#young Tav

[tee-dohrnii]

POV: You suddenly bumped into the infamous troublemaker of Blackstaff Academy as he's running off with the Blackstaff he stole

[junocornkiwi]

- My love!.. - ... Love? Who are you?..

pov: you witnessed Gale sacrifice himself in the last act, but because of all the pain it brought, you messed with time to reverse it, but accidentally went back too far and he met the person that loves him deeply, but you've never met.

[madschiavelique]

just had a thought i needed to share. yes it’s about young!halsin. again.

so, imagine young!halsin, training to be a druid. he’s all cocky, always saying how he always wins any fight because he’s bigger than any of the rest of the students.

but then you come in the picture, and you want to outrank him, to be the one student considered as best.

starts this little rival to lovers situation, with lots of banter, lots of ambition, and lots of tension.

you end up being together, being young lovers that see the world in pink all the time because of how you love each other so deeply.

but you’re getting seduced, not by another student, but by a side : the shadow druids.

they saw your ambition, have observed your determination when it came to winning, and managed to make you believe that you would actually be of use by joining them.

and one night, as the training temple gets attacked, halsin sees you in the flames, leaving as a tear rolls down your cheek and you disappear in the shadows.

years pass, decades, centuries.

he never forgot about you, how could he ? no one forgets their first love.

and one day, he hears about some shadow druids that have been seen nearby. he knows nothing good comes when two druidic circles that are oh so different are sharing territories.

so he gathers a small team, and decides to sneak on their camp at night. his group attacks, and the shadow druids are all surprised yet manage to fight fiercely.

but not fiercely enough.

they pull back, but now without halsin’s group being able to capture one of them for questioning.

and his heart drops when the one shadow druid that is brought up to him is… you.

your hair’s a bit different, the paints of your circle marking your face harshly but, you haven’t changed.

and you, you see halsin. he’s bigger although you thought that wouldn’t be possible for an elf, his face marked by a huge scar, and all the regrets nestled in your heart come back to the surface

you’re brought back to his quarters, tied up, and ready for interrogation.

it’s so weird, for the both of you, to see each other again after so many years. you’ve lived entire lifespans since the last time you saw each other, and yet both of your heart beat the same song when your eyes cross.

I HAVE SO MUCH MORE THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS ARGH DO Y’ALL WANT TO HEAR THIS OR NOT LIKE IDK

update about this : check this lil part 2 about my thoughts on this ✨

[kekeandherrpgs]

Unexpected reunion

[crispywriter]

Halsin's bleeding. Again.

And it's not just a little bit of blood—like from a graze after falling over, or a slip of the fingers whilst handling a knife—no. There's blood oozing down the left side of his face, hair and leaves stuck in the red as it streaks down his skin, dripping down his square jaw and staining the leather of his armour a dark red. The giant elf fills your doorway, grinning down at you despite his bruised, ruffled appearance, clearly rather pleased with whatever mischief he's been up to.

"Oak Father's great bushy beard—" You drop your knife and the aloe leaf you'd half-peeled onto your workstation table and swerve around your furniture to get to the druid, grabbing his bloodied face in your hands and dragging his head down to eye-level, inspecting the dirty, jagged wound. "What have you done to yourself now?"

There's four distinct scratches across the left side of his forehead, three of the nasty streaks ripping through his thick eyebrow. They're deep—not at all evenly spaced enough to have come from any kind of weapon you're familiar with.

"Gods, woman, be careful." Halsin winces as you just about dig your thumb into the smallest, leftmost slice, inspecting the wound as best you can what with so much blood seeping out and obscuring it. His large fingers wrap gingerly around your wrists and he pulls your hands away before he straightens up. "Let me get inside first."

You suck your teeth and step back out of your entryway, throwing a now very red hand toward the inside of your humble little home, flicking blood everywhere and sighing. "By all means, invade my space." You huff down at the crimson smattered on your floor and then look back up as the large elf shoulders his way past you, your eyes narrowing and tone sharpening as you watch him head right for your bed. "Don't you even think about it, Halsin. Sit at the table."

The druid tips his head back, his eyes rolling as he lets out a dramatic groan, but he complies with your command—steering himself away at the last possible moment from your clean blankets and taking a seat at your small dinner table instead. It's quite comical—how big Halsin is sitting on one of the regular sized wooden chairs, looking part giant with his knees tucked up and his shoulders hunched over as he faces you. You kick your front door closed and detour to your workstation, collecting a pitcher of clean water, an unused bowl and rag on your way to the dining table.

Halsin watches you silently. His green eyes are inquisitive as he observes you pour the water into the bowl and dip the rag into it, blinking at you as you stand as close as you can without getting too much into his space, gently picking the leaves and hair from the wounds so you can begin to clean it.

He's been like this since the day you met him all those decades ago, still just a boy. Cheeky, too curious, mischievous, always disappearing into the most treacherous parts of the forest far from the Grove and coming back hours, days, even weeks later covered in gore and filth, some kind of trophy in hand and a pleased smile plastered on his face. There's always been discussion about him, disapproving eyes shooting glares his way, coupled with years of rebuke—the elders say he's cocky, reckless, unaware, that he'll never grow out of it—despite him still being so young, despite his uncomparible strength, despite being the most powerful healer the druids have seen in centuries. But these things only seem to cause him to be all the more rebellious, something you're rather fond of deep down, his friendship and reliance on you never once tiresome or draining. You've had him sitting at your table countless times, much as he is now, while you stitched split skin back together as he complained, or had him delirious with poison-fever in your bed, sputtering nonsense as you spoon-fed him and nursed him back to full health again.

"Why do you never simply cast a healing spell?" Halsin says—as has become his routine.

You tut your tongue and sweep his hair back again, brushing the long russet tresses over his broad shoulders and hopefully well out of your way. "My skill lies in practical healing, Halsin." You try not to crowd him too much, but you're bent at a rather uncomfortable angle like this, dipping the dirtied cloth back into the water as you clean him up, "something you well know as we've had this conversation near a hundred times. You're the most talented healer I know, why not just cast a spell on yourself and save all the trouble? It'd certainly save you all the fuss of having me clean you up." 

The druid huffs and hunches forward, his large body closer now and a modicum easier to reach. "Isefa likes to remind me of how I am not to rely entirely on my magic." Your Grove's First Druid is perhaps the only other creature that sees Halsin in a positive light—sees the great potential in him. "Potions and poultices and what have you are just as important. Which I will never understand." He rolls his eyes and gives a slight shake of his head. "You wouldn't have the time to whip out a vial and drink in the heat of battle—it's not as if the enemy will patiently wait their turn to strike."

"And what if you've been silenced? A potion would do you a great deal of good then." You're stepping into the space between his parted knees before you can really think too hard about it, thumb and forefinger on his chin as you tip his head back toward the sunlight still thankfully streaming in through your kitchen window, set to work on cleaning the actual cuts themselves now. "Or perhaps you're travelling with a non-magic user? If you were to fall in a fight, how could they possibly heal you?"

You brush the cloth over the first of the gnarled splits in his skin, and Halsin's eyes are angry as he looks up at you, clearly frustrated by the topic he's chosen to speak on. "And if I were alone and subdued? Restrained? What good are moss concoctions for my injuries then?"

"Halsin." You immediately pause in cleaning him, placing the cloth back down into the water bowl and your other hand gently on his shoulder. "You talk as if you must choose either magic or medicine—you know it's not my intention to speak greater of one over the other, rather that we learn both so that we may use the best of both."

The handsome, irresponsible druid stares up at you, the stubborn set of his jaw clenching twice before he the fire in his green eyes ceases. You pick up your cloth and find yourself cradling his face in one hand as you work carefully over the second gash. "I apologise." He mumbles, pursing his lips in a silly pout you've seen a million times.

"It's fine." You brush your thumb over his cheekbone, flashing him a soft smile. "Though perhaps you shouldn't choose to speak about things you know will make you angry."

It's quiet a moment, the druid allowing you to work in peace, wincing every now and then when it gets a little too sensitive. You're as careful as you can be—gods know you've been much rougher with him on more than one occasion in the past.

"It was a bear." He says suddenly, softly, chuckling to himself. "I was in wildshape."

"I hope you're not about to tell me you've been in bear-form for the entirety of the three months you've been gone." You hum, totally anticipating him to say how he's been doing just that, but nonetheless still shocked by the expected confession.

"It was necessary. And don't chastise me for it—I heed the warnings. Usually." He doesn't.

"I would very much like to lecture you, but since you're bleeding I'll put it in my back pocket for now." You shake your head, "at least it explains why you're so grumpy today." At mid-wipe you pause, your gaze lifting to the window across from you as the reality of what Halsin has just said dawns on you. "Wait... Isn't it mating season?" You glance down at the tall druid and he looks amused, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"She was quite offended by my rejection." He's grinning now—ear to ear, totally pleased with himself.

Your mouth falls open around a breathy laugh of disbelief and you lower the cloth from the elf's face, completely gobsmacked as you thwack your free hand against his chest. "You did not go wandering about in the forest in the middle of godsdamned mating season!" Halsin catches your wrist before you can bat at him a second time, holding your palm flat against his chest as he laughs, his head tilting back in delight, obviously pleased by your reaction to his reckless behaviour. "Silvanus help us all—you stupid fool, what were you thinking?"

"Not about female bears or the rut, I assure you." There's something about the way that the word 'rut' sounds rolling off of Halsin's tongue that sends a fizzle of heat down your spine. "There's... strange things happening in the village. At Moonrise. A camp of goblins came through, stayed in the outskirts and used spells to hide—Thaniel is worried."

You hear the strain in his voice. "Regardless, what you did was foolish." You've gotten closer to the druid amidst the laughter, and when you lift the cloth back up to his face, Halsin has to tip his head backward completely. "Did Isefa send you?"

He shakes his head just slightly. "They camped far too close to the Grove. I could sense them, I'm sure Isefa could too, but I had to investigate. They clearly weren't here for us, but even that knowledge didn't cool my blood." You feel one of his strong hands on the back of your calf and your body hums with sudden warmth at the proximity. His face is level with your chest, almost resting upon it, and you wet your bottom lip before you find you instinctually raise your hand to slip it around the back of his neck, holding him tenderly as you continue to clean his wound. "I tracked them across the forest, spent three weeks on the borderline of Moonrise Towers. The guards were shockingly ignorant of the presence of a huge beast."

"You could've gotten hurt." You blink slowly, realising what you've said and scowling at the smile slowly spreading across his face. "Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. It's not an easy punishment for tresspass—Ketheric seems a kind man, but you can never be too sure."

"They didn't know." Halsin protests gently and you feel his arm snake further around your legs and it forces you even closer, your body pressed right up against his. "In any case, the bear was surely far more frightening."

"I'm not sure... This feels... significant." You take a shaky breath, trying to ignore the rapid beating of your heart. Since when did this man have this kind of effect on you? It must be the information he's told you. Nobody likes goblins. "Are you planning on telling anyone about this?"

"Isefa, yes. The elders? Absolutely not." Halsin replies indignantly. "You know they wouldn't listen to me."

There's a brief moment of silence, the depths of his injuries much clearer now they're cleaner. You sigh softly and feel the imposing elf thumb rubbing absent half-moons at your leg. "Calypsa was rather put out when you didn't show face at her nameday celebration. I wonder what she'll think when she sees what you've gotten yourself into this time?" 

Halsin groans, the weight of his head dropping back further into your hand, your nails scratching at the back of his skull as you smile. "Gods, don't even start."

"Her mother is quite determined to see the two of you together, it seems." You tease, dipping the cloth once more into the muddied red water. "Says it'd calm you down to take a good, level-headed druid by your side."

"Is that so?" You feel Halsin's large fingers squeeze at your calf, the touch burning even through your trousers. "Most of the mothers here gossip like old crones. Though I suppose matchmaking their children makes them happy, since druid's are famously noncommittal."

"Yes, well, they must keep occupied somehow." You have to focus harder on the task at hand to stop from reacting to the low rumble of his voice, cleaning the last little bit of the wound, the skin raised, raw and pink under your careful touch. "I can't really imagine you ever settling down anyway."

The elf smiles, raising his injured eyebrow as he looks up at you. "Ah? Why not?"

"You'd be a pain, for one." You swat the dirty cloth at him playfully before you drop it into the water bowl, then raising your hand to inspect the gash, blood seeping much slower now. "All the druids here are far to soft for you. You're a tad rebellious—I don't know if anyone's told you that before."

"Hmm..." Halsin's grin grows as you tease him, his chin still tilted back, head sitting heavy against your palm that continues to rest on the back of his neck. "Only a tad?"

"Maybe a little more." You smile back at him, then sigh deeply, your eyes flitting between the unwavering focus of the large druid's own and the fresh scratches carving up his face. "It's nasty. You may as well heal yourself, you know." You say softly. "I have herbal remedies, but they—"

"I want you to do it." Halsin interrupts, his palm is up around the back of your thigh now, trying to draw you closer. He's almost unblinking, his eyes clearer green than you've ever seen them. "You have to teach me your natural remedies, remember? Like you do every time."

"I don't—" You falter, "—it's not going to be enough. It'll scar. Badly." By Silvanus's hand, how much blood did he lose? What's with all this brewing tension?

"I'm not afraid of having scars. As you well know." The elf whispers and tips his head slightly to one side to show the one across his chin, but it forces your gaze to his and your breath catches, eyebrows furrowing as you try to convince yourself there's about a thousand reasons not to cross this line. He's your friend—you're friends. "I want it to scar." His voice is softer than the brush of wind over flower petals, expression sweeter than the wild honey he loves so much. "Then every time I see it, every time someone asks me of it, I'll think of you."

*~*~*

sorry y'all, this one probably isn't gonna go anywhere. i can't get the plot to plot. but I really liked this beginning so here you go!

[dervampireprince]

[dni minors, dni blogs that have no 18+ age listed in their bio] astarion x trans man! reader/tav /// smut, dysphoria comfort, reader's chest is un-described and untouched, reader has a vulva, soft dom top astarion, bottom reader

whenever there's a day when you feel off, wrong, you're hyper aware of your body and how it doesn't feel right to you, he'll notice. perhaps not at first, but the way your posture is different, the way you reject and shy away from his touch, don't flush or scowl at his flirting.

it's late when he decides he has to ask you what's wrong, him not being used to having others to care about, to worry for.

"have i done something wrong?" his voice is quiet and yet it startles you from your thoughts.

"no? no, of course no," guilt festers in you. "i'm sorry."

"there's no need to apologise, darling. as i've been told by someone quite dear to me, there's nothing wrong with not wanting to be touched."

"it's not that. i do, i," you breathe. "i want you to touch me quite badly."

"then i don't understand."

his fingers twitch, wanting to reach for you as your eyes flicker to the mirror across the room.

"when you look at me... what do you see? that is, i mean... you could have anyone you wanted, and i know what you'll say to that. and i believe you. that you want me. i just, sometimes it's hard thinking about the men you've been with, hells just men in general, and then... how they compare to... me. because sometimes, sometimes it's hard to see myself as... as..."

you trail off, aware of your shaking breath, aware of the wetness on your eyelashes, aware that you want to bury yourself against him but find yourself scared.

just as you start to wonder if you've ruined something, his hands hover by your face, not touching, waiting. and so you nod, and his he cups his palms against your cheeks, tilting your head to look at him.

"my sweet boy."

those words and his voice make everything the smallest bit better, you hold back a sob and place your head into the crook of his neck. him calling you a boy both soothing and comforting, but also always slightly arouses you.

"you know i love you? exactly as you are, because of who you are."

"i know."

he raises one of your hands to his lips and kisses it.

"would you let me show you?"

he's not used to being so careful with someone else, not that he hasn't been gentle before but it's never been out of his own desire to cherish the person he's with. but perhaps he can understand, in his own way, feeling disconnected to your own body.

"you're such a handsome man, such a pretty boy. and aren't i ever so lucky. when i was a child i would fantasize about some dashing prince, but i could have never imagined i'd find one like you. you're far lovelier than any dream. you're real. and for some unknown reason managed to see something good in me. you're the most incredible person i've ever met, and i'm going to help you see that."

your shirt stays on if you wish it, as much as he loves every inch of your body, and will continue to regardless of if it stays as it is, or if parts of it change. but he wants you to be comfortable.

he kisses you, trailing down from your lips to your neck, never meaning to get carried away there but always does. you find it hard to mind though as he kisses, teeth nipping but not drinking, leaving faint little marks. he likes leaving marks on you, a reminder that you're here, that you're proud to be with him.

his hands slide down your sides, over your stomach, they pull at the laces of your trousers, sliding them off you legs, leaving your bottom half bare, waiting for his attention.

you flush as he maintains eye contact with you as he slides a hand under your ankle, then down your leg as his mouth moves with it, kissing you calf, next to your knee, up your thigh. and if there's more to grab there, he reveals in it, adoring any curves, your softness. he pauses when he reaches the top of your thigh and chuckles, smirks to himself

"such a sensitive boy, i haven't even touched you anywhere intimate yet and look," you gasped as he glides a couple of fingers between your folds and then holds them up. "already wet for me."

he slides his fingers back against you, teasing around you before thrusting in, curling them upwards as he lowers his head.

"we can'tbe neglecting your cock can we darling? it's straining so hard. and just because it looks different than mine, doesn't make it less of a cock, does it?"

he stays blinking up at you until he realise he wants an answer and you shake your head no.

"good boy, that's right," he purrs and you want to feel condescended, but you just whine, flushing hot, wanting to be good for him, wanting to be his good boy, wanting him to call you that again. "and what shall we do with your pretty cock? shall i suck you off?"

you nod your head, eyes pleading with him and he laughs, not to make fun of you, but because your neediness, your eagerness for him endears him.

"very well then," his lips close around your cock, sucking and suctioning while his fingers continue to stroke inside you, your hands slip into his hair and tug accidentally and he moans around you.

"cheeky boy," he pulls back. "do you wish to come like this or..."

"fuck me," you say, and then. "please? please, astarion, i need you."

astarion always flushes when you tell him you need him. he slides up your body, "i suppose i shouldn't tease, you've been deprived of my touch all week, my poor boy thinking he didn't deserve this. don't worry, i'll fuck you like need."

his cock slips between you, holding you close, kissing your neck, hands stroking your waist as he pushes inside of you,

"that's it, such a good boy. always taking me so well," he loses control of his voice as he fucks you, murmuring praises as his hips snap against you, letting you tug him up to kiss you, pressing one of your hands down into the pillow so he can hold it.

he tells you that you're a good as you both come, he tells you that you're a good boy as you twitch, oversensitive, as he cleans you off, and he tells you that you're a good boy as you drift off in his arms.

[jibberjibbsart]

Sage is sick of seeing Gortash’s poster all over Baldur’s Gate

[elliotsgarbagedump]

I like to think that the weave kissing scene was a joke for Oli and then Gale didn’t shoot him down and then he was like “oh shit wait”

[viridescentelf]

Halsin loving and losing a partner who doesn’t have a long life span kinda breaks my heart.

A human can never live as long as he will, but he will love you even in old age. He will kiss your wrinkles, heal your aching body and help you go on walks, his strong arm being a steady support as you wander together through the forest - a path you two have taken together ever since you‘ve met.

He will be your healer, examining you often (despite you saying you’re fine) and making healing draughts or soups he thinks will make you feel better. They do, but they cannot prevent age. As much as you stay active and take care of yourself, everyone has their time eventually. Halsin knows this.

He will be there in your last moment, when your body can no longer continue. He will never tell you how much it keeps him up at night, not having you anymore. He will profess his love for you, over and over, kissing your face as your breath steadies, and you know he is hurting. But it’s time. You cannot hold on forever, for him. Holding your hand, he watches your soul leave and travel beyond his grasp.

He will fulfill any wish you had, cremation or burial, and he will visit the spot you two would kiss, laugh and love on each other. He will sit there and carve a piece to leave there with you, the new wooden figure joining many little trinkets, flowers and gifts he‘s made for you over the years. He will sit there and cry, in meditations he sometimes feels you there with him.

He will never forget you. He will never stop loving you. And as much as he knows Silvanus took you into his care at your passing, he misses you dearly. He will always return to this spot as much as he can. He will even bring his new partner there and, if he has children, tell them about your adventures together.

You are always with him. Once he‘s loved someone, they will be securely tucked away in his heart.

[sigcorp]

continuing my streak of drawing other people's bg3 OCs with tyrus from perfect slaughter by @asterbae!

the story covers very dark subject matter so please check the tags before reading but in my opinion it is well worth the read

[typophobiaart]

My Tav in my multiplayer bg3 game with my big bro :3

Her name is Lyllith!

[tee-dohrnii]

This was meant to be just regular pen and paper practice, but then I ended up digitally coloring it ( ; v ;)

Original sketch and ref under here

[pursuitseternal]

“Possessing:” jealous, possessive Astarion in a double smut update for “Our Blood is Thicker,” featuring a first-time flashback 💞

Astarion x Cordehlia (F!OC) | E | 8.7 K possessive and first time smut

Summary: the Shadow-Cursed lands resurrect more for Cordehlia than an old enemy— more memories and griefs that Astarion can’t recall. If only there was some way to show Astarion their past… memories that kindle the same possessive desires of the past and new professions of… love in the present.

CW: angst, longing, jealousy, possessive Astarion, Kind Uncle Vibes Halsin, arrogant young Astarion, first time hand job, first time fingering, teenage sneaking for sex, inappropriate tadpole use if you squint, absolute feral rutting once the memory is done.

Previous Chapter | AO3 | Masterlist

Chapter 10: Possessing

🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

Astarion could feel the rage building in his love, shuddering with tension off their leader. They all could. Waves of scarlet temper fluctuating as the Drow inside Moonrise Towers insisted on talking despite Cordehlia’s death stare… insisting on talking with Astarion. This Araj… as she introduced herself with the overconfidence of youth and privilege.

Cordehlia hated her already for both. And more.

Her companions held their breath, watching for those quick and deadly fingers of hers to reach for that shining dagger. And they all wanted to close their eyes the moment they heard the Drow, some expert in blood magic and potions, slather her attentions on The Spawn who pressed at Cordehlia’s side. “I’ve always dreamed of being bitten…”

“Uh oh,” Wyll bemoaned under his breath, taking the opportunity to grab at the she-elf’s elbow and whisper in her pointed ear while the Drow was busy making all her intentions known to Astarion. “Have care, for as much as you would like to run the monster throgh, it would not make things easy for us. Unless you wish to face Ketheric from the inside of a cell…”

“Or dead,” Gale added in her other ear.

Cordehlia gave a single, unwilling nod, rolling her shoulders and crossing her arms. Just as the expert in all things sanguine returned her dark eyes on the rest of them. “Can’t you talk some sense into your charge?”

Cordehlia’s fiery eyebrows raised slowly at that. “My charge?” she spoke between pressed lips. A wave of rebuke held back barely by their need to remain inconspicuous. “My vampire is his own being, he can choose who he bites, who he fucks, whom he loves, who he kills…”

“I’m sure he truly believes that,” the Drow laughed. Disparaging.

“Want a demonstration?” Cordehlia added quickly, a single corner of her mouth turning towards a smile.

“It’s alright, darling,” Astarion turned to meet her stare, caught somewhere between aroused and intimidated himself as it turned to lock those narrowed, hungry, enraged eyes on him.

“Oh, oh I see,” Araj gave a disparaging laugh. “You think he’s yours. All yours. I promise, I’ll leave your lover’s lower regions untouched, I only want a bite. In exchange, I’ll give you a potion so great, you’ll never find another like it in the realms…”

“I’ll thank you to never mention my lower regions again,” Astarion hissed.

“And he said no to you,” Cordehlia snapped, closing one step between her enemy and her beloved. “You can keep clear of us, Drow, of me, my companions, and my vampire. What need do we have of watered down power like blood potions when we have the blessing of the Absolute. I wonder why they keep you here at all.”

That made everyone behind her stiffen, every set of eyes scanning for enemies. Just in case.

But Araj laughed. “Fine, linger in your ignorance with your lover. Savor it while your bodies still haven’t burst into a mess of tentacles. See how romantic your nights of coupling are then… True Soul…”

Three sets of hands pressed against Cordehlia’s back then, but only one pulled her into his arm, tugging her along and back into the halls of Moonrise Towers. “Gods,” Astarion scolded her gently right into her ear as they paused on the outer walls of the tower, “your jealousy nearly got us all killed.”

Was he… angry?

She snapped her neck, turning to scowl right into his face. But that raging expression melted the moment she looked into his. He was so soft, so adoring, head tilted slightly as those crimson eyes widened and brushed over her face.

Until they rested on her lips, pursed tightly.

“That pleases you?” she managed to rasp as her tempers cooled.

“To hear you might just risk bringing the whole army of the Absolute down on us because some other female is pining for me to take a bite?” he smirked wickedly, completely possessive and naughty as his eyes looked to her neck. “And they say romance is dead, darling…”

Just as his palm cupped her cheek, tilting her face so close to his, her warm breath filled his undead lungs and coated his tongue with her taste… Gale cleared his throat.

Loudly. Distracting. Intentionally.

“Need I remind everyone that we stand literally on the precipice of the Absolute’s power? That Ketheric Thorm and his army are literally everywhere…”

“And all you two want to do is fuck,” Karlach burst in with a laugh. “I mean, it’s not a bad plan, it’s just not a plan to take down our enemies, soldier.”

Cordehlia rolled her eyes, gripping the back of his neck in her gauntleted hands. Unable to deny herself just a quick kiss, even at the heart of their enemy’s domain. “Fine,” she sighed. “We find the secret to bringing down this… General, but if anyone comes to try to take any of you from me,” she tapped a finger on Astarion’s perfect, aquiline nose, “especially you… they will find it very hard to think with a dagger buried in their skull.”

“Again, such poetry, such romance,” her vampire purred, his arms struggling to release her. Not that he wanted to either.

They made their way back inside the Tower, and thoughts swirled in Cordehlia’s head, the haze of memories beginning to pierce through that constant blanket of lust Astarion seemed to draw about her at all times.

“Right,” she huffed under her breath. “Let’s go find this imposter who calls himself the General….”

“Imposter?” a deep voice rumbled quietly as Halsin turned around. “How do you mean?”

Cordehlia stopped, the others continuing a few paces ahead. “Ketheric is dead, weren’t you there? Did you not fight in vain glory for his defeat alongside Harpers and Druids and Elves? Did you not see the countless souls sacrificed to put that monster in a tomb?”

“I did,” his pale green eyes scanned her face with all the wisdom and insight three-hundred years lends. “You speak as one who knows of such things yourself, young one.”

Cordehlia’s mouth shut tight. Locking her lips in silence, keeping whatever it was that simmered behind her silver eyes within her.

“I may have joined your band to help break this curse that darkens the land, but make no mistake,” he paused before turning to follow, “I will help do whatever is necessary. But to do so, I need to know more than I can read on your own wizened face.”

She shrugged, pushing past the enormous Druid to rejoin the others. “In good time, perhaps…”

But her words dried up the second she stood on the edge of the gathering in the throne room.

He was there. In flesh. Ancient, grey, undead flesh.

Ketheric Thorm, half-elf, great general, and dead no longer.

Cordehlia heard nothing as she watched with frozen horror the scene before her unblinking eyes. An ax, launched from the hand of some goblin about to be punished for their failure, sliced right into the General’s armor. His great, gauntleted hand pulled it free, as if it were no more than a dull knife in butter.

Immortal. Just as they all had said… back from the dead…

And as she tried to steel over her face and steady her nerves, she forced more of those shadows from her past deep down inside her. They would have to be ignored. For now.

It wasn’t until they were back on the shadow-cursed trails, sent to find the mysterious relic that granted the immortal Ketheric Thorm his power, that Cordehlia finally felt her tenuous hold on reality and on her past begin to slip.

It was a century ago… a lifetime ago, a time when she wandered between losing the love of her life and falling under the spell of bloodlust the Bone Picker loved. Before she found herself totally alone. Not-quite widowed, but decidedly orphaned.

And now, her feet traced the same paths and vaulting roots from dying trees he must have…

Her father.

She kept herself busy, hurrying at the front of the group as they moved headlong into the dark and cursed forest.

“We really should make camp,” Shadowheart commented, “there are many dangers ahead, and we wouldn’t wait to face those exhausted.”

“A wise idea,” Halsin affirmed. “We can get a new start with the dawn… or,” he grinned a bit sheepishly, looking at the lands cursed to eternal darkness, “…if not dawn, at least when we are all rested.”

A few laughs sounded from the group as they headed for safer ground. But not Astarion. And not Cordehlia. She gave that smile that didn’t meet her eyes, holding her shoulders slumped down as if she carried that massive, invisible weight. He could almost feel it himself, just by looking at her. Slowly, he drew nearer, falling within earshot. Within arms reach, should she need him.

But she kept her attention on the Druid, locked in as they headed up the path. “Halsin…” she added, voice shaking just a bit, “you… fought to bring Ketheric down… the first time I mean?”

“Giving up your claim of being an imposter?” the Druid teased, instantly regretting the jovial tone as he saw the lines of her face. As he read her pain. “What troubles you?”

Cordehlia glanced beside her, face easing to find Astarion at her side. First in her heart. Always at her side. “These… ruined battlefields, where so many lives were lost, you’ve been here, Halsin. Tell me, did you fight beside the elven hosts?”

Halsin stopped short. That weight in her voice flooded with knowledge. He froze, nearly mid-step. “I thought you looked familiar…” he commented, almost to himself, eyes scanning the she-elf.

“Why?” Astarion interjected, curious if not a tad bit defensive at the familiarity.

“Of course, Star Elf, red hair that shock of brightness. A temper to defy the gods. You’re the daughter of General Aquilae, aren’t you? You’re just as ferocious in battle, just as passionate and hot-tempered.” The Druid tilted his head, starting to walk again. “I am… sorry for your loss. Sorry his sacrifice must feel like it's in vain with Ketheric back from the dead…”

“Don’t assume to know how I feel,” Cordehlia snapped, chin jutting up, barely meeting the large male’s chest-height. But fierce in demeanor. “Sorry,” she relinquished, that defiance instantly retreating back inside her carefully crafted shell.

“Quite alright. You’re in pain, grieving. But even grief heals, all things heal. Nature will heal, as hearts will too,” Halsin grinned gently, “but it takes time and… many ways of seeking solace…”

Astarion couldn’t fight the way his eyes tweaked in suspicion, hackles raising at the informality. As long as it was his tent that her solace was sought for…

“Aquilae…” Astarion let the name roll off his tongue. Something inside his mind thawing, something creeping into the light. “Is that… your name?”

What normally would have made a tender smile come to her full, pink lips made them scowl instead. “For once… for once, it would be a boon to have you either remember your past, or not ask such obvious questions.” She bit at every word. Her shoulders squared at him, armored and taught.

Those crimson eyes narrowed at her, his mouth hardened into a flat line. An exterior of equal adamant to resist her anger. And to hide his hurt.

“Well, darling,” he shook his head quickly, derisively. “I apologize for my shortcomings,” his gaze darted to the Druid who still lumbered beside her. “And I’ll leave you two to… reminisce correctly, then.” The vampire pushed his way between them, heading for the bustling group as they hurriedly and anxious made a small camp, setting magic wards and torches against the Shadows.

Cordehlia’s heart sank, her stomach knotted, making her want to puke right there and then on cursed grounds, watching him stride from her so quickly.

That exterior of injured pride, that mask of indifference hiding his own pain. Pain she caused. Pain flowed from her own.

Halsin cleared his throat softly. “He means a great deal to you, the Elf. The others gossip about your past constantly. Your Wizard, in particular, seems rather… put out that Astarion has meant so much to you,” the Druid sat himself down on a log, the wood creaking beneath his sheer mass.

But Cordehlia was too uncomfortable to do anything more than sway in place as her eyes darted between her Druid and the rest of her party. Not as if she were watching for every pissed-off dart of her silver-haired vampire in the mix.

“I… believe I know your history, or at least as much of it as the rest do…”

She scoffed, fingers beginning to unbuckle her armor methodically, absentmindedly. “More than he probably recalls,” she huffed under her breath. “If only… things were easier. Not just the tadpole and the Absolute… but with him.”

“Nature does not have regrets, young elf, only growth,” he smiled slightly, his scarred face turning with that wise happiness. “Besides, for as much as you resemble your father, the General…”

“He still seems like the pampered, arrogant, devastatingly handsome son of our High Lord and Lady?” she sniffed, suddenly feeling the warm pull of those years, however ancient they may be.

“I suspected as much. Your father only ever spoke to us briefly, to the point, not unlike his formidable daughter when she feels the need…”

That made Cordehlia grin softly once more.

“He had said once, on the eve of battle, he regretted risking his daughter to lose another… that you had already lost so much of your heart, an engagement to the next High Lord ending in tragedy.”

Halsin paused, turning to follow her own sharp, unerring gaze into the mess of companions. Watching as her eyes followed her lover through the crowd, her whole being growing heavier with grief each second that passed.

He let her breathe in silence a moment, waiting for her to speak. At last, something seemed to ease within her. “He was my everything, Halsin. My childhood playmate, my first kiss, my… first of many things…” Her voice was steady, aching with grief and joy mixed into one weighty tone. “He defied his parents to ask for my hand, well… his weakness for planning ahead worked that once, for as much… shame as it could have brought on us both. But I didn’t care. I had him.”

“The son of the High Lord and the daughter of the General must not have been such a match to frown upon,” Halsin sounded.. wistful. Cordehlia wasn’t sure. But she turned to look anyway. “At least now, for whatever darkness you both have endured, you share in one another’s burdens. But you can’t fault him for how he has… survived his pain by pushing down his memories. They will return, in time, as all things…”

“In nature heal,” Cordehlia finished with a laugh. “You’re rather predictable, Druid.”

“Three-hundred and fifty years, and you learn the value of consistency, young one,” he laughed, standing from the log. “Now, we better return before your vampire’s jealousy turns its hungry attention on me as a threat.”

Cordelia gathered the plates of her armor she had removed, walking them towards camp. And then she paused. Cursing.

Of course… as it had been of late, since that night in the Emerald Grove, all her things were in… his tent. Her stomach sank. She… wasn’t ready to face him yet. Wasn’t ready for his chilled anger or his glare of simmering rage, or his little frown of hurt.

But she swallowed her dread and headed towards that stretched structure of red and rose fabric.

It was already so dark, just the flickers of torchlight dancing to show her the way. Pausing, her hand hesitated before it pulled back the flap so she could enter. Cordehlia swallowed, why was she so nervous, he night not even be inside. Might be out hunting… or helping… or…

Before any other thought could make her hesitate longer, a pale hand shot out at her from within, wrapping its cold, undead touch around her wrist, and dragged her inside his darkened domain.

His tent was blacker than pitch. Even for her elf-eyes, it took her a moment to adjust her sights. But she could feel him around her, grabbing her from behind, hand around her chin, arm clutched around her waist, as he pulled her within.

“I didn’t think you’d come, darling…” his voice chilled her marrow, all the jealousy she had imagined inside him biting his words. “Thought you’d be too busy strolling down memory lane with someone who could walk with you…” his lips pushed against the edge of her ear, nipping it with his fangs, “just as you’ve always wanted…”

“You know what I want…” she murmured, arching against the confines of his body.

“Hmmm,” he taunted, and she could feel his breath trailing down her neck. “I thought I did… I’m surprised that you’re here, not indulging in some time with your warm-blooded companion who knows you… and most likely wants to… know you.” His mouth sucked on her ear, “carnally, to be clear.”

“Tch, tch,” she forced her body to twist in his hold, landing the point of her elbow in his gut to make his grip ease. Savoring the little grunted “oof” he made. “Don’t think so low of yourself, my love,” she breathed, scanning the way his face twitched between suspicion and arousal. “As if I could take anyone else, now that I have you back with me at last…”

She meant it, every word. Those eyes soft with sincerity, those lips already slightly puckered to invite him closer.

But he still had too much jealousy gripping his undead heart, too much ice flowing in his veins yet. “You’d rather have someone remember, I know, someone who knew your name, your father, someone who recognizes the family resemblance of your temper to match your hair… someone who can match the… intimacy you seek with your memories in the same way they might with your delicious body.” He pouted, those full lips of his frowning in taunting disapproval. “If only there was some way for us to share thoughts and memories, mind to mind…” he turned to give her the full power of his gaze then, and it made her lose her breath with his beauty, his intensity. That rakish cant of his brows and the haze of hunger in his eyes.

Her brows raised slowly, her smile spreading. “What are you suggesting, Astarion?”

He let his fangs show, his hands gripped into the soft flesh of her upper arms. “Show me, show me everything. Use the parasite, link your mind to mine, for I’ll be damned if anyone…” he growled with a snap of his jaw, “anyone lays a claim to you more than me.”

“Why, Master Ancunìn,” she smirked, running the pads of her fingers down that sharp cut of his jaw, “jealousy does rather become you.”

He stiffened beneath his touch, the muscles of his jaw tweaking as he clenched.

“You’re… not just jealous, are you?”

His eyes cast to the side. Just enough hint of remorse, of regret and longing softened his face.

“I… can’t explain it,” he whispered, almost sounding frightened to let the words out. “All I have known for so long is to manipulate, to do as I was commanded, to use my body and bury my mind, my feelings so far down, I… forgot what it was to think or feel for myself.”

His hands began to wander, to stroke her smooth skin and taught muscles beneath her shirt.

“And then, I found you, or rather, you found me. You forced me to confront those parts of me I neglected in order to survive. You made me rediscover what it meant to want a person…to want anything for myself. Like how you almost tore the throat of that vile Drow today, just for assuming you could compel me to bite her fetid flesh.”

He breathed, that jealousy still crept close by, his fingers insistent on her flesh, even with all the vulnerability that flooded his voice.

“I… should say thank you, my darling, but I would rather show you my gratitude. Rather stand at your side as equals, knowing everything that makes you… you.”

“That makes us… us,” she added, a smile soft on her lips. Her hand held his, pulling him down along with her, sitting on the mess of his blankets and pillows he called a bed. Before he could even settle completely, she crawled in his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist, cradling his cheek in her palm. His eyes bore into hers, the intensity, the possessiveness, the curiosity burning bright in the deep red of his eyes. “What would you wish to see?” she asked softly.

“Show me your father, show me you… show me our first moments, our sweetest moments, our most sensual, our most painful,” he rasped, brows furrowed with his ardor. “I want to recall… everything…”

She paused for a breath, eyes closing as if she searched those memories. Finally, her silver eyes opened, her gaze was languid, distant, and desirous. “Open yourself to me,” she whispered so close to his own parted lips.

A single brow arched in humor, “That's my line, darling…”

Before she could tease him or roll her eyes, their minds smashed into one another, their tadpoles humming as the world around them instantly disappeared….

———

“What do you have to say for yourself, lordling?” General Aquilae stared at him with those piercing dark eyes. Sharp like the eagle, the bird of prey after which he was named. “Son of the High Lord, caught watching our daughter bathing, you know there will be repercussions even your parents can’t pull enough strings to free you from…” The warrior’s voice rumbled like thunder, towering over where the young elf male stood in his study.

But Astarion gave no ground, arms crossed over the pale green of his tunic, the golden threads of its intricate embroidery catching the firelight as night began to fall. His sharp features smiled slightly, his deep violet eyes dancing as he watched the warrior pacing back and forth, that silver shock of hair barely tamed, same as he was as a youth, barely more tamed than the willful elfing that ran about with his daughter.

And now… now they would be inseparable. They had to be.

“You know what you have done has sealed Cordehlia’s fate as much as your own, little lord?” the general added. His voice sharp, direct.

“I would hope so, Commander,” Astarion purred in reply, “I thought my affections for your daughter were on… full display this afternoon.”

General Aquilae pressed his thick fingers into his temples, rubbing them as if to ease a headache. “You know, Astarion, most young males court their intendeds with letters or poems or art or song… not their cock in their hand as they watch them bathing.”

Astarion shrugged, coolly and casually. “I have never been like most young males, Commander. You have always known that, as loyal friend of my parents, their faithful General…”

“You can leave your parents out of this, boy,” the general straightened. “What will you do to make this right by Cordehlia? Leave her to the shame you’ve inflicted? To the gossip and the ostracization of her peers?”

“I intend to make her mine, General,” he replied. Steadily, those hard, smirking lines of his face easing as his smile dropped.

The commander turned to round one more time across his study, his boots falling harshly against the wooden planks of the floor. Until he drew up short. “It’s close, but you need to be clear, Ancunìn. You’ll make her your what? Mistress, whore…”

“Bride.”

It was a simple word. Uttered so clearly, so matter-of-factly, all ears that heard it frozen.

Her father. And Cordehlia. The sneaky she-elf who peered through the smallest chink in the wall, who held her breath to hear two men discussing her future. But at that word, her heart soared, scared, excited, terrified and… something else she didn’t know. Something that stabbed her like a hot poker in the gut and flooded her abdomen with heat. She could see Astarion’s face perfectly from here; he looked so regal, so confident. So happy. Especially at making her father draw up short and stop, at a loss for words.

“Well, General?” Astarion grinned, smiling so self-assured, so cocky, “do you need me to repeat, sir?”

“No,” the older elf cleared his throat loudly and repeatedly. “Thank you.”

Astarion bowed his silver-tousled head. “If that is set arights, then perhaps I can break the happy news to my intended myself?”

“Firstly,” General Aquilae raised a single thick digit at the boy, “I will set you straight on this point, lordling. You are both far too young by the rights of our people to marry. Prepare yourselves for a long engagement, one where you had better show her nothing but the respect and devotion befitting a female of our status…” he narrowed his large silver eyes down at the boy, “even if it is still beneath your own, Master Acunìn.”

Astarion flashed a bright smile, a deferential bow of his head and shoulders, hand placed graciously over his heart. “On my honor,” he crooned, magnanimous in tone. Just like his parents. “The lady and I will wait for years, for decades, if that is your sage guidance.”

“Not decades, no,” he sniffed in rejoinder. “Don’t be so grandiose, boy. Five years hence at most until you may wed, unless any unexpected, little… surprises… come up in the meantime…”

Violet eyes wide, Astarion remained still at the implication. He swallowed hard, much to her father’s satisfaction. “Yes, General,” he murmured in reply. The meaning was clear enough.

General Aquilae almost laughed at the submission, the immediate effect of discomfort that smacked the boy across his pristine, handsome, and youthful face. It would be enough to scare the boy into caution for the time being. And that would be enough for now. “Allow me to fetch your intended, then.” He crossed towards the door, but paused when the boy gave that signature boisterous giggle.

“No need,” he giggled again. “Cordehlia already has her ear pressed to the wall, eyes peering through keyholes, I shouldn’t wonder…”

That violet, glinting gaze looked right at her… where she had one eye locked through the crack in the wall. A smile dancing on his thick, parted lips.

Quickly, she moved and held her breath, flouncing her gown and making her way as if she were simply strolling by the study door, a little book in hand as if she were lost in reading. Her father threw open the dark wooden door. “Daughter,” he ordered. No other words needed. His lined brow furrowed to see her, in fact, so close to his study.

“Yes, Father?” she lilted, tucking the book neatly against her chest as she folded her arms. “Is… is there something the matter?”

“I’ll let you find out for yourself,” he replied, walking out the door, “but no, nothing the matter.” His rough hand caught his daughter’s fingers from her book, giving them a tender squeeze before he left them to it.

Her heart raced, slowly turning to face that smirking youth in her father’s study. The one who went toe to toe with her father, and lived to tell the tale.

“Astarion,” she beamed, open and exuberant to see him against her better judgment to be coy. “It is late, you know.”

“No better time for a man to call upon his beloved, his intended…” he grinned, all feline and subtle, striding to shut the door behind her. “I don’t need to regale you with all the negotiations do I? You were listening ever so intently from your little hiding spot, weren’t you?”

“Of course,” she smiled, taking a few steps away from where he felt so close to her. Crossing, she sat on the little couch near the fire. And she regretted it the instant he sat immediately beside her. “I… I suppose I should thank…”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Tch,” he sucked his teeth, a habit of his when teasing her lately, “I told you I would get what I wanted, Cordehlia.”

“And, what was that?” she forced her face into a blank, innocent expression. Wide-eyed and pouting, hiding the laughter that bubbled inside.

“You,” he slowly seemed to lean in. “Despite my parents’ plans for a marriage alliance… despite your father’s hesitations…” his eyes cast down the front of her down, scanning the intricate weave of laces and ribbons that held her in, even as her chest heaved with panting and her bosoms threatened to spill out the top. “Despite even your own thoughts of self-inadequacy…”

“Oh, I do not doubt my own measure, Astarion,” she chided in reply, “I doubt that I will be enough to satisfy you and your… ambitions.”

“Wanting great things out of life means nothing if I can’t share it with you, my…” he whispered, that edge of pretend leaving his silken voice. A single finger pressed under her chin, feeling her throat swallowing and her jaw bobbing as she nervously met his gaze. “Hmmm, what shall I call you now?” he grinned. “My friend seems too unromantic. My intended, my betrothed… those seem so cumbersome.”

“Something simple, sweet and flirtatious,” she smiled, leaning into the heat of his touch, more of his fingers beginning to sweep over her cheek. “Nothing too saccharine… just a little something… darling…”

“Oh,” he gave that secretive half smile of his, “aren’t you just darling? So sweet and yet deceptively strong… that hint of irony behind it.. yes. Yes, it’ll do nicely, darling…”

Her eyes darted away, feeling so hot, cheeks flushed and burning, his hand still holding her face. But that heat swirled in her gut, her mind still reeling over the events of that day, and while her skin was clean from bathing, her mind had turned to only images and questions that were so, very dirty. “So…” she paused, feeling his face drawing nearer, his breath washing over her. “What was it you were caught doing exactly?”

Astarion’s eyes flashed, wide and dilating as he stared at that impertinent grin. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean… I wish to know… what… you were doing while you watched me,” her voice grew quieter, deeper in her throat the more she spoke.

“I was… pleasuring myself,” he managed to say, watching her cheeks growing pinker and pinker.

“Show me,” she whispered. Her chin jutted out in that over-confident way of hers.

Astarion cocked his head, a single corner of his lip curving slightly. “What?” he drolled.

“Show me… what you were doing…” she whispered, eyeing the door shut beside them, pure mischief in her silver eyes. “Show me, please…”

“I do so like it when you ask so sweetly,” he raised his brow, grinning widely as he leaned towards her breathtaking face. “So refined and smoothed over your edges, and yet…” His fingers pressed on her chin, tilting her upwards and drawing her close to his lips, “I still see that willful, feral playmate of mine who never once treated me like the son of the High Lord…”

“Quit your stalling, Acunìn,” she snapped, smiling all the while. Her body was pulsing, hotter than the fire before them should have made her. Her skin grew tighter the more he touched her.

“I can show you,” he whispered, smirking as his eyes darted towards the door. “But I’ll not do it in your father’s domain. Not when I’ve just garnered his dissenting approval.”

Her breath grew heavy, her dress suddenly too tight. “Where… when…?”

“It’s your home, darling. Can’t you think of someplace quiet… someplace intimate…”

“The gardens,” she couldn’t reply quickly enough. “I can slip from my terrace, if you meet me.”

“Then I shall be there,” his voice was thick, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. It made her stomach knotted and fluttery. Made her skin burning and her blood pounding. Whatever it was she was about to learn, she could barely wait the few moments it would be to sneak away.

Then he kissed her, more than just the little pecks as children. More than the courtly press of his mouth on her gentle fingers. He spared her nothing, for she knew full well already the twist of his tongue around her own, the sucking of his lips and the clack of his teeth against hers. But this kiss, this devoured her. Sucked her breath and filled her tastebuds with him alone. Until she forgot to so much as breathe.

A loud footstep outside the door made them suddenly draw apart, the turn of the handle making Astarion shoot right up from the couch to stand coolly at the mantle, a chilled, contented smile on his lips as her father returned.

As if those lips weren’t just consuming his daughter.

“It’s late, Master Acunìn,” the General commented, always direct, always commanding.

“Yes, well, there will be many years ahead of us for goodnight and goodbyes, isn’t that right, my darling?” the young elf nodded his head to his future bride. Who, very wisely, kept her flushing face away from the sight of her father.

“Yes, Astarion,” she replied, all joy and music in those two words. “Goodnight to you both,” she stood to dip a curtsy. “I am ever so pleased with our arrangement,” she added, smiling as she made her way from the room.

“As am I,” Astarion replied, locking eyes with the General. “Goodnight, my future bride and father. I can see myself out.”

“So long as you don’t see yourself back in, boy,” her father laughed under his breath. A cold sort of laugh, wisened by experience past the machinations of youth. “You have years for that. The blink of an eye for our kind.”

Astarion nodded his head, eyes still fixed on his exit. Careful not to give away the racing of his heart in anticipation. Gratified that his instincts were sharper than the General, the aging elf whose eyes he could feel until the moment he shut the door to their home behind him.

It would be an easy deception, to head down the path towards the road and double back to the little garden. The moon was bright, and the stars even brighter. Hanging arbors of bright purple and rosy blooms covered the walls and trellises.

She had chosen well, a secluded spot, hidden and muffled. He watched her room, a little cutaway on the ground floor, as he had before. Her shadow moving in the light, the flicker of candles gutting out as he heard the door to her terrace open.

He peered out from behind the arbor, her eyes instantly setting on him, her mouth parting in a smile. Hoisting her skirt, she ran over the little tiled terrace, scrambling, almost vaulting over the balustrade to land in his arms.

“I can’t believe you did that, Astarion,” she panted, instantly pressing her lips against his. “You’re so much trouble…”

“Yes,” he breathed in between her moving lips, “but aren’t I just worth it?”

“Show me what you were doing and we will see,” she growled into his mouth, his hands already skating over the silks of her gown, pawing beneath the edges of her robe. His fingers traced down her arm, weaving into her hand. Pulling her, they reached the little bench, nestled among the hanging vines of sleeping flowers. All was quiet and shadow. The air was cool against their burning skin, the stone of the bench even colder as they slammed into it, tumbling down to sit side by side. Pressed so tightly together, her leg draped between his. His arms pulled tightly around her waist.

“First day giving me your word you’ll be mine,” he panted, “and already all you want to know is how to pleasure me?”

“Well,” she shoved him away, hand planted firmly on his chest. “I already know how to tease you, to best you, to anger you and calm you…” she tilted her head with a sultry, knowing smile. “I’m sure there is much I have yet to learn… and I am eager for you to teach me.”

“You’ve come a long way from flinging mud in my face and threatening to tattle on my father, darling,” his words tickled her cheek as he hovered over her ear. “If you wish to learn, this lesson will be completely… hands on.”

“Save your wit, Astarion,” she hissed, a smile on her face, her hands already straying over the soft fabric of his tunic. “Need I remind you, after today, you had the advantage of knowing the sight of me… all of me. I have yet to have the same pleasure.”

“All in good time, after all…” he pulled away to stare into her eager eyes, so bright as they caught the starlight, “we have years ahead of us now.”

His hand covered hers, sliding it lower, letting her fingers brush over his belly that clenched as he struggled for air. Astarion said nothing, just giving her that half a smile that made her blush. His eyes watched her face blanch as he moved her hand even lower, to press it against where he was hard yet again that day. Slowly, he moved her fingers up and down it, her mouth hanging open slightly to feel its length from where it met his pelvis to the tip that pressed somewhere down the leg of his breeches.

She swallowed hard. Her breath was harsher than ever. Than even after sprinting.

“Well,” he finally purred as he kept their hands working over him slowly. “I only saw the parts of you that glittered in the water above its surface, and I have never been more jealous of some dewy drops on your skin before.”

Cordehlia smirked, beginning to move her hand more freely, fingers tracing the rounded edges of whatever it was beneath. “Now poetry? I prefer you razor wit…”

“How about nothing more than the sounds we make all on our own?” he breathed, his hands pulling the laces from his breeches free. She felt it shift as the fabric released. That hard thing twitching as he reached inside. She couldn’t look away, the sight of him making her mouth water.

And her body even hotter than she had ever been in his presence, in his arms before.

She shut her jaw, clenching it as she watched his hand wrap around its width, watched as it jerked and twitched as he beat over it back and forth. “It’s not like you to hesitate or to balk when something is… hard.”

One hand shoved his shoulder, the other wrapped to join his grip around that… thing. She exhaled as she squeezed, the skin so smooth, the whole shaft so hot and pulsing with the beat of his heart. And so hard as he had joked. Rigid and silken, hard and smooth. Her touch straying towards its tip, she saw it dripping, little white, almost clear drops as she touched it. She swept it in her fingers, tacky and slick over that fleshy tip.

He groaned as she did so, and instantly she pulled away. “Sorry,” she hissed, her cheeks growing even redder in shame to hurt him.

“No,” he panted, grabbing her hand back to encircle that tip again. “The opposite, it felt amazing, the way you touch my cock…”

“Oh,” she smiled, reapplying the same sort of stroke over that little slit, feeling it seeping again as she touched him. “So…” she tilted her head, meeting those dilated, violet eyes, “…you like this?”

“Mmm, very much, even better than when I touch myself and think of you. The real thing is so much better,” he groaned again as she stroked harder, faster, like he had before. Head thrown back, he closed his eyes, savoring that no-longer-timid touch.

“What happens next?” she asked, somehow breathless herself.

“The best part,” he replied through clenching teeth. “Whatever you do, don’t dare stop…” he was growling, his hips raising as she kept that beat. He rocked on the stone bench, hands gripping into the edge. She watched as he contorted, seeming to be in agony, that cock in her hand growing harder and hotter, but she didn’t dare stop. Like he asked.

She felt it shudder in her fingers, his body clenching as he groaned. Collapsing forward, he kept shaking as noise after pained and panting noise came from his mouth. More of that sticky white drips shot from him, and Cordehlia held her breath, so certain she had hurt him.

A fear that was dispelled the moment she looked at his face now. His slack-mouthed smile, his eyes wide and glowing in the moonlight, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her against him. Lashing his mouth to hers, he muttered such sweet things into her lips. “That was…” he paused to breathe, “amazing. You were perfect. Better than I had dreamed…”

“It looked painful,” she replied, breaking away with a push on his chest again. Turning her head, she looked where the stones of the terrace were discolored and wet, where his cock still dripped a little more of that gleaming whiteness. “And you call that pleasuring yourself?”

“I assure you, he grinned, brows raising, lips quirking, “it is quite the opposite of painful.”

“Hmm,” she hemmed, skeptical as she turned to look back into that face.

“You look like you need some.. convincing…”

His hands wrapped around her waist, slowly starting to gather up the thin silks that covered her perfect, pale skin.

“I think I can show you, if you let me,” he crooned, mouth smiling wider.

“You’re going to teach me how to… pleasure myself?” Oh, she was so haughty, so confident and daring. Even when she was wrong, it was stimulating.

“Really?” She kept that hand firmly on his chest, even as her body gave her away, her hips sliding slightly closer as his hands pulled her skirts to her knees. “I take it this knowledge was not garnered from first… hand… experience…” she tested him.

“No, no,” he shook his head, smiling with reassurance, “I read it in a book, a most fascinating book…”

“So fascinating that it made you pursue release in… pleasuring yourself after?”

“Seems like you know more than an elegant, righteous she-elf should…” he touched her skin then, sliding two fingers higher from her knee. “You weren’t watching me, were you?” he taunted, fingers tracing back down only to dare higher beneath her skirts.

“No, that seemed to be your duty, my darling,” she laughed as she spoke, low and slick. Her breath came heavier. Her skin flamed hotter the higher he touched.

Then, she looked right into his eyes, all that taunting evaporated, her smile softened, her eyes wide and pleading as she could do nothing more than breathe and lean back even more.

And he kept touching, awed by that look of trust and… love. And then, he slunk those fingers beneath the thin line of her undergarments.

She was… wet. Hot. Those folds he had read about, observed in drawings… it was so much better now. But he needed more.

His other hand gripped her knee, pulling those strong legs of hers apart. A gasp tore from her throat as she let him. Her fingers clutched at the back of his head, locked into his hair as if she was about to collapse.

And then, his touch slid inside. Her eyes shot wide, her face contorting like his had, now she knew why.

He slid those fingertips back and forth, dragging that hot slick more and more through that seam. At last, he circled through that point at the apex, drawing his touch over that hard little spot. Just as he had read. But the way it made her clench and groan was even… more magnificent.

Her cheeks were so pink, her forehead beading with sweat. “What… is that…” she managed to speak, breathless and deep in her throat.

“Give me you hand, sweet Cordehlia, and you can tend to your own needs when I can’t be with you in the shadows.”

She obeyed, keeping that one grip tight around his neck. But the other slipped in to join his so quickly. Pushing harder, sweeping faster, his fingers tried to keep up with the way she was… touching herself.

“Gods,” he groaned, “how does it feel?”

“I… can’t…” she panted, eyes shutting hard as she groaned.

So he slid his fingers in deeper in… in her quivering walls.

“Ah!” she mewled, forgetting they were still in danger, forgetting anyone could hear them.

But Astarion didn’t care, not when she clenched hard and tight around his fingers, not when his cock was pulsing again, aching for another round of his own release.

She shook so hard, she almost pulled him down, her arm releasing instead to hold herself up. Her eyes looked at his body again, settling on where his cock still stood hard and twitching in his lap. “I want to watch you… watch you touch yourself while I…”

“Yes,” he growled, hand slipping from her skirts, rubbing that slick that coated his whole hand over himself. “Gods, Cordehlia,” he couldn’t keep his eyes open, not needing much more than a few more pumps on his cock to set him nearly off again. One last glance of her face wracked with ecstacy, the sound of her orgasm as she beat her own fingers into that hot slick he could smell… it was enough.

It was more than enough.

He watched as she bit her lips and screamed through them, hearing that wet squelch of her fingers beneath her skirt grow somehow wetter sounding.

She was divine. Worthy. Beyond compare. Worth all the wagging tongues of the nobles and disapproving scowls of his parents to make her his.

His.

And with that, he groaned and came again. Harder and more intensely than ever before. Spurting streams of his cum covered the tiles and dripped from his hand.

He looked at her then, her eyes glazed with lust, with sated desire and yet burning up for more.

He was hers as much as she was his…

And he would never be the same.

————

She released his mind. His mouth hung open, his breath ragged.

His heart warmed over, despite being dead, all fluttering and hot. Maybe a fragment of his soul returned to him, he wasn’t sure. The way her silver eyes beat open, that ember of desire in them from the memory of so long ago… it made him realize just how achingly hard he had become.

More than her blood in his stomach, more than the sight of her bathing… it was an ache in his groin and his chest that only one thing could satisfy.

And he could smell the same need between her legs, could hear it in the way her heart raced and rapped in her chest.

Swift and sure, her hands clutched into his shirt, grabbing him hard and pulling him. To make him climb on her body, to cover herself in the only remedy to quell her burning. She pushed his clothes off his skin, his voice reduced to a growl in his throat. Those eager, dexterous fingers ripped his own clothes off, relieved only once he was freed. Once they both were freed, nothing but their skin and desire to share.

“I was your first,” he rasped, crushing her with his body, consuming her with his mouth. “The first to know you, to touch you…”

“To taste me and pleasure me and have me…” she purred, “and I you.”

“And none shall have you like I have… like I do…” Astarion groaned, slipping his fingers into her, just as he had perhaps a million times before. Her arousal was so hot and plentiful, all resistance was gone.

As if her body was made for him. The same way a key can slip so perfectly into its lock.

After those memories, he wouldn’t be surprised if it were so. “You enjoyed learning from me,” he grunted into her mouth, the visions of their memories still flaring in his head. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” she sighed back. Her hips bucking hard, riding each crooking touch he made deep inside her.

“Your little shakes of excitement, your wide, innocent eyes and pink little lips wet for me…”

“Yes,” she sighed again, arching and clinging hard around his neck.

“Your lips, your breasts, your honey-dripping cunt… Gods, I want to fuck them all, make every inch of you mine, make them swollen and marked by my bite…” he looked down at her then, teeth glinting as he gave a wide-mouthed grin. “Not the Druid, not the Wizard, not a single one that looks at you would doubt you are mine…”

“Astarion, I’ve been yours,” Cordehlia said, hands gripping hard as she shuddered, feeling her own juices beginning to gush around his fingers, his thumb commanding her with all the dexterity he plied, all the knowledge of her body he now recalled from centuries.

He crooked his fingers even harder through her orgasm, working and fighting against every time she bore down in ecstacy. Panting, she softened around him, beneath him. Yielding to every part of him, body and soul. “Your turn,” she rasped, face nestled against his shoulder. Her hand gripped around his cock, slick already from the drips that already leaked from its tip.

Hips bucking into her fist, his lips peeled back to bare his teeth. “May I?”

“Bite me a dozen times so everyone sees your markings? Yes,” she snickered, rubbing over his shaft just a little faster until he groaned. From her touch or her words, she wasn’t sure. But she loved it either way.

The base of her neck, the throbbing of her jugular, the crest of her collarbone… one after another he nipped and drank. Each bite making her fist clench so tightly around his cock, he had no choice but to let his body rut into her grip. His tongue lapped all over her own ivory skin, her crimson blood thick in his throat as she pleasured him.

That age-old touch that commanded him, pleasuring him as only she could. Thousands of forced lovers over hundreds of years, and for once, he reclaimed that feeling of intimacy, that near-first-time thrill he thought long dead. Making love to one he wanted. One he…

“I love you,” he whispered between her blood-dripping breasts.

“I have always loved you,” the reply couldn’t leave her lips fast enough. Her fingers gripping into the locks behind his pointed ears, pulling his dripping copper-tanged mouth to hers. Furious. Crazed. Matching that possessiveness stroke for stroke with her tongue, nip for nip with her teeth on his lips. Her hand dragged through the pooling blood on her body, running that warm, thick liquid over his cock.

Making him shudder as she ran her touch up and down it again. He groaned with that hot slick gliding over his length. The scent of her blood was too delicious to resist. “As fun as it was to cum all over you when we were young, I’d much rather be invited inside, my love.” He tried to sweeten his voice, but that play on his cock already had him undone.

She only chuckled, guiding him inside her so quickly, he barely could tell what was her fist and what was her folds until her thighs clenched tight around his waist, her hips bucking hard against his own. Riding him with every little bit of passion she had stored inside for him alone.

Possessing her for centuries. Making certain he never forgot now that he was hers to possess as well.

[madschiavelique]

omg okay y’all absolutely LOVED this post right here about young halsin x you turning to the shadow druids and meeting decades later so let me elaborate a bit about it (ps i’m in pain physically as i write this so it’s not proofread at all and very quick but i need to let some thought out)

imagine halsin and you, in his quarters, ready for interrogation. it’s night, some fireflies are coming in and out of his windows, but you’re not watching them. your eyes are planted in halsin’s.

so many questions swirl in his mind like individual drops of rain falling all at once together on calm water.

you were gone, at least that’s what he had thought for so many years. maybe you had perished after the flames, maybe you had changed of continents, maybe you had fought another battle that led you to the sour arms of death.

he never thought he was to see you again, not even in afterlife. but here you are, all tied up in front of him.

more beautiful than ever.

and you, you’re watching him in silence, hooked on his lips in expectation of whatever he might say.

he has the strength to form a sentence, trying his very best to keep it all under the “protecting the grove” argument.

“why are you here ?” he asks.

his voice changed so much. it’s much deeper, like thunder coated in honey. his voice was already the sweetest back in the days, but the new one…

“trying to prevent your grove from getting in trouble.” you answer, leaning your head back against the wood of the wall, not leaving his eyes.

he frowns, the duties of archdruid have changed him. he matured, you think, he made a man out of the snarky boy you once knew.

“from…” he says, searching his words, “troubles like you ?”

troublemaker, that was the nickname he used to give you. you’d always tried by every mean to make him look less perfect than how he used to be back in the days, and you still wondered if he had managed to remain effortlessly errorless.

you smiled, full of nostalgia at the single word, “i was your favourite kind of trouble. the one coming for you, though…”

“quit your games,” he stopped, “what are you truly here for ?”

“i told you, your grove’s about to be in danger.”

“how’s that ?” he scoffed, “you, the great deserter, coming to such a haven in search for something else to destroy ?”

halsin still had some bitterness. you had not just left him, you had been dishonest with him, betrayed your home, your friends, your circle, him.

“i did not mean to destroy the temple.” you said between clenched teeth.

“but you did it anyway.” he spat.

“because it was either see this stupid rubble go into flames or watching you die!” you snapped.

halsin’s eyes went wide, anger and surprise and confusion passing on his face and heart without transition as he looked at you with new eyes.

now, imagine that the reason why the shadow druids took you in in the first place was because of leverage, and this leverage was halsin.

imagine the poisoned words they made you drink, how they certified to you that by coming to their order you could finally top him on something and not be an eternal second of his.

that notion of being second had for a while been less and less present to the front of your mind, this simply because you were no longer in a competition with him, at least not in your mind.

but what if they had made you believe that halsin charming you until you fell for him was his own strategy to get first ? what if they had made you bitter enough about him that you had fallen for their lies ?

what if they had threatened to kill him if you were to not join them ?

should i give more loves 👁️👁️

small tags for the people that wanted to hear more about this !!

@halsinningiswinning @radioactivepidgeon @daughter-lilith @fruitymoonbeams-blog @sparrowbard @oooof-ifellforyou @girlwithadragonheart @altered-delta

[ollieneedsamilkshake]

I don't ussually post traditional art, but I decided to give it a go...

FAN ART TIMEEE!!!

@nerdallwritey

This is based off of @nerdallwritey 's fan fiction, beauty and the bard! I love reading it so so much, and I really wanted to draw a scene from one of my favourite parts, worth the peril!

(I hope you like the fan art ❤️❤️❤️)

[hootshooligan]

I feel like I talk about Alias being cool too often so I need to share some things about her that aren't badass to recalibrate

Eats raw onions like apples.

Eats a lot of things like this actually (tomatoes, lemons, etc)

Also eats food straight out of the can or pan she cooked it in. She doesn't see the point in making a dish dirty.

She'd eat leftovers cold too, regardless of what it was.

Emotionally constipated.

During long rests she sleeps uncovered, wearing the clothes she did the day before, sitting up like this

Also takes naps like this during short rests but insists she was awake if anyone points it out.

"I was just resting my eyes"

In a modern setting she'd be a coffee snob. If she saw you calling a caramel macchiato "coffee" she wouldn't say anything out loud but she'd silently judge you.

The actual coffee she likes is bad.

Has never filed taxes a day in her life. Is diametrically opposed to doing so.

Cigar smoker