#i thought it was an Astarion quirk but clearly not

[thisghosts-obsessions-again]

I need to know why the Devs thought this default idle expression from your party members is the way it is. Why are they staring so intensely? 😫

[pursuitseternal]

“Bites in the Night:” a series of Astarion x Reader drabbles from the days on the road…

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Part 1: “Go back to sleep, darling…”

Astarion x Fem!Reader | M | 1.4K of Romance

Summary: you’ve been fed on before, but you cannot deny how much you are the one who now hungers for it…

CW: consensual biting, blood kink, flirtation, a bit… angsty? First kiss

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No more bites in the night, he had promised. True to his word, Astarion always waited for your invitation now. Just a little offer thrown his way with increasing frequency. You can feed on me tonight.

You can’t help it, how addicting it is, waking with just that little ache in your body, watching the way he smiles at you, knowingly, as you sit and eat whatever breakfast your other companions had thrown together. It makes a pool of heat settle in your belly, as if you are the one now full to bursting and yet not sated. As if you are the one cursed with eternal hunger.

He always fights so beautifully those days after he drinks of your blood, almost dancing as he pounces and stalks and rips out throats like the true predator he is. You can almost feel it after, however, the expenditure of the limited power you grant him each time he feeds.

Soon, those ashen pools would settle beneath his eyes again, his movements slowing the longer into the day you journey.

The same happens today, that lethargy visible as the sun begins to set. So tonight, as you make camp, you find a reason to hesitate by Astarion’s tent. He is busy setting up the colored canvas of his structure. You see his hands are shaking as he bends down to tie and fasten the tether to the stake in the ground.

“I’m… gathering firewood,” you stop shy of his crouching body.

His head snaps as he looks up at you, brows furrowed in confusion. “And?” he snips. Perhaps the efforts he expended today took a greater toll on him that the grey in his skin even tells you. He sneers, clearly exasperated and annoyed. “I’m busy if you’re asking for my commonly-sought-for and usually riveting company.”

“No,” you force a easy laugh. “No I’m capable on my own, thank you.”

That earns another, deeper furrow of his brows, his fist clutching around the handle of his hammer now. “Then what do you want?” he purrs.

“You… didn’t happen to notice if there was anything that looked promising on the way here?”

Standing slowly, his face quirks into that familiar smirk, those brows now canting as he looks down at you. Crimson eyes flicker over your face, finally resting on the lingering marks of his fangs from last night. “Oh, I never stray my gaze far from the most promising things, but as for firewood? No.” He cocks his head, eyes heavy lidded as he scans your whole form now. “No, I was perhaps too… distracted to search my surroundings for something so mundane.”

You shrug. “Nevermind then,” you toss casually, ignoring the way your heart is rapping against your ribs.

“I… don’t think you wish me to nevermind,” he comments with equal indifference. Even as he slides one step into your path. “What did you really wish to say, darling?”

The words bubble from your throat before you can make them seem dispassionate. “You can feed on me tonight.”

His smirk tweaks just a hint higher. “I was hoping you would offer, darling…” He leans back, as if he is out of your way. “See you tonight, even if you won’t see me, my sweet.” You push past him, your hand accidentally brushing past his own arm, the chill of his body sending a little shiver through your frame. “Good luck,” he purrs as you enter into the brush and trees at the edge of camp.

Your evening passes with little event. Your pulse never slows, even as you lay in your bedroll, the soft crackle of fire unsuccessful at lulling you into any sleep deeper than a soft breathing with sweat-covered thoughts that grip your mind and body. Not dreams. No, you lay on your side in semi-consciousness, facing towards the dying embers of the fire. That’s how you hear the almost imperceptible tread of a foot in the dirt.

It’s slight, just a soft rustle and a gentle scuttle in the dirt beside you. But then you feel his breath, cold on your neck. Easily mistaken for a night breeze, except you have waited to feel it all night.

For a man who drips with sex, his very voice meant to make you tremble with need, he does not creep too close. His hand rests on your shoulder with uncertainty. The other gently sweeps back the stray strands of your hair from your neck.

His touch is reserved, hesitant, only brushing your body where necessary. Beneath that shell of seduction, you feel the self-doubt, the nerves worn to a shred from 200 years of abuse. And for as much as you long to turn and wrap your arms around him and his suffering soul, you fight the urge. You shut your eyes tighter, counting the second of your every inhale and exhale to make them sound sleepy.

Then comes his bite. That delicious puncture of your skin that hurts for a second, quickly tenderly cared for with soft laps of his tongue as he drinks from you. You try not to twitch, try not to lean your body against him as he crouches. He must think himself so stealthy, and you wouldn’t want to take that from your rogue.

All too soon he withdraws, but you feel the mass of his body lingering. You can almost hear his head twist as he observes you. “Go back to sleep, darling,” he whispers. “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me…”

“How…?” you begin, shifting in your bed to look up at him. His hair luminous in the starlight, his skin as pale as the moon.

That smirk only widens, a trickle of your blood runs from the elevated corner of his lips. “Please,” he gives a little chuckle, bending down to whisper right into the curves of your ear, “two-hundred years, and I know the dance of a sleeping heart… and the beat of one who just can’t get enough of me being so near them.”

You turn your head, looking right into those crimson eyes, now glowing a bit with his renewed strength.

“Next time you wish to do this again awake, you have but to ask, darling…” his lips purse as he finishes his words. But you notice that ripple of hesitation again. “I’m eager for any and all your suggestions, my dear.”

Now you hesitate, your eyes flicker between the way his long, dexterous fingers rest on his bent knee to the way his lips still are stained with your blood. You breathe, “Will you…” You swallow, unable to get the last words from your dry throat.

“Yes?” he encourages you, his voice barely more than a rasp.

“Will you… kiss me?” You feel your stomach drop in horror at your boldness.

But your daring earns you a smile that flashes his brilliant white teeth at you. “I thought you would never ask, darling…” he purrs, lowering his mouth once more. It is quick, well, quicker than you would like. His lips press softly on yours, the coppery taste of your blood touching your tongue. He begins to withdraw, but you aren’t done, your heart races again. Your hand flies into his silver hair, holding gently at the base of his neck, trying to hang on for one more moment. You feel his muscles soften, relaxing as he feels your want. That you invite him closer. His own hand moves similarly, tenderly lifting your chin, his lips beginning to move almost imperceptibly between yours.

You taste yourself more on his mouth, the slow languorous way he works into yours, sharing that flavor bit by bit.

Until he pulls back. You let him. Careful not to push, or tug him. Not to break his trust, for as much as he begs you for yours.

“So much for no more bites in the night,” he laughs quietly. “I… do like that, you know. It is ever so much more fun when you are awake.”

You say nothing. No coherent words can form on your tongue or in your mind. So instead you nod, you smile, your hand trying to grab the twisted blanket to fit back around you.

But his pale hands reach for it first. “Go back to sleep, darling,” he repeats, quieter than before as he pulls the woolen wrap to cover your body.

You feel sleep tugging you under at last, the soft throb of your neck almost as sweet as the ghost of his kiss on your lips.

And as you close your eyes, you breathe, almost feeling that powerful, glowing gaze watching you from his tent. Watching over you until the light of dawn.

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My other Astarion x Reader fics:

“The Rogue You Were:” part 1–Welcome me (NSFW)

“The Rogue You Were:” part 2-Cleanse me (NSFW)

“Just A Drop:” drabble as he turns Tav

[roguishcat]

Astarion x Tav Prompt! (for the 200 follower celebration)

Astarion tailoring Tavs clothes before they reach the big city.

Some sensory ideas: rough linen, crackling warm campfire, fingers caressing skin, crisp autumn air, sounds of skin against fabric, soft sighs or humming

Thank you so much for the ask! I love reading tailor Astarion stories, so this is my humble attempt at writing one. Hope you like it! 💕

This is set in Act II, soon after the tiefling party.

Pairing: Astarion x unnamed female Tav

Word count: 2.4k

Part of his plan

To Astarion their relationship was a transaction. A little tit for tat. Because this was what 200 years of servitude taught him. Nothing was ever given for free. Nothing came without a price. And usually it was not worth the pain or the effort anyway.

But when it came to Tav, Astarion found himself trying to make more of an effort to stay in her good graces. Not because he cared about her as such. But he didn’t find the thought of spending time with her, travelling alongside her, even sharing her bedroll as distasteful as with anyone else. Perhaps because she foolishly put others before herself. Perhaps it was her treating him with respect and kindness. But her being nice made him want… to be nice back. Just to make sure that their leader was well and truly smitten, of course.

That evening as Tav changed out of her armour to offer her neck to him, Astarion’s eyes fell to the rather obvious tear in her shirt. She noticed him look and flushed.

“I was going to take care of that yesterday but felt so tired that I just kind of decided to leave it,” she mumbled, pulling at the fabric awkwardly.

She scurried out of his tent and into her own before he could reply. Astarion felt his lips quirk into a smile. Now this was just the opportunity to make himself useful in their leader’s eyes that he was looking for!

He had already bedded Tav and although the experience was hardly unpleasant, he didn’t look forward to using his body over and over just to secure his place by her side. Therefore, making himself so much a part of her life that she felt that he was indispensable to her was crucial in keeping her interested.

Thus assured that he was once again right and everything was going according to his plan, Astarion grabbed his sewing kit and walked confidently in the direction of Tav’s tent.

“Darling, how about I-”

Tav looked up and Astarion was rendered speechless when he looked at her handywork. Only gods knew how she managed to create the monstrosity in her hands in such a short time. And where on earth did she even get thread of such toxic, garish colour?

Tav blushed a rather fetching shade of red and lowered her eyes.

“I suppose I made it worse, haven’t I?” she whispered, clearly embarrassed at being so terrible at something as basic as fixing a simple tear.

“Well… This isn’t the best needlework that I’ve seen, admittedly. But I am certain that it isn’t the worst either.”

The large, uneven stitches were quite remarkable, in their own way.

“How about I take over from here. I’m sure that we can salvage this,” he gently pried the shirt out of her hands and clicked his tongue as he lifted it closer to his eyes.

“I suppose this will take me a little longer than initially anticipated, seeing as I have to undo your fine effort first, but I will certainly finish it come morning.”

Astarion made a move to rise but felt a hand grasp his sleeve.

“You could stay here, if you wanted,” she suggested, making him freeze.

Truth be told, staying here was the last thing that he wanted to do. It was too intimate. Him staying could be misinterpreted as him wanting to engage in certain activities. And sex was the last thing currently on his mind.

“And have you miss out on the chance to catch up on some beauty sleep? How villainous would that be!” he joked, trying to extricate himself without making it too obvious that he wanted to leave.

“Then I could sit out by the campfire with you. I mean, if you want…” she trailed off, suddenly feeling silly, “we could talk.”

“Talk?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“I would like to get to know you more. Learn more about you, if you allow it.”

Talk. Yes, just like people did when they spent any amount of time around each other. He supposed that knocking boots was not enough for someone like Tav, someone who was… sweet.

Astarion supposed he could be forgiven for jumping to the conclusion that her asking to stay was asking for sex. He met few people who wanted him for his conversation skills. Most wanted to bed him, some wanted to spend time with him afterwards. He could recall hardly any who actually seemed to care for him or his past. And one of these people was sitting in her undershirt and waiting for him to make a decision. Always so patient with him, always treating him with such respect.

“Alright, why not,” he conceded, feeling his shoulders relax a touch now that he knew that she was not expecting him to perform. “Seeing as a night of passion is off the table and there is plenty of time until sunrise, I might enjoy this- this getting to know each other better idea. Though you may want to put something on, the night is quite chilly.”

Unfortunately, Tav had little else to wear. Seeing as others were always a priority, she purchased very few things for herself. Astarion rolled his eyes as he saw her eyeing her armour with uncertainty.

“Here,” he pulled his shirt off and handed it to her. “Whilst I may be all but immune to the elements, it wouldn’t do for our leader to be bested by a common cold.”

She hesitated briefly before taking the shirt and slipping it on. It smelled like Astarion, bergamot, rosemary and something else. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on but didn’t want to ask.

They walked out of her tent and Astarion took a seat near the campfire.

“So how should we go about it, dearest?” he asked without looking in her direction, but rather focusing on trying to minimize the damage that she did to her clothes.

Honestly, had no one taught her to sew? This work was worse than anything done by the other spawn even in their early days!

“How about… a question for a question?” she suggested, taking a seat beside him.

“Is anything off limits? Are you truly prepared for everything that you might uncover?” he teased, squinting a little as he used the sharp, pointy edge of scissors to carefully unpick her terrible stitches. “Us big city folk come with our terrible, depraved secrets.”

Ah, a blush for his efforts. Familiar territory.

“I can’t say what is off limits,” Tav said, playing with the collar and the ruffles of his shirt with her long, nervous fingers. “How about you are allowed not to answer any one question of your choosing?”

“Seems reasonable,” he shrugged, finally getting the thread that she used to cooperate and pulling on it until the fabric was no longer bunched awkwardly.

“What is your favourite colour?”

How uninspired. Honestly, were they children?

“I assumed it was blue,” she went on. “Your underwear is blue. And you seem to favour the blue dye, when you have a choice.”

“Observant, are we?” he chuckled. “Just how long has it been since I’ve piqued your interest? And yes, this is not a rhetorical question. I do expect an answer.”

“I guess… When you opened the doors on the bugbear and the ogre.”

“Oh? How scandalous of you to find that appealing! Did that get you excited?” he elbowed her gently, finding to his surprise that he was rather enjoying the light tone of the conversation.

“No,” Tav laughed, “but it was the first time you smiled. A real, proper smile. That image stayed with me for a long time. And got me wondering… what is beneath the polished look and practiced mannerisms?”

If Astarion had actually fed on her and any blood coursing through him at this moment, he was quite sure that he would have blushed.

He cleared his throat, “I believe it’s your turn to ask.”

She nodded, but didn’t ask him anything immediately, content to simply watch him for a while. The work of his dexterous fingers was such a contrast to her clumsy, inexperienced movements. Tav knew that she was way out of her depth when it came to Astarion and didn’t think that she would be able to figure him out even if she tried. Which is why she looked for an excuse to talk to him without others being around, wanting to get to know him better. But every time she tried to have a genuine conversation with him in the past, his expression would shutter, and he would give her some tired, clearly practiced lines. And perhaps it was foolish of her, but Tav felt she wanted to get to know him. To really know him.

 “What makes you happy? And I mean apart from walking in on freaky sex.”

“Tsk, I was going to say just that, actually. Took the words right out of my mouth, you cheeky pup.”

In truth, he was not really sure how to answer that. Happiness has not been part of the equation for over two centuries. Survival and prevailing against all odds. That was all that he was concerned with.

“I’m not exactly sure,” he finally admitted with a frown. “Drinking your blood makes me feel… strong. Powerful. Free. I am not sure what it means  to be happy in your books, but I believe this is it for me.”

He took a furtive look at her from underneath his lashes and was taken aback a little by the genuine, warm expression on her face. By the gods! Who did that? Who actually went around looking at people like that? No one did, in his experience.

“I hope you find more things that make you happy,” Tav said earnestly, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

“Well, the pleasure of your company definitely tops that list,” he cleared his throat and moved away a little, feeling uncomfortable at the warm feeling that bloomed in his chest. Whatever it was.

“Well, of course! But I mean inconsequential nothings. Something that will make you smile. Something that will make you look forward to tomorrow.”

“And what makes you happy, Tav, hm? Seeing as you are the expert on the matter?”

To his surprise, he actually found that he wanted to know the answer.

“Well, it’s nothing unusual. Seeing people I care about being happy. Being helpful. Seeing families reunited.”

“Tsk, you are no fun!”  Astarion clicked his tongue in annoyance. “And here I was, actually answering your questions properly and what do I get in return? A cookie-cutter hero ‘I live to serve’ answer. Give me a break,” he scoffed.

“You don’t believe that people can help others just because?” Tav tossed several sticks into the campfire, the flames rising to lick the dry wood hungrily.

“No,” he said firmly, with conviction. “Not in my experience.”

He took a deep breath that he did not need, more for effect than out of necessity. “People are cruel, vile and everything is done for gain and nothing else.”

“You don’t mean that,” Tav looked down at her knees, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, but I do. My sweet, sweet friend. Kindness gets people tortured. Kindness gets people killed. Kindness is the root of all trouble and you will be better off if you realise this sooner rather than later-” he stopped himself abruptly when he realised that he almost shouted that last part.

They fell silent, the crackling of the fire loud in the stillness.

“I’m sorry you feel this way,” she finally said.

“It is the truth.”

Astarion did not have to look at Tav to know that she disagreed. It didn’t matter. Their experiences were too different. They were too different. She probably was a nice girl from a small town in the middle of nowhere where neighbors were friends, and every day ended with a lovely sunset over the fields. At least that was what Astarion imagined when he thought about Tav’s home. He never actually bothered to ask. Come to think of it, none of them asked Tav about her past. Although they all seemed to be eager enough to have her help them on their personal quests, they actually knew very little about her.

“Goodness me, we seemed to have gotten carried away with that lively discussion,” he cleared his throat, realising that he was silent far too long. “Your shirt is almost fixed, so one last question.”

“Of course,” she stretched, fighting back a yawn.

“The scars on your side,” he noticed that Tav immediately moved to cover them up, pulling his shirt down with a jerk. “How did you get them?”

He had noticed them before, the night of the party. But he didn’t really care to ask then. Astarion out of all people knew that scars could tell quite a story. Cazador told him that his were a poem, but he was determined to find out exactly what it was that that bastard carved into his skin.

Astarion was a little taken aback when Tav’s demeanor changed, the expression turning bitter for the briefest moment before she caught herself. When she turned to look at him, her smile was as pleasant as any she would usually give him.

“Ah. I believe this is the question I will choose not to answer. At least not tonight. Thank you for my shirt and for talking to me. I enjoyed getting to know you a little better. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, my dear,” he handed her the mended shirt, watching her walk away from the campfire without another word.

Well, perhaps there was more to their fearless leader after all. There was definitely a secret, something that she did not want to be uncovered just yet. And that piqued his interest. Perhaps a glass of wine or two would loosen her tongue next time they decided to meet for a chat.

Astarion scowled. Him finding talking to Tav pleasant and them bonding was not part of the plan. On the contrary, any sort of relationship was a hindrance.

The vampire rose soundlessly and looked into the woods. Perhaps a hunt to clear his head would do him good. If anything, it would take his mind off Tav. Because whatever was happening between them had to remain a transaction. And it would be prudent not to forget that even for a moment.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@ninty900,

@ayselluna, @dajeong, @ravenswritingroom,

@misscrissfemmefatale,

@clazberryk, @anukulee,

@preciouslittlebhaalbae,

@sh3rl0ck, @mellowenthusiast2299,

@fleetstreet78, @starlight-rogue,

@obsessedwhyyes, @arzen9

[lavenderfluorite14]

A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav

Chapter 2: Gift

Summary: Tav gave Astarion a gift. Astarion tries to pay her back.

Chapter Rating: 18+, ❤️‍🔥 Blood drinking, Grinding, Frottage, Making Out, Hurt/Comfort, Angstarion, Astarion Character Study and everything that entails, PTSD, Descriptive Explorations of Emotional and Sexual Trauma Full tag list on AO3. Read on AO3. Chapter 1.

The morning dawned pink and rosy, the sun a bloody jewel in the sky. Tav would be waking up soon and Astarion was putting the finishing touches on his apology. He would be concerned, tender. He would be apologetic but not obsequious, and this would never happen again. Unless Tav wanted it to.

Would she want it to? She had certainly been willing, in the beginning at least. But how would she feel the morning after? Astarion wasn’t used to mornings after. And he had been…rougher with her than he had intended. Shame flooded through him when he remembered how he had lost himself in her like a wild beast. But she had felt so good. Astarion didn’t know if he had ever felt this good before.

He felt happy. That was the word, happy. He must have felt happy once, a lifetime ago. But dwelling on ghosts he could no longer remember and who hadn’t bothered to remember him never led anywhere.

He fully understood now why Cazador had deprived them of good blood. Seven full, strong vampire spawn could find a way to overpower a cruel master. But seven malnourished, pathetic slaves were too busy trying to survive the day to plot a coup. Astarion despised how Cazador could cloak his sadism in calculated logic. He could bash Cazador’s skull in.

Tav stumbled out of her tent, clearly still delirious. She had donned her leather jerkin as usual, but she had also conspicuously wound a strip of cloth around her throat and tucked it into her collar, wrapping her neck snugly in the fabric. Blearily, she scanned the camp until she saw him lounging by his tent. Astarion steeled himself.

“Good morning. How do you feel?” He said lowly, so the others wouldn’t hear.

“A bit woozy, but I’ll be ok,” she said sheepishly.

“It’ll pass,” he hoped.

“How do you feel?” Tav asked.

“I feel wonderful,” he preened. “And now you get to reap the benefits of a fully fed vampire.”

“This is true,” she said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you fight today.”

“I’ll have to put on a show for you. Now that I can fight with all my weapons.” He shot her a fanged grin. Tav laughed, a sound he realized that he was beginning to like.

“Good thing I have a front row seat, then,” she said. Tav began shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “Astarion. I know you’ve been hesitant to talk about yourself so far but we really should discuss this, ah, turn of events.” Astarion nodded stiffly. “I suppose I owe you an explanation or two."

He described the difference between a vampire and a vampire spawn and how you can become one. Tav stiffened at the implication: had he been a true vampire, last night could have gone a lot differently.

“But I thought that sunlight killed vampires?” She asked.

“Oh, it does. I should be cinders in this light. I shouldn’t be able to do a lot of things, honestly.” He went through the list: standing in the sun, entering homes uninvited, crossing running water. “As for any other quirks, well,” he chuckled, “we can figure those out in time.” He was looking forward to it. Maybe the tadpole had bestowed other latent powers.

“Well, if I can help, just ask. We are in this together.” Tav gave him a bright, warm, reassuring smile.

“Oh, you are such a sweetheart,” he deflected. Of course she would say something like that.

“Tav, what’s that around your neck?” Shadowheart called towards them. Tav’s hand flitted towards her neck instinctively, her eyes darting to Astarion. He didn’t move. He wanted to see what she would do.

“I’m just a little cold today so I found a scarf,” she said. She was covering for him. She was really covering for him. Astarion’s stomach dropped. Usually Tav was better at this.

“Tchk. We heard your carousing last night,” Lae’Zel spoke.

“Is that blood?” Wyll pointed towards the scarf, where a small patch of crimson was blooming across the fabric. Astarion licked his fangs.  

“Darlings, I’m afraid I have something rather small I’ve neglected to tell you.”

“Astarion,” Tav turned towards him but he anchored his hand on the small of her back reassuringly. If he now had Tav's support then this was his best opportunity to tell them.

“It’s all right, my dear. They were going to find out eventually.” He squashed the doubt inside him into a hard little ball and cleared his throat. “I am a vampire,” Astarion announced. There was a brief moment where no one spoke.

“So be it. But if I wake with so much as a drop of blood at my throat, I will end you,” Lae’Zel growled. Duly noted.

“I trust him,” Tav interjected. “He won’t hurt us. He has had ample opportunity to do so and has instead become a strong ally.” The group paused again, sharing a glance among themselves. Gale broke the silence.

“Well, I’m disappointed that you didn’t tell me sooner. I’m a pretty open-minded man, actually. But just a word of warning, Astarion: I taste absolutely awful.” What a shame.

“Vamps don’t scare me. No sense judging someone for who they are.” Karlach piped up. “’Cept devils, obviously.” He knew he liked Karlach.

“So long as there are no innocents, I am fine.” Wyll said. “And so long as you keep your fangs to yourself.” Wyll would probably be too sweet, anyway.

“A vampire?” Shadowheart rolled her eyes. “I suppose I can live with that. We’re already monsters in the making, what’s one more. Now come here, Tav. We can’t have you leaving camp looking like that.” Shadowheart led Tav away, her healing magic already surrounding them in a soft blue glow.

But once Tav was out of earshot, the others closed ranks. “I meant it when I said no innocents, Astarion. And if you hurt Tav, you will have to answer to all of us.” Wyll said.

“Is the Blade of Frontiers already rushing to the damsel’s rescue?” Astarion scoffed. “I didn’t do anything to Tav that she didn’t sweetly ask for.”

“I don’t care what happens in your tent. But if you can’t control your bloodlust then I will control it for you,” Lae’Zel rasped, her words a heavy threat.

“Now that I no longer need to hide and we all have an understanding, we will have a perfect accord.” Astarion sniffed. “I am here in the spirit of teamwork and understanding-”

“You say all the right things Astarion, but I don’t think you mean the right things.” Gale accused. Astarion glared back, uncowed. “But either way, Tav trusts you and I will respect that decision. Just promise us there’s no more secrets.”

“I have already told you everything you need to know about me,” Astarion smiled thinly. Gale sighed disapprovingly. “Very well. I suppose I can live with that.” The group dispersed uneasily, leaving Astarion alone to finish donning his armor. Astarion released a shuddering sigh, relief flooding through him. That had gone much better than he had expected. But although they weren’t going to kill him, he had been right: his companions would never actually accept a vampire. And rightfully so, he thought bitterly.

~

Shadowheart had been able to close her wounds and heal her neck, but she hadn’t been able to cure Tav’s dizziness. Apparently she knew the perfect spell, but wasn’t strong enough to cast it yet. Of course.

Tav had been keeping up so far, but she wasn’t acting quite like herself. Before she had been quick with a joke and a laugh, but today she was lagging behind. She lacked her usual air of conviction when she spoke. Yet although his eye lingered on her worryingly, Astarion couldn’t bring himself to regret last night’s unexpected tryst.

She had been incredible. Delectable, even. He had known conceptually that such pleasure was possible, he’d imagined it often, but he had never physically experienced anything like that before. And now its source slept 20 feet away, snug in its own bedroll. Would she let him taste her again? Tav had been understanding and supportive of him so far, but one could never be sure.

The thought of never having Tav again made him feel cold. He could content himself with less, he had done so for centuries. He’d keep himself warm with the memory of her. And her support had theoretically opened up a veritable buffet of other dining options for him. Surely someone else would be just as delicious. He didn’t need Tav.

His eye lingered on her as they moved deeper into the Emerald Grove. Tav really was beautiful, in her own way. Cazador had demanded that they bring him only the beautiful and the strong to dine on. It was said that beauty and strength made the blood richer to the taste. Astarion could recall several times when Cazador had rejected his victims for whatever fickle reason he could concoct. He had still drained them of course, but Astarion had been punished hideously each time.

“Are your standards truly so low? You think this is beautiful, you think this is worthy of me ?”

He wouldn’t reject Tav, Astarion thought. Cazador would have been delighted if Astarion had brought her home. His gut squirmed.

The druids were awful, tedious creatures. These petty squabbles had nothing to do with him and Astarion didn’t see the point in sticking his neck out for Tieflings who would be dead in a week anyway. Especially now that he could choose whether he stuck his neck out or not. But Tav cared. So they were off to find this Halsin character. Astarion rolled his eyes.

Tav needed to rest earlier than usual today. While they were resting, Astarion wandered down to the small, sandy coastline bordering the grove and plopped down onto a rock, slouching gracefully. He just needed a quiet moment to himself. But something clinked when he sat down. Astarion craned his neck to investigate and caught a flash of gold hidden beneath the rock. Carefully, he slipped his hand underneath the rock, fishing for the trinket. He extracted it delicately, holding it up to the light. It was an amulet, carved in the Oakfather’s likeness. As Astarion turned it over, he realized that it had been imbued with a spell, Lesser Restoration, which would cure the wearer from disease, poison, paralysis, or blindness. Astarion swiftly pocketed the treasure, hoping that no one had seen him. Finders keepers.

~

He returned to find his companions laughing. Wyll was in the middle of regaling them with some heroic exploit of his while Tav spasmed with laughter, her body curling in on itself. Karlach, who Astarion noticed was wearing new leather armor, egged him on. No doubt the armor had been bought by Tav with the gold they had all scavenged, which seemed unfair. Why should Karlach get fine new leathers while he was dressed in rags? He had mended his doublet countless times over the years, but it was still falling apart at the seams. They probably couldn’t tell, he thought bitterly. Astarion had taken enormous pains to hide his threadbare appearance and would be mortified if anyone saw through his embroidered facade, but it still stung that no one did. “Get over here, Fangs!” Karlach called. “You’ve GOT to hear this. Wyll, tell it again.”

“So there I was, surrounded on all sides-“ It was surprisingly a pretty funny story. Wyll had lived a full, interesting life in such a short amount of time. His ragged scars only accentuated his dashing charm and handsome face. Somehow Wyll could make a stone eye twinkle with warmth and sincerity. Despite his own alleged beauty, Astarion knew he could never compete with that. And Tav looked at him with such open fondness and admiration. He ran his thumb over the amulet in his pocket, soothed by the sharp edges.

When Wyll finished his tale, obviously victorious, Astarion said “Yes, well. I’m glad our Blade could sharpen himself on such a useful whetstone.” His words were nice enough, but his tone was sour and ambiguous. Wyll gave him a slight nod, as if he didn’t know what to make of Astarion’s almost compliment.

“Alright everyone, let’s keep moving. We can keep swapping stories while we walk.” Wonderful. He could regale them with all the inventive ways Cazador had enjoyed hurting him over the years.

~

Tav retired early that night. They had defeated the false paladins, but only just. Astarion had been at the top of his game: his movements were more graceful, his thrusts stronger and more precise. But Tav had fought badly. She had crumpled underneath the swing of a Divine Smite, which had hit her straight in the chest. Astarion had yanked her back up to her feet as fast as he could, but Tav never fully recovered after that. It was Wyll who dealt the killing blow, sending those charlatans back to the hells.

Tav limped all the way back to camp. Karlach had offered her arm, which Tav had taken, but once they arrived at camp Tav quickly disappeared into her tent. Tav had given him so much today, too much. He could never truly repay her, but maybe he could give her a present of his own. One that would keep her in peak condition should they dally again. He could feed on beasts for a time, but if he had the option there was no contest about what he’d choose. She’d been willing last night. Perhaps with the right persuasion, and the right protective amulet, she would be again. Astarion pulled the Amulet of Silvanus out of his pack and slipped it back into his pocket.

He strode as casually as he could to Tav’s tent and gave the canvas a few soft taps by way of greeting. “Come in,” came Tav’s groggy, exhausted voice. Astarion slipped silently inside.

“Darling, today was positively marvelous,” he began. Tav was curled up in her bedroll, already falling asleep. Tav rolled over to face him and Astarion laid down beside her, close enough to tease but not close enough to touch. “I’m glad it was good for one of us,” Tav said, rubbing the premature sleep from her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”

“This is the best I have felt in a long time.” Astarion regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. They were too true. “You gave me a wonderful gift today. I think it’s only fair that I give you a gift of your own.” He produced the amulet with a quick flick of his wrist. “It’s imbued with a spell that will make you feel so much better,” he purred. “May I?” Tav nodded. “Then sit up for me, my Sweet,” Astarion ordered softly.

As Tav sat up, Astarion gently maneuvered them so that he was sitting behind her, pulling her against his lap. He brushed aside her hair carefully, baring her neck to him. Despite Shadowheart’s healing, he could still see the faint imprint his fangs had left on her skin. He suppressed a possessive shudder. He settled the amulet gently against her throat, trailing his fingers along her collar bones, then her shoulders, then her neck, where he clasped the chain into place. Tav touched the amulet tentatively, using it as a conduit for the Weave. A soft blue light surrounded them and Tav felt her body surge with energy again.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are more than welcome,” he whispered against the nape of her neck.

“About you biting me,” Tav began.

“I hope this is a satisfactory apology,” Astarion countered. “What more could you possibly want.” His hands drifted down to her waist. “Unless?”

“You can bite me again, if you want,” she said, arching her neck. “If we talk about it first.” Astarion buried his face in her hair.

“I suppose that is a deeply reasonable compromise,” he murmured. “But I promise, no more bites in the night.  I will wait very patiently until you invite me to dine with you.” He allowed his hand to slide across her abdomen.

“Will you dine with me tonight?” She asked.

Astarion audibly sighed. “I don’t know, darling. You just got your strength back. You should really rest.”

“I feel so much better, really,” Tav said. She gently clasped his hand in hers, slowly entwining their fingers. “Please, Astarion.” His fangs ached.

“Oh alright,” he said, sliding her backwards so that she sat fully in his lap. Astarion pressed his mouth against her ear. “But only because you beg so prettily,” he said lowly. Tav whimpered softly, but remained still. Then he bit her, hard and deep.

Tav was even more delicious the second time. She was rich and full-bodied, like the wine he must have loved in life. Now that he was merely ravenous and no longer on the brink of starvation, Astarion took smooth, consistent pulls from her, running his tongue over her throat after each bite. Tav melted against him, clutching his hand tightly. He wanted this to feel good for her. He wanted to be able to do this again.

“Astarion,” Tav moaned. He sucked harder against her neck, trying to bruise. She gasped and writhed against him, seeking out friction. Astarion finally allowed himself an experimental thrust, dragging his hard length along her backside. Tav gasped, delighted. They found a crude rhythm, instinctively grinding themselves against each other. Soon the tent was filled with the heady musk of arousal, the metallic tang of blood, Tav’s breathy gasps, and Astarion’s low, guttural groans of pleasure.

All too soon Tav’s heart began to stutter. It was a small murmur that interrupted her previously steady heartbeat. The dark animal inside of him told him to ignore it, to keep drinking until he was completely full. Astarion pulled away, swiping his tongue one last time over her, licking up any stray droplets he had missed. Once he was finished, Tav turned in his lap to face him, winding her arms around his neck.

For a moment they were both still. Tav’s eyes shone with lust and adoration, her breath coming in soft pants. Astarion’s neglected cock pulsed beneath her and he fought the urge to thrust up against her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this warm, this desperate to be touched. He stared at her, trying to memorize every detail of her wanton expression. Tav pressed her lips against his hungrily and he opened his mouth to her with a soft moan. Tav’s tongue gently lapped at his own, sensuously licking up the remnants of her lifeblood. Astarion reluctantly broke the intoxicating kiss.

“I think it’s time you went to sleep, my dear,” Astarion said. Tav drew back, stung.

“Oh, um, alright.” She quickly slid off his lap and Astarion stood up, too quickly to be nonchalant. “Was that too-“

“Don’t worry, darling. You were perfect,” he said, brushing off non-existent dirt. “But you almost died today. And I need you in tip-top shape tomorrow.” Tav flushed with embarrassment, but nodded. “You are right,” she slowly agreed.

“I always am,” Astarion said. He moved to go, but turned back once he reached the exit to her tent. “Sweet dreams, pet. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left before she could respond.

~

Of course there would be a condition. Tav wouldn’t let him drink her blood for free. It was him. He was the price. She would let him drink from her, perhaps nightly, so long as he slid into her bed each time. On some level this felt inevitable. He had always known that he would end up here, tangled in the most powerful party member’s sheets. The tadpole had changed many things but it hadn’t changed what he fundamentally was.

She wanted him. He wanted her. This was a good thing, he’d been actively aiming for this. So what was the harm? His old master had forced him to spread his legs for rotten scraps. His new one would have him on his back in exchange for a feast. This was a good thing!

But Astarion didn’t want a master. He wanted to be free. He wanted….he didn’t know what he wanted. If this was the price then he didn’t think he could pay it after all. Don’t be an idiot, his inner voice mocked. This is the way the world works. Blood for blood. Do you want to go back to Cazador? Then suck it up. This is our one in a million chance to be free and I will not see you fuck it up because, what? The pretty girl wants to kiss you and it makes you feel weird? Would you rather be tortured to within an inch of your pathetic life?

And yet another voice inside of him insisted that this was not fair. Tav had been kind to him. He had fallen on her in the middle of the night and she had fed him. She had defended him publicly to the rest of their company. She had stopped when he had wanted to stop.

Because she wants to fuck you, you imbecile.

He’d talk to her tomorrow and clearly iron out the details of this little arrangement. It was better, actually, if he left her wanting more for a while. He didn’t want her growing bored with him. So long as she didn’t eject him from the group, he could live with anything Tav threw at him. He had survived Cazador. He would survive Tav.

Author's Note:

Astarion is going to have a lot of complicated and contradictory feelings about Tav until more trust is built. This will take time, but I promise we will get there.

Chapter 3: Kiss

[justporo]

A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 15)

In which there is a tub in which they sit, also Astarion with wet hair looking like a puppy and Tav's getting hauled around like a sack of potatoes at the end (so keep reading). But be warned, this actually turned a lot more sad halfway through then I thought (doesn't end like that tho). Totally not another chapter that went down very much differently from what I planned, but we love that, right? Right?

Song for this one: lovely - Billie Eilish, Khalid

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Astarion / Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Some talk of past trauma (Tav's, not Astarion's)

(Gif from here!)

“Ouch – I know they say partners tend to take on each other’s quirks and habits but maybe you could’ve picked another one of mine out of the catalogue of admirable virtues”, Astarion said jokingly while shaking his hand. You could actually clearly see the bite marks you’d left and blushed shamefully. “Sorry”, you only answered. You felt incredibly exhausted now – as much from the sex probably as from everything else that had happened. You let your head again, only just noticed that the markings had dimly started to glow again – you could easily figure why. But you were even too exhausted to bring that up right now – and neither did the vampire.

Astarion noticed your change in dynamic and softly put his hand under your chin to lift your head up again: “It’s fine, my love, I’ve experienced much worse than some few harmless love bites.” He winked at you.

Rain kept pouring on the both of you. You were soaked to the bone, clothes clinging to your bodies. Astarion’s curls hung adorably around his face and were dripping from the raindrops – reminding you just the slightest bit of a wet poodle. A sudden urge to hug him overcame you and it was easy to give in. “I love you, Astarion”, you simply said and savored the feeling of being close to him. He put his cheek on the crown of your head in response: “I love you too, Tav.”

And so you stood there for several heartbeats just holding each other while the rain pattered down all around you. “Let’s get you home, love, and let’s run you a hot bath before you catch a cold”, Astarion said finally and gave you a pat on the back to signal you to go.

You nodded. “Will” – a hearty yawn interrupted the sentence you had only just started – “will you be joining?” “The fact that you even have to ask shows just how much you have yet to learn about me”, Astarion replied and pinched your butt as you both started walking – heading towards home. “Also I think despite the rain I have to wash some of your former friend’s blood off myself.”

You walked home trying to be inconspicuous because you both looked like a hot mess to be frank. Idly chatting you made it all the way to your townhouse in the Upper City and by the time you were at your front door and Astarion was unlocking the door for you, you were shivering so bad from the cold and the wet that you couldn’t stop your teeth from shattering. All while in the mean time you could already feel carnal hunger rise up inside you again because of the way the wet shirt clung to Astarion’s chest and how he kept running his hand through his soaking wet hair.

You went inside and immediately went to the bathroom where the pleasant luxury of an enormous tub in the marble floor and even hot running water awaited you. Astarion started the hot water tap and since you couldn’t stop staring at him and biting your lip, he had you again right there, next to the tub on the bathroom floor.

Afterwards you actually managed to keep your hands off each other long enough to climb into the blissfully hot water and scrub yourselves clean. Now you sat between Astarion’s legs with your back leaning against his chest while he was washing your hair and massaging your scalp. “How long has it been since you’ve last taken these braids out, love?” “Hmm?”, you only mustered while you had your eyes closed and enjoyed the feeling of his Astarion’s skilled hands caressing you into oblivion.

The elf stopped and put his hands on top of your head and made it arch to him: “Your braids, love, they look… dare I say… worse than some rats I’ve had to encounter.” You blinked at him upside down, not trusting your ears about what you just heard. “If you think it’s enough to get me drunk and only fuck me twice before throwing shade at me like that I sincerely hope you’ve made peace with your un-life coming to an end”, you answered slowly. Astarion’s lips crept into a naughty smile: “We could make it three times before I also start commenting on your choice of clothing, my love.” You stared at the bastard for a moment before you elbowed him with a lightning-quick movement that caused a huge splash water. But dampened by the water the hit was no more than a love tap and Astarion started laughing: “First the biting, then the matted fur, now the unnecessary violence – really makes me think of one of those orange street cats.” “I can bite your ass again if that’s really what you are asking for”, you hissed at him and tried to splash him with water but only partially succeeded. The vampire just kept laughing.

“Is it really that bad though?”, you asked him, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you started to think about how you might look compared to the impeccably groomed high elf, your shoulders slumped a little. The comparison to a street cat had actually hit closer to home than you would have liked. “Let me see what I can do, my love.” He started to carefully sort out the braids on the right side of your head. “Also – I do apologise if my dumb remarks were hurtful to you. I merely meant to tease you. If it still counts: you are the most beautiful person to me I’ve ever met and I actually do think cats are fierce creatures and deserve all the admiration they can get – especially orange street cats”, he blabbered and pressed a tender kiss to the side of your head. It was obvious that he was worried now that he might have hurt you for real and was trying to gloss over it.

“Apology accepted”, you said and leaned into his touch. “Also” – you sighed – “I mean you are right, I might’ve not taken the best care of myself so far. It might actually a good idea to take on some of your vanity in that regard.” “That rather than the biting”, Astarion immediately threw in cheerfully, obviously relieved by your reaction and kept trying to untangle your braids.

“It’s just”, you started to add and sigh again “when you call me a street cat, I fear it’s more accurate than you might think. I lived on the streets of this city a longer time than I’ve lived under a roof.” The vampire’s hands slowed but he simply kept listening. “There were sometimes months on end when I didn’t really have an opportunity to just simply wash myself. Weeks in which I could merely get scraps of food and I was so thin you could count the rips through my tattered clothes. And… I’m sorry I’m rambling on about the past.” Your words end in a silent whisper. A lot of memories suddenly well up and you didn’t really feel like ruining the rest of the evening with unpleasant memories that lay well in the past.

“No, please, if you want to talk about it, I really want to hear what you have to say, my love.” Astarion let go of your hair and let his hands wander under the surface of the water to grab one of your hands and press it to his lips. “After all, you really taught me how healing it can be to talk about your past and trauma – and if I have the opportunity to do the same for you…”, he said and softly grabbed your chin to turn your face to his. His eyes looked suspiciously wet but shone with warmth and kindness. You could feel the tears coming now too, so you took a deep breather and stared at the ceiling for a good few moments before you continued.

“It’s just that I’ve never been able to have something good for long. My friends that you’ve met tonight – or rather the few remaining ones – are the only real good thing I had going for me for the longest time. And all this” – you raised an arm to signify everything around you and then moved to face the vampire better – “and especially and most of all: you” – you looked at Astarion and felt your throat close up – “are the best, the truly and honestly BEST thing that has ever happened to me. And when I lay with you or laugh with you or kiss you or talk to you I am as happy as I ever was in my life. But still…”

Your words got caught in your throat and the tears had started streaming down both of your cheeks.

“I cannot stop to wonder when the other shoe is going to drop”, you whispered hoarsely while you felt your lips quiver. And after you had finished you could do nothing but give in to your negative emotions overwhelming you. You closed your hands while the tears ran freely and you let out basically a howl of sorrow while you let your face lift skywards.

Sobs kept shaking your body as Astarion drew you in close and held you. Simply held you and kept talking you through your outbreak of emotions. His husky tone betrayed he felt and cried with and for you.

When your sobs subsided, you felt kind of empty – but better. Astarion kept rubbing circles on your shoulders and whispering to you. You lifted your head up to look at him but before you could say something he swiftly laid a finger on your lips to hush you. “First, let me say my thing please. And please don’t apologise for crying.” He’d caught you and the fact that he did made you already almost start to giggle again in a sudden burst of post-crying hysteria, but you simply nodded at him. “For as long as I live – or well, you know exist” – now you couldn’t help but giggle a little – “I’ll vow that I will take care of you and stay with you and that will do my best to keep you warm and fed and happy”, Astarion spoke solemnly while you could see tears well up in his eyes again. And it did exactly nothing to stop you from starting to cry again.

“No, hush, that’s enough tears for one night – it can’t be healthy to cry this much in one night, hush, love”, the vampire rambled in a panicky tone, obviously flustered and worried about how he could stop the well that you had become. But your tears dried up much quicker now. You wiped some leftovers from your eyes: “Now tell, is there any hope for my hair?” At that the elf grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at you while he started working on your matted braids again. After some time in now comfortable silence he gasped happily. “It might’ve been a challenge but here we go, all untangled”, he cheerfully declared and winked at you. “And are you going to re-braid it, or…” Astarion pursed his lips at you and angled his head to one side: “I think I actually quite like this look on you, at least for tonight.” You shrugged as if you didn’t care but blushed a little nonetheless.

“Now, my sweet, let’s get you out of the water, you surely have been soaked enough for one night. He gave you a little slap on the butt under the water, then grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder as if you were a sack of potatoes. Then he stood up and stepped out of the tub. You giggled and pinched his butt – to which you received a hearty slap onto yours.

He made you stand on the floor again to which you reacted with pouting because you had actually enjoyed his silly little act. But he only grabbed two very fuzzy towels, wrapped one around his hips – which made you pout even more because you had also enjoyed the view – and the other around you. Then he threw you over his shoulder once more which made you again giggle like a silly, lovesick teenage girl.

Astarion lovingly patted your backside while carrying you to the bedroom: “Now now, let’s make you think of other things, hm, my dear?” “Is that a promise?”, you replied in a cheeky tone. “It’s whatever you might want it to be, love.”

Tags: @daedriclys @angelofthorr @starved-kitten

[kyoranrilynth]

🩸BloodNotes🎶: After the Love Trial

As the group settled down for the night, Kyoran made her way to Astarion’s tent. Unlike most nights where he stood outside reading in the moonlight, that night Astarion nestled himself inside his abode, working on what seemed to be some needlework when Kyoran peeked inside.

A lump caught in her throat as she watched his hands carefully sewing away without taking any notice of her presence. Clearly, he was still agitated about the Trial of Love from the festival. She hadn’t meant to upset him and she certainly hadn’t anticipated the Dryad to be Orin in disguise either, but she’d still inadvertently caused problems between the two of them. So, Kyoran took a steadying breath and asked, “Can we talk about what happened today?”

“Which part, darling?” Astarion responded without looking up from his handiwork. “The rampaging clown, the ghoul who nearly ate your face off, or that farce of a love trial?”

Kyoran winced as she heard the bite behind the final listed event. “The love trial…” Her voice fell to a whisper as she crouched down beside him, but he refused to look at her. “I’m sorry, Astarion.” She reached out toward his shoulder but drew back, thinking better of it. “I got caught up in the moment in hopes of finding out the future about us.”

He choked out his signature cold, sharp laugh as he put down the shirt he’d been sewing. “You truly believed her, didn’t you?”

Kyoran sat silently, eyes glued to the mat beneath them.

“Gods, there are days I believe you’re quite stupid.” He picked up the shirt and needle again.

“I used to travel with people like her,” Kyoran sharply retorted, but lost her nerve the moment ruby eyes met hers. “At least the person I thought she was.”

“And did you believe the fortune teller then?” Astarion waved his hand as if gesturing to a non-existent person standing in the tent with them.

“I believed them well enough,” Kyoran pouted. “Besides…it’s not like they ever cared to remember any of their customers’ details anyways. Unless they were exceptionally interesting…” She began to trail off but realized what she admitted last second and tried to placate it by adding, “But we aren’t that interesting! I gave mundane, vague answers.”

“Sweetheart,” Astarion’s tone fell to a dark lull, “you told her I didn’t want to be a slave.”

“But that could mean anything…”

“Let me be abundantly clear: While that may be all well and true, we do not share that kind of information with just anyone. Especially not strangers at a circus.”

Kyoran nodded. “Again, I’m sorry. I was caught up in…” She gestured vaguely at him.

“In what?” He sighed, setting his project aside and finally turning to face her.

“Well, you.” Her face flushed. “I just worry.”

“Ah,” he tsked playfully and coyly placed his hand on his chest. “About me? How thoughtful.”

“Please, Astarion. For just a moment, can I talk to you about this?”

He grabbed her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Of course, my sweet. But there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll kill Cazador, take the Ascension, and we’ll be on our merry way. You’ll be safe because I’ll be powerful.”

But Kyoran didn’t like the thought of that. Something about the ritual scared her. If Devils had any part of it, she didn’t trust it. She desperately wanted him to abandon the idea of it, but knew she had to play it safe in order not to cause the rift to split any further. If she lost him…

She squeezed his hand. “I’m uncertain whether we can trust Raphael’s information about the ritual, but I’ll be beside you when you meet Cazador next.”

“Devil’s always lie,” Astarion scoffed. “But Cazador clearly has done his research. If that Devil lied to us, we likely can find more information in the palace.”

“Sure,” Kyoran lightly nodded, hoping her lack of response would deter him from the subject.

“Anyways, as adorable as it is to watch you fret over me, we don’t need to consult anymore fortune tellers…do we?” He quirked his eyebrow with a sly grin, waiting on the ‘correct’ answer.

“No, we don’t.” Kyoran complied.

“Good. Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about, my dear?”

~🎶~🩸~🎶~

[madforhoran]

You could start a cult - a flashback 

A little something I thought of to add to the original I posted a while ago here and on ao3. I will maybe add a bit more later.

“Remember how back in the forest I asked you if you enjoyed it because it didn’t seem like you were fully there?” asked Leliana. It was a quiet night at camp and what else it could be anyway, right in the middle of the wretched shadow curse. Astarion nodded, pressing his lips in a tight line. 

“I wasn’t fully there either. And neither the second time we slept together,” she admitted. The truth had to come out at some point. 

“What do you mean?” his softened voice was marked with concern. 

“Look at me and then look at Shadowheart. With her beautiful symmetrical face and ideally curved body. I look at myself in the mirror how everything is off balance, weird, and unattractive. My breasts are uneven, my stomach is pudgy. I’ve always felt ashamed getting naked…and to add insult to injury I’ve always felt pain down there, discomfort I cannot properly describe. I’ve never climaxed.”

“But,” Astarion started, a flash of anger crossing his beautiful features. “First of all, there is absolutely nothing wrong with your sweet face, nor your body! You are beautiful. Second of all, why did you agree to sleep with me, darling, you should’ve said — uhm,” he suddenly went silent, not finishing the sentence because they both knew if she said no, it would’ve ruined his nice simple plan right at the very beginning.

She sighed. “I’ve always thought I need to have sex to be with someone. I wanted to be close to you so I just did it despite everything. Haven’t you wondered why I so readily accepted us taking a break from it? That I wasn’t offended at all?”

“I must admit, I did wonder. I thought you’re going to end whatever-this-is,” he said. He struggled to call what they had a relationship but she wasn’t putting it against him. It was complicated.  

“You haven’t manipulated my feelings with sex, I was already there. And when you confessed, I thought of course him seducing me had nothing to do with my appearance or personality when literally everyone in our camp is more attractive and more interesting than me.”

Astarion huffed. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Oh, I know,” Leliana rolled her eyes. Astarion smirked. “We sure are a delightful pair, aren’t we?” He placed his skilled hand on top of Leliana’s stomach then slipped it under her shirt, making her belly twitch. It was a thing she couldn’t control, an automatic reaction her body developed on its own. She hated her torso. “What are you doing?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her and started making circles with his thumb. “I’m checking off a mental list. Because clearly telling you that you’re a vision wasn’t enough. I have to put more thought into showing you.”

“Astarion, please don’t, you don’t need to,” she protested, slightly ashamed. 

“I believe I do. I promise I won’t go any further. We’re in this intimacy mess together, albeit having different problems but still.”

“Are you going to magically make all the things I hate about myself disappear with your hands?”

“No,” he scoffed. “With my mouth too. But one thing at a time, darling.” 

[ariannadi]

Devise and Commit (2/2)

Can also be read on Ao3

Contains 18+ content (semi-graphic smut)

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

He hadn’t felt this nervous since, well, he’d revealed to Sitri that he’d developed feelings for her all those years ago.

He could do this. Astarion could do this.

He was just proposing marriage, why was he on the verge of having a conniption?

Twisting the Ring of Radiant Protection that sat on his finger—the very one Sitri had spent months crafting by following the incomplete notes of a deceased necromancer when their plan to find the original (and likely stolen) piece fell through—Astarion swallowed thickly.

The half-elf sat in her favorite armchair on the main floor of the cottage they had acquired once they’d decided to settle down for a time; completely absorbed in whatever piece of reading material she had picked out for the week. Gods, she was so beautiful. So incredible. He loved her more than he ever thought possible; the way her nose scrunched the tiniest bit as she read, the freckles on her face—little flecks of sunlight in of themselves—spattered across her cheeks, how every now and then she would start humming a little tune that he could vaguely recall from a bygone era. 

He could do this.

“Sitri?” he quietly inquired, unsure if he had actually spoken until she looked up towards him.

“Yes, love?” she asked in turn, only to grow a furrow between her brow the longer he took to respond. “Astarion? Is everything alright?”

“I-I…” he stuttered, once again having a brilliant idea but also no clue on how to execute it, damn it all. 

“There’s no need to force yourself to talk about whatever it is if you’re not comfortable,” Sitri reiterated, marking her place in her book and rising from her chair - indicating he had her full attention.

“No, I… I don’t want to talk.” Wonderful. He wanted to slap himself for that remark. At Sitri’s quirk of the lips, he floundered, “T-that is, I wish to ask you something.”

“Oh? Alright, then. Ask away.”

Astarion nodded, though the words still wouldn’t come. Instead, he decided he would ease his way into the topic - the way he had whenever he had opened up to her in the past.

“As you’re avidly aware, I’m terrified of being bound against my will once again. And well, I was almost certain I would never want to be bound in any way, shape, or form after everything I endured. I mean, it would make sense, right?” he couldn’t help laughing nervously, running a hand through his hair.

“Right…?” Sitri replied, clearly confused as to what he was getting at.

“But, lately, I’ve been thinking—it wouldn’t be so bad, if it was you. If I were bound to you,” Astarion continued, only for Sitri to look even more confused in response.

“Astarion… I’m not going to… bind you to me,” the half-elf stated slowly, like she was trying to decipher what she was saying even as she said it. Despite knowing he hadn’t made his point clear, Astarion still found himself growing frustrated.

“No, that’s—that’s not what I meant,” he stressed, arms flailing at his sides. Gods, was he going to have to come right out and say his intentions? 

“Then what do you mean?” Sitri questioned, eyeing him in concern with that sweet little pout of hers that he adored.

Astarion eyed her for moment, and finally, he allowed the tension in his body to deplete. He didn’t have to be on the defensive; this was Sitri, after all. He could be open and honest with her and she wouldn’t judge him for it. He didn’t need to beat around the bush anymore.

“I want to be your husband, Sitri,” he whispered, though the words still managed to ring about the silence of the room. “I want to marry you.”

Sitri blinked once, then blinked again. "You... you do?"

"Yes," Astarion answered, and stepped forward, taking her hands in his. "Is it really so hard to fathom?"

"Well, yes, for all of the reasons you started this conversation with," she said in a huff of laughter void of humor. "I mean... I don't want you thinking we need to be married to… make a point, or whatever. Aside from that, well… look around you. I mean, this is it. You’re sure you want to settle for this? With all of the years you have ahead of you?”

"’This is it’ she says," Astarion scoffed whilst rolling his eyes, and firmly cupped her face between his hands. "Gods, you really think I’m simply settling for this? For you? After all this time, have you still not properly fathomed just how amazing you are? I meant it when I said I wanted to experience everything life has to offer. That includes being wed to you, the love of my life; whatever useless gods who give a damn bearing witness from above. There's no pressure to say yes, but… I would be honored beyond comprehension if you accepted."

"Astarion..." Sitri, gazing at him in both surprise and adoration, breathed at his speech—her wobbly lips rising into the tiniest of smiles. "Alright."

At first, the man wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. "Wait. Alright? Alright as in 'yes'?" he asked, making no efforts to hide his eagerness.

"Yes," Sitri echoed, her smile growing even wider. Astarion couldn't help himself; he scooped his fiancée (that would take some getting used to) into his arms and spun her around with the widest grin possible, all while she giggled so joyfully. As they came to a stop he kept her wrapped up in his embrace, not wanting to let go just yet.

He would hold her like this forever if he could.

When he felt the gentle twining of fingers in his hair, he slowly raised his head, only for Sitri's eyes to meet his own - enrapturing him on the spot. After a moment, perhaps eternity, he lowered his head so that their lips met in a tender kiss tinged with heat; quickly flaring to life with each successive push and pull.

Sitri let out a soft whine when his mouth descended to the pulse point of her neck. His fangs merely skimmed at her flesh from where they peeked between his lips, but it managed to send a pleasant shudder through her frame all the same. He moved lower, his lips brushing at every freckle he happened across, and tugged at the ties of her shirt; sliding the loose material off one shoulder, then the other, until the garment had fallen into a heap on the floor.

“Astarion…” his beloved whimpered, her face flushing so adorably as her pert breasts were gradually exposed to the cool air of the room. Astarion settled on his knees and palmed the soft mounds in his much-larger hands—his thumb teasing at the nipple of one while his mouth left suckling kisses to the other.

“Is this alright, my love?” he asked in-between his gentle attentions, peering up at Sitri through dark lashes.

“More than,” she breathed with a little smile. Her own hands settled on his waist as she went to shimmy his shirt upward, but not before seeking his eyes for explicit permission, of which he happily granted. The woman laid gentle kisses to the cool flesh of his chest as she too sank to her knees, and when her arms looped over his shoulders he was swift to return the gesture. Instead of merely embracing her, he lowered her to the floor in a tactical maneuver as his lips sought hers once again.

“Here on the floor?” Sitri inquired breathlessly at one point, lifting her hips when Astarion took hold of her bottoms and rolled them down her legs.

“My love, you act as though we haven't fucked on a bed of soil and pine needles,” the elf scoffed in reply, kissing his way down the softness of her stomach. “No, I can see you so much better in this room’s light. Appreciate all of your little quivers and expressions as I make love to you.”

"Astarion," Sitri groaned, only to gasp sharply when his mouth bit into the flesh of her hip, leaving just the slightest of punctures before he repeated the action on the opposite side, eliciting the same reaction.

“Yes, just like that,” the man, clearly pleased, uttered with a devilish smile. Her aroma was quickly becoming something intoxicating—a heady concoction of both the wetness soaking through her smalls and the light trickle of blood rolling down her skin, which he greedily lapped up before it could hit the floor.

Oh, but that wasn’t the only thing his tongue was good for.

Pinching her undergarments between his fingers, Astarion slid the thin material down his fiancée’s legs and tossed it somewhere behind him. He then went to part her thighs, but a gentle hand in his hair stopped him.

“Husband-to-be, won’t you let me take care of you, too?” Sitri pleaded with pinkened cheeks; her lip caught between her teeth whilst she batted her lashes at him. Both her words and endearing display managed to send a rush of heat directly to his groin.

“Well… since you asked so sweetly,” he answered just as suggestively, and sat back on his haunches.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t rather eager to see what she had in mind. Sitri wasn’t usually one to partake in more risqué ventures, but she had her moments, and that made such occurrences all the more exciting.

The half-elf, her naked body flushed from head to toe, got onto all fours and slowly crawled her way towards him; her sapphire eyes trained on his own and nearly predatory. Astarion’s throat quickly grew dry at the tantalizing display, and even as he swallowed roughly in an attempt to ease the sensation the strain in his trousers grew nigh unbearable.

Sitri reached for him as she rose up onto her knees, cupping his face in one hand and slotting their lips together. Just as her sweet tongue ran across his bottom lip, seeking entrance, he felt her other hand slide down to the front of his trousers and her fingers brush at the steadily growing bulge, drawing out a hiss from him.

"Is this alright?" she stopped to breathe into his mouth just before she proceeded, and Astarion loved her all the more for it, if such a thing was even possible.

His answer was a sound bordering on that of a growl. Yanking her to him and kissing her hungrily, he assisted her in undoing the ties to his trousers. The moment she took him in hand and began languidly stroking him, he nearly whimpered in relief. 

“Does that feel good?” Sitri asked as her grip became just a bit firmer, pressing featherlight kisses to column of his neck. Astarion’s head fell back with a groan the moment she swiped her thumb over the bead forming at the tip of his cock, and he felt the sly upturn of her lips against his skin.

Cheeky little pup. She knew exactly what she was doing. He retaliated by sliding a hand to her rear and pinching at the flesh of her cheek, which earned him a squeak and a glare.

”Apologies, love. Do continue,” he teased, making no efforts to hide his shit-eating grin.

Sitri merely raised a brow at him, and kept her eyes on him even as she sunk to the floor. Before he could even inquire her intentions, she bent forward and licked a hot stripe up the length of his cock, then delicately took the head between her lips.

”Nrgh!” was all Astarion could verbalize as his hand fisted into her hair. His lover’s mouth, so wet and perfect, took him deeper and deeper until he was practically hitting the back of her throat. Again and again did she sink down so expertly, pausing every now and then to either flick her tongue against the head of his cock or the thick vein that ran along the underside, and the spawn was almost certain he was seeing bloody stars as a result.

“Sitri, please,” he managed to beg as the feeling became too much, and gently pried her away from his cock with a slight tug to her hair. Knowing he wanted them to finish together, Sitri helped him in removing his pants the rest of the way before he gathered her into his arms and nearly tackled her to the ground.

”Inside, love,” Sitri panted, hooking her legs around his waist. Astarion nodded, he himself breathless, and sheathed himself within her slick, blessed warmth in a single thrust. Both of them groaned in unison at the sensation, before Astarion began shallowly rolling his hips. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, he made love to her like he was trying to sink into her very being.

He never wanted to be parted from her from this moment.

He loved her so fucking much.

And pretty soon Astarion, who once thought he would die alone and starving in a dusty tomb, would get to call her his wife. His wife.

”Astarion, Astarion,” Sitri sighed hotly into his mouth, fingers winding in his already-mussed hair. His own hands practically crushed her to him as he embraced her fully, not wanting a single iota of space between them even as his thrusts picked up in speed and flesh slapped against flesh.

I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all he could think, speak, feel, as he climbed higher and higher before finally reaching his peak.

He properly angled himself against Sitri as he rolled his hips through the aftershocks, and soon felt his lover clenching around him—a broken whimper escaping her as her head fell backward. 

All that remained between them were heavy, sated breaths.

The sun gradually began to set as they lay tangled up in one another on the floor, but even as sweat and other fluids dried on their bodies neither Astarion nor Sitri made an effort to separate. The latter did, however, ignite the mantle with the click of her fingers when a chill began to settle in the room, prompting Astarion to follow suit by reaching out to bat at a throw and pair of pillows from the nearby sofa until they fell to the ground.

”I love you,” Sitri murmured to him once they were satisfied with their arrangement there on the floor, snuggling further into his chest with a sigh.

Astarion pressed a kiss into her hair as his hands reverently ran up and down the length of her spine. “I love you, too. More than anything.” he whispered. “And I can hardly wait to be your husband.”

[baldurs-kinfessions]

We adopted a child, well after the Absolute incident. Gods, it was ridiculous, imagine a flighty dragonborn bard of mixed black and silver heritage (much stronger visually to the black dragonborn side), Gale, Halsin, and Astarion, with obvious help from Tara, taking care of a precious little gold-and-green dragonborn (in her case, the gold showed more, I suspected it may have been to do with the maternal line, though it could have just been a quirk of genetics). Halsin and I found her when she was just a few days out of the shell, and the moment I saw the green patch on her chest, I knew she was abandoned, not lost. Sure, the fact she was in a basket and just randomly in the forest pretty clearly telegraphed it, but that? That gave me the reason. The proof, in my mind, that her parents were ashamed of her.

I barely knew how to love myself, after so long hating myself, but I knew I couldn't let her grow up feeling the way I did. Halsin knew right away, he said he'd go looking for her parents just in case (in bear form "to track the scent" but I like to think he wanted to scare them for what they did since he didn't have to be a bear, he could Wild Shape into other animals) but if they didn't want her, they were dead, or he couldn't find them (he said he didn't find them, I'll never know if he was telling the truth or if he just thought that was the better thing to say), he'd be ok with adopting her. Gale melted when he saw her in my arms, and Astarion agreed when she grabbed his finger.

She was my little girl, my beautiful princess, and I swore an oath to every god and to myself that I would protect her with everything I had, even my own life if it came to it. She still called me 'daddy' when she was a teenager and even an adult, and every time, it just made me want to hug her so tightly because no matter how old she got, she was still my baby. She was taller than me, and she'd tease me about it...

We named her 'Grace' because I knew dragonborn society rejected her so I wasn't going to give her a traditional dragonborn name, and we could all tell she'd grow up to be graceful, besides, she deserved a name that reminded her of her beauty because the world wasn't going to see it the moment her green scales showed alongside the gold. I was so proud of her when she decided she liked showing off those green scales, because I could never show off my silver ones. She was better than me, and I knew I'd done what my wretched mother had never even tried to do for me, what my father had never even been around to do for me.

🐙

[wetcatspellcaster]

A few questions, which obviously can be answered at your convenience because I don't want to add to the burn-out you're experiencing (I hope you get some rest and relaxation soon!).

1. Do I need to know anything about Dragon Age to read your other fics? I'm desperate to read anything you've written because you're so talented, but I haven't played and don't know much about it.

2. I just reread Pieces again, and am so curious to know what Rosalie's dad is like and what he thought of Astarion! Also, "Rosie" 🥰

3. I'm American, and my attempts to write English/British characters make me cringe a bit because my American-ness seems glaringly obvious. I suppose this is a bit of weird question, but I've read my share of fics where I'VE thought, "Oh, this author is DEFINITELY American" so I would imagine you have, too. Do you have any advice for writing more... authentically, I guess?

Thanks, in advance!

hey anon! sorry for the delayed reply - i was sick and trying to leave the asks with more complex answers until a time when i had more than one unhappy braincell!

honestly, a mix? my dragon age fic was the first fic I ever wrote, so it was more reliant on existing plots and I also retell a bunch of stuff, particularly in my longfic? which means that it's actually more accessible than my current fic, which tries to avoid too much replay of canon dialogue and canon scenes and so expects the audience to know them, I suppose? But I'm not good at gauging how easy they would be to read with no knowledge of say, the concept of Grey Wardens. I do have one dragon age modern AU though, which is entirely independent of canon :)

Ahhhhhh, you're the first person to ask this!! To be honest, I chose to show Rosalie's mother rather than her father bc the aim of the final scene was to give this timeline's Astarion a chance to use the Charm My Ascension Turned Evil for an utterly harmless use, as a wholesome resolution to the story! Rosalie's father is a handyman (he met her mother doing repair work for the store she worked in at the time) and so he's slightly taller/stockier than you would perhaps expect (of course, in Pieces, he's now more of a wiry and lean old man). he's soft spoken and stoic, the kind of man who deliberately wouldn't raise his voice for being seen as intimidating (particularly with the canonical treatment of tieflings by WotC) but who's opinion is often valued and taken seriously when it is offered, because it's rare for him to speak up. To be honest, I think a meeting with him and Astarion would be hilarious for different reasons, I think both parties would mostly be befuddled on first meeting bc Astarion is very performative and her father is the opposite of that. If Astarion found canon timeline Rose's 'no ulterior motives' infuriariting, I think 'no front whatsoever but also no clear indication of his opinion of me' would also cause him to have a minor meltdown.

This question is difficult for me to answer, because I unfortunately have the Posh British Accent Download and additional DLC due to certain things that happened to me in life. But to be honest, my advice here would maybe be the following: 1. try to fact check any idioms or speech quirks with either a UK friend or something like reddit, or lift them directly from British TV/film dialogue. just bc I have seen certain turns of phrase used a little off-centre and that's what tends to give it away for me? not the 'oh you're clearly american' but the 'oh, you've clearly never heard this used in an actual conversation' 2. Read authors that have a 'British' voice (I cringed, but it is true!) I'm not Neil Gaiman's biggest fan, but authors like Gaiman and Terry Pratchett have a little bit more British English in their writing and so immersing yourself in one of their novels for a bit might help you emulate the stuff I do subconsciously (others might be Sarah Rees Brennan, Kieron Gillen's comic book The Wicked and the Divine, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, the Skulduggery Pleasant series... this all depends on what kind of British you're aiming for!!) 3. The way I still get into 'character voice' to this day is just by listening to youtube clips on loop. I can't do impressions but I can try to imagine the voice saying the line i've written!

[sweetmage]

Abdirak/Astarion WIP

In which the two take a trip to the circus and Astarion is none to thrilled about it. This actually will be a hurt/comfort fic, but I thought they could have a little teasing and bickering in the beginning as a treat 😊 I want to write them in more casual situations.

The circus was certainly a spectacle to behold.  Its garish tents, miserable beasts, and sad clowns were enough to make even those with the most jaded sensibilities cringe and Astarion, for one, was sure to let his feelings be known. "Surely there is something more interesting happening elsewhere. More useful, perhaps?" he grumbled, throwing up his palms and fixing Abdirak with a withering glare. "Oh but let me guess, you actually enjoy the ear-splitting music and the smell of the manure. I'm sure it's making you feel so very alive."

In return Abdirak shrugged, laughed even, clearly unruffled by Astarion's petulant attitude. "Is it so difficult to believe that I may find enjoyment in such simple pleasures? We have encountered fouler stenches on the road here, and as for the music, it is a touch too loud, but I am quite unbothered. Hardly audible over gripes, in fact."

"Well how fortunate for you," Astarion replied dryly, lips curled in a sneer. Though for all his cynicism, he had to admit that Abdirak did look happy, a growing rarity in the past few weeks, and even he could not bear to spoil it for him. "Fine," he conceded, trudging along the trampled pathway, "let's get on with it. I can only assume the sooner we begin, the sooner we'll be done."

"You know, Astarion," Abdirak began, apropos of nothing, "I once traveled with a troupe not unlike this one, though perhaps a tad more... disreputable. Not for the faint of heart nor weak of stomach."

"Oh?" Astarion was curious despite himself. It was rare that Abdirak spoke of his life before their travels together, and though he did not pry, he always wondered. "What were you then? A fire breather? Perhaps a strongman, with those arms of yours? An acrobat? A knife thrower? No no, I've got it, the knife thrower's target. Oh yes, I can see it now."

Abdirak smiled at his mockery, shaking his head. "Nothing so dramatic. The stage was not my calling, I merely worked the concessions."

"Oh, so you were the peanut boy," Astarion deadpanned. "How adorable. I'm sure you charmed all the patrons."

"Do not make it sound so undignified," Abdirak chided, cheeks tinted. "We offered a full menu of snacks. Peanuts were only a fraction. And I did it whilst run through with pins, it was a performance in its own right."

"Oh, well my apologies," Astarion said with his hands thrown up, not sounding sorry in the least, though he was struggling to hide his amusement. "I had no idea I was in the company of such a star."

"And yet, I did not need a grand performance to catch your attention, did I?" Abdirak he retorted, lips quirked. "Allow me my dignity, if you will."

"Very well," Astarion replied. "Tell me about your illustrious career serving popcorn then, if you must, but no pin cushion stories, they always bring the mood down."

[resting-meme-face]

Fic: Honeypot

Title: Honeypot (AO3 LINK), M rated, for sexual situations, mentions of canon-typical violence, abuse, and being-in-a-cult.

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Ship: Astarion/Shadowheart (yeah. Weird. I know).

Summary: Astarion's feeling nostalgic. Shadowheart's bored. They make a bet to test their respective prowess at seduction. Things go awry.

It starts the same way things with him always start: they’re drinking, separated from the rest of the party, and gossiping in Elvish.

Wine does nothing for him, of course, but he’s pathetically dramatic, and he appreciates the way a glass can look cupped in a hand or the way the long line of a throat can be exaggerated by a slow swallow.

They’re finally in Baldur’s Gate, and everything is happening simultaneously too fast and too slow. Their days are overheated and filled with fighting and fleeing in equal measure; their nights are in the Elfsong, first at the bar, wiling away the hours and grasping for a sense of normalcy, then later in their rooms, trying to rest.

“Is it perverse that I find myself getting nostalgic?” Astarion asks.

Shadowheart furrows her brow. “How so?”

“Well, you know,” he says, gesturing around the bar with his wine glass, relishing the prop. “These are the old hunting grounds. It wasn’t too long ago that I’d be prowling about, seeing who I could get wrapped around my little finger.”

Shadowheart hums. “And you miss it?”

“Well, not scrounging in the gutters exactly. But it is fun to ply the trade. A little intellectual sparring. Figuring out what makes someone tick. And a quick fuck isn’t too bad, either.”

“Am I not stimulating enough conversation?” she asks with mock-offense, deliberately ignoring the last part of his statement.

“Oh, I do love our talks,” he’s really pouring it on now, “but you know it’s not the same.”

Her eyes are scanning the crowd now, too. “It is tempting.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re full of surprises. I thought you would be too busy tucked away in your little cloister to go catting about.”

“It was much more ‘plying the trade’ than I think you’re imagining,” she says, her eyes hardening almost imperceptibly. “The cloister wanted a lot of things. Coin, knowledge, connections.”

She takes a generous swig of her wine. “It does have its upsides, though.”

He’s staring at her now. She hates that sometimes, the way his eyes go soft, and he seems to look right through her. It reminds her that they’re more similar than either of them would like to admit.

There’s a reason they always find themselves sitting together, having these talks. It’s not something their companions naturally fall into.

Astarion’s eyes dart away. It’s a relief to no longer be pinned under his stare. “Go on, then. Humor me. Who would be your mark, tonight?”

“Oh, no. You started the conversation. You first.”

He scowls. “Alright. The half-orc in the corner. Hunched over. Nervous. Alone. Built like a tank and clearly doesn’t realize half her strength. Shy.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, there’s something crueler in his tone, “I doubt anyone would miss her.”

Shadowheart eyes the half-orc, taking in the way she fiddles with her hands and sucks on her tusks. She’s painfully out of place. It’s almost sweet, and Shadowheart finds herself pitying the other woman.

Astarion smacks her on the shoulder, bringing her out of her reverie. Evidently, she’s been silent for too long. “You’re not getting out of this. Who’s your mark?”

“Man at the bar,” Shadowheart says with a roll of her eyes, finishing her wine glass. “Spotted him the moment he walked in. His clothes are better than anyone else’s here. Clearly from the Upper City. He’s either slumming it, trying to go somewhere he won’t be recognized, or both. Plus, he has a tan-line on his ring finger.”

“Oh-ho. I didn’t even see that one. Although, a spouse means someone will miss him.”

“Not your cup of tea, of course.”

“Not my some-type-of-drink, obviously. I’m sure he’s full of some delightful secrets for you, though.”

“Speaking purely academically, of course,” Shadowheart says, trying to get the attention of a barmaid to bring them another bottle of wine.

“Of course.”

She can’t help herself. She really can’t. Because the way he bristles is always so amusing. “You’re probably too out of practice, anyway.”

He bristles, predictably. “Excuse you. It was hardly a month ago that I was doing this. When’s the last time you managed? Oh, right: you wouldn’t remember, would you?”

“It’s not really the sort of thing you—"

“Besides,” he hasn’t stopped for breath, not that he needs it, “I’ve been doing this for longer than you’ve been alive!”

“Bold move trying to prove your prowess by telling me how ancient you are.”

“Oh, you may fool the other children, half-elf, but you can’t fool me. I know you’re older than you seem.”

“I’m going to tell Gale you said he was a child,” she snickers. She can imagine the look on his face when she says that.

Astarion’s probably right, though. She’s likely older than Gale. He seems to have aged poorly. Or he’s aged very well for a person who has swallowed a magical bomb. There’s really no accounting for that factor.  

“Not that I’m competitive,” Astarion lies, “but how would you fancy a wager?”

“I hardly think that would be fair,” Shadowheart says, offering a very pretty smile to the barmaid who has just returned with a new bottle. “Considering I’m much more attractive than you.”

The appalled gasp Astarion makes is almost as pleasing as the faint blush the barmaid responds to her with. “I’m the most beautiful person I know!”

“Perks of not being able to see yourself in the mirror, I suppose.”

“I could have the half-orc in my bed in an hour,” Astarion brags.

Shadowheart nods towards the man at the bar. “A half hour.”

“Quarter-hour.”

“Ten minutes.”

Oh. Fuck. That might be a bit ambitious on her part.

Astarion is grinning like he smells blood. Undoubtedly, he does, in more than one sense.

He thrusts out a hand to shake. “It’s a bet.”

Well. She’s never been one to turn down a challenge.

She shakes. And they both stalk off in opposite directions.

In 10 minutes, when she’s made no significant headway, she glances over towards the corner only to find Astarion being absolutely mauled by the half-orc who is pressing sloppy kisses to his face and dragging her tusks up and down his neck.

He makes direct eye-contact with Shadowheart and lets out the most whorish moan she’s ever heard.

Something clenches deep within her. She almost manages to convince herself it’s anger.

**

Two hours later, Astarion waltzes into her room at the Elfsong, whistling merrily. “How does it feel to lose? I wouldn’t know.”

“I didn’t lose,” Shadowheart insists stubbornly, reading the same page of the book she’s been reading for the past two hours.

Astarion has the nerve to giggle at her. She notes, not for the first time, that he has a very punchable face.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing now, darling, but I’ve had orc tusks all over my body, and it looks like the only lover you’ve taken tonight is made of paper.”

Shadowheart grumbles in irritation, turning away from him to dig through her things, returning to press a full coin purse into Astarion’s hand.

It isn’t hers.

“I didn’t lose,” Shadowheart repeats, returning fruitlessly to her novel. “I have his coin. I have his secrets. And I’d have his bed, too, if he didn’t only prefer the company of people who are more like you than they are me.”

Astarion barks out a laugh. “Oh, he’s picky! How quaint.” He counts the gold quietly for a second. “You know, darling, as poor a Sharran as you were, you might even be a worse Selunite, ridding a poor married man of his purse.”

“Please,” Shadowheart sniffs. “He sells weapons to Gortash. Besides, I already took a cut for the Moon Maiden as a tithe.” And enough for wine tomorrow night, as well, although he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well,” Astarion says. “I suppose that’s alright, then.”

**

“Best two out of three,” she says the next night. And it’s not just because her pride is wounded (although it is). And it’s not just because she’s spotted someone perfect (although she has). It’s because the image of Astarion moaning as he was crowded by the half-orc sears behind her eyes whenever she closes them, and it’s left her feeling rather…restless.

She has an itch that she would rather like scratched.

“Alright,” Astarion agrees immediately, cracking his knuckles.

“Her,” she points, a fair-haired human sitting alone at a table, looking rather furtive. “Cormyrian accent. Travelling clothes, but they’re new. She’s never gone anywhere before. Certainly, never strayed this far from home.”

“Ooh,” Astarion coos, “and the roads can be so dangerous. Anything can happen when you travel. It wouldn’t be a surprise if such a sweet thing never came home.”

Shadowheart wishes that she didn’t find this whole thing so gods-damned exciting. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t share marks, do you? I mean you clearly think you won last night—”

“I did.”

“So, surely you wouldn’t be afraid to go up against me so directly?”

Astarion responds by getting up to introduce himself to the woman. Shadowheart rushes to catch up, a half-step behind him.

“Hello, darling,” he says smoothly, offering his hand. “I couldn’t help but notice you were alone. Would you care for some company?”

“I—Yes,” the other woman says, slightly confused, eyes darting from Astarion to Shadowheart, who has sat next to her, slightly less elegantly than she originally planned.

“Oh, don’t mind my friend,” Astarion says, stage-whispering, “She’s rather simple.”

Shadowheart narrows her eyes, then turns to begin conversing to the woman in flawless Cormyran.

Astarion’s eyes widen as the conversation drifts over his head and out of his control.

Shadowheart tucks a strand of the woman’s golden-blonde hair behind her ear and laughs at something she says, eyes darting to Astarion’s in amusement.

Astarion storms off.

**

It is six. Bloody. Hours. Later.

Astarion is in his rooms, trying to enjoy a bath that has long since grown cold, tugging absentmindedly at his cock and trying not pout.

He makes a sound like a goose when Shadowheart slams his doors open unbidden. He ducks down into the tub, trying to hide underneath the dissipating bubbles, moving his hand from his cock so quickly he’s surprised he doesn’t accidentally rip it off, hoping she doesn’t notice that he was engaging in one of the world’s top-10 saddest wank sessions.

“Couldn’t you knock?” he asks, aghast.

“Why? You don’t. Besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

She sets herself down, leaning against his bath, back to him. She’s loose-limbed, more than a little drunk, hair undone from her braid, and looking delightfully well-fucked. She absolutely reeks of sex.

Gods, he’s going to have to finish his pity-wank after this, isn’t he?

He sighs and drapes himself half over the tub to peer at Shadowheart. He takes some measure of satisfaction in the fact that his wet hair drips onto her face, causing her to wrinkle her nose in displeasure. “Since when do you know Cormyran?”

“I am a woman of many secrets and even more talents,” she smirks. “She’s a princess, you know. A minor one, but still. Shame you couldn’t have been there.”

He wants to rip her apart with his eye-teeth. “Did you at least steal her purse?”

She frowns. “She’ll need it. She’s fleeing an arranged marriage.”

Astarion drops back into the bath with a disappointed sigh. “You’re too soft-hearted. I would’ve gotten flogged if I returned empty-handed like that.” He realizes only a second later what he’s admitted to.

“And you don’t think I was?” she snaps.

They’ve both gone very still.

“I’m—”

“No. I’ll—”

“Wait.”

She’s gone in the next second.

And gods, the water is freezing now.

**

It’s the next night. They’ve been sitting in silence, drinking, for hours, neither making eye contact. Astarion would like to cut the tension with a knife, or in lieu of that, at least disembowel something.

“You said best two out of three—“ he begins suddenly.

As she simultaneously says, “Fuck me.”

He’s very much sure he’s taken leave of his senses, suddenly. Doubtless it’s from the blasted tadpole in his brain. “Pardon?”

She sighs. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Ultimately. I mean, we have the proxies, but what we’re testing is our prowess. Our attractiveness. Our skill. Why shouldn’t we test it on one another?”

She has a point. He’s not going to admit that without a fight, though. “You’re assuming I’m actually attracted to—”

“Save it for someone who’s never played this game.” She has her head propped on her hands, looking at him like he’s a bug pinned to a display. She looks exhausted.

“You know, people usually look more eager when they proposition me.”

“Same.” A shrug. “We can’t always get what we want. I’m going upstairs. You can follow, or not. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow night, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

That would be a terrible shame, wouldn’t it?

**

She kisses him so hard their teeth clank off each other.

Well, it’s nice to be wanted.

[rubistella]

Where Astarion thought there was indulgence to be found in all of the grittier details of Gale's nights spent by his Mystra's side, he was instead cursed with a sob-story of bad romance gone worse and the naivety of a young magician to boot.

"Hm?" The pale elf had already lost track of himself by the time his curiosity was waved off and replaced by whatever it was that Gale wanted to share with him instead. His eyes dipped to the hand in wait and a brow hitched in turn.

Was it merely a labour of imagination gone wild and distant musings distracted with what's for dinner tonight, or did Gale just offer to show him how wizard sex worked?

"You can't be serious." Astarion flatlined with a snort. Disbelief took root in the quirk of his brows and the way his his stare swung between Gale's hand and the wizard's deep brown eyes. That would have been laughable had Astarion not been so taken aback by it all. "So much courtship and lore flowing in the rivers that brought us here, but all of them clearly run dry by the time they reach camp."

As well as the wine and flowers, obviously.

Astarion couldn't tell if the wizard was making a pass at him, or if he was merely exotic that way by default.

"Or am I wrong in my assumption that this," the pale elf gestured towards Gale's hand. "Is your way to busy yourself for the night? I mean, I'd rather think courtship's more of a sweetener, really. Not entirely a necessity, but it does feel nice from time to time?"

Lurking beneath the pale elf's derisively satirical banter there just might have been the subtlest of hints of curiosity. Clearly not enough of it, however, to urge him to take the hand and dive headlong into the unknown without knowing exactly what it entailed. As per Cazador's very own words, one of Astarion's few virtues was that he trusted no one.

At least not entirely.

A single brunette eyebrow arches upwards, rather strait-laced in nature, “Mere words of prayer? Oh no, I laid with the Mother of Magic herself. What we had was transcendent, euphoric, and entirely not the point of this conversation, Astarion.”

Chosen one, she once called him. Oh, how the mighty have fallen so far. “From quite the young age, I was what one might call a wizarding prodigy. Such was my talent to attract the attention of Mystra herself, who named me her Chosen, and much, much more.” So young, and so, so naive as well. Mystra was his goddess, his muse, the embodiment of the very Weave itself. How could a young wizard believe such attention to be anything other than love?

The benefit of hindsight leaves the wizard reeling in devastating regret, only guilt remains as Gale ponders the destructive orb in his chest. However, there is something else, as he reflects upon all the years lost, how desperate and eager he was to please his Goddess. Never quite powerful enough, never good enough to be deemed an equal. This feeling, it stirs uncomfortably deep within his stomach. Anger, and well, Gale had never been one to dwell in anger.

This is the story of his folly, after all.

"To turn a rather arduous story brief, I disregarded the flowers and chocolate approach, instead pursuing a far more grand gesture of my romantic affection." A raw piece of fractured magic, of the Weave itself. What if he could return this lost part of herself back to the goddess? If only Gale had known what that cursed tome truly contained. "Perhaps it is better for me to show you, should you be so inclined."

Never knowing Astarion as one to stray from his rather morbid curiosity, the wizard kneels down before his vampiric companion. "Please your hand over my heart," he offers, an outstretched hand waiting to be taken.

[radicalbillie]

Love at first bite

Pt 6.

Astarion had truly been enjoying allowing his skin to soak up the suns rays. 200 years without, he had forgotten that light wasn't always harsh and punishing; it could be a soothing touch as well.

His feet stopped, facing the entrance to his tent. Eyes scanned nervously behind, straining his neck. The Gith had risen by this time her and the bloody Blade of Frontiers were having a chat. Trading fighting techniques with the halberd.

The vampire began biting his nails, the anxiety was flaring back up. The Ranger wasn't back yet, and the morning light was growing sharper as the sun continued to rise.

"Okay get a grip now." He talked himself down.

There was a waterfall behind his abode, near a small ruin, his long quick legs brought him quickly to it.

"I can ignore orders, walk in the sun..." he concocted the list under his breath.

Scared puppy eyes looked at the crashing waters before him. Could he be this lucky? He peeked over his shoulder nonchalantly as he could manage; seemed he didn't have an audience.

He raised a shaky hand, slowly to the rushing waterfall. It was only a small bit of his index finger that met the liquid but that was all it took. Like sticking his hand into a burning braizer.

He sucked in air through his teeth hard in pain as he whipped his hand back. He gripped his finger hard in his other hand.

"Fuck." He spat loudly.

Uncurling his hand he watched the seared flesh on the tip of his finger slowly regenerate itself, returning to its usual silky color.

"Oh sure, why would any of this make any bloody sense, or be remotely BUH-loody consistent!" He snarled.

Turning back to the camp, bleary red eyes looked to see a large orange cat, with a large flopping fish clenched in its teeth strutting up from the riverbank. A barefoot Wood elf not too far behind.

The mage stood up to greet her, he seemed to instantly notice the bruised blotch on her neck as they exchanged hellos. Astarion felt a familiar roll of his stomach, the sort he always felt back then when Cazador summoned him for 'dinner'. And just like he always did then, he forced himself to smile; to be suave and pleasant.

When he drew closer to them, he was surprised to see Ashe had a friendly smile to greet him with.

"Hello Astarion."

"Good morning, how do you feel?" He probed carefully.

"Fine, just a bit woozy." She shifted her weight placing a hand over the bite for a moment.

"It'll pass." He said, eyes focused on the large black an purple bruise.

It handn't looked that bad last night had it? Or had he just not noticed...

"So it's true?" Gale interjected. "We're traveling with a vampire? Of course we are." He rolled his eyes.

"That explains the pallet" Shadowheart spoke from the boulder she had been leaning on, listening in.

They were all glaring at him, all but the Ranger. Still, he had maintained a pleasant composure through worse.

"Just be happy I'm not a 'true vampire'. A bite from one of them and you might wake up a vampire spawn; like my good self. All vampires share in their hunger, but few have their powers."

"That why you can walk in daylight? Because you're only a spawn?" Ashe inquired.

"Oh no... I should be cinders in this light. Before now I hadn't seen the sun in 200 years. Someone..." He paused giving it some thought. "Or something wants me alive- they've changed the rules. Some of them at least."

Ashe gave him an inquisitive look.

"Running water still burns like acid. And I don't know if i need an invitation to enter a house. As for my other quirks, well we can figure those out in time." He smirked.

"Hunting with vampires, never thought I'd see the day..." Wyl's tone was almost jovial.

"I'm glad you're all being sensible about these revelations." Astarion kept laying it on thick. "I was worried people would show up with torches and pitchforks. "

Before he could speak further a loud snarl came up, suddenly the cat was standing between Ashe and himself, and if looks could kill.

"Although there's still time." He spoke nervously, hoping to diffuse the tension.

But then his blood donor said the most surprising thing he was sure he'd ever heard;

"Hmm, no- I trust him. He won't be anymore trouble."

Was she speaking to everyone or just the tiger? Either way he lept on the apparent acceptance.

"Oh no, quite the opposite I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty."

"I just better not wake in the night to find fangs at my throat." Shadowheart scoffed before walking off.

"Seconded..." Lae-zel added. "I will not be as forgiving."

Gale crossed his arms, clearly skeptical. "You say all the right words but I'm not so sure you mean the right things. Still, I will respect the decision that was made."

Ashe patted Nyla on the back, encouraging her to trot away. Astarion got another look at the bruise, her wet hair clumping on it, he thought to ask if she needed a potion, he was more than capable of making one up. However before he could ask she spoke;

"Just let me know if you need anything else, we're in this mess together after all."

"Oh, you're such a sweetheart." He mused.

Was... was he flustered?

With a slight smile tugging her lips, she turned away going back to her bedroll. Gale and Wyl both stayed, looking him up and down suspiciously.

"Yeah, I'm keepin' an eye on you- and no wise cracks about havin' us for supper." Wyl pointed at him, his tone far more serious with Ashe's back turned.

"Speaking of that." Gale added. "I taste absolutely awful Astarion! Keep your distance."

Astarion smirked devilishly; "oh, I believe it darling."

[timeforelfnonsense]

The Lusty Eladrin Maid

Rating: E (no smut yet but there will be in the update) || Ao3 ||  Sunshine & Starlight: My on going bg3 series || Author's tucked away at the end

It was a simple enough task to find Dafni in the little forest glade. He’d followed the trail of flowers left behind by her bare feet in the grass. The iridescent fabric of her skirt fluttered around her thighs as she twirled. Her nimble fingertips plucked berries, as red and ripe as her parted lips. She filled the woven basket hanging from the crook of her bent arm, singing softly to herself. A few rosy ringlets peak out of the front of her kerchief, framing her bespeckled cheeks. A smile tugged at Astarion’s lips, she looked like a storybook character come to life right off the page.

Silently, he crept further into the meadow watching her sway to her slivery, birdsong melody. Closer and closer until Dafni unknowingly spun herself into his embrace. Astarion pulled her into his chest, a baby pink flush spreading across the bridge of her freckled nose. Dafni glanced up at him, doe-eyed through her long, fluttering lashes. Daffodil cups unfurled themselves throughout the sea of curls flowing from her lacy kerchief. Their vibrant colors painting a sunset of yellow, cream, and peachy-pink in her tresses.

“It seems I’ve caught myself a faerie! ” Astarion murmured against her ear, toying with a stray tendril, twisting the curl around his index finger.

Dafni let out a chime of silver laughter before responding in an airy voice, “And what do you mean to do with me, good sir?”

“I mean to take you into my arms.” He said with a low chuckle, turning her so her chest was pressed to his own, “To kiss you and hold you.” He tilted her face upwards, finding her berry-stained lips with his own. Pulling away for a single torturous moment, he spoke once more, “I mean to make you mine.” 

He could taste the sweet tang of raspberry juice and honey on her tongue as he coaxed her deeper into the kiss. A contented sigh slipped from Dafni’s lungs. She nestled herself closer to his body, her full breasts pressed against his chest. He brought a hand to the base of her skull, gently cradling her head in his palm. He felt her lips curl into a smile under his kiss. 

He’d found himself rather enchanted by this little game of flirtatious make-believe. He’d perused the dog eared pages of her books out of equal parts boredom and curiosity. She’d only had the single faded pink leather volume in her bag when she’d been snatched, but over a few days, she’d been able to track down a trove of smutty literature. Through his investigation of the many, many volumes of romance and debauchery, Astarion had gathered some insight into the romantic workings of her mind. 

She dreamt of being swept off her feet. She wanted illicit midnight rendezvous. She longed for stolen kisses and tender words whispered between waltzes. To sneak away from a ballroom to some hidden alcove. He could picture it perfectly, her frilly skirts thrown over her back. His hand climbing its way up her stocking clad caves as she was bent over the nearest piece of furniture and tupped to oblivion.

What was the harm in indulging her whimsy for a little while? It would be easy enough to play the dashing rapscallion to her wayward debutante. 

 “I’ll happily surrender myself to you if you promise to kiss me like that again,” She said, her chest rising and falling with short breaths. A lopsided, sunny smile flashing across her mouth.

Dafni stood on her tiptoes as she threw her arms around his neck, drawing his lips to her own again and again and once more for good measure. Her hand cupped his face, her thumb stroking softly against the sharp line of his cheek. 

A shiver ran through her as he dragged the tips of his middle and index fingers down the sensitive flesh of her inner arm. His touch wandered along her bicep, carefully tracing the delicate outline of the hardy muscle beneath the trimmings of girlish fat. His hand wrapped around the outside of her arm next, giving her a gentle squeeze before continuing his exportation of the shaking limb. His thumb glided along the line of her vena amoris, strumming a soundless melody that reverberated against the walls of her heart. 

He followed the vein to the pulse point hammering at her wrist. Her breath caught in her throat as the warmth of his kiss slipped away. Dafni made a sour expression of protest but Astarion paid her no mind. Gingerly, he brought her wrist to his lips. A feather-light peck tickled her skin before he clasped her dainty hand in his own. The corners of his lips quirked up in a spellbinding grin. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side sending a singular ivory ringlet loose from that splendid head of hair. His left hand came to rest just above the small of her back. She leaned forward in a fruitless attempt to restore the kiss, but she was only able to catch the very corner of his roguish mouth.

“What happened to holding, and kissing and making me yours?” Dafni inquired in a playful mockery of his cadence.

“I am still holding you,” He reminded the hand on her back, pushing her closer for emphasis, “and I did kiss you. As for making you mine...All in good time, dear.” He purred, lips brushing the long line of her ear, “Tell me, sweet girl, do you know how to dance?”

“I- Yes, I know how to dance...”

“I thought so,” Astarion nodded thoughtfully. The hand on her back traveled up to the base of her shoulder blade. He gently nudged her arm upwards until to rest atop his. “ A pretty creature like you must be the star of all sorts of quaint fetes. I want to be certain that at the next little soirée you attend, you’ll spend the evening scanning the crowd for my face. And every time some brave young lord or lady plucks up the courage to ask for a dance, those perfect lips will turn ever so slightly upwards as you decline. Because every time you hear a waltz all you’ll be able to think of is the man in the glen and the passionate, consummate sex you had with him.” 

Dafni’s heart threatened to burst. There she was, Dafni Ríwen, Thesmia’s sheltered, unexceptional daughter of controversial paternity. The girl who sat on the sideline of every formal gathering she’d ever attended with an empty dance card and a sullen pout, seen as an unquestionable first water by the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on! She felt her footing wobble but Astarion’s confidence held her steady and sure. She knew it was only a bit of fun but she’d spent decades dreaming of finding herself in a situation very much like this one and by the hells she was going to enjoy it! 

Astarion was clearly versed in the art of ballroom seduction. He led her through the waltz as sure-footed as anything. Though there was no music, his rhythm never faulted. Moreover, he held her much closer than was proper. His hand had fallen to the curve of her waist rather than her shoulder. Her body felt as if it had been set alight at each point of contact. 

If they were truly in a ballroom some overzealous chaperone would have certainly made a fuss. While the fey were certainly creatures of revelry and carnal pleasure, they held a certain fondness for priority and decorum that seemed to outsiders rather contradictory. But, to the people of Faerie, it all made perfect sense. A chaperone scolds a young couple for improperly and perhaps the attention would incite a reaction from a rival suitor leading to a dispute of honor. Perhaps they proved the final push for a public delectation of love. Or, at the very least, the blushing lovers might seek out some secret place to continue their dalliance now colored with the excitement of rebellion.

The wicked curve of his smile and her previous encounter with him in these very woods, lead Dafni to believe that Astarion was exactly the sort of libertine who was all too thrilled to be given an excuse to sneak off for a bit of secret bedsport. A yearning sigh fell from her chest as she pictured herself laid for him in one of the Summer Queen’s manicured hedge mazes. She bit back a lewd noise as she pictured some hapless party goer stumbling across them still in the throes of amorous relations. 

All in good time, She repeated to herself as she picked her thighs together.

___

When I make a new OC, I always include a tiny piece of myself, a hobby, skill, or habit. It's always something small but acts as the proverbial  "baby's first laugh"  à la the fairies of Neverland for characters.  I don't usually share what that spark is, but rather keep them as little in-jokes for myself and those closest to me. As a little peek behind the curtain, I will share that Dafni inherited my love of romance novels. I'm sure it's no surprise to anyone who follows my tumblr I am a lover of smutty, historical, and fantasy literature. This fic is my love letter to Tessa Dare, Lisa Kleypas, and all of the other women whose stories provide me with a much-needed escape during an awful year as well as inspiring me to write once more. Part two coming soon! (Also yes, the vena amoris is an old wives tale BUT it's very romantic, and who's to say elves don't have the fictitious heart vein?)