#she said eyeing that Astarion/Durge fic

[zenatness]

Took a little break from proper NaNo writing to spend the day editing a 6k BG3 fic I wrote earlier this month. It was almost relaxing. Almost. Except for, you know, editing NaNo-level first drafts.

Writing Holly for so long has really fucked with my writing. Skipped pronouns in the beginning of sentences, lists of three but we don't need that pesky 'and', etc. and naturally I changed tense repeatedly. As one does.

Either way, it's finished and published (whoo!) and out of my hair. Hopefully the "say please" in act 1 will stop haunting me during my waking hours now.

[petit-etoile]

chaos construct

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 4869 content warnings: no in-depth descriptions, but mentions of astarion's life with cazador. no in-depth descriptions, but durge!tav remembers torture by kressa and is haunted by memories of orin (unnamed), other tags: canon compliant, hurt/comfort, introspection, character study, codependency, blood drinking, gender neutral tav, the dark urge as player character archiveofourown: here. kiss prompt: ❛ 28 . a kiss over a scar . — here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘It will be rotten work,’ you say softly. / ‘Not for me,’ Astarion promises. ‘I will relish in it.’

　　　　　　𝐈. ﹕previous fic　　　　𝐈𝐈. ﹕next

You lean forward and look into the mirror. You take your time analyzing each and every inch of your unfamiliar reflection. Carefully, you trace the tip of your finger along the thousands upon thousands of thin white lines forever painted into your flesh. You follow the carvings from your bruised lips down between your swollen collar bones until you can no longer follow them. You slip your night shirt over your head and drop it aside unceremoniously, bracing yourself. Your eyes burn dangerously.

There.

Unrestricted by the burden of clothing, you can see it all clearly now.

You touch the scars that Kressa Bonedaughter gave you with violent, shaking hands. In truth, you’re not surprised you’ve never noticed them before. They’re practically translucent but they are there, and you can see them now, and no matter how many times you scrub at your skin to remove them, they will never be gone. You try to rub them away but all it does is make your skin irritated and sensitive.

In the sunlight, your scars are easier to find now that you know what you’re looking for. I wanted to keep you for myself, she had said, I opened you up endlessly with my scalpels, and got lost in your insides. Disgust causes your stomach to churn. Your dreams come back to haunt you. The piles of bodies. A flash of red hair and dead eyes. Knowing, somehow, what to do when Sovereign Spaw demanded Nere’s head. You were the butcher of Baldur’s Gate.

You push your fingers against your mouth and sob hysterically. The truth will always be a part of you now: The Urges, the scars, the pounding headaches, the feeling of possession. It’s horrible and bloody and repugnant and worst of all, real.

There is nothing you can do to take away what you’ve done or what you will do.

It frightens you.

You whip around accusatorially. Astarion doesn’t mean to startle you but the look on his face says he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. You snuck away from camp a while ago to sit in front of this old magical mirror, and he must’ve waited as long as he could before the worry over your disappearance overcame him. He joins your side wordlessly, but he doesn’t look at you directly. He watches you through the mirror with muted fascination, torn between sorrow, between mourning . His expression is so twisted that you almost feel like reassuring him that everything is going to be okay. But you don’t know. You don’t know if you’ll be just fine. You can’t find the words.

You feel very silly all of a sudden.

You do your best to wipe your fingers across your face, smudging your tears down your cheeks and across into your hair. You wipe your hands on your pants and try to calm your shuddering breaths but it’s almost impossible. The air around you is too hot and too cold, and you can’t tell if Astarion is looking at you with pity because you disgust him or if he’s looking at you because he thinks he has to comfort you.

You never asked for this. You never desired the truth of what you were. You wanted it to disappear before anything became real. You turn away from him, trying to force your expression into something more neutral. All you can see is imaginary blood on your hands. You put your face in your hands and hiccup.

‘Don’t you dare hide,’ Astarion says. ‘Not from me.’

He’s gotten touchier since the day he confessed to you. Despite how hurt you had felt at some of the truth, you held him throughout the night until you had fallen asleep first, and when you had woken up, Astarion had still been curled in your grip without you ever having to beg him to stay. Now, he’s the one sliding his fingers across your shoulders so that he can hold you ever so gently in his arms. He presses his face into your hair. His grip is loose enough that you could run away if you wanted to, but you don’t  —  you never want to and you don’t think you ever will. You want to be comforted.

‘Talk to me, please,’ he says, voice strained.

‘What is there to talk about?’ you ask hollowly.

Astarion clicks his tongue against his teeth behind you and presses a tender kiss to the top knob of your spine, his breath warm against your chilled skin. You want to melt back into his touch, but the fear has caused your body to remain rigid. You wait for another headache to overtake you.

‘There is plenty to talk about,’ Astarion insists. He’s trying to not pester you, but patience isn’t a strong suit of his. ‘What are you thinking, my love? What are you feeling?’

You feel sick. ‘I’m a monster.’

‘Ironic,’ he quips.

‘You said it yourself,’ you say thickly. ‘You said that there are more stories about Bhaalspawn in Baldur’s Gate than there are vampires. Who knows what I’ve done, and I can’t even remember it all.’

His thin patience finally snaps. ‘Oh, stop it. If you want to be some terrible and frightening thing, so be it. Be a beast! But remember who you are talking to. You don’t get to sulk and mope and pout.’ He sounds resigned. ‘You don’t get to be worse without me and I don’t get to be better without you. It is our deal. Never one without the other.’

‘I almost killed you that night  —  ’

Astarion bites you, very gently, on the shoulder. ‘I almost did the same to you,’ he warns. ‘This isn’t a competition, you know. I don’t care about what has happened. I’m more interested in the future.’

You almost feel insulated with how blasé he is being about your recent discoveries. You dig your fingers into your own arms and try to formulate your thoughts carefully, but even you can feel how you’re trembling. Carefully, you lean back into his chest with an overwhelmed sigh and let him pamper you.  You don’t have to look to know that he’s watching you in the mirror. Astarion is determined to rub warmth back into your body, and you let his calloused hands roam without complaint. Somehow, you’re relieved he still wants to touch you.

All at once, you feel very tired. You’ve tried hard to not allow yourself to feel overwhelmed ever since the crash but it has been weeks and weeks of nothing but bad news. The more you learn, the more exhausted you feel, and the despair has bundled itself like a painful fracture in your ribcage. It hurts to breathe.

Every day you wonder how much further you’ll be drug down into the undergrowth. Elder brains, Bhaalspawn, avatars of gods and their whims…  Astarion presses a sore bruise against your side and catches the side of your head with his mouth, delicately kissing the curve of your ear while you flinch away from his touch. You peer at him anxiously.

‘I still remember what it felt like when I awoke,’ Astarion explains quietly. ‘My fingers ached from the digging, and I had cried myself to the point where I must have looked undesirable when I finally rose above my grave. Snot, tears, mud and gore from my change clinging to my skin. But unlike you, I could not see what I looked like. I had to wonder for years if my hair looked different or if my eyes had changed color. I knew they had, but I wanted to deny it, to deny him what he had made me. I knew I was a monster and I let that fear paralyze me for centuries.

‘I was a toy for when Cazador was bored. I was a weapon for when he needed blood. I was a creature for when he desired humiliation. Being nothing more than a spawn turned me into something almost unrecognizable. As horrible as the nautiloid was, as vile as this parasite is, I can’t help but feel as though it was somehow a blessing. I could have stayed angry. I could have betrayed you, stolen the other tadpoles and ran away into the night with nothing but power on my mind. But the nautiloid gave me something I never thought I would be allowed to have in this world. It gave me you, and I cannot lose you now. Do you understand?

‘You do not have to be a toy. You do not have to be a weapon. You do not have to be a creature. You know who you are now, and that is what matters in this world. I did not betray you then and I will not betray you now, so you must stay with me, my love. You mustn’t go somewhere I cannot follow you. You and I can beat this together so long as you believe in us .

‘I wish it were different for you, of course,’ he continues, and his tone is so anguished your heart squeezes itself into impossible shapes. ‘I wish I could sweep my hand across your belly and these scars would fade, but more than that, I want  —  I want you to realize you are alive , that these scars are reminders of who you were, but not of who you will be.’ Astarion digs his fingers into your flesh and you watch your skin against his, as he drags his hand across one of the more obvious scars that Kressa had left you. ‘If you wish to tear this world asunder, I am your weapon. If you wish to preserve it, I am its guardian.’

Astarion’s hand leaves your waist to grip your chin, forcing you to look at your own reflection. His thumb cradles your bottom lip and his other fingers splay against your cheek and jaw. He is protecting you from yourself better than your Guardian ever could. What he sees when he looks at you is not the wretched blood you’ve been cursed to bear, but the person you have become since forgetting. Even if your memories were to come in all at once tomorrow, Astarion would not care. If your urges became too much to ignore, he would not care.

You turn your head to force your eyes to meet his. You realize with a frightening hunger that you love him. You love him, and he loves you truly, and this was always meant to happen.

‘If you are to become Death, allow me to be your Dark Consort,’ Astarion whispers.

You swallow. ‘What if I want to be Life and create a new world in my image?’

‘I am your Arbiter of Souls,’ he vows, ‘and I will taste your ripe seed to see your fruit bloom.’

You feel the rush of heat sliding from your stomach into your cheeks before he even finishes. After all, everything you have done has led up to this. Your unyielding devotion. His unwavering faith. Admittedly, it’s an enticing thought. That you, in all your power, could rise to godhood as though it were nothing and slaughter the old pantheon as though they were nothing. Astarion would be there by your side to bask in the glory of your immortality.

You’re so very tempted… 

And Astarion only serves to tempt you further. He begins to take in every single one of your scars like you had before, only with his mouth instead of his hands, tracing the pale lines with plentiful kisses and his tongue. He mouths at your flesh as though he has never tasted your skin before, but he has, and you know he has. Even after all this time, he still favors your taste more than anything else.

Are you hungry? You can tell that it’s been a while for him from the way his hands flex with care to avoid bruising you. His hand grabs your throat again, his thumb pressed uncomfortably under your jaw. He shows great restraint with how he handles you. You could offer, but the words are caught in your throat. Are you hungry? Your eyes flutter closed and you imagine what the world would be like if Astarion drank you dry and replaced your blood with his until the curse of you is gone and the curse of him begins. Are you hungry? You try to push the thoughts away.

Ravenous, you think.

There’s something different in the air tonight.

It’s almost soothing the way that Astarion feeds on your agony. It’s as though he means to eat your desperation, to pull it from your muscles until there’s nothing left to eat. He busies himself in your body, drunk on how you’re malleable for him, intoxicated by the way you give into his whims as he twists and turns your body to look at the different scarring in the light of day. He doesn’t seem to care about anything else rather than appraising your body like a priest who intends on making a relic based on your physique.

And, if you’re being painfully honest, his touch is a welcome distraction from how overwhelmed you felt when you were alone. You did the same thing to him once, constantly poking and prodding about his vampirism. You remember his infinite patience. Astarion had tolerated the way you stuck your fingers in his mouth, spurned on only because he let you press your fingers against his teeth without complaint. He savored the way you apologized for pricking your finger on his canine just because you wanted to see what it would take to make that restraint snap.

Astarion runs his hands down your sides and memorizes every single line left in your flesh. You watch as he grinds his teeth to keep from doing anything impulsive. He desires you so distinctively. If you were to look, you would recognize how glazed over his eyes were and what that meant. He’s trying for you.

‘What if you grow tired of taking care of your Messiah?’ you ask to divert his attention from your throat. 

‘What kind of Disciple would grow tired of their Purpose?’ Astarion counters easily. He raises his chin defiantly. ‘I would never grow tired of the God I chose.’

You would have been skeptical before, but Astarion seems intent on making you a believer of your own regime. For a brief moment, you think you ought to be concerned that this is another manipulation  —  an unapologetic grab for power at your expense. You know better.

Astarion is building a shrine between your ribs, in your marrow and in your sinew. With his loving hands, he shapes you into the Temple of Bhaal anew. Your only task is to dethrone your father and take back the autonomy which ought to have been yours from the beginning. Like the Nightsong from Balthazar. Like Isobel from Ketheric. Like a lamb at a slaughter.

Your flesh is the bread and your blood the wine and Astarion is the most devout of your followers. Not because you saved him for perdition or because you tore apart the hells to save him while he rotted in his grave, but because of the life you have given him in the aftermath of his misery. You are the taste of freedom he so eagerly covets. You are the miracle he has yearned for ever since he pressed you into the leaves in the wilds that first night. You were his from the first taste.

‘It will be rotten work,’ you say softly.

‘Not for me,’ Astarion promises. ‘I will relish in it.’

‘For how long?’

‘For however long it takes,’ he says, and he means it. There’s no coy playfulness behind his words, only the intent itself. ‘I can be devout, you know. I will wash your feet and your hair, and write a scripture so beautiful even the Lady of Loss would be jealous of the devotion.’

Before, you might have considered these promises one of Astarion’s wild whims. One of his techniques used to draw in the unsuspecting, but you have always been something more than a rabbit for the fox to chase. The underlying hum in his voice is the power of the covenant he preaches. These might have been words months ago, but not to you, never to you. This is as sincere as Astarion can be. A genuine oath that rivals the words of a paladin’s honor. He lays his lust bare in your chest.

You slide to your knees with Astarion kneeling behind you. He grabs you by the throat again, and though he tries to be as gentle as he can, you can’t help but gasp at the roughness. He forces you to look at yourself, to look beyond the scars and at the future ahead of you.

You lean into his touch. He’ll never fully understand why, and that’s okay with you. For now, this is enough to keep you content. His hand around your neck, his other tracing every scar you’ve ever received, not even pausing over the recent scrapes and bruises from the battle with Ketheric in the very depths of your personal hell. Astarion has a touch that slowly consumes you  —  that devours you until there is nothing left. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and allow him to witness everything you have to offer.

Damn the hells.

Damn the heavens.

Damn everything beyond.

Astarion does not believe in gods. He does not believe in the kindness of men. If anyone else were to offer him a gentle hand, he would flinch away from the touch in disgust. But it is your hand that is outstretched and he takes it willingly in a marriage of trust. Now your soul rests alongside his, trapped in a cage of your making, as beautiful as a prized canary to be kept in a gilded manse. Together is where you belong.

‘Are we sinning?’ you ask.

He hums in consideration, and strokes your pulse absentmindedly. He bites at your neck again without breaking the skin and inhales. You close your eyes and know the truth.

‘I’m afraid this time we are, my love,’ Astarion confesses. ‘We are passionate heretics, you and I. No other word is as sacred as the one we have to seek to build.’

‘What will become of us?’ you ask.

He laughs against your skin and nuzzles into it. His breath tickles your skin and causes it to rise. Without thinking, he bites down on your shoulder again and groans when you cry softly.

‘What does it matter?’ he murmurs. ‘All we have in the world is us. Let them come.’

‘Are we sinners?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he admits. ‘I’ve been a sinner for quite some time. Did you know  —  Did you know your blood sings for me?’

‘Drink from me,’ you say. ‘A good consort should be strong at all times. Are you weak, Astarion?’

You feel his grin.

‘I am frail, indisposed, feeble without you,’ he says. ‘I am nothing if you are not by my side.’

‘You should say it again.’

‘Why, you’re being cheeky,’ Astarion laughs. He bites you with intent this time and draws blood. You look at yourself, at the heat in your cheeks. ‘I  —  am  —  nothing   —  without  —  you.’

There is nothing more you desire than being consumed. It’s different now. You might have sought Astarion’s warmth once before, but now you seek for something else underneath his practiced exterior. You are the illithid parasite on a hunt of sustenance, and you choose the way he mouths at your skin.

‘Now,’ he muses, ‘let me worship at your altar.’

Instead of biting down into your skin to continue to feed, he trails a line of kisses across your back and the edge of your neck. Over and over, he follows a path with his fingers first and followed by his mouth as if kissing the scars will cause them to fade into oblivion. It’s such a contrast to your conversation you don’t know where to begin. This is the intimacy Astarion chooses to show you.

Nothing else matters.

Baldur’s Gate does not matter. The Elder Brain does not matter. There is only one thing that Astarion seeks. Your happiness and comfort, and Astarion hunts for them with every kiss and thoughtful touch that the dedication makes you feel as though you’re fit to burst. No one has ever done that for you, not in this lifetime and the lifetime of whoever you were before . Your hands were calloused and for murder, not for love. You keep reaching for it.

What is love if not these selfish, unholy desires? When you close your eyes to dream, you imagine Astarion and his silver-white hair over you haloed by intense divinity, his cerise gaze unwavering, this intense loyalty, his practiced laughter and the gentle lines of laughter around his eyes. These dreams drown out the nightmares and the fear. Sceleritas Fel cannot take that from you.

You will not let Bhaal win.

Cazador made Astarion with the purpose of creating a lamb for the slaughter. Bhaal created you as the knife to be used in sacrifice. You would make them both pay for this betrayal of innocence. They have twisted you into something unrecognizable. Astarion might have bit out your throat once upon a time, but now he kisses the back of your hand and watches your expression carefully for any sign of discomfort. You have reminded him of the man he could have been.

‘I do not want you to hate yourself like I have hated myself,’ Astarion tells you, eyes troubled. ‘That isn’t to say you cannot grieve, but you mustn’t become lost. I need you here with me.’

‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’ you ask. ‘Even though I…’

‘I will never be afraid of you,’ he vows, ‘but to be afraid for you, to worry…’

‘There are still things I want to do,’ you tell him.

You think of the red-haired woman who stood next to Gortash and Ketheric, and something about her causes the tadpole to move uncomfortably in your skull. You flinch at it and press your palm against your eye as if that will stop it. You remember something , but it’s hard to think, hard to follow.

Astarion smoothes his hands down your sides and rests them on your hips, peering over your shoulder at something you cannot see. You watch the worry slowly leave his face until there’s nothing left but smooth  acceptance, as if he too is coming to terms with what it means now that the truth of what you are has come into play.

Bhaalspawn.

Not just a spawn, but the favored child of Bhaal, inheritor of the throne of murder.

Underneath that mask, you are still you. The person you have created who is kind, who laughs and plays with tiefling children, who steals stuffed animals to give as gifts to Karlach and encourages Lae’zel to find the truth of Orpheus, who stood with Shadowheart before the Nightsong and encouraged her to choose her own fate, who willingly wades through the depravity of a mindflayer den to find Wyll’s father, who does not want to be another mistake for Jaheira to clean up, who wants to mend broken bones with Halsin, who wants to drink wine with Gale and listen to his stories of Tara.

The person you are now knows not the designs your father had in store. You are innocence reborn and safe from his defiled image. You cannot remember the cruelties of your past, and though you know that doesn’t erase them, it does bring a mild relief. The only proof you have of your sickness are the nightmares that plague you on the nights when your love is not enough of a salvation.

Astarion is devoted to you, as you are to him, as you always have been. You lean into his arms and allow him to kiss the back of your wrist before he embraces you once more, tucking his eyes against your neck so that he no longer has to bear the burden of understanding his reflection will never appear next to yours, no matter how hard you both seek it in the magic mirror. Your throat tightens painfully.

‘Thank you,’ you tell him softly.

‘I couldn’t leave you to your despair alone,’ Astarion says with a hopeless shrug. ‘The thought of you suffering the same as I… I brooded over my own existence for two hundred years with no one to comfort me.’ He mourns carefully. ‘I couldn’t let that happen again. Not to you.’

He takes your hand in his and presses on your knuckles, forcing your fingers to flex against their will. He turns your palm over in hand and stares at the callouses. It's as though he’s admiring a cat, your nails now your claws, his thumb massaging the tension in your palm so your fingers tremble slightly.

‘I’d have let it happen to Gale,’ he says off-handedly. You snort. ‘But not to you,’ he clarifies, dropping your hand and kissing your cheek. ‘I love you too much.’

He always says I love you so painstakingly soft as if it’s the first time he’s ever uttered the words. And with the proper meaning, you know it is. Astarion’s love is a slow molten fire that covers everything. It could be destructive if you let it, but you build with it and twist underneath the heat to forge something greater. Everything is so intense between you as if a chord pulled taut. The littlest bump sends it vibrating and you get lost in the sensation. You want him to say it again.

‘I love you,’ Astarion says, voice ravaged. ‘Whether you are pious or irreligious.’

You think of him as a pioneer of a new religion. He distracts you with the gentlest of kisses against the tip of your ear.

‘Are we sinning?’ you ask again.

‘We are sinning deliciously,’ he tells you sincerely.

You would be a liar if you pretended like it didn’t excite you. You have a chance to hold a new world in the palm of your hands with an executioner by your side. You make your decision  —  If there is to be a God of Creation, you would remake the world in your image. Jergal would rise back from obscurity, no longer embarrassed by his despised successors. You see a flash of red hair and chase it through the darkness, no longer afraid.

‘Drink,’ you whisper to him. ‘I want you to.’

Astarion tilts your chin to the side and bites down onto your neck with great care. It always hurts when he penetrates you for the first time, but by now, he’s learned to not be such a messy eater. These are the new scars that you accept. This is the person you seek to become. You close your eyes and relax into the feeling of sharp teeth and spit, and it’s like he sucks the venom from your veins. You float weightlessly as he seeks his fill.

He plucks your fruit easily with the prettiest of hands. Astarion swipes the goodness of you and brushes it against his lips, tasting it with the tip of his tongue and shivering at the flavor. He treats every time he feeds from you as if it is the first time. He savors your blood, is made man by your blood, until the pale red glow in his eyes fades into something more human . These eyes are the eyes that belong to your angel of death. You welcome it.

There are still battles to come, but you no longer feel as overwhelmed as you had this morning when you awoke with sickness in your stomach and your friends staring at you in a cautious, distant manner. There is now semblance of hope burrowed in your chest where your heart once was.

You say, ‘I want you to be there when I make a new kingdom.’

It means:

At the end of the world, it will be you and me and our memories, our friends and allies, our souls. You twine your fingers with his and let him manipulate you so that you’re facing one another. You no longer seek the mirror for encouragement.

It would not matter if it was this year or in one hundred years. The only certainty in life is that this was what you wanted. Astarion’s honest eyes and searching hands. You could turn into a mindflayer tomorrow and your last thought would not be of your doom and terror, but of this delicate flower you hold in your palms. It has sprouted from nothing with only tears as encouragement, and now it is your turn to be buried, to transform into something beyond your recognition. Only, when you dig your way through layers of dirt and brick, you would not be greeted by nothingness.

Astarion kisses you once, his mouth so tender it’s almost heartbreaking, and then again. He grazes your bottom lip with his teeth and bumps his nose with yours affectionately, murmuring, ‘Yes, my God of Murder.’

[jessiemeows]

New head-cannon for Astarion because I love him

New head cannon that I will be adding to my long fic. But I can definitely see Astarion having a giant crush on tav/durge when they first meet them but having absolutely no idea what that feeling is or why he's having it.

Example: When he first meets tav/durge his undead heart flutters a bit, he's most likely like "what in the 9 hells was that? Must be the tadpole." Or he hears tav/durge small giggle or finds them smiling at one of his corny jokes he gets butterflies in his stomach and once again is blaming the tadpole. Essentially he's just blaming the tadpole on everything that he feels for the player character at least in Act 1 he is.

Another head cannon for my durge is that he finds himself staring at Eris A LOT. He one time found himself staring because he see's her wearing a corset for the first time (when she popped off the nautiloid she had to borrow some old clothes that were a little baggy until she bought some at the grove.) But he is absolutely feral over seeing her in that and find himself staring below eye level.

A few times he was caught staring at her by other companions. One particular time I head cannon was when the group were at camp all by the fire. Gale was yapping to Astarion and Wyll about who knows what, while Shadowheart and Eris were in the corner together by Eris' tent drinking wine. (Lae'zel was busy battling her mindflayer dummy and Karlach wasn't in the party just yet.) And Astarion was basically not paying attention a word to what Gale said and was picturing him and Eris kissing or maybe some other things lololol.

I can see it like this:

Gale: "don't you agree Astarion?"

Astarion busy staring at Eris basically in a trance

Wyll: "Astarion, are you all right?"

Gale now nudging at Astarion: "Astarion?"

Astarion finally snapping out of it: "Huh? oh um yeah I agree. Sorry, did you want something?"

Then Wyll and Gale just giving each other a look like this fool is down bad.

He has definitely been caught the most by Shadowheart and Karlach when he's in one of those mindsets.

I also head cannon he's low-key a VERY jealous little guy, so whenever someone is clearly flirting with her he gets so jealous and this is a feeling he also blames heavily on the tadpole. When his jealousy is very much so prevalent he is giving the nastiest look to whoever is doing it, his arms are folded his eyes are narrow with a murderous glare towards that person. But then he also has an overprotective look onto Eris and is staring at her cautiously in case he needs to intervene. If I wrote what I head cannon about his jealousy I would have to make an entire new post for that because it runs deep lmfaooooo.

[plethomacademia]

in this one astarion takes a strap ...

... after being vulnerable about it for 725 words. This is a drabble that will likely end up in a longer fic (eventually)

Tags I guess: sub astarion, dom f!durge, bickering couple, no one is nice, everyone is in love, Halsin is their third but he's not here in this

If you like this, go check out my fic where Astarion, Maeve, and Halsin have a first connection via tadpole voyeurism and stay tuned bc I plan to have the little elves crying about their feelings while their service top big elf tells them that they are cute.

----

“It’s smaller than I expected, that’s all,” Astarion says.

His partner Maeve has him naked on his back in the cramped little bed they share, his left leg propped up on her shoulder. Fisted in her hand is the purchase she has been whispering in his ear about for days now, a special trip she had taken on her own to a certain vendor in a certain part of the city. Her hand is slick with the oil she has been using to prepare him, now also covering the -- as he had said -- smaller than he had expected false cock that she has strapped to herself.

He knows his comment is meaner than it should, but her eyes light up and she smiles in a way that only she seems capable, her teeth a set of daggers. “It’s proportionate. Are you really trying to pick a fight right now?”

“No.” She shifts a little closer to him, begins to line herself up, and he continues. “It’s just, I had thought this was preparation. You know, for Halsin.”

She flexes the hand that holds his ankle, lets her nails dig in a bit. “My sweet heart, if you want Halsin’s cock, you should speak more than six words to him. But if you want my cock, then you should shut your mouth and let me fuck you with it.”

“Have you even done this before?”

She blinks at him. “Head trauma?” she reminds him.

Right. Yes, of course. How would she know?

He opens his mouth to say something else and she cuts him off. “You are comfortable with this, aren’t you? Just because you said you were before doesn’t mean —”

“I want to do this.” He pauses and she waits for him to speak, her grip on his ankle now a caress. “I mean,” he finally says, “perhaps if you kiss me, I will be more amenable.”

“Astarion,” she says and he cannot figure out her tone. It is not frustration, as he might have expected, nor desire, even though there is some desire in there. Her hand on his ankle slides up his calf to his knee. She begins to lift it and he follows the motion until both of his feet are flat on the bed around her and he is spread wide with her hips between his legs.

“Astarion,” she says again, this time with almost kindness as she continues sliding that hand up his thigh, joins it with its partner on his opposite leg. She bends to follow the motion with her lips, peppering his skin with kisses up his thighs, into the divot of his hips, up his side. She catches his nipple with her tongue on the way and then she is laying against him, the cool heft of her cock against his hip, almost touching his own.

“Astarion,” she says one more time as she hovers above his face and he can tell her tone now. She is teasing him, but in the way that they always tease each other. She braces on her arms and she kisses him then. Her kiss is brutal, her tongue piercing. He bucks against her and she mimics the motion and they are all but rutting against each other.

She breaks the kiss after a moment, licks her way to his ear. “Are you amenable, then? Or would you like to do something else?”

He answers by reaching between them to hold her smaller than he had expected cock, stroking it again to get a feel for it. She pushes herself up to watch what he is doing, moves her hips to follow his guidance as he pushes her back. She has fucked him with her fingers before, but she is an eager student whenever they add something new and her gray eyes are fixated as the head of her lines up with him. She replaces his hand with hers and as she begins to press forward, she looks up at his face.

Whatever she sees, she smiles daggers again. “Look at you,” she whispers and he feels the flush that goes across him. “Imagine all the ways we can do this once I learn you properly.”

She is finally seated and he cannot help it, he casts out one more barb. “Then you should probably stop talking and start practicing, darling.”

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Sharing a sneak peak from my next fic because I love all these idiots, especially Jaheira. Sassy elder mentor is a character trope I'll never get tired of writing.

For context, this fic centers around the "very twee" comment from Astarion after Durge resists. We going there!

_______________

“Come on,” a hand on her shoulder suddenly began directing her away from Astarion towards the exit of the chamber. “I plan to burn these clothes and soak myself in holy water until morning in order to get the smell of this cesspit off.”

Eli glanced back at Astarion but didn’t resist. Jaheira had decided it was time to go, and gods help the unfortunate soul who defied such a decision. She could hear Minsc some paces behind her and Jaheira, lauding Astarion’s skill in the previous battle and musing about whether they might be able to find a blacksmith who could craft a Boo-sized crossbow.

“I do wonder, though, if Boo’s tiny hands might make such a design too difficult to construct,” Minsc conjectured heartily.

There was some speculative squeaking before, “Right you are, Boo! Any blacksmith worth their hammer should welcome the challenge!”

Eli sighed as they walked, a little too miserable for someone who’d just sidestepped death.

“What? Did you want to spend more time in the gruesome murder temple?” Jaheira needled, eyeing Eli curiously. “Maybe find some nice intestines to hang on your wall?”

Eli ignored the teasing, nodding her head in the direction of Astarion. “Did he seemed concerned at all? You know, when Bhaal showed up and sucked my soul out through my nose?”

There was a hint of bitterness in Eli’s voice that Jaheira did not miss.

“That’s what you’re concerned about, right now?” The druid tried and failed to keep a snarky edge out of her voice.

“He said it was twee,” Eli whispered fiercely, annoyed.

Jaheira gave her a look that walked the line somewhere between pity and perplexed.

“I don’t even know what that means. And before you start spiraling into your anxious thoughts, remember this.” Jaheira fixed Eli with her best wise old elder look and said with an air of gravitas, “Men have the emotional intelligence of a gelatinous cube, which is unfortunate for those of us who are attracted to them. Give him some time for his brain to catch up to his heart.”

Eli felt the tightness in her chest slightly relax and she gave a small appreciative smile.

“Speaking from experience?” she asked.

Jaheira barked a laugh. “I can’t play the part of the mysterious and enlightened advisor if I give up all my secrets.”

[memo-blogs]

Here With Me (part I)

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x female (Durge*) Tav *not relevant in this segment/will come apparent later in the story

Tags: angst, fluff, foreplay

Summary: Months after the end of the game (SPOILERS, ye be warned) Tav gets bothered by Astarion's absent looks in bed and it results in NO SEX, heck >:( Just when things were getting amazing!

A/N: This is a three-parter series where things are oof before they get nice and spicy. I hope someone wants to read something so I feel like sharing the rest… Ps. waiting on my AO3 account, who knew you had to queue for one for like 2 weeks!? If and when I get one, there is spicier than Tumblr allows fanart inspired by this fic available, huhu. Hope you like! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They returned home, walking hand in hand down the now familiar forest path to the small opening in the woods that revealed their cozy two-story home in the woods. Tav glanced to her side to her partner Astarion, and smiled. He caught her looking, and smiled back. They were returning from an exhilarating night of trying to teach the vampire spawn in the Underdark to navigate their new normal. There had been peril, confusion, unpleasant surprises – all the things they had grown so accustomed to tackle and turn into success together. Tav recalled how, despite starting with snark and frustration at one of the spawn Gur kids losing control of her hunger and lunging at an innocent deep gnome as a result… Astarion had controlled himself. How gently he knelt to the Gur’s level, and let the child know he felt the same hunger, and gave her guidance. In the end, she had hugged Astarion, who enjoyed it more than he let on. It was remarkable how he managed to make controlling their impulses more into a fun game rather than an addiction they’d have to combat for the rest of their undead lives. As they opened the door to their abode, Tav thought back to the months spent with Astarion after defeating the Netherbrain – how little by little, he was less spiteful, less vengeful… and more relaxed and happy. Astarion had become forgiving. He had become kind and caring, in his own way. He was still vain and could not for the life of him stop that sarcastic little tongue of his – but his actions showed he cared about the new life he had built with Tav. He cared about, at the very least, not making things worse when he ventured out into the world. Which was saying a lot, for a vampire. Exhausted, they shed their armours. “Tsk”, Tav tutted as she lovingly tucked one of Astarion’s beautiful locks behind his ear. “Today’s escapades have left you absolutely filthy.” Astarion turned around and began to walk towards their washroom, stretching like a cat as he glanced over his shoulder back at Tav. “Well,” he said with a grin. “I suppose we’ll need to do something about that, darling.” They bathed together and Tav allowed herself to be lost in how much she had come to love this silly man before her. Every day, he seemed more beautiful than the last, and every which way she thought of the person he was, she grew fonder of him. Once clean and dried off, he led them down to their basement bedroom, knowing full well what Tav wanted. She kissed him hungrily and he answered expertly as always. Tav was quickly getting lost in Astarion and all they were sharing, and it was one of the best feelings in the world. Astarion gently pushed her to lie down, and she obliged. Panting, she felt Astarion gently parting her legs, and she opened her eyes to look at what was coming next – only to have her heart sink. There it was again. That thousand yard stare of his. She barely even noticed how masterfully he was caressing her legs and in between to bring her pleasure. She couldn’t really even feel it. Not anymore. The moment was ruined because he wasn’t… present. “Stop”, Tav whispered. 

Astarion looked up, almost as if in a daze. “What?” Tav pulled her legs close to herself, hugging her own knees. She shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore, Astarion.” She looked at him, her face full of sorrow.

“I – what happened? Did I do something wrong?” He looked so scared. Confused. Astarion didn’t understand – he knew he was good, he had done this so many times to her, and countless others. So why was Tav crying?

“I just...” Tav came to sit next to Astarion, and held his hand. Gave it an affirming squeeze. The look he gave her was bewildered. For a while, they sat there awkwardly in silence, holding hands. Finally, Tav let out a shaky sigh.

“Astarion. What am I to you?”

“I’ve told you – you’re the first person I truly care for.”

Tav turned to look at Astarion. “So why -” she took a calming breath of air before finishing her sentence, “why do you have sex with me as if I’m one of your victims?”

“What?”

Tav got up and walked around their room in circles. She waved her hands around as she spoke. “Every time, save maybe the one time by your grave, when you and I are intimate, you’re miles away. You’re not here. You shut down emotionally and just… put your heart and soul somewhere else.” Tav stopped pacing and faced Astarion. “Am I someone you need to forget?”

“Of course not!” Astarion looked like a deer in headlights.

Tav pressed on. “Then why do you perform like this is a duty where you try to be as little a part of it as you can?”

Astarion was beginning to panic, and he wasn’t sure why. “I don’t – you’ve been happy with it so far, haven’t you? What’s changed?” He found safety in being annoyed. “Why is this a problem now?” He spat out.

He was ready to fight. To argue. To even woo her over with his skills and give her what her body obviously craved to make this irritating conversation go away – but he was not ready for how he saw Tav deflate in front of him, and weep silently. With each tear she shed, the anger he was using to hide behind was fading. He was so lost, and afraid. They were silent for a while again, both too afraid to utter the next thing, in case it was the one thing that would sunder them.

“What’s changed?” Tav echoed silently. She quietly walked back to Astarion, and caressed his cheek. She let her hand wander through his white hair, down his neck and to his shoulder. She softly pulled him into a hug. “I love you more than I love myself” she whispered in his ear. She pulled away to look at him again. “And I cannot bear the thought of making you please me. I am not your maker. I am not your owner – I had hoped I was your equal. Your lover”, she finished with a sad smile.

Astarion stammered. “Y-you are!”

“Then where do you go, when we make love? Why do you go, and leave me here alone?”

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to never have this talk. It was too difficult – he just wanted to forget, and enjoy himself. Everything had been so wonderful, so why did she have to bring this up? Why couldn’t this stay buried, like so much of his past? He found himself breathing hard, like he was about to either take a swing at Tav, or run off. Yet she still stood in front of him, waiting. What could he say? What did she want to hear? While rare, Astarion found himself at a loss for words. He couldn’t make out what he felt, he felt too many things – anger, fear, he felt vulnerable, weak… exposed. He settled on making an irritated noise and to look away from Tav. It was all he could muster.

“I love you”, Tav repeated. “And I can’t do this when it feels like you’re still letting yourself be used.” She put on a robe and walked towards the door, stealing one last tearful glance at her vampire companion. “It hurts us both when you do.” And with that, she left.

[shewhowas39]

rating: Explicit pairing: Astarion x f!durge (June)/OC fic summary: Between the nightmares, prophetic visions, and violent hallucinations, June is losing grip on reality, but she has enough awareness to know that Astarion's flirtation is part of some sort of con. He barely even likes her, after all. When she decides to call his bluff and play along, thinking he'll back down, she's surprised to discover that she and the vampire have more in common than either could have anticipated. And his touch might be the only thing that can keep her sane.

chapter title: Who Are You chapter summary: in which Halsin has answers, June makes a decision about the fate of Minthara, and we learn some definitely not tragic June lore. content warnings: canon typical violence, blood, mentioned (past) murder of children, self-loathing

A/N: here we go! time for some lore about this sad little durge - and also some Halsin bear!

***

PREVIEW

“You don’t remember me?” the druid asks. “I suppose it has been quite some time since I’ve seen you. You couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old at the time, but I’d recognize that hair and those eyes anywhere.” 

June stares at the remarkably tall wood elf, desperately trying to reach into the black abyss of her memory to find any recollection of this man’s kind face and wise eyes. But, much like with the familiar face of the man from June’s dream, she comes up with nothing. 

“Unfortunately, our sweet little Juniper tree here is quite the amnesiac,” Astarion says. “Try not to take it personally.”

“Amnesia?” Halsin says. “Oh. I’m heartbroken to hear that. Your grandfather was a dear friend of mine.”

“Grandfather?” June repeats. “I got a grandfather?”

“You did, though I’m afraid he passed on a few years ago,” Halsin explains, voice soft and full of grief. “He loved you and your siblings very much. He never stopped searching for you after…” He trails off, clearly holding something back, before asking, “Forgive me. I’m not sure how far back your memory goes.”

“Not even two full tendays,” June says as her mind reels, trying to process all of the words she’s hearing. “You said he searched for me? Was I missing?”

“Perhaps we should save this conversation for another time,” Shadowheart cuts in. She gives June an apologetic look. “We’re still surrounded by goblin cultists. And we still have these worms in our heads. We don’t have much time to chat.”

[justabiteofspite]

How Did Your Durge Fall for Astarion?

Not sure if I'm going to keep this bit in this particular fic because the tone doesn't quite match up with the rest of it, but to answer the above question, here's the easy answer: Henri is morosexual.

Gale shook his head, “You know, she told me very early on that she liked you. First few days we were all together, actually.”

“Really?” Astarion felt a flutter in his stomach as he thought of what Henri could have possibly said about him. Surely just some typical pining for his looks, his body? That's how these sort of affairs had historically started, even if she had eventually seen beyond that.

“Well, not to brag, but I may have suspected that you were not being entirely honest with us about your...pallor. So I privately shared with her my concerns. She said that she suspected the same and not to worry because, well," Gale grinned at him in a way the vampire very much did not like or appreciate, "you had stuck a giant mirror in the front of your tent that you didn't show up in. Not exactly a mastermind level threat. She said, and I quote, 'He's ridiculous. I think I'm in love.'”

“Oh, did she now?” Shadowheart, as she often did after overhearing something of interest, invited herself to sit across from the pair of them, “She was a touch more crass with me during a similar conversation I had with her. Straight up said she was going to bear his children after he tried to lie about that boar we found.”

The tips of Astarion's ears were on fire.

"I had forgotten about the boar!" Gale sighed, looking up at the ceiling as he reminisced, "What a day that was."

Astarion cleared his throat, struggling to not sound as annoyed as he felt, "Sorry, but just to be clear, did everyone in camp know I was a vampire before I actually told anyone?"

“Are we discussing Astarion's failed attempt at hiding his vampiric nature?” Lae'zel asked, eager to contribute, standing over their little gathering. The gith made intense direct eye contact with him as she spoke, “I figured it out fairly quickly and asked our leader if she would like me to kill you for her. She told me that she found you...fun. Humorous. That you brought important skills to the team. And that all of us would bond over our shared love for blood spilling in combat. She is very wise.”

Lae'zel paused for a moment, tilting her head like a lizard examining an insect it was about to eat before continuing, “She also said you had large, pretty eyes which I found to be irrelevant to the conversation at hand.”

[psalacanthea]

WiP Wednesday

Since Durge and Gortash won the Friday poll, I'll pull something out of the other BG3 fic for WiP day. My pace with the new chapter is a little slow, between taking a week off and now dealing with Pain, but hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to focus enough to make some real progress.

From the Astarion x Tav longfic, a little bit of WiP for your amusement. (if you would like to be tagged to do your own in the future, pls let me know)

...

“Well, if you used that sensible mind you keep claiming to have, you’d know that obviously I’m her patron,” Astarion sneered at Shadowheart.  His voice relaxed, going lazy and dismissive once more.  “And muse, naturally.”

Zyn considered drawing a gigantic curly moustache on her sketch of him.  It was rude to interrupt.  “My peerage or lack thereof has not yet been shared– please avoid making assumptions about me.”  No, this wasn’t right.  He looked too…neat and tidy.  She grimaced at her sketch, and then glanced back up at her subject.  “Could I see a little more collarbone on the left side?”

“I’m not giving it away,” Astarion scoffed.

“Darling it’s for aesthetics, not expression of base lechery,” she begged.  “Your neckline is too symmetrical, it doesn’t give me ‘careless dandy’.”

Astarion scowled at her, lifting her stolen goblet as he demanded, “regal!  Make me look regal!”

How dare he not trust her artistic acumen.

“Even if your life depended on you appearing ‘regal’, I doubt I could oblige,” she snapped. "You egregious twink."

Shadowheart laughed faintly.

Astarion gasped, lifting a hand to his chest. His not nearly bared-enough chest.  “How dare you!  I am your patron! I could have you thrown out on the street!”

“Oh please, if there’s one thing upstart would-be nobles need, it’s portrait painters.  There’ll be another dozen of you by teatime.  You can dictate when you pay me, you contrary piss-puddle”  Zyn added shading to his neck, pausing as she glanced up to find his eyes on her.  He didn’t look angry, despite the insult.  He was smiling.  Ugh, that was the wrong expression entirely!  “Tilt your chin to the side!  Again. I told you to stop moving.”

Astarion sighed in annoyance and rolled his head to the left, hair swaying.

“I have no idea what’s going on, and yet I can’t look away,” Shadowheart said.

She settled down abruptly, pausing with one hand on the ground to snag one of Astarion’s pillows.  He made an irritated noise, but didn’t bother retaliating.  Zyn’s briefly riled mood flared up again.  Why could she have a pillow, but Zyn hadn’t been allowed one?

Traitor!

Zyn glared at Astarion until he glanced away from the goblet of wine he was staring into contemplatively. Her nose wrinkled as their eyes met. The pasty reprobate sighed heavily, eyes rolling skyward.

"What now?"

“You’ll not be welcome in my bed any longer if I catch you giving someone preferential treatment over me,” she threatened him.

“You–"  Astarion stared at her in shock, and then laughed, lifting a hand to his mouth. "Aha. Ha!" He dissolved into laughter as he sprawled back onto his pillows, ignoring her scowl.

Zyn slapped her stub of twine-wrapped pencil down on the paper, leaving a crumbled line as the tip snapped. "Stop it."

“Hah! I can’t believe you actually thought that would work!”

“I mean it, this is serious!” she whined as he started laughing over her again, throwing his head back. “You blaggard! That's it. It's moustache time.”

[1000punks]

wip wednesday

i'm posting this unprompted, as a treat >.>

this is a ficlet/study for an upcoming fic, Profanity.

pairing: ascended!Astarion x named!Durge (non-binary OC)

warnings: 18+. nsft. mdni. minor gore. hurt/no comfort. smut. they hate each other. this is a toxic relationship.

word count: 1,558

summary: It's been ten years since the events of the Netherbrain Crisis, and Roiben's subsequent disappearance. Nobody knows that he prowls the streets of Baldur's Gate once more, besides three very important men. One locked him in purgatory, one has claimed his soul, and one has denounced him altogether. Who's favour will he compete for?

in game captures by me, uwu

"Why are you still touching me?" he hissed. "I don't want you."

"I don't believe that," Roiben retorted against the shell of Astarion's ear. "Your body is reacting just the way it always has." The drow's palm found the front of the elf's trousers. He was stronger, even against the Ascendant. Even with the collar chaining his other self firmly inside.

"I don't. You disgust me. You left me. You…" his voice twisted into an angered groan when Roiben shoved him back against the wall, but he hadn't yielded yet. Astarion snapped forward like a whip, biting into the drow's shoulder. Roiben was unmoved, and pressed into the hurt.

"There you are…" he purred. "My vicious pet. Bite me, just like I deserve, that's it." His free hand slid up Astarion's back, and the elf flinched away from the touch, gnawing. It was blissful, especially after all this time. He writhed in Roiben's arms, fisting the back of his shirt. Roiben drew him closer, palming over his crotch slowly but firmly. "I know you missed this, Astarion. I know you," he murmured, feeling the twitch of the pointy ear back against his lips. "I know you," the drow repeated adamantly.

"No…" he growled into Roiben's shoulder, but he wrapped his arms around his waist all the same. The fangs went deeper, and Roiben could feel the flesh tear when the pale elf pulled at him. He couldn't help but moan at that, pushing his fingernails into Astarion's back.

"Yes. I know you crave to use me again. To bite. To mark. To climb into my lap and have me chase the pain away. And I'm here now. Make me kneel and submit. Use me." He pulled his hand away, and Astarion let his jaw slacken in surprise. Roiben was quick, catching the elf's chin in the same hand and forcing him to meet his gaze. "I'm here, even if you say that you don't want me."

"I don't," Astarion hissed again, reaching up and wrenching the drow's hand away. Roiben laughed out loud, taking a step back.

"Walk away, then. If you can." Astarion scowled at him as the drow crossed his arms. He scowled back, jerking his chin to the side. His eyes narrowed when Astarion hesitated. "Astarion, there's no need to be afraid, I'm - "

"Do not presume to tell me how I feel, you glorified pit fiend," he spat, but Roiben calmly held up a hand.

"I'm not. I said there isn't a reason to be afraid of me. You know me better than anyone," he muttered acidly. After a moment, he added, "Don't presume to put words in my mouth, Astarion."

"It's Lord," he warned, starting toward the drow.

"What?" Roiben wrinkled his nose.

"It's Lord Acunín, now. It's…" he deflated slightly, gripping Roiben's jaw now and looking down his nose at him. "It's…" Roiben watched the apple of his throat bob as he swallowed. Astarion looked up and down the dark alley before he whispered, "Why were you gone so godsdamned long? Why did you leave?"

"I don't have time to explain, not now. Not here. Maybe after I take you to bed." He didn't react when Astarion slapped him, besides sighing. "Hurt me as much as you like. I'm coming home with you." The drow looked directly into his eyes and smiled wryly before sauntering off.

"Tell me, Lord… Does she touch you like this?" He purred against Astarion's ear. The drow's hands were on his pale chest, fingers twitching as he moved them over the elf's nipples. He flinched, if only subtly, and pulled hard at the hank of rope around the drow's neck.

"Nobody is allowed to touch me like this." His words were harsh, contrasted by his velvet tone. Roiben only ever heard him speak like this when they were alone, in the dark. He recalled the moment, all those years ago, when Astarion had breathed his name against the back of his neck. His final night with a beating heart. The twitching was getting harder to control as he thought of all his blood stained on his lover's lips. The Lord straddled his lap, noticing his shaking immediately. "What is wrong with you? Are you that pent-up?" Astarion gave a derisive snort.

Roiben opened his eyes. He could feel the roiling in his stomach, the way his spine was primed to crack and give way. "In a manner of speaking. The collar is… special. It prevents the other taking over." Astarion hummed, intrigued, and slipped a thin finger under it. Roiben tilted his head back, looking up and shuddering. All for him. "You can't take it off. Only one person can do that, and he isn't in the room with us." He reached up, catching the Ascendant's wrist.

"And who is that? Who's made you their little pet?" Roiben laughed softly. The jealousy was glaringly obvious. "Tell me."

"I can't. Interesting that you're so worked up, however. It's a good look for you, Lord Acunín." He choked, moaning out in satisfaction when he saw how tightly the rope was wound in Astarion's fist. He tore at the pale elf's trousers, pushing one hand down the front of them. "That's it…" he gritted out, "Hurt me. Hurt me while I pleasure you, lordling." Roiben reclined slowly in the overstuffed chair, gripping the elf's length. Astarion groaned softly, resting his free hand on the drow's shoulder. He was hesitating again, and the drow glanced down. The pale elf was circling the bite wound he had left earlier with the tip of his thumb.

"You want to be hurt? Won't your new master be angry?" He asked innocently. Roiben only laughed again, mirthlessly.

"Stop teasing, Astarion. You know you're putty in my hands, it's as simple as tha- Aah…" The humour and desire muddled his tone when Astarion pushed his thumb into the wound, up to the knuckle. Roiben let his lips peel back from his teeth in a guttural snarl; and Astarion pushed deeper. "You know you can go harder," he hissed, pushing his face into the elf's neck, taking him in hand and working his length slowly.

"I don't want to, you little freak," the elf snapped back. He almost sounded like his old self; and Roiben jumped at the opportunity to lick slowly over his neck, finishing at his ear and sighing against it. "I don't want…" Astarion started.

"What? What don't you want, lordling? Tell me," he breathed. "Tell me, and I'll do whatever you ask of me." The elf's hand, still wrapped in the rope, came to rest at the back of his neck. The coarseness of it made Roiben shudder, and he longed to have his skin rubbed raw.

"I don't want you to finish in your smallclothes," came Astarion's answer, rocking his hips slowly to the drow's hand. Trying to be subtle, it seemed.

"What do you want?" Roiben slipped his hand from the elf's trousers and gripped his hips tightly instead. He felt the defeated rush of breath against the base of his neck before the elf straightened up, scowling down at him. Roiben slid one hand up his back and stretched up, keeping eye contact when he brushed his lips over Astarion's. He let go when the elf recoiled, eyebrows knitting as he searched the pale man's features.

Astarion's movements were slow, but sure. First, he withdrew his thumb from the now-weeping wound at the drow's shoulder. Then, he leaned down, pushing his thumb into Roiben's mouth. "'Chase the pain away'," he scoffed. "All you've done up to this point is cause me pain. You think being with you now magically put an end to it? You can't that daft. I'm above selling myself so cheaply."

"Are you?" Roiben murmured, pushing the elf backward until both men were standing up. He yanked at the slipknot around his neck and ducked out of it before unbuttoning his shirt. He glanced at Astarion as he shrugged out of it and tossed it aside. "I'm not," he whispered, getting to his knees. The pale elf was staring at him incredulously, and Roiben waited for him to take the bait. The elf stepped forward cautiously, bending down and swallowing thickly as he gripped the drow firmly by the throat. Then he chanced a kiss. Roiben allowed it for a moment before standing and guiding the elf down to his back on the large bed, kissing him back furiously. He felt his other form shiver within, wanting to split, to tear; but fought it down as he bit softly down Astarion's neck. One of his thighs pushed between the elf's, and he held himself up on hand and knees. The moment ended when Astarion bit, deliciously painful, into his bottom lip, leaving it dripping and bloody.

"I hate you," Astarion muttered. "I hate you for leaving. For becoming a pitiful excuse of a spawn. For coming crawling back to me."

"I know you do. You don't have to forgive me." Roiben breathed; and he shuddered as he fought to stay in control. "You don't have to like me. Just tell me what you want." He planted one hand next to the elf's shoulder, gripping the bedclothes tightly.

"I want you to make me remember why I loved you at all," the pale elf smirked dangerously. "Do your worst."

[mumms-the-word]

First Confessions

Day 21 of the BG3 Fic February Challenge

How could I not write first confessions for ALL my Tavs/Durges?

Each little flash fic below is the first time my Tav/Durge has said "I love you" to their LI. Some confessions happen really early! And some, surprisingly late. I had a fun time trying to think how each Tav/Durge would confess and what the LI's might say or do in that scenario. Hopefully you guys will be enjoy one or two of these as well.

Check out my masterlist of BG3 fics!

---

21: Love confession (by any character)

---

Dani 

“Gods, I love you.”

It fell out of her mouth in the middle of a laugh, her nose slightly scrunched, her sharp teeth flashing, her eyes misty with mirth. They’d been swapping stories around the fire, telling jokes, sharing funny memories, until at last Gale had sent half of them into fits over a tale about a student at Blackstaff who’d convinced him to play a prank on a much-despised instructor, resulting in a marble bust of the instructor spouting a colorful variety of insults thanks to a well-cast magic mouth spell. 

She said it casually and instinctually, the way she did when she was with her Rovers. Without thought, but also meant with her whole chest. Affectionate and warm and light. It didn’t strike her until a moment later, wiping her eyes, that it was the first time he’d heard her say those words to him. The first time she’d said those words to anyone other than the Rovers. His face had seemed warmer after she said it, but that could have been from his laughter too. If he thought anything of it, it didn’t show on his face.

She couldn’t have known then that it would be the first many I love you’s between the two of them. But even so, in the moment, she wouldn’t have taken it back for the world. He often made her smile, often made her laugh, and she loved him to bits for it. 

So the words came easily. They always came easily, meant with as much affection on that first utterance around the fire, with all her friends as a witness, as they did one thousand reiterations later, when she spoke the words softly into the crook of his neck as they lay together alone in their bed. 

But she had no way of knowing what lay in her future that night around the campfire. That night she said the words with a laugh, bright and affectionate, falling a little bit in love with him but thinking nothing of it. 

She didn’t know, of course, that at the very same moment he was falling a little more in love with her too. It would only be a handful of days before those words returned, murmured softly under a starlit sky, carrying the weight of a different, deeper kind of love. 

But for now, as a far as first confessions go, the words were out there, but her love remained a fledgling little secret, tucked away in the back of her heart to grow over time.

———

Invi

“I love you.”

She whispered it into Astarion’s blood-flecked hair, sinful red on bone white, holding him tightly as he shook under the weight of his world crashing down around him. Cazador was dead just a foot away, the ritual ruined, seven thousand and six spawn alive but with nowhere to go. And one broken, shuddering spawn who was shattering in her arms.

She probably shouldn’t have said it. It was probably the worst thing she could have said. She didn’t even know if he could hear her over the roar of grief and pain in his skull. She could sense it in his body as he pressed his hands into the blood-soaked stone of the ritual platform, his chest heaving with choked sobs. She could sense it in his mind where they were connected by the tadpoles, all barriers gone. His thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions, relief mixed with sorrow, anger mixed with frenzied joy, and grief, so much grief. It was too much for his mind alone so his body has responded for him, releasing the energy in a torrent of tears and wailing cries.

Still she held on, embracing him as best she could, grounding him the only way she knew how. She understood what it was to lose control like this. She remembered all too well the night she’d struggled against her bindings, every cell in her body urging her to break free and kill Astarion, while the person inside, the girl known as Invi, screamed in the prison of her mind that she loved him and fought with all her strength to resist. He’d stayed with her the whole night. She could do no less for him now.

Still. Maybe she should have saved the words for later. Maybe they would have been better said in a quiet room where it was just the two of them. Maybe this confession would be another mistake in a long road of mistakes she’d already made. But the words were out there now. And she said them again, pressing a kiss to his hair as he struggled to regain composure. 

I love you. I love you. I love you.

She wanted to say so much more, but she didn’t know how to communicate it. Those were the only words she had, and in the end, those were the words that calmed him.

He didn’t say them back. She didn’t expect him to. She didn’t even know if he had really heard them. But now that the words were out there in the world, she could deny them no longer.

She had wanted to say them the morning she woke up, still bound, and found Astarion safe and well by the smoldering campfire. She had wanted to say them before they entered this room to fight Cazador, just in case she never got the chance to again. Both times she had choked on them, unsure of the timing, or how he would respond, unsure if she even really knew what love felt like.

No more. She said the words now, because they were the only words she could say. Whether he was ready to accept them or not, she had said them, and she refused to take them back.

———

Freyr

“I love you.”

He murmured it softly into Minthara’s ear as they lay together in a shared bed at the Elfsong, the darkness of the room interrupted only by a few sputtering candles. He traced his fingertips lightly across her nightshade skin, slowly up the curve of her spine, following the paths laid out by scars, pausing at old wounds as his fingers brushed against them. She lay against him, cheek on his chest, fingers at the pulse of his neck, dozing lightly. But at his words, she stirred. 

He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t know what had possessed him. Or perhaps, that itself was the problem. Nothing possessed him. He was free of his dark urges at last.

It was the first night his mind had been quiet, the first he could easily remember. In the dark of the room, with Minthara drifting away into a meditative doze, there was nothing whispering in his mind anymore. The only voice in his head was his own. 

And so, unable to sleep because of the quiet, he had contemplated the woman in his arms. Turned every drifting thought back to her. Admired her beauty, her strength. Replayed the words she had spoken earlier that day, the words she had whispered as she had guided him to lay back on the bed, trying to commit them all the memory now that he had a mind to remember things. And in his contemplations of her, the words had simply fallen from his lips.

She turned her head, resting her chin on his chest, blinking sleepily at him. He waited for her to scoff, tell him love was a weakness, or even ignore his words entirely. But instead she smirked faintly and traced the curve of his lips with pad of her thumb. 

“I know,” she murmured, her voice a gentle rasp. 

Of course she knew. How could she not? He’d been drawn to her from the moment he met her in that ruined temple months ago. He’d devoted himself to her the moment he’d watched her fight. Sworn to protect her when he saved her from Moonrise. Vowed to kill Orin as vengeance for her as much as for himself after hearing how Orin had tormented her. Now with Orin dead and his madness at an end, he saw his actions for what they were, what they had perhaps always been. The actions of a man madly in love.

Yet he didn’t feel any weaker for having said the words. If the dark urge were still a part of him, it would have churned his gut with revulsion. But there was no more dark urge. There was only him and the woman in his arms.

Perhaps he would say it again, another time. Perhaps it would be a phrase that came easily to his lips, and perhaps one day she may even say it back. But for now it was a simple truth that they shared between them. No more need be said. 

———

Ardynn

“Halsin? I love you.”

She said the words as casually as she was able, trying desperately to ignore the pounding of her heart in her chest or the way her hands trembled with fine tremors. They were walking hand-in-hand through the newly cured lands around Reithwin, the air quiet but for the sound of a few intrepid birds that had been among the first to return. She spoke the words into the still air and held her breath, trying not to look as scared as she felt when Halsin turned to look at her.

She must have said it a hundred times in her head before this moment. A fleeting, silly thought when she’d had too much to drink at the tiefling party. A yearning plea when she was in the depths of the shadow cursed lands, clutching a token infused with his nature magic to her chest. A whispered prayer as she lay across from him with the campfire between them. 

When they’d lain together for the first time, under the stars with the river drifting lazily by, when his lips were on her skin and his hands on her body, the words had laced together in a pattern in her mind, locked behind her teeth as she clenched them together and arched her back with pleasure. When she fell asleep in his arms each night since then, it was the last thought she cradled close to her heart before drifting away. When she woke with her body against his and opened her eyes to find him smiling gently down at her, it was the first thought that sprang to her mind. 

She screamed it in her head in the midst of battle, urged the words to form on her tongue in desperate moments where he was hurt or in danger. But she hadn’t said them. She had nearly choked on the words several times, at the Iron Throne, at the Netherbrain, when she had run and jumped into his arms a tenday after the defeat of the brain, having reunited with him in Thaniel’s lands, each time nearly letting them escape only to bite them back in a hurry. These days she felt the words fill her mouth when they were doing nothing of consequence at all, sitting in silence over a meal or contemplating the landscape together. But she had never once said them out loud. 

Because he had never said them, either.

She didn’t doubt his love, of course. He proved it daily with his tender looks, his desire, the very fact that he had stayed by her side in a city that he could barely tolerate and still found time for her as he worked to build a new community for refugees of the smoldering city. She heard it when he called her “my heart” and cradled her face in his warm hand. She tasted it on his lips when he kissed her, felt his love press into her skin when he kissed her forehead. 

He loved her in his own way. In the way that wood elf bear druids who were over three centuries old loved. She was content with that. And she would be content if he never said the words that rang daily in her skull, beating with her heart. She just didn’t know how he would respond if she said the words. 

A part of her worried he would react negatively, withdraw, create space between them to remind her of his nature to roam. But even if he did, it wouldn’t change what she felt. She loved him. Roaming and all. 

So she said them now, trying to sound casual, as though this were part of their every day speech when it very much was not. He turned to looked at her, only the barest hint of surprise on his features, and for a brief moment she regretted ever putting a voice to her thoughts at all. But then he smiled warmly and bent to kiss her, her hand still in his.

“And I love you, my heart,” he said quietly. 

Just as naturally as if he’d said it a hundred times before.

[podcastenthusiast]

I haven't reached Act 2 yet as my Durge but I've seen That Scene with Astarion. A rare fic of mine not written from his POV.

Dark Urge spoilers!

--

You open your eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. Must be close to midday, you assume, yet you are still exhausted. A long night spent writhing on the ground, compelled by a terrible impulse to butcher the one person you love most will do that, you suppose.

There is dried blood beneath your fingernails. Alfira's? No, no, that's a wretched thing you will always carry with you but it is past, not happening now. Astarion's? No. You will not let it harm him. You didn't. The blood is just your own. This time.

You close your eyes. Sickening visions dance before you. Your limbs ache from straining against the bindings. Your head pounds and your stomach churns, craving only blood. What a pair you and Astarion make.

Voices outside your tent.

"Lu awake yet? I'm booored," Karlach complains.

"My fault, I'm afraid. She didn't get much sleep," says Astarion, smooth as silk as he expertly weaves half-truths together. "We were rather...tied up, you understand."

He sets the snare.

"I think I speak for everyone here when I say I would prefer not to know any details of what you two did together."

And Gale willingly falls for it.

"Agreed," adds Lae'zel. "But your dalliances have now delayed our progress. I will not wait around to become a mindflayer simply because you could not restrain your carnal desires."

"My dear, as I've said we were the very picture of restrained last night--"

Gale makes a mortified sound.

"Please just go wake her up and stop torturing us," Wyll pleads diplomatically.

"Fine. Honestly, you all are no fun," Astarion pouts.

You hear footsteps approaching your tent a few moments later.

"Darling? May I come in?"

"You don't need permission anymore," you remind him.

"Let it never be said I lack proper decorum," he says, slipping into the tent.

After last night, you can scarcely believe he's so willing to share an enclosed space with you. Even now your mind fills with gruesome images--one quick stab would end him, but then you wouldn't get to hear his pretty voice scream in agony. You could cut out his talented tongue. Watch the light bleed slowly from those beautiful ruby eyes.

"You didn't tell them," you say, swallowing down a wave of nausea. "About last night."

"Well spotted."

"You could have."

You don't want him to feel like he owes you for something. You don't want him to fear you either. But you do want him safe, even if that's the cost.

"And why would I? It's hardly my secret to tell, after all."

"I almost killed you."

"Good thing I'm already dead, then."

"Astarion. This is serious!"

"If harsh words and a bite or two qualify as murder, well, I'm guilty as charged a thousand times over."

You don't speak, for a while. He has no idea what a close call it really was.

"When I... I didn't remember, with Alfira. I wasn't fully conscious. But this was different. I was aware of everything and I still couldn't control it. I would've-- I--"

Tears come then, hot and desperate. He wraps you in his arms and you crumble, sobbing against his shoulder. You cling to him like you're drowning and, in a way, you are.

"Oh, pet, shh," he whispers. "Whatever that thing was last night, it wasn't you. I know how it feels to lose control, to be...puppeted. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone half as good as you."

"I'm not good," you choke out. The dark urges so often feel indistinguishable from your own thoughts. You could be deluding yourself. Poor Alfira's blood is on your hands regardless, because you weren't strong enough. Last night proves you could have been. But for how long? What does the oath you swore even matter if you can't protect anyone from yourself?

"Darling, do you think a bad person would cry her eyes out over a vampire spawn? Who, I remind you again, is perfectly fine."

You look at him. He's tired. Worried. A bit hungry. Your guts twist with guilt.

You are so tired, too, and selfish as it is, you cannot do this all alone.

"I think I'm a monster," you whisper.

"Oh, please. You rescue children from harpies."

You keep that story the kid wrote for you trucked away safe in your pack. You read it when you need to remember who you've chosen to be.

"I wanted to drown that child."

The confession pulls another sob from your throat.

"But you didn't," he says. "Now, I'm right here, and I've got you. Get some rest. I'll tell the others you aren't feeling well."

"No, I can--"

"My sweet, if you go out there all teary-eyed and miserable they might think I broke your heart. We can't have that, eh?"

"If you tell them I'm ill, they'll assume you took too much blood last night."

He shrugs. "As good a lie as any. Everyone gets a little carried away from time to time."

"You don't have to lie for me at all."

You recall Gale's cold, accusing stare as he watched you scrub away Alfira's blood until your skin was raw. You imagine the fear and deep relief you would feel were Shadowheart to draw her weapon on you. She isn't one for second chances, let alone third.

"I know that, love. I want to."

[jessiemeows]

Lost and Found

Prolouge꞉ Straight off the Nautiloid

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x Durge/Female Tiefling.

Prologue. Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of blood and gore, very fluffy in the beginning.

A/N: Hi! I have the first few chapters already lined up for my long-form fic. This is a slow burn but will pick up very quickly! Basically, the story is how I headcannon how both Astarion and my Durge feel throughout their adventures together. It's a lot of filling in between the main events that happen in the game.

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

It was scorching hot, so unbearably hot. Eris could feel her skin burning under the blazing sun and the sand felt like an open flame to any flesh that was exposed to it. Slowly, she began to sit up. Her head was foggy and she felt an overwhelming amount of dizziness. The tiefling groaned while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

After a few moments, the tiefling realized that what had just happened on the nautiloid was not a nightmare but real life. Eris was stunned by the mess of things. She remembered taking control of the ship, the dragon, and then the ship crashing. The last thing she recalled was a mind flayer sitting next to her during the crash, and then nothing more. Now, the tiefling found herself alive and well on some beach. Well, as alive as she could be. She still had no idea who she truly was. She had hoped that when she was out of the Hells, she would at least have a single memory. But all she knew was her name and the tadpole that had been launched into her brain.

Eris stood up slowly, feeling the world spin around her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She surveyed the grim scene before her, “Corpses and a wrecked mindflayer ship. Wonderful,” she muttered bitterly.

As she approached a lifeless body, she let out a heavy sigh. She searched frantically for supplies or a map to guide her through this unfamiliar territory, but her efforts were in vain.

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” the tiefling said with her voice dripping with annoyance.

As she sat there, staring at the corpse something unexpected began to stir inside her. Her lips slowly curved upwards, forming a faint smile. Quickly realizing she shook her head in disapproval, her once smile disappeared and was replaced by a frown of disgust. The sudden change left her feeling disoriented and her head began to throb. Nausea soon followed, making her feel even worse.

After moments of trying to regain her composure, the tiefling decided that it would be better to distract herself away from the deceased bodies for the time being. 

“Fresh water, there must be some sort of settlement around here,” Eris said as she began walking towards the river, she began grabbing handfuls of water to wash away any grime from her face. The water was cold and refreshing against her hot skin.  Staring into the river now lost in her thoughts she concluded that her best option would be to search for Shadowheart, the half-elf, and the gith. Perhaps they could assist her in locating someone who could remove the parasites from their brains. However, for the time being, she would have to scavenge for anything she could find, attempt to communicate with the deceased if the body wasn't damaged, and look for anyone willing to provide her with assistance.

As Eris resumed her search, she felt the intense urge to harm the women she was looking for. She tried to subdue what was brewing inside her, but suddenly felt a sharp pain in her left wrist, accompanied by a wave of nausea that was ten times worse than before. Her breathing became quickly rapid as she tried to calm herself down, her heartbeat was now uncontrollable and she felt faint. Dark spots began to plague her vision and she threw her hands on her knees trying to stabilize herself.  After a few moments, she regained her composure, took a deep breath, and continued with her search.

----

He was hiding, he had to run, anything to get away from that damned sun. Astarion was cowering into the shadows, after desperately fleeing from the sun’s blistering rays. Confusion had fogged his mind. Had he been lying in the hot sun for hours or days? He didn't incinerate, nor was he in searing pain. It all seemed too strange, and he had no idea what was happening.  Memories of being woken up by the woman approaching him on the beach flooded his mind. Her words sounded all jumbled, he could barely decipher what she was saying. Out of fear, he quickly fled from her. His sheer panic ultimately saved his life as the strange creatures from the nautiloid mercilessly attacked and killed the woman.

As the elf hid among the wreckage of the nautiloid, the brains were now inside stalking about. He was pondering the idea of braving the sunlight once more but those thoughts quickly passed. Suddenly he heard a young woman’s, low, raspy voice across from the nautiloid echoing. Was she using a speak-to-the-dead spell on someone?  This poor, unfortunate young soul was soon going to reach their demise, he didn't even bother to look because he knew it was going the end for her would come quickly. “How dumb could this girl be?” he mused to himself.

A sudden plunk of a bowstring pierced the air interrupting his thoughts. To his surprise, an arrow had been flung straight into one of the brains followed by a loud cry. Astarion quickly moved his head to see what the commotion was and to his astonishment, it was the young woman who was fighting the brains. The beasts used a synaptic discharge on her but their aim must have been off due to injury, leaving her with a large blistering wound on her leg. The tiefling woman was now limping towards the brains, she drew her bow and let loose another arrow, and one of the brains dropped dead. She swiftly sprinted towards the other brain dodging its attack and made a lethal blow to it with her scimitar. 

“Hells,” he thought to himself. This is the very same woman that he had seen darting around on the nautiloid while he was trapped inside that forsaken pod. Why was she now killing them when Astarion could have sworn she had been allied with one before the ship crashed? For a moment he thought this couldn't be her but no doubt it was. It was the same tiefling with luscious long black curls pulled back into a ponytail, clad in a sleeveless purple breastplate that showcased the familiar tattoos peeking out from beneath her wrist wrappings.

As he watched her, he couldn’t help but notice how breathtakingly beautiful she was. “A pretty little thing,” he mused to himself. Quickly snapping himself out of his daze and realized he needed a plan. It dawned on him that he could potentially coax information out of her, especially now that she was weakened., it would be easier for him to strike. He had to act quickly, so, he braced himself for the blazing sun and sprinted his way up a path. Filled with conjecture about his next move, he observed the young tiefling limping towards the river.

[ghost-of-a-dream-girl]

snippet friday

I just published Ch 20 of WMMM (Durge x Astarion fic) and whilst the majority of it is extremely smutty I just had to include a cute little scene of Mol stealing wine and getting caught by Astarion bc I love Mol and of course she runs rings around the grown ups

----------------- A clattering of glass came from somewhere behind him. He turned abruptly, and the one-eyed girl grinned back, clutching the wine bottles she had clearly pilfered. ‘And what in the sweet fuck do you think you’re doing, child?’ ‘You shouldn’t swear at kids, oldie, we’re imperessionable. Might get bad ideas.’ Mol shot back. ‘Impressionable.’ ‘Yeah, that’s what I said. Suppose Alfira did say your hearing gets bad when you get old.’ ‘You little- I am not old, thank you very much.’ ‘Sure you aren’t.’ Mol slotted the wine into her pack. ‘Anyways. Thanks for the wine.’ A book caught her eye, her small fingers tracing the gold lettering. The Curse of the Vampyr. ’Can I have this?’ ‘I didn’t think you could read.’ She spat some filthy curse at him in response. ‘Besides, it’s a rather scary story, I’m afraid. A little too scary for children.’ Mol chuckled to herself. ‘I like scary stories.’ ‘Oh do you? You may not like it so much when it gives you nightmares and you wake up in the dark screaming for mummy and daddy.’ ‘Unlikely, seeing as though they’re dead.’ She said it in the same way one might announce a change in the weather. ‘So, can I have the book?’ ‘Fine.’ A bad thought crossed his mind. ‘Do you know what vampires are, child?’ Mol rolled her eyes. ‘Pale dead people who suck blood?’ ‘And have you ever come across one?’ She shook her head. ‘But if I did, I’d stake it through the heart right there and then. It’s not getting my blood.’ ‘How would you know that you were meeting one?’ ‘It’d be obvious, and I’m not stupid. They are all pale and smelly and with big fangs.’ Astarion nodded slowly, the same wicked thought emboldened. ‘Are they?’ ‘Of course they are.’ Mol scoffed. He grinned at her- a wide, terrible grin, his fangs fully on show. Her face fell and she stepped backward, and for a brief moment he regretted it awfully, a nightmarish monster scaring a little girl. But then she smiled oddly. ‘Wow.’ ‘What?’ ‘You really do look like a vampire. Cool!’ Mol laughed. ‘Nice trick.’ ‘What? No-’ She was already skipping away, book in hand, with a pack full of stolen wine. ‘See you later, oldie!’

--------------------- RIP Astarion

Read more here

[thelikesoffinn]

fun fact! durge + animal handling = squirrel is fine! also, do u have trouble with characters just... not "behaving"? like, u make the character with the intention of them to act like X Y Z, but instead it feels most "right" for them to do A B C? bc what I ended up w is not what I had intended. got an idea on Reddit to recruit ONLY Astarion to see what dialogue he'd have with no one else there (surprising change: in every instance when I run into the group if githyanki by the bridge he has excitedly asked to kill them. not here. when it was just my Tav he actually wanted to LEAVE to be safe) so I figured, great, I'll just make this dude Astarion's Yes Man and do everything Mr. Sad Wet Cat wants! except... that isn't how it played out. I'd intended to either side w the goblins or ignore that whole thing, but I ended up saving the grove bc that felt like the right thing for my Tav. bc instead of a fanatical Astarion simp he's just a Tired Old Man trying to live quietly, keep his vampire twink out of the worst of the trouble he could be getting into, and find a cure for that same twinks brain worm. (a difficult job) he comes from a noble drow family where he was used as an experimental gladiator for 100s of years. trust a pack of goblins led by a drow lady to have a safe, reliable cure for Astarion? Lolth no, not a chance. so Halsin ended up recruited by default. :/ he just sits in camp tho. oh well, they can be a throuple. trying to wrangle Astarion is a full time job and he could use the help. this also means I need a different character to ascend Astarion, tho, bc this old man said "no, this will not make u happy".

Ho. Ly. Fuck.

I know exactly what you mean, that happens to me all the damn time! No matter if I'm writing a fic, making a character for any rpg or am working on one of my many drafts that will hopefully eventually turn into a book - my characters write their own stories. I have no say in the matter, none at all.

And yes, I'll have plans. But sometimes they're like "nah fuck this, I'm doing this instead" and I'm like: Well okay, you're the boss!

My durge Whisper, for example, was once supposed to be a very seductive - "Well, how tragic - how much is it worth to you?" - Trickster type lady. But the minute I got off the nautiloid it was like: Stoic as fuck, absolutely touch-averse unless it's Astarion, can't show love properly but will definitely beat up anyone who even dares to give the crew the stink eye because "who tf are you to look at my people like that". So that's who she is!

Characters just sometimes do whatever they want and I'm here for it because, let's be entirely honest: Those Characters always turn out the best.

[memo-blogs]

Here With Me (Part II)

Part I Pairing: Spawn Astarion x female Durge Tav

Tags: NSFW, angst, fluff, processing trauma, a trauma flashback, choking, questionable sex that turns into not-so-questionable sex?, oral, light hints at dom-sub stuff, hints at Tav being bratty - it's a wild ride but ultimately kinda wholesome??

Summary: In part 1 Tav said to stop and walked away from Astarion and sexy times because he wasn't all there, and Astarion tries to push past his traumas too fast, resulting in some icky bedroom things that Tav manages to navigate into not so icky but very fun fun bedroom things. In short, Astarion takes some babysteps in being present and enjoying bedroom time. :D

A/N: This is a three-parter series where things are oof before they get nice and spicy. Still waiting on my AO3 account, who knew you had to queue for one for like 2 weeks!? If and when I get one, there is spicier than Tumblr allows fanart inspired by this fic available, huhu. Hope you like! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I love you” Tav repeated. “And I can’t do this when it feels like you’re still letting yourself be used.” She put on a nightgown and walked towards the door, stealing one last tearful glance at her vampire companion. “It hurts us both when you do.” And with that, she left. Quietly, Astarion closed the bedroom door behind Tav. He walked up to their shared, empty bed. Suddenly he grabbed a pillow and, screaming, flung it at the wall. He collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

“Where do you go, when we make love?” Her words haunted him.

“Why do you perform like this is a duty where you try to be as little a part of it as you can?”

“I cannot bear the thought of making you please me. I had hoped I was your equal. Your lover.” “I can’t do this anymore, Astarion.”He hated how sharp she was. Hated it, and also loved her so very much for it. She was right, and he knew she was. He had just hoped maybe, just maybe she hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t commented on his lack of presence in a long time… if he was being honest to himself, he had been a little disappointed, thinking she neither noticed or cared. But how could he demand she would, when no one else ever had? She had clocked it the first time they made love. Asked him where he went – he had given his usual charming lies, and they both left it at that. Now that he thought back, Astarion had seen her looking at him, especially during their intimate moments, as if with a sad question in her eyes. And, like a coward, he had run away from that look. Just like he had run away from what he had to do to survive. He sat on his knees, staring at their bedroom floor for a long time, reminiscing how he needed to escape to not go insane when he was still enslaved to Cazador. He wept at all the innocent people he had lured to their demise with his sweet lies and empty promises. To angrily claim he didn’t care was another lie to protect his heart. Tav’s mournful face swam back into the forefront of his thoughts. 

“Am I someone you need to forget?”The question itself was almost unbearable. In his 200 years of existence, Tav was the first one to truly see him. The one who saved him, the one who had loved him with all his good and bad qualities. Of course she noticed he faded away during sex. Astarion felt a tear roll down his cheek again. Of course she would care.. and want him to be there. But what if he couldn’t do it? Break down these walls he’d built to protect himself for so many years. Would Tav leave? The thought made Astarion feel afraid, and alone. He wasn’t used to feeling this exposed. He began to walk around as he reasoned with himself. Tav would not leave him over this, but it would make her sad. She was already so very sad. He loathed her being sad. But she was right to ask – and that was the impetus here; she had asked, not demanded. She had never made him do a thing. So whatever was happening now, he was doing to them both. Didn’t Astarion want to be present with Tav? I mean, why wouldn’t he? Now that he thought of it, it felt… well, ridiculous. Of course he wanted to be with Tav more than anything. To be closer to her, to feel her. Without thinking, he had wandered through their home, finding Tav sleeping on their living room couch. She was crying in her sleep. He looked at her and his heart ached. All this time with her, and she had seen him. Accepted him as he was, at his lowest, weakest. At his worst. She had given everything to him. She saw him, she looked at him with a love so complete it made Astarion dizzy… while he held back and escaped. He was like a shadow escaping the sun. Too afraid to be present in the bedroom, of all places. The one place where he had held some sort of dominion for so long. It hurt to admit. He quietly knelt beside his sleeping Tav, and gently dried her tears. “I had hoped I was your equal.”He hadn’t realized how little he actually gave her, or how hard this was for him. Astarion gingerly stroked Tav’s hair. She seemed to sleep easier, being cared for. Astarion found himself smiling. Gods, how beautiful she was. How easily she seemed to love. He kissed her forehead. “You’re right, you know. I’m so sorry love… you deserve better”, he whispered to the night, not expecting her to hear in her sleep. He wasn’t sure how, but he was going to make this up to her. He got up to leave, when he felt a gentle tug on his robe. “Hey”, Tav whispered. 

He turned back around, heart racing. “Hello love.” “You okay?” “I – well, no. Or I don’t know.” Astarion sat next to Tav on the sofa. There was a heavy silence as both waited for the other. Astarion finally broke the silence with “I’m sorry.” “I heard”, Tav replied. “So, what now?” “Ah, well… I suppose we try again and this time, I do it right… right? I’ll be honest darling, I feel utterly lost at sea. I feel… vulnerable.” Astarion couldn’t even look at her, but he did want to make an effort. He felt a wave of comfort wash over him when Tav leaned next to him, pulling his arm into a hug. “It’s okay. We have our entire lives ahead of us, and we can take it slow. One step at a time, you know? It doesn’t have to happen right away.” “I do want to try. So how would I… how does this work?” Tav couldn’t help herself, and she laughed. “Are you telling me you, Astarion, prince of the night and the doom of many a lonely being looking for love, are at a loss how to proceed?” “Laugh all you’d like.. I know how to flirt with you and how to pleasure you, but...” He paused to look for the words. “I’ve never been with anyone in a way where I uh… gave myself to them.” He looked at her, feeling oddly shy. “Not in the way you’re asking me to.” Momentarily the truth of Astarion’s life pained her, but then Tav smiled. “Oh, so am I to be your first?” She mimicked his mannerisms, twirling her hand. “I’m honoured.” She kissed him. “It’s easier than you think, don’t worry.” Tav held his hands. “Think of me. Of what you love about me, of the things that make you desire me. And know you can have me…” She leaned in to Astarion’s ear and gave it a nibble. “...And have your way with me.”

Astarion felt a rush of arousal. “Are you sure?” Tav nodded, her robe conveniently sliding off one shoulder and showing her deliciously freckled skin. Time stood still as Astarion hesitated. Then, he lunged at her. His kisses were forceful, and his hands wandered up and down Tav hungrily. She gave a surprised moan, but caressed his back encouragingly. They both disrobed entirely while at it. He paused to look at Tav who looked right back at him. They were both breathing heavily. He didn’t know what he saw in Tav’s eyes but looking at her was… he felt scared he was losing control. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He grabbed Tav’s throat. She gasped but didn’t resist. He pushed her down into the sofa and pushed his tongue in her mouth. He felt her respond to him, ever so softly. He pulled away from the kiss with a growl, using his hand to find her breast to squeeze. She moaned and bucked slightly, but he didn’t linger. His hand was sliding downwards already. “My, my,” he remarked when he felt her wetness. “I’m flattered, darling.” He did not waste time but lifted Tav’s hips up and pushed inside. She gasped and looked at him, bewildered. But also with absolute… what was that in her eyes? It scared Astarion to look at. He put both his hands on her hips and thrust himself into her violently.

He thrust again. A moan, almost pained. The boy was young, and youth in general is pretty. It was a small comfort - Cazador had been particularly angry with him that night. He knew he had to hurry with this boy, and bring him back to his master… but the art of seduction was the only good part of his existence, and he wished to linger, just a while longer. He pulled on the lad’s hair, angrily pounding away, hoping for a moment of release, of comfort, of a good feeling, before he had to return to Cazador’s palace, his prison, the rats, the disgusting rats… if he would even be allowed to feed. He put his hands on the boy’s throat as he kept thrusting. Did he wish to drink the boy, or to strangle Cazador? Maybe both. Maybe - “A-astarion...” Tav wheezed. Astarion felt himself waking. What happened? He saw Tav’s hand on his arm, softly caressing him. He saw himself, on top of Tav, both his hands around her throat. Too tightly. She was having trouble breathing. He was inside her but it… it felt… wrong. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had vanished, again. Not away to something more pleasant, but to one of his many, many victims. He had been so afraid to lose control, to lose his power… to be vulnerable that he had… he let go of Tav’s throat as if it burned. “I-I, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I -” Suddenly he was embraced. Tav was kissing him, long, gentle, reassuring. She was sitting on top of him, in his arms, her arms caressing his back comfortingly – and she gave a small squeeze to his member, as he was still inside of her. “Shh”, she said. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” Tav smiled at her. “Bhaalspawn, remember? I've been through worse, and I’m practically the expert on losing your mind. I pulled you out of it.”  She held his face and pulled him into another soft, loving kiss. “You’re safe with me. I will never hurt you. You didn’t hurt me.” She danced slowly back and forth on top of him and he felt close to losing his mind with how good she felt. She leaned back down onto the sofa, still coaxing him to move, to do as he pleased while rocking back and forth around his dick. “Please don’t go. Whatever you want to do, do it here with me. See me… please.” She looked desperate, almost. “Show me what you would like. What would make you stay?” He felt stupid. Just like an utter idiot – he shouldn’t have rushed this. But gods above, did he want this. And gods below, was it terrifying. He was standing at the threshold of a door he had held shut for as long as he could remember, one of the very few sanctuaries he had had in his past. But that was in the past. He was here now, with Tav, and… she was right. He knew she was. He felt it in his entire being that she was. Unsure, he looked into her eyes and saw nothing but love and the thing that had felt painful – trust. He had used and abused trust so many times, it terrified him to... trust, as he knew very well how easy it was to abuse. This was Tav though. He met her gaze, and smiled. Suddenly, it was as easy as breathing. He crouched over Tav and leaned in for a kiss. It was long, exploratory – as if he was reaffirming their feelings for one another. All he found was love. He could taste it on her tongue, feel it in the softness of her lips. He gave her a playful bite on her lip and Tav giggled. He pulled out of her and sat. “Anything I want?” He asked.Tav nodded eagerly in response. He pointed to the floor in front of him. “On. Your. Knees.” Tav got up from the sofa and obliged, settling on her knees in front of Astarion. She was practically giddy to be given commands, and Astarion found himself having power without any of the ick of using someone attached. He leaned closer to Tav, showing a toothy grin while he uttered: “I wish… to be drunk.”

Tav looked at his still very much hard cock, and smiled. So far, Astarion had always pleasured her – she had been too shy to ask, and he had never asked her to please him. But secretly, she had always wanted to taste him. She traced her hand up and down his dick. She was absolutely entranced by every little twitch she managed to elicit from him while exploring. He seemed especially sensitive at the tip, which was softer than the shaft to the touch. She leaned in and kissed it, and heard Astarion sigh in delight. She used her hand to rub his length, while using her mouth on his tip. She felt more aroused to taste herself on him; a reminder of what they were just doing, and what they might be doing again. She softly wrapped her entire mouth around his cock, feeling around with her tongue. “Oh gods, yes darling”, she heard him mutter.

Tav couldn’t remember much after that. She was so deeply focused on playing with Astarion that she swam back to a form of consciousness only when he panted out; “I’m going to come”. She took him out of her mouth, still using her hands to gently play with the now erratically bucking Astarion. “How do you want to do this?” she asked, smiling in a way that would put any devil to shame. “Drink me!” he rasped, on the verge.

She smiled and plunged again with a vigor Astarion didn’t know she had in her. He had felt the climax ebbing away when she slowed down to ask, but now it rose again with a vengeance. It was all too much, her hands her mouth her lips her tongue and how she was pulling him towards her. He came with a moan and shot inside of her. Slowly, he pulsed the last of himself inside her. He flinched, feeling overly sensitive when she gently slid her mouth off of him. While maintaining eye contact, she swallowed. Part of his seed was dripping down the corner of her mouth. Apparently his load was too much to contain. She smirked and showed him her tongue. He was impressed, amazed and so in love with her. He pulled her up from the floor into a kiss. “That” he said breathlessly, “was a lot of fun.”

“See what happens when you’re with me?”

“Alright alright. You don’t need to harp on about how infuriatingly right you were.”

“The only thing hard about it, was you.” Tav said and playfully poked his penis. Astarion laughed and held his darling. “No, truth be told, that was one of the scariest things I have done in my life, and I’ve fought a Netherbrain… but who knew facing your fears could be so utterly delicious.”