laugh from him. It was easy to picture Tav’s scarred smile, and the flash of Astarion’s eyes, the sharpness of teeth as they sunk into dusky, freckled skin.

What wasn’t easy to imagine was the bite itself. What did it feel like? It must hurt, though Tav never made a sound. The bloodletting was an exchange of power, an extension of trust, though they had only traveled together for a few weeks. Tav had bouts of foolhardiness, but he wasn’t stupid.

Perhaps, Astarion could be trusted. Gale had already made it clear he didn’t want to be on the menu, so to speak, but… the thought lingered. Curiosity was its own kind of hunger. 

Try as he might to ignore it, it did not let him go.

-

“You look ill, friend,” Gale said. He had pulled Tav to the side after breakfast, not wanting to alarm their more… suspicious companions that might take any sign of sickness as the beginnings of transformation.

“I’m okay,” Tav replied. He smiled, but it was strained. It was a look Gale knew well.

“What you’re doing for Astarion is admirable, really. But it is taking its toll on you.” 

Tav’s eyes widened, then he looked away. He watched his raven companion clean its feathers in the morning light. “You’re right, though there’s nothing to be done about it. I won’t force him to feed on animals. Astarion is stronger now. Happier.”

It wasn’t selflessness that made up Gale’s mind. He wished it was, wished that he could be more like Tav. Iron-willed… kind-hearted. It was Gale’s nature, to chase knowledge, learning well but never learning his damn lesson. 

“If you would let the burden be shared, I would be more than happy to offer my aid.”

-

Astarion seemed almost mystified at the prospect. Then that pretty smile, that cutting wit smoothed over his surprise. “I would be delighted to have a taste of you, darling.”

Gale rubbed his hand over his face. “Do you have to say it like that?” 

Astarion’s grin widened, and his fangs gleamed. “Yes.”

-

The evening’s meal had long since been stored away. Gale had retired to his tent, as agreed. He waited as his heart pound away in his chest, his ears perked for any wayward sound of approach. 

Ah, and there it was. The rustle of fabric, the chill of night air slipping in with his guest. Gale sat up quickly, wincing as Astarion gestured him to ease.

“Ssh, there’s no need to be nervous. Just lie back. Get comfortable. It’ll be over quickly.”

“How can I not be nervous? A vampire is going to put his very sharp and deadly teeth to an extremely vulnerable place on my person.” 

Astarion knelt down next to him. The flickering glow of candlelight played on his face, cutting his cheekbones into ravines. His eyes were as bright as embers. “Oh, I’ll be doing more with my teeth than just getting close.”

Gale clicked his tongue and angled his face away. After a moment, he tucked his hair behind his ear. Fully clothed and within the safety of his own tent, he felt horribly exposed. But he was getting what he wanted. An answer. Knowledge. Or a gruesome death! Which, on reflection, would solve the other problems he’d been dealing with. 

Astarion’s breath was hot against his neck. His hair was soft, ticklish. Gale felt his skin raise, blood and thoughts racing.

It hurt, just like he thought it would. Twin punctures that coalesced into a heavy ache that throbbed to the beat of his fearful heart. He fisted his fingers into Astarion’s hair, just for something to focus on, anything—until the pain lessened—until it changed. There was heat, prickling like the beginnings of sweat, a sensation, primordial but so unlike the weave. 

He groaned and immediately choked on the sound, embarrassed. Astarion’s mouth moved, not just to draw more blood, but to smile as he did so. It was enough to mortify, to keep logic centered in Gale’s mind, even as the sensation of the feeding continued to shift and grow. The heat became dizziness, exhaustion, bone deep and whole like a moonless night.

And, just as Gale began to pull at him, to fight him off, Astarion let go. The sound was obscene, a wet sucking sound as his lips parted from his neck, as if his very body had been loathe to give up its meal. 

Astarion tossed his head back, languorous upon his knees as he licked the blood from his lips. Gale watched, stunned.

“My dear,” Astarion breathed. Then he smiled his viper’s smile. “You taste awful.”

“Well, I did warn you!” Gale sputtered. He gingerly touched the bite, shivered, turned away. “I suppose a bit of thanks is too much to ask?”

“Not at all. Thank you.” Gale could picture the theatrical bow Astarion was surely doing as he spoke. “Or were you expecting a more… physical display of appreciation?”

“I would appreciate some peace and quiet now,” Gale said quickly, tugging his bedroll over him and closing his eyes.

Astarion’s chuckle rose the hairs on the back of Gale’s neck. “Of course, darling. See you in the morning.”

The rustling of the tent flaps, the brush of night air. All at once, Gale was alone. He released a shaky breath, tugged his blanket tighter. His hand stayed on the bite. He traced it with his fingers as he lie there, willing his heart to calm, his breath to even.

He felt drunk. He felt scraped clean.

Gale woke to the smell of roasting meat. He jerked to full alertness, wincing as his head and neck throbbed. He rubbed his sleeve over his cheek and realized he’d been sleeping in a pile of his own drool. 

Light and voices filtered in from the outside. Someone laughed. Tav’s raven cawed. 

It was morning. Gale had overslept… he had overslept! He still felt terrible, but it was less terrible than he had been. As he changed, he inspected the bite mark in his small hand mirror. It was just as neat as Tav’s was, though the skin surrounding was starker, more bruised. He pressed his fingers to the bite once more, then he pulled high his shirt collar and left the tent.

-

There was a strange sort of coziness to it. If you ignored all the potentially life-threatening ways things could go wrong—and surely would, given enough time. Gale revealed his secret. It went better than expected. Tav fed Gale artifacts, and they in turn, fed Astarion.

The vampire seemed enhanced by his new food sources, not just in battle, but in visage. His skin glowed, glass-like, his eyes shone like rubies. His nails were lacquered and as sharp as knives. His body had filled out, muscles pronounced, the harsh lines of his face easing. His smiles, however, were softer.

Gale should enjoy it, shouldn’t he? Helping just because he could. Even simple appreciation of how the… feedings were good for him too, helped him sleep. But that didn’t feel like the whole picture. He was missing something. 

And that something gnawed.

-

Astarion recounted a sultry story over the campfire one night. Tav laughed unexpectedly, and how Astarion did preen at the sound, just like Tav’s raven.

And that something gnawed.

-

Gale was not jealous. He did not love Tav nor Astarion. He barely knew them, and his romantic proclivities were… complicated, to say the least. He knew what love felt like, and it wasn’t this.

But still that something gnawed.

-

“Oh, darling, back already? And I thought I was supposed to be the hungry one.”

“Be quiet,” Gale said, pushing his way into Astarion’s tent. “Let’s get this over with.”

“But it’s not your night…” Astarion said lightly. Gale’s nape prickled. “Did you forget?”

Gale was hungry, no, ravenous. The artifacts weren’t enough. His sleep had grown thin and troubled. But this was not Astarion’s fault. Gale sighed. “Well, I’m here already, aren’t I?”

“Of course. Why don’t you get comfortable, and we’ll get started.”

Gale laid on Astarion’s bedroll. It smelled like him, a floral, ancient scent alongside the smell of leather and rotting leaves. He pulled his hair away from his neck and closed his eyes.

Astarion was a reassuring weight behind him. A promise of peace, short-lived though it was. When had Gale lost his fear?

He sighed at the depression of teeth. He was tender, being fed from two nights in a row. The extra sensitivity was… nice. He tried not to think about why that was, and then, minutes later, he didn’t have the capacity to care. 

Gale didn’t know when the feeding had stopped. The pressure was gone, but the sweet ache remained, pulsing along with his heart. And the ache wasn’t the only thing that lingered.

They laid, bodies pressed together. Astarion’s breath was warm against his neck. 

This was right about the time when Astarion would start with his barrage of double entendres, not really looking for anything more, Gale realized, but simply to mark the return to normalcy, or whatever served for it on this strange journey. But Astarion was quiet. His breathing was even. Not sleeping, he didn’t need to, but perhaps in stasis.

Gale allowed himself to bask in it, if only for a few minutes. Then he began to get up.

Astarion caught his wrist. Several heartbeats passed in silence. Then,

“It’s late, darling. You’re apt to wake the whole camp if you go trundling out of here in that state.”

“Well, not all of us can be delicately-footed assassins, now can we?” Gale grumbled.

“A special skill, I’m afraid.”

Gale relaxed once more into the bedroll. Astarion released his wrist, but left his hand on top of it. The touch was grounding, like the bite was grounding. 

Like Astarion was grounding.

Gale slept.

[dmkwrites]

cherished

Bloodweave, 625 words, cw none

Just a little musing on why Astarion might tell Gale not to use the crown

Power. You longed for it even as a mortal, in the way those born into privilege often do, as though it were your right to hold the fate of the lesser in the palm of your hand. And so the world seemed to agree with you, your rise through the courts almost a matter of course, until it didn’t, until the Gur reminded you that the only true power resides at the tip of a blade, until your will was crushed mercilessly beneath Cazador’s heel.

For two long centuries, you cowered helpless in the dark, your body not your own, your speech not your own, even your smile not your own. All that you could lay claim to was the endless, gnawing hunger that Cazador would never let you sate, and the burning hatred for him that ate away at your heart. At first you prayed, and when that failed you dreamed, letting your tortured mind float away. The night Cazador carved his infernal script into your skin, you dreamed of flaying him alive and leaving his living corpse to burn in the sun, over and over, until even that fantasy lost all meaning.

Power. That was all you thought of when you met the wizard, chosen of Mystra, archmage of Waterdeep. To have that wrapped around your pinky, you wouldn’t have to fear Cazador, or Gur, or anything. There was a familiar longing in his deep brown eyes, a gnawing emptiness desperate to be filled, a hunger begging to be sated. It would be easy, you thought then, the pattern well worn, the dance you knew off by heart.

And then, as you did two hundred years ago, you stumbled.

It wasn’t the rejection that phased you, though it stung more than you let on. You’d succeeded at more stubborn targets before (don’t think about him don’t remember his name and his sweet shy face not now) and it was just a matter of waiting. He wanted you, after all, you could smell it on him, and he would be all the easier to snare the longer he held himself back. The orb could be managed, you were sure, and if not, well, having a bomb to rival the runepowder tales of old in your back pocket was useful in itself, anyway. And yet, it was the rejection, in a way, the disarming of your usual toolkit, that lead to your downfall. Because eventually, your mask slipped.

It was small, at first. Everyone had grown used to your barbs but you held back with Gale, all honeyed words and light, suggestive touches. But one night, you slipped up, tired, hungry, you made some sarcastic remark you can barely even remember, now. And Gale laughed, and insulted you back, and in spite of yourself, you laughed, too. And suddenly, it wasn’t about the Netheril, or the Absolute, or Mystra, and though even now you cannot admit it, it never truly was. It was about that longing in his eyes that echoed yours, not the vampiric hunger but the emptiness that had eaten away from you before you even knew the name Cazador Szarr. When Gale laughed with you, for a moment, you didn’t feel empty anymore.

Power. That’s what Gale offers you now, your hands clasped tightly in his as he pleads for you to join him. It’s everything you’ve dreamed of, it’s safety, it’s revenge, it’s your right. But as the stars of Elysium dance around you, all you can think of is barbed words around the campfire, of his head resting on your shoulder, the way he smiled when he told you his real name, of wanting to kiss him so badly it ached.

Power. It’s all you ever longed for, until it wasn’t.

[tabitha42]

The Wizard's Apprentice - Chapter 21

Saffron is just a lowly apprentice with barely a successful firebolt to her name. So what chance does she have with the arch mage she's slowly falling in love with?

Gale x Tav, slow burn, eventual smut

Chapter 1 Previous chapter Next chapter

Gale had never been a morning person, and he was especially not a morning person when nursing the world’s worst hangover. 

By the time he finally emerged from his tent the camp was a buzz of activity. The tieflings were helping clear up after the party and Wyll was cooking breakfast at the campfire. 

“Ah, there you are,” Wyll greeted him, taking some cooked meat and putting it on a plate. “Thought you’d never wake up.” 

Gale blearily walked over and sat next to him, rubbing his eyes. Gradually his mind started to piece itself back together as he ate. 

“Where are the others?” he asked, finally realising he couldn’t see any of their other companions around. 

“The ladies decided to go bathe in the spring just down river, which I thought might be a good idea for us, too. Might even help wake you up.” 

Gale nodded slowly. 

“And Astarion?”

“I have no idea. Off doing… Astarion things.” 

Astarion still hadn’t returned from his Astarion things by the time they’d finished breakfast, so they headed to the spring without him. They bought a towel each, a fresh change of clothes as well as a handful of dirty clothes to wash while they were there. They found a spot far from where they knew the girls likely were and got undressed. 

Wyll had been absolutely right - the water certainly did wake him up. 

“Gods, nothing like a shock of cold water to really stimulate one’s senses,” Gale commented with a wince as he stepped into the brisk water. Wyll was already waist deep, much more used to this sort of living than Gale was. 

“Feeling a bit better?” he asked with a chuckle as Gale waded in to join him. 

“Better is… not the word I’d use,” he admitted. “I swear this was warmer last time I bathed.” “It’s that morning air. Crisp and fresh.” 

“Mmm…” Gale murmured, unable to have quite the same enthusiasm for it that Wyll did. Still, he decided to try to focus on the one positive of all this. “You seem to be in better spirits than yesterday.” 

“Ah, yes. Well. I’ll admit, for most of the party, I felt rather… out of place. As much as Karlach was right and the tieflings did accept me, I still didn’t feel myself. When she went to dance I took the opportunity to excuse myself. But I should have known Karlach wouldn’t leave it at that. She came and found me. When I refused to return to the party, she refused to leave me. We spent a long time just talking. About all sorts - our adventures, our childhoods, our hopes for the future. Then we heard Alfira playing her new song. It was distant and muffled, but we could hear it. She knew I love to dance, so she offered to dance with me. Not a full dance, of course, but as much as we could without touching. I’ll admit - it worked. By the end of it I finally found myself smiling. And I daresay, had I been able to touch her, the night might have ended up in more than just a dance.” 

Gale chuckled softly, glad to see Wyll starting to feel like himself again. He could relate. 

“Amazing what having the right person around can do for you, isn’t it?” he mused, taking some soap out of his bag and starting to wash himself. 

“It truly is. I used to curse the name Karlach, now I could sing it from the rooftops. The only thing I curse now is Zariel and what she did to her. That damnable infernal engine… I am honestly amazed at how she keeps so positive all the time. But she is sure Dammon will be able to cure her. And, well, she has made it quite clear what she wants when that time finally comes.” 

Gale chuckled, amused by the smirk on Wyll’s lips. 

“I won’t ask for details,” he joked. 

“Heh, if I’m honest, I’m not sure I’m ready for all she’s got planned. But still… I wish we could do something. A hug, a stolen kiss under the stars… but it will make it all the sweeter when our time finally comes.” 

Gale had to admit, that was a nice way to think about it. He hoped they would all find the cures they needed, and all have their time finally come. 

“Anyway, enough about me,” Wyll decided after a moment. “What about you? Did Saff finally convince you to dance?” 

“Ah… yes, she did. To the same song as you, in fact,” he said, a smile playing on his lips from the memories of the night. “Oh? And how’d it go?” he asked with an excited smirk. He clearly was expecting more than what actually happened between them. 

“Well… we were dancing, and it was lovely, and then… I was a lot more drunk than I thought I was, and fell over.” 

Wyll burst out laughing. 

“Oh gods, Gale. Don’t tell me you let that be the end of it, though? I’m sure she didn’t hold it against you.” 

“You’re right, she didn’t. But…” he trailed off and looked away slightly. Wyll looked at him, at first in curiosity, then in concern when he saw the pained look on Gale’s face.

“Gale? Are you alright?” he asked, growing worried for his friend. Gale had been hesitant to tell anyone just yet… but he knew he could trust Wyll with this. 

“I… haven’t told her this yet. But the truth is… you and I are in much the same boat.” Wyll frowned, deeply confused. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to figure it out. Gale sighed deeply. 

“This,” he said, tapping the circle on his chest. “It isn’t just magic it reacts to. It reacts to me. To… my emotions.” 

Gradually Wyll’s eyes started to widen in realisation. 

“I hadn’t been sure about it at first,” Gale continued. “But I’m sure of it now. Whenever the two of us are close… it flares up. Everyone thought I fell last night because of alcohol. It wasn’t. It was this.” 

There was a moment of quiet as Wyll looked at him sadly, realising how much his condition truly affects him.

“Well well, look at you two. Cockblocked by the universe.” 

The two of them nearly jumped out of their skins as Astarion seemed to appear out of nowhere next to them. 

“A truly tragic tale,” he continued casually. 

“Where did you come from??” Gale gasped, equal parts surprised and annoyed. 

“Oh, I had been getting some food earlier. After how busy last night was I didn’t get a chance to get a proper meal. Then when I got back I heard you two had come down here, so I thought I’d join you.” 

Gale and Wyll glanced at each other, then back at Astarion, who was now looking at them with a smirk on his lips. 

“I had a wonderful night by the way, if anyone’s interested.” 

“Did you?” Wyll asked, curious now. “Who with?” 

“Oh…” Astarion started, looking at them playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Further downstream, the girls were enjoying a much warmer bath, courtesy of Karlach. 

“Ahh, this is the life!” Karlach declared happily, stretching her arms and leaning back against a rock. While the others were busy washing or cleaning their clothes, she was relaxing as if on a spa day. 

“You really enjoy bathing in rivers that much?” Shadowheart asked. She couldn’t say she shared the same love for it. 

“Yes! Never got the chance in the Hells. The rivers there were all boiling and stank of sulphur. But this… cool, clean water… I’d forgotten how good it felt!” 

Saff smiled to herself. It was so nice to see Karlach enjoying herself so much. Shadowheart shrugged slightly and went back to what she was doing, til she spoke again shortly later. 

“So, did you find Wyll last night after you went off looking for him?” 

“Yes! He didn’t want to come back to the party, but we still had a good time together,” she said with a big smile, reminiscing. Shadowheart narrowed her eyes slightly as she looked at Karlach. 

“Had anyone else said that I would assume you’d slept together, but with you I know that can’t be the case…” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me! I can’t wait til I can get this thing fixed. Then I have so many plans.” 

Now Shadowheart’s interest was really piqued. 

“Oh? Do we get to hear them?” she asked curiously, but Karlach only laughed. 

“No, those are for Wyll’s ears only. I’ll only tell you the first one - I want to share a dance with him.” 

Shadowheart looked marginally disappointed, while Saff looked more interested now.

“That’s so romantic,” she said softly, finding it sweet that that was one of the first things Karlach wanted to do. 

“Well, I hope he’s a better dancer than a certain other male companion of ours,” Shadowheart teased. Karlach lifted her head now and looked curiously at Saff, who looked slightly annoyed at Shadowheart. 

“Gale’s a perfectly good dancer!” she said defensively. 

“He fell over.” 

“He... was drunk,” she tried to argue in Gale’s defence, though didn’t do very well. Karlach started laughing, and finally even Lae’zel, who had previously been ignoring the conversation, joined in. 

“He fell over??” she asked, looking a bit disgusted. “Ch’k, any man who fell over while trying to court me would quickly learn of his failure.” 

“He wasn’t-... it wasn’t like that…” Saff stuttered, though all three of them gave her a disbelieving look. 

“Wasn’t it?” Shadowheart challenged. Saff didn’t answer, and just looked down to focus on the clothes she was washing. “You know, I’m surprised it’s taken you two this long. You’re both clearly interested in each other. So act on it.” 

Saff sighed, realising there was no point trying to pretend there wasn’t anything between them anymore.

“We are acting on it,” she insisted, trying to hide the slight blush on her cheeks. Shadowheart raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Half a dance is acting on it?” She said, a criticism more than a question. “Yes! It’s only been a few days!” Saff said defensively. “Plenty of time,” Lae’zel declared. Saff was beginning to feel a bit ganged up on. 

“Well, I want to take things slow, ok?” she said, hoping that would be explanation enough.

“Why?” Lae’zel asked. Saff might have got annoyed, but it didn’t sound like a tease like it would have done from Shadowheart - it was a genuine question.

“Well… sometimes if you take things too fast, that can ruin the relationship. I don’t want that.” 

“Why would it ruin the relationship?” she pressed. Her genuinely questioning tone reminded the others just how alien she really was to their world. 

“Because… you might end up in a relationship with someone you don’t really know yet. And they could turn out to not be the person you thought they were.” 

“Not the person you thought they were? Like someone in disguise?”

“No- no…” Saff said quickly, to the amusement of Shadowheart and Karlach. “I don’t mean literally, I mean, you might have this idea of them in your mind, of what they’re like. But then the more you get to know them, you realise they’re not like that at all, and that you’ve not actually fallen for them, but you’ve fallen for this idea you had of them that isn’t actually real.”

Lae’zel nodded slowly, beginning to understand. 

“Do you fear this is the case with Gale?” 

“Well, no… but I want to be sure,” she explained. It looked like Lae’zel was finally getting it, until she spoke again. 

“I still don’t see why this has to delay sex.” 

Saff despaired and buried her head in her hands. The other two laughed and Karlach finally sat up to give her input. 

“Some people don’t like having sex with someone unless they love them,” she said simply. Lae’zel looked almost disgusted by the suggestion.

“How ridiculous. You would miss out on so much of one of life’s greatest pleasures.” 

“I never thought I’d say this, but I agree with Lae’zel,” Shadowheart said, to Lae’zel’s surprise. “Short-term amusements are much better.” 

“Well, you guys can stick with your short-term amusements, I know what I want,” Saff said firmly. 

“Good for you, Saff,” Karlach said proudly. “You take as much time as you need, and don’t let these two tell you otherwise,” she said, gesturing to Lae’zel and Shadowheart. 

Lae’zel rolled her eyes. 

“How can you be sure you’re not wasting your time? You do not even know if he’s interested if you don’t make your desires clear,” she questioned. 

“Well… that’s all part of taking your time about it, to be sure you know they feel the same way. But I’m sure he’s interested. There’s been lots of times when we’ve been really close, way closer than just friends would.” 

“And those times have never led to anything?” 

“No. Usually either we get interrupted, or… he changes the subject or something, cause like I said, we’re taking it slow.” 

Lae’zel gave her a look. 

“How do you know he’s not changing the subject because he’s not interested?” she challenged. 

“Wha- I… I’m sure that’s not the case,” Saff said, though sounding rather more uncertain than before. It never took much to sow the seed of doubt in her mind. 

“You should strike while the iron is hot,” Lae’zel insisted. “Make sure he knows your desires, before he loses interest!” 

“I don’t think he’s going to lose interest,” Karlach started, “but I guess there’s no harm in making sure he knows how you feel.” 

“Karlach’s right. Plus, a small gesture to keep him on his toes can always be fun,” Shadowheart agreed. 

“You think? Like… what?” Saff asked, a bit unsure what she could do. 

“Pin him down and ravish him until he is so overcome by arousal he cannot refuse you your desires!” Lae’zel declared.

The others went silent, looking at her in shock. 

“...I was going to suggest a picnic,” Karlach said after a long moment. “But… I suppose that works, too.” 

“I’ll bear the picnic idea in mind,” Saff decided.

[jomiddlemarch]

A damned saint, an honourable villain!

John Blackthorne discovered, to more than a little dismay, that he was a knave.

There might have been excuses made for his infidelity to Mary, whom he’d left in London with ill-concealed haste, her belly swollen with his babe, Tudor clutching his mother’s skirts with his free hand, his thumb plugged in his mouth. Mary’s mother did not bother to hide her relief at his departure, as she’d never taken to him, and feared he would bring some foreign illness back from his travels along with his full purse, but Mary had had tears in her green eyes and he’d made any number of promises about his return that neither of them believed for a moment. 

Neither of them believed he’d keep solely unto her over the next year or however long it took for him to come back, but both of them had only considered he’d dally with doxies, satisfying his appetites without truly breaking the vows he’d uttered.

It was unclear to him what the Japans considered he owed to Fuji-sama. She was his consort, given to him by his Lord, and she was clearly a lady of high status and regard, for all that her previous husband and son had been struck down for her husband’s impetuous outcry. She had the running of his household, including an extensive staff, and Mariko had explained she could not sleep until he did, but he had not been bound to her in Christian marriage. He might be a knave but he was not a bigamist.

Still, he felt he must be loyal to her, though she was not obligated to share his bed and showed no desire for his attentions. It troubled him that she was his and there was no way for him to bring her joy. He had not mistaken her expression when he had Mariko give Fuji his weapons, her confusion unleavened by delight or wonder. She’d been mildly pleased that he had offered her something of value to him, but she did not want him, nor his house. A child of his would be a burden to her, a grave insult to the memory of her firstborn. Within himself, he was compelled to find some way to care for her that she would accept and yet he failed in this endeavor daily.

Hourly.

Because he was a knave.

Because he loved Mariko.

She was widowed when he permitted himself to admit his affection, his attraction immediate, the bloom of a flower, but his fondness of a deeper, more tenacious nature, the oak tree rooted, its strength equal to gales. He had never loved a woman as he did her, for her mind and soul as well as her heart and body, for her rejoinder and her demurral, her serenity, her pride. He longed for her when he ate his morning meal and when he went out among the people, all strangers. He dreamt of her in the night, such teasing, tormenting visions of her joy found in his embrace, her ecstasy brought by his touch, his praise and devotion. 

She would not consider him because he was English before he was hatamoto.

She would not consider him because though Papist, she was Christian, and she knew of his living wife, honorably bound to him.

She would not consider him because he was temptation and betrayal, a burden she would bear rather than a boon. He had made it clear he wanted his ship and his men, he wanted to leave and never return, and he had said it again and again because he could not say he wanted to stay with her, when there was no place for them, no time in a time of war and chaos. He wanted her alone with him on a ship he would sail into the dawn, sails full, a cabin snug against any storm.

He wanted to be with her in some endless afternoon of conversation and love-making, the sea carrying them away from any obligation. He wanted to see her in the moonlight and to have her explain the Japans science of the stars.

He wanted the impossible, when he had been practical, driven, in service of his Queen and country. He’d abandoned Mary with the excuse he was a servant of the court and he made no effort to tend Fuji-sama beyond the most basic gestures, the ones he performed for Toranaga and for Mariko’s eyes. 

He was a knave and worse, a pilot who had no idea how to find his way. He wished for Mariko’s faith, which told her her Lord would guide her, or for her upbringing, which told her she must find her purpose in her master’s. John’s was an independent soul, given to argument, and he found that left him adrift.

Even if his Portuguese were better or she spoke his tongue, he would not have known how to convey it to Mariko, though he wished, most ardently, for her understanding.

He walked around the house he’d been given and thought of Mary in London, Fuji in the next room. He lay down and wished to discover some new truth, to put his hand to the rudder of a great ship and crest through the narrows to the open ocean.

He was a knave. He lay his head on his arm and closed his eyes.

At then, Fuji-sama might sleep. Mary might be right when she told Tudor that papa was abed and so must he be. Mariko might be his, in this smallest way, her name on his lips, ready to be spoken.

[masterangst]

Don't Worry, I Got You

Summary: Astarion is taken over by an unfamiliar sickness, which leads him to a doctor who wants to see him get better. So they say.

Warnings: Mentions of Astarion's past, blood, hurt/comfort, angst

Word count: 3.3K

Notes: There is my Tav at the end and mentioned. This is also for Whumptobers thermometer/ delerium / "They dont care about you" prompt. And set after the events of the game and Astarion is not ascended.

For someone who hasn't written a lot since till recently. I feel like Astarion is a good character to start with since he's so complex.

The night started off strange..well, stranger than normal. For once, after his meditation, Astarion felt. To him, he's not sure how he would describe it. Woozy? Heated? His skin felt hot, and his head felt off.

Gale made a joke, when he saw the sweat beading down Astarions face, that he looked pale. A hilarious joke. Though Astarion couldn't help but wonder if he did look more pale than normal. Something felt off.

Of course, Astarion assured himself he was completely fine. Perhaps something he ate had lingering effects.

He joked with Shadowheart. A thin veil to hide his worries and curiosity. Lead her to the edge to see if she jumped off. It came to no surprise when she took the bait.

"Sounds like a fever. I didn't know vampires were capable of experiencing that. No matter. Keep your distance if that's the case." Used her spells to help relieve himself, after some painful persuading. When Astarion got back to his bed, the symptoms returned.

His lover, Axel, was out tracking down some beast with Haslin, Jaheira, and Minsc. Some creature that is tied to druids. Hence the company he brought along.

That also meant one less person Astarion could confide in. Even worse, Axel is the only one Astarion can truly be himself with. No hidden meanings or parading.

Sickening when he lets himself think about it. How pathetic has he become to rely so heavily on another. Astarion has never needed anyone. The company he has gained was by choice.

Whatever this is, Astarion can handle it on his own.

After a couple days, his body started to feel worse and worse. The hunger that he learned to control and cage inside him was slipping through the cracks like the very blood it wished to consume. It grew and grew each minute it was ignored. Astarion would look at his companions and only imagined sinking his teeth in them. Could feel the way their body stilled and grew cold as he consumed the last drop of their essence. It felt like he was getting lost in a mirage within a drugged mind.

Astarion needed blood.

He slipped out, once everyone retreated to their beds, and pulled a hood over his head. He normally didn't cover his face, but with the way his face felt he didn't want anyone to see it. The carefully curated illusion was falling apart. His sense of control even on his own body was slipping. What was happening to him? Was he finally going mad?

Astarion shook his head and refocused his attention on a wild boar on the outskirts of the city. It was easy prey. But it wasn't enough.

Astarion walked back to the city, with his nails digging into his palms. The monster wasn't sedated. It needed more. More. More.

The yelp and scream of a young woman perked his elvish ears. Normally he would pass by and ignore it, but this time he let himself be moved by the sound. By the music of the drums in their veins.

A larger man, larger than Haslin, had his hand raised after he had used it to smack a young lady to the ground. She held her lip with tears brimming her frightened eyes as they looked up at her attacker. The man's rage was pungent even from the alleyway, from where Astarion watched.

It happened before Astarion realized. The man was no longer looming over the woman, now instead he was being cradled by Astarion in the shadows. His blood coated Astarions insides. Made the poisonous creature inside Astarion crackle. It drank and drank until there was nothing left.

Astarion bit and bit, searching desperately for more, but there was nothing left but putrid flesh.

The high was exhilarating. After two days of shit, Astarion felt alive again (or as close to it as he could). He no longer felt weak and for a moment he basked in the glory of it. Smiled up at the starless sky and sighed.

Then a sharp pain ripped through him. His insides felt hot and the blood turned rancid. Turned to poison.

A scream bubbled up his throat, but it was cut off by the vomit pouring out of him. Every last drop of what he had just consumed had now painted the man and himself in a revolting shade of red. The smell was overbearing. Astarion needed to crawl away, but the smell was on him. In him. The horrible thing inside him still laughed and mocked and every memory of Cazador flooded back to him.

The tears felt unbearably hot against his cheeks. Was this more torture? Had he not escaped that fate? Whatever was happening to him also kept him from retreating into that safe space in his mind. To forget himself. It had saved him so many times before but that power was gone now. Just like everything else leaving him.

"Are you alright?" A voice broke through the haze. In the fog of tears, Astarion could make out a small shape. A woman.

"Leave me be!" He pulled his cowl taut so she could not see the horror.

"I can help you. Here." Astarion did not dare look. Help me! You can not. The last time he accepted someone's help in an alleyway, he spent 200 years as a slave.

"Someone else may find you, and they won't be as kind." She's right, but why would she be so kind?

When he looks up, peeking over his cowl, he realizes it's the girl. The one the man had attacked from before. She looked a lot different when she wasn't frightened and groveling. Though, she has every reason to be afraid. She should be afraid. Astarion opens his mouth to spit the words out, but the dizziness fogs his brain.

She scoffs and forces him to his feet. His body is too weak to protest. He has no choice but to allow her to lead him away. She could be leading him to his death, but what could he do to stop it?

After a blur, she gently cradles him down onto a bed and starts taking his clothes off. Astarion isn't surprised. He should have seen it coming. A part of him thought maybe all the blood would dissuade someone from being lecherous, but he should have known better. He simply closes his eyes and waits for it to be over.

But it doesn't come.

She just starts to sponge the blood off and then covers him with a blanket. She presses a cool rag on his head and offers water to his lips. Water is not what he needs, but his throat feels raw like it was shredded apart like butcher meat. He accepts the offer, because if nothing else it'll help his throat not be so dry too.

"My name is Cita. Thank you for helping me, before." She said as she stirred the coal in the fireplace. The shadows bounce around the room like dancing devils. Astarion fears one will awaken and reach out to him with slashing claws. It's too hard to look at them for too long, lest his mind starts to become too active for his own good.

Instead he focuses his strength on his words. "I'm," he swallows down the dryness and grimaces, "My name is As-astarion."

She stands and folds her hands shyly in front of her. "Do you need anything else?"

Astarion just needs to rest. To get back to the group and his own bed. He wishes for Axel to hold him and nurse him back to health, but another side of him wishes to never be seen until he is better. He wants everything and nothing at the same time. Is that among this girl's capabilities? If so, then her company is more dangerous than he thought.

Astarion settles with a head shake and closes his eyes. If it were up to him, he'd also roll over and away from her peering eyes, but he doesn't get a choice here. His body is in control, not his mind, and it's too weak to even move a muscle.

He hears her shuffle the distance between them, then flinches when he feels her cold hand on his cheek. "You are burning up. I'll need to find some herbs to help regulate your temperature before you burst into flames."

Astarion swallows against knives. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a doctor." Astarion opens his eyes in disbelief. She chuckles and shakes her head. "I mean. I want to be. I've been studying and practicing. After the attack on the city, there were a lot of folks who needed help and couldn't afford it. I try to help where I can."

How noble, his brain spits. Another hero to save the day. How lucky he was to have been picked up by a novice. Makes him so happy he could cry.

With a huff, Astarion turns his head. He just needs to meditate and gain enough strength to move around again. If she wishes to help him, then he'll accept it. He'll be another test subject for her studies if that's what it'll take for him to be rid of this affliction. It doesn't matter. All that matters is getting back.

….

Mediation doesn't come easy. His mind is too alert like a caged animal. He closes his eyes and wills his body to relax, the sweet embrace of relaxation teases him and then he's awake again.

"Astarion." Astarion could have sworn that it was Gale's voice.

Astarion opens his eyes to see Gale's face hovering over him. A part of him is relieved to see a friendly face, another makes him say. "Your face is quite a horror in the morning, darling." Though the impact feels less satisfying when his voice sounds as raw as his throat feels.

"Even sick, you're still attempting eloquence. I applaud you for never losing sight of who you are, even in moments such as this."

"How," he swallows, "did you find me?" Astarion must keep his eyes closed unless the world starts spinning, but when he does he becomes more painfully aware of the amount of heat and sweat his body is producing.

"The girl, Cita, found us. Brought me here. I didn't believe her at first when she said you were sick, but you are indeed sick. How strange. I didn't believe it was possible for vampires to get fevers. Perhaps that means we are all doomed then." Gale chuckles.

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Take me back."

Gale clicks his tongue and the look on his face makes Astarion's stomach twist; and not because of his sickness.

Gale drops to one knee and the look in his eye seems foreign on the soft wizard. It's steel and even amusement lingering there. Gales fingers move away hair glued to Astarions skin with sweat and then pierces Astarions heart with a cold gaze. "No. No, I don't think I will."

A wave of dizziness washes over him, but he bites down and focuses. "This-this isn't funny Gale."

"I agree. Which is why I mean it. I believe it's fair to say everyone's grown tired of you. Of your quips and groans. Of your evil stench. I know I have." Gale stands up just to drive the stake further into Astarion's chest. "Which is why I'm going to leave you here. I wanted to see your face as I said goodbye. It really is such a sweet look. Don't worry though! I'll be sure to tell Axel you died. He'll be distraught, but he's strong. He'll pull himself back together."

"You," something bubbles up Astarion's throat and spills over the edges. It tastes like rot and iron. Blood. He's spitting up blood.

"Goodbye Astarion." Astarion can't even protest, his chest heaves and he coughs and coughs, but his eyes watch as Gale leaves.

He wants to tear him apart. Tear himself apart. Wants to burn the world and watch it crumble to ash. Astarion thrashes in his new bed in anger and heartache. He swears he can physically feel the remainers of whatever was left of it tearing apart.

After everything he did. Everything he survived and suffered. After all the bullshit and the fighting and trying to set things right, this is how he'll face his end? Sick and weak, tied down by his own body in a foreign bed! He'd weep with rage if he had the energy for it, but his mind finally collapses and forces him into a dreadful sleep.

…

This time when Astarion comes to, opening his eyes feels like getting drunk on a pirate ship during a storm.

He can barely keep his eyes open long enough to make out anything but the shadows of the fire.

The cold hand on his cheek shocks him, but she seems weirdly distant. The world is distorted like a strange new nebula of reality.

"I'm so sorry you were abandoned. I can't imagine how hard that is." Her face morphs from a young pretty girl to a monstrous hag and then back again. Is it just his eyes playing tricks on him? Nothing looks right to him, so maybe it is. Thoughts don't come easily to him. They whisper and then fade away too quickly for him to be lured.

"Don't worry though. I'll make you better. Drink." Astarion weakly shakes his head, but the girl shoves the cup between his lips and downs the water into his throat. Astarion chokes, but she covers his mouth to force him to keep it all in. He has no choice but to swallow now.

She smiles, but in his distortion, it's unsettling instead of comforting. "Good boy." Her fingers pet his head. "They don't care about you." Maybe they don't. Maybe no one does. How can he blame them?

"I do." She continues. "You are my pretty little thing. You take the medicine so well. It makes you better." Or it makes him worse, he thinks. His mind tells him to run, but he can't. Astarion has been trapped and brought back to a new master. How long will this service last, he wonders. Another 200 years?

"Don't worry though. I will take good care of you. I am a doctor after all." Everything that comes next is a blur. She sponges him down, takes his temperature, changes his blankets, and spoons blood into his mouth like hot soup after giving him "his medicine". Astarion isn't sure how many times it happens. Has no idea if this all occurs in one night or if a year has passed.

At least he has the sweet memories of his mad love. His Axel. Perhaps Gale did Axel a favor in setting him free from Astarion. Perhaps the woman was right when she said they don't care about him. Did Axel ever really care about him?

It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters.

The routine goes on and on and on. She speaks to him like he's her journal and he sits in the shadows in his mind, waiting for it to end. His body has given up on trying to even move. What's the point? Everything seems useless now.

Once he tried to sit up without her permission and she waterboarded him with her "medicine" and strapped him down. The leather bruised his skin and he learned his new master's lesson to not move.

"Time for your medicine." Astarion squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over. Instead, there was a loud crash and then a cut off yelp, and then a new pair of hands were on him.

Calloused fingers pet his head this time and then Astarion was being carried away. His body didn't let him be awake for much longer to see what new horrors await him.

…

Astarion woke up this time with a sense of clarity he hasn't felt in who knows how long. The roof he gazed up at was different and recognizable. The same beams he has seen countless times.

To his side, Axel is hunched over asleep in a chair by Astarions bed. How did Astarion get here? How did Axel find him?

Astarion groans when he tries to sit up, more than fed up with laying down, Axel springs awake. The half elf's silver eyes swell up with worry. "Astarion. Oh, Astarion. " Axel cups Astarion's cheek. "I was so worried. When they told me you disappeared and they couldn't find you. I tracked you down and found that hag. Did she do anything to you? If so, I'll raise her from her grave and kill her all over again."

Astarion finds himself laughing. He holds his hand over his lovers, clinging desperately to that familiar warmth. "Only drugged me. Kept me sick. You should ask Gale where I was at." Astarion curls his lip up. He'll never forget, or forgive, the way that wizard looked at him.

Axel has a sweet look of confusion on his face. "Gale? Gale's been with me the whole time?"

Astarion scoffs and pushes the heat away. "Clearly, not the whole time."

"I don't understand."

Astarions chest twists when he thinks back on the wizard's words. "He left me there. Found me and handed me over to that witch." He spat out.

Axel shifts and sits beside Astarion. He wraps his arms around Astarion's shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. "I don't know what happened." He said. "But I do know that Gale has been with me the entire time. He hasn't gone anywhere. In fact, Gale is the one who sensed the witch's magic. I wouldn't have been able to find you without him."

Was it all a mirage? An illusion by that hag to break down his walls. It doesn't surprise him. Thinking back on it, Astarion doesn't think Gale is capable of being so cold. That man is kind even when he's angry. A feat Astarion will never understand.

"Well, how kind of him." Astarion said weakly. The anger he felt is hard to let go, even if he knows it's not right.

Axel shifts once more so he can look into Astarion's eyes. "Are you alright, my love? I'm so sorry this all happened."

Astarion still feels weak, and his opinion about himself isn't any better either, but he can't say he isn't relieved. His inn bed has never felt so good. Knowing that there are people who will look for him; save him. Reminds him of how much he's gained.

"I'm fine, my love. Nothing I couldn't handle." Astarion smirks.

Axel smiles softly. "I'm sure that's true. I'm just glad we were able to find you after three days. Three days too late though. Forgive me." Axel cups Astarion's hands between his own and kisses Astarion's knuckles.

"You are exceptionally foolish." Astarion scolds. Then he can't help but smile, "But perhaps I should be thankful for that."

Axel kisses Astarion's wrists. "What can I do for you? Do you need anything? Do you wish to sleep?"

Ah, the freedom to choose. He'll never let anyone take it from him again.

"Will you just lay here with me?" Axel is quick to nod and spoons Astarion's body against his own. Astarion is still too exhausted to freely move around, but being held feels nice. Hearing the steady drum of Axel's heart is soothing. It grounds him, reminds him that this is his reality. Being around friends and being held by a lover who sees him as an equal. He may not be a god, and though a part of him wishes he was so he could have the power to avoid that again. To have the power to protect himself and his friends. But Astarion has enough power as it is. He will do better in the future, that much he promises himself. For now, he's just glad to be free. Everything else can come second.

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Came Back Wrong: Part 5

One more companion down. This is a bit longer than the previous ones. TW: panic attacks

Tag List: @emily-reading-fanfic, @nettarinia

Days had passed by, maybe even weeks, you could not be sure of how much time had transpired since the incident with Astarion, you had not left Gale’s tent unless it was to shower, the last conversations you had with anyone were on ‘that day’, a day you so desperately wanted to forget.

The camp had not moved since that day, it was deemed by a collective vote that it would be too dangerous to move Astarion, whose condition had not improved, the magical coma he had been placed in kept him stable but had not improved his state, a fact that did not help your current state. You had stayed in Gale’s tent, that was the only place you had felt safe since Astarions attack, a fall from grace for what was once a fearless leader. Before the attack you would rush headfirst into battle, striking down your enemies with conviction, a strong sense of justice spurring you on wanting to protect those who were unable to protect themselves. Now you were a nervous wreck, barely able to leave Gale’s tent if he was not with you, his arm around you the entire time, guiding you where you needed to be, giving you words of affirmation about how good you were doing and how brave you were being. The feeling of helplessness was destroying you, yet you could not break through the mental barrier that was holding you back, hoping that soon you would regain your nerve and bring swift retribution to whomever attacked Astarion.

Whilst you were wrestling with your inner turmoil, a shell of your former self, Gale had stepped up within the camp. He was now the de facto leader, he relished having the power over your camp mates, he had always been one for having an inflated sense of ambition and this was a small yet delicious taste of what he could achieve if he tried, his new personality could take him to unfathomable heights if he so wished. It was not long until certain people started to see through his game though, he would bring them news of you, let them know how you were feeling and what you thought were the best ideas going forward. They knew it was not truly you, you were being manipulated by the wizard, you were now his puppet, encapsulated in his tent under his spell.

Your words were not your own anymore, you would acquiesce to what Gale thought best, trusting him fully to know what was right. Gale loved you; the thought of him being malicious or using you for his own gain didn’t even cross your mind, or that his actions would harm you or anyone else, he was the one that had stepped up and comforted you in your time of need, helping you through the long nights when you cried yourself to sleep, making sure you ate and didn’t neglect your body.

Your body was weak and lacking in sunlight, it was as if your body craved the feeling of the breeze that swept through the trees, desperate to feel the sun on your skin again. You had left the tent for brief periods to bathe and whatnot, but never truly to feel natures embrace. You had been too scared to ask Gale to leave the tent, he was always so concerned for your health that he wanted to keep you close by where he could see you and attend to you. It took a few days for you to gear up the courage to discuss the topic with Gale, you wanted to be outside, the fresh air filling your lungs. You sat upon your shared bedroll as you spoke to him, your face staring down at your hands that fiddled nervously as you asked him if you could spend time in the camp by yourself.

Gale smiled at you softly, the vision of you so nervous before him made him sit with you and take your hands in his, stopping you from fiddling with your hands and picking your skin nervously. “Of course, my love, if you feel ready to venture outside without me then please do so, my only desire is for you to heal and feel whole again.” Gale lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, he meant it when he said he wanted you to heal, he wanted you to feel like you again, although he felt confident now that you would always be dependant on him. It would not matter if you spoke to your campmates, you would always be his, he cemented that feeling within you after the attack on Astarion, he was the only one that comforted you, he was the only one you could trust, the only one that loved you truly.

You exited Gale’s tent for the first time on your own since the attack on Astarion, you had no idea how much time had passed, all the days had rolled into one at this point for you. It was a strange atmosphere, not what you were used to, before the attack it was a joyful area where you could all laugh and drink the night away, now it was solemn, if you stood still you could hear a pin drop.

Walking through camp made you feel less anxious, you could see Lae’zel meditating in front of her tent as usual and Shadowheart was paying her respects to Lady Shar. It all felt normal to you and made you feel at ease. Karlach’s tent was different, she pulled you inside as soon as she saw you were alone, Gale not whispering in your ear. Your shoulder ached, feeling the aftermath of Karlach pulling you into her tent, you rolled it a few times to make sure that she did not dislocate it or worse.

“Soldier, have you seen what Gale is doing?” Karlach’s face was intense, she wanted to rush this conversation, worried that this would be the only chance she would get to talk to you without Gale present. You shook your head and explained that Gale was looking after you all, you would not be here without him, that it was a miracle that Astarion was alive, Gale voting to stay here to ensure his safety.

Karlach cradled your head in her hands, she wanted you to listen to her. “Tav, Gale is not right. He hasn’t been ever since you brought him back. I know you don’t want to see it.” You tried to shake your head and deny it, Karlach’s grip was too strong and made you keep eye contact.

“Please Tav, he is not the same.” Karlach pleaded with you, her eyes made contact with yours, desperate for you to see what she had been seeing, you did not want to believe her, she had not come to you in the night when you were hysterical, nor had she even asked about you, in your mind she was just jealous that Gale was in charge for now. You told her that Gale was passing on your wishes, that he was doing the best he could for the camp, stepping up even though it was not asked of him. Karlach’s hands dropped from your face, her pleading eyes gone.

“If you want to stay with that shadow of a man then be my guest, I won’t be here when he ruins you, you deserve better soldier.” You could see a few tears spill from her eyes before she walked away, it pained you to look at her as you left her tent, she was your best friend, but you could not leave Gale, he had been by your side this entire time, he was the only one who had understood you. You watched silently from the corner of your eye as you stood in the middle of camp, Karlach collected her things and walked away, tears welled in your eyes, not only had you almost lost Astarion but you had now lost Karlach. There was now a feeling of regret and sickness in your stomach, you knew that you were not ready to be on your own again. The world around you began to spin, your chest began to tighten as your breaths became shallower, you ran to Gale’s tent to ride out the panic that was rising inside of you. The tent had become your refuge, the only place you felt comfortable outside of Gale’s company. His smell was comforting when he wasn’t around, for now he had gone looking for supplies, he was selfless like that.

As you entered the tent you succumbed to the panic, your breath ragged and desperate, trying to focus on anything to help you calm down, Karlach abandoning you brought forth all the same emotions you felt when Astarion was attacked, it felt as if everyone was leaving you, the only constant in your life was Gale. Hand on your chest trying to evaluate your heartbeat and calm yourself, you did not hear Gale enter the tent behind you, he dropped all the supplies in his arms as he saw you, bent over crying and in a panicked state.

“Tav?! My love, my heart what is wrong?” Gale was calm as he approached you, he had anticipated panic attacks as a stage of your recovery, it was normal for persons who had experienced what you had seen. His hand wrapped around your shoulder gently whilst the other found your hands, stroking them softly, trying to make sure that you would not injure yourself in your panicked state. Your tried to speak but all that escaped was unintelligible noise. Gale held you close to him and stroked your hair. Unbeknownst to you he had just seen Karlach walk away from camp with a bag in hand, he did not envisage removing Karlach so easily as he expected her to be the one that stayed by your side for the longest part. Although you were crying in his arms he felt joy that he had disposed of yet another member of camp, all he needed to do was isolate you from Wyll and you would finally be his. Lae’zel and Shadowheart were of no concern to him, they had their own Goddesses to pander to, they were not overly bothered to engage with you or Gale outside of ridding themselves of the tadpole.

Tears flowed from your eyes as you buried yourself into Gale’s chest, your arms around him, sobbing into his chest, holding onto him as if he would be the next person to leave, you felt his hands softly stroke your hair, kissing the top of your head to reassure you, he would never leave you. Gale softened as he held you, it was always hard for him to see you this way, yet in his heart he knew it was another step closer to having you completely, heart and soul.