EMI I AM DEAD! DECEASED! Kicking and screaming and⊠oh my god. The spiciest thing youâve ever written by far.
My favorite line: âYou relaxed a little under his sweet little caresses and wondered dully if he would soon exchange the fruits of your cunt for proper nourishment.â
SO POETIC (unlike our beloved pale elf, it would seem).
And then the ending! I am so happy you included that little piece. Itâs so sweet and such a lovely way to wrap this fic up. Love that she scoffed and yet still kept it. She loves it even if the poetry is seemingly banal.
The fact that you said the poem was for me has me kicking and screaming like an idiot. I would personally die if that were left on my pillow after such a delicious night. And thank you, my darling dear friend!
PERFECTION! đ
Daybreak Ballads
NSFW || Astarion x fem!bard!Tav/reader || ao3 || masterlist
Rating: E, +18 Word Count: +3.5k Warnings: Smut. Orgasm delay. Soft dom!Astarion. Oral+fingering (fem!receiving). PiV sex. Praise kink?
And yet, Astarion did have an undeniably keen eye for beauty and dramatics alike. If he only put a little more of himself into his work, you were convinced people would adore his poetry. He only had to find his intended audience because one thing was clear: as much as you loved Astarion, his poetry simply wasnât for you. At all.
a/n: This has been in the works for ages and when I wasn't pulling out my own hair over this, it was quite fun to write, I suppose. Special thanks to @tragedybunny , @bardic-inspo and @littlejuicebox for emotional support. The masterful poem at the end has been handmade for Gina. With love. By the pale elf himself.
Youâd never said you disliked Astarionâs poetry, let alone that it was bad. When the pale elf had asked for your expert opinion on his poetic endeavours, youâd just assumed it was honesty heâd wanted. So honesty was what youâd given him.Â
The form of his poem looked messy, unappealing even; its rhythm was off, contorted by wordy lines that lacked any pleasant flow. Astarionâs motifs were obvious at best and trite at worst, and his rhymes were, well, creative, you supposed. But most of all, Astarionâs pieces left wanting for personality. Where was his wit? His snark? His passion? Where was all the fun?
Try as you might, you just couldnât see yourself performing Astarionâs balladâat least thatâs what you assumed heâd attempted to writeâfor your regular audience, not with your flute nor your lyre. It just felt wrong to translate his words into song, forced. You didnât even need to take a closer look to recognize his work as haphazard, dull, and, worst of all, inauthentic.
And yet, Astarion did have an undeniably keen eye for beauty and dramatics alike. If he only put a little more of himself into his work, you were convinced people would adore his poetry. He only had to find his intended audience because one thing was clear: as much as you loved Astarion, his poetry simply wasnât for you. At all. That, too, youâd told him.Â
To your surprise, Astarion had taken your admittedly harsh review of his work with uncharacteristic graceâsuspiciously so, in hindsight, at least. After all, the vampire could be quiteâŠsensitive. That night, though, heâd just nodded along to your blunt words, an almost arrogant smirk tugging at his lips, promising you to compose a piece to your liking one day.
Just for you, Astarion had said with a wink as heâd retrieved his poetry from your hands, the dying campfire reflecting in the ink of his elegant handwriting. Crimson eyes sparkling with mischief as theyâd wandered over your body. His tongue had slowly wet his sensuous lips as if in anticipation of...what?Â
Just wait and see, darlingâŠ
If your brain hadnât been all clouded by lust earlier tonight, you wouldâve noticed that Astarion had been up to something. Heâd been throwing you suggestive looks all evening, purring sweet nothings in your ear whenever heâd gotten you alone. Surprised you in your tent when your companions had been sound asleep, the campfire burned low. His hand had practically been glued to the small of your back as heâd guided you to a most charming little clearing, not unlike the one in which youâd first slept with him all those weeks ago.Â
That Astarion had kept calling this idyllic, moonlit spot his perfect motif had somehow eluded you as youâd been too preoccupied with the telltale heat gathering between your legs. In fact, youâd followed the vampire like an eager little pup, already wound tight around his little finger. The promise of Astarionâs inviting touches and lingering kisses had lured you right into his honey trapâand how bittersweet it was.
Now, shivering from painfully drawn-out desire and cold morning dew settling on your skin, you could feel that cursed smirk brush against your dripping wet core againâa silent warning.Â
Oh, fuck.Â
Astarionâs lips closed around your almost painfully swollen clit, sucking at it leisurely as his lower arm pinned your hips against the cold earth as if you were but a sheet of paper threatening to take flight with the next gust of wind. Another gasp echoed from the trees as your left hand clawed at the damp grass underneath you, looking for support but finding little. Your other hand grasped at silver curls with as much success.Â
Astarion was rather enjoying himself as your body squirmed under his sinful mouth, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your thigh as he adjusted your trembling leg over his shoulder, opening you up even more for his thorough ministrations. You tossed your head back at the gentle but intoxicating shift of position. His name was stuck in the back of your throat, suffocated by shaky moans as the tip of his tongue brought you ever closer to the edge of release.Â
Feeling the coil in your lower belly tighten, your toes curled against the raised scar tissue on Astarionâs back, eliciting but an amused sigh from him before his lips released your wanting nub with one last lingering caress of his tongue.Â
You wanted to cry; this was the second time heâd left you hanging somewhere between bliss and frustration.
Shaking from pent-up pleasure, your elbow threatened to slip on the wet grass as you sat up as much as the weight of Astarionâs arm allowed. Through the evaporating clouds of your laboured breath you only just caught a glimpse of Astarionâs crimson eyes gazing up at you from between your thighs; he was all messy curls and unfairly thick eyelashes. Smug smirks turned wicked.Â
You swallowed.
âAstarionâŠâ you breathed, not knowing if it was a warning or plea, but before the syllables had faded into the fleeting night, his attention had returned to your cunt once more. The tip of Astarionâs nose grazed your clit. You could feel his cold breath against your burning folds, feeling no different than the gentle breeze of dawn tickling your exposed skin. There was no gentle sensation snaking up your spine when Astarion licked down your slit ever so slowly, and for the first time that night, you truly registered how far you really were from camp. You let out a blissful cry, knowing there was not a soul to hear you but the elf feasting on your cunt.Â
The weight from Astarionâs arm shifted from your hips down your side. His hand wandered along your curves, groping the swell of your ass before it wound itself back up your inner thigh. He pushed your legs further apart, opening you up impossibly wide. You let out an excited squeal you would be embarrassed for by morning, but not now, no. For the better part of the night, youâd been a whining, trembling mess under your loverâalways painfully close to release and yet no part of Astarion had filled you as of yet. But maybe heâd had enough now. Maybe he would finally deign to push you over the edge, with his fingers or his cock, you didnât really care anymore as long as he finally let you come undone.
And, indeed, Astarionâs fingers inched closer to your core, though all they did was trace the course of your pulsing femoral artery he could no doubt sense underneath your heated skin. You relaxed a little under his sweet little caresses and wondered dully if he would soon exchange the fruits of your cunt for proper nourishment.
He didnât. At least not yet.
Without warning, the tip of Astarionâs tongue teased your entrance, driving you wild. Your hips instantly bucked against Astarionâs face as your hand clenched around a fistful of his soft hair. Finally! This was divine, this wasâÂ
Astarion withdrew from you in an instant, ignoring the undignified whine of protest escaping your lipsâfuck, youâd been so close! By the self-satisfied look on his face, though, he was well aware of that. For a moment, he studied the heavy rise and fall of your flushed chest, his chin resting right below your navel as you lay beneath him, dumbstruck. His pointer finger still ghosted up and down the inside of your leg, the lazy movement a stark contrast to the blood racing through your veins.Â
âOh, darling, look what youâve doneâŠâ Astarion pouted, his sensuous lips moist with your arousal. âYouâve ruined my rhythm.â
His fingers slowly wandered down, down, down your leg and curled around your ankle before he gently let it glide off his shoulder. With an outrageous nonchalance, he sat back on his knees and considered you. Crimson eyes darted over your feverish skin that glistened with sweat and morning dew. They trailed from your parted lips down your collarbone, through the valley of your breast, until they beheld the mess between your legs with blatant amusement. How you wanted to wipe the stupid smirk off his face; how you wanted him to finally take you.
Behind Astarionâs broad shoulders, you could see the sunrise in the distance; a gentle purple bled into the indigo of night right above the treeline. Day would break soon, but you didnât have it in you to appreciate twilight when, suddenly, Astarionâs arms came down on each side of your head, eclipsing the waking world around you.
His hips settled against your core as he crawled atop you, habitually making you arch your back against his own growing desire pressing into your belly.
âBut donât you worry,â Astarion purred, clearly delighted as he lowered himself onto you until the silken tip of his nose brushed against yours. âYour body is a well of inspiration to me, my little museâŠâ
Astarion closed the small distance between you with a heady kiss; your mind went blank as you tasted yourself on his lips, the warmed tongue demanding access to you once more. You opened your mouth to him readily, moaned into the kiss as Astarionâs hands wandered up and down the curves of your body. Your head spun. Nobodyânothingâelse could ever make you feel like this, and you cursed yourself when you had to break away from him to fill your inconvenient lungs with air.Â
Spit and slick weaved like cobwebs between your parted lips as you beheld Astarion with dazed eyes, breathing hard.
He was perfect.Â
From the fading light of the moon reflecting in his serene locks to his kiss-swollen lips that were a sharp instrument of the sweetest temptation. That smirk that promised unforgettable ecstasy, granting it only whenever he wanted. There was no song nor poem you could compose that could ever do Astarion justice, no instrument to capture the intricacies of his soul. He was a masterpiece.
Drunk on his lips, you leaned forward as his fingers continued to run down your middle, along the curve of your ass before taking hold of your thigh again. Your tired legs twitched to wind around Astarionâs hips, wanting to pull him closer to where you needed him most.Â
But before you could even move an inch, you found yourself lying flat on your stomach.
Astarionâs arm wound around your waist from behind, roughly pulling your ass up against his lean middle before you could so much as gasp in surprise. Wet grass tickled your cheek as you tried to find your balance, take a puzzled look back at him, but you could only feel him bend over you again, his erection poking your lower back.Â
Astarionâs kiss-warmed lips ghosted over your ear, âNow that youâre in proper form, letâs write some poetry, shall we?â
What?
He tossed your messy braid over your shoulder, pressed a wet kiss to the exposed nape of your neck as your knees struggled for support on slippery morning dew.Â
âYouâll sing some more for me, wonât you, little songstress?â Astarion breathed against your spine. âIâm sure youâll make a real show of my newest piece.âÂ
It took you a moment to process his words. Maybe it was the pebble cutting into the palm of your hand or the dayâs first birdsong reaching your ear that lifted the fog in your head, but it finally hit you.
Astarion hadnât brought you here for a tryst in the dirt, no. You were here because he was writing poetry. Except, this time, you werenât his critic, but his choice medium. Which could only mean one thing: He rather had taken your criticism of his artistic endeavours to heart, and now you would have to pay the price for your honesty.
âAstarionâŠâ you breathed, quick words of appeasement lost in a moan as he started to grind against you. Suddenly, daybreak felt like an eternity away.Â
âYes, darling?â He asked, the perverse amusement evident in his voice. âHow do you like my work so far? Is it to your refined taste this time?âÂ
Curse the damn elf. You knew what he wanted, what heâd craved all along. What heâd expected from you the moment heâd shared his work with you. And as if you werenât in a most precarious position already, he really wanted you to say itâpraise him and his stupid poetry when he knew how badly your body was aching for him.
Clenching your teeth, you slowly rolled your hips up against his now rock-hard cock. Maybe, if you just got him to fuck you already, you would get away with your pride intact. All of this was embarrassing enough as it was.
Your efforts were repaid with little more than a chuckle, thoughâand two fingers that started teasing your entrance, carefully dipping into you without even slightly dampening your need.
âFuck!â You whined into the grass as your hips chased Astarionâs digits, wishing they were his cock instead, filling you as youâd so lusted after all night long.
âWhat was that?â
Astarionâs movement stopped at once, leaving you empty once again.
âItâs good,â you hissed against the wet ground as tears of frustration threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. âYour poetryâAstarion, itâs so good, I swear.âÂ
So much for pride.
âOh, you think so, little nightingale?âÂ
You nodded frantically as he bent over you again, nibbling at the shell of your sensitive pointy ear. Astarion chuckled.
âDonât get me wrong, this means so much coming from an expert artist such as yourself, darling, but I canât help but wonder whether this is a professional opinion or empty flattery for the sake of indulgenceâŠâ Â
You could feel his fingers ghost over your clit, knowing he would never touch you without a satisfying answer.
âItâs trueânobody does it quite like you,â you cried, not bothering to specify whether you meant his poetry or his more distinctive talents, and it didnât really matter.Â
Throughout your career, youâd gone looking for inspiration in quite a few beds but never had you written better poetry than in your rather short time together with the pale elf. Astarion was unlike any lover youâd ever taken, nor had you ever cared this deeply for another person whatsoever.Â
âNothing compares to you, Astarion,â you whispered, truthfully.Â
âAh,â Astarionâs fingers slid back into you the moment the words had left your mouth, curling deliciously against your wallsâa reward for your generous recognition of his talents, no question. âBut Iâm sure thereâs room for improvement still?â Â
Hips moving up against his digits, chasing the sweet friction of his cold skin, you groaned. Fine. If he wanted a damn lesson in poetry, he could have one.
âThere always is. Whatâs the point of art when thereâs no growthâah!â
There was a lewd sound as Astarion pulled his fingers from your core once again, though this time you could feel his body shift behind you. The two fingers that had worked you open so well now gently parted your folds. You let out a low moan as you could finally feel the wet tip of Astarionâs cock teasing your throbbing clit, though it was his lips brushing the back of your neck that really made you shiver.  Â
âSo what would you have me do, little nightingale? Would you have me put more of myself into my work, again?â Â
âYes, gods, please,â you mewled, dragging the syllables out just like you knew he enjoyed. âPut as much of yourself in as you can.â
Astarion tried and failed to cover his quickening breath up with a sharp laugh, finally giving away the strain on his own composure. âWell, you are the expert, arenât you?â Â
The iron grip on your hip was the only thing keeping you from toppling over as Astarion buried himself inside you with one forceful thrust. The entirety of his impressive length stretched you painfully wide, and he only granted you one moment to adjust to the feeling of complete, blissful fullness before he pulled out of you again. Grunting, he repeated the movement, faster each time. His deep groans soon turned into a perfect rhyme to your breathless moans as he fucked you franticly.Â
âLike my poetry now, darling?â He hissed, slamming into you over and over again as your hand found Astarionâs in the dewy grass. Â
Your fingers wound around his wrist, up his lower arm, grasping for support. Couldnât he see, feel, hear how much you adored his poetry?
âYouâre an artist,â you panted through open-mouthed gasps, your entire body singing him the song of your desire, though you really doubted that he paid it much mind.
Astarion had buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent greedily. His tongue traced the curve of your collarbone; you could feel his fangs scrape against your tender skin every now and then. He was a fast learner, you noted, dullyâAstarion was already losing himself in his passionate work.Â
âHave I found my intended audience yet?â He muttered, more to himself than to you, as his knee hooked under your leg, pushing it up until you lay almost flat on the ground.
âWhat do you want me to do, darling? Write down how divine your cunt is? Have everybody know what sinful music you make when I fuck you?â Astarion let out a choked laugh. âFuck that! I donât need an audience, because they only need to take one look at you and recognize you as a work of mine.âÂ
He wasnât wrong. You would be deliciously sore when you returned to camp with the scent of your lover lingering on your skin like ink on thick paper. He was already written all over you; you were his creation. Who else could coax such magnificent sounds out of you but him? And who were you, really, to teach him about poetry when all you had to do was offer your body to him? You hadnât lied when you said Astarion was an artist. Â
Your fingernails left little half-moons on his pale arm as he fucked you half senseless. You could feel yourself dissolve deeper into pleasure with every relentless snap of his hips, knowing that this was when Astarion was most himselfâburied deep inside you, chasing his own ideas and desires. Enjoying himself. Writing poetry.
You came fast and hard. Astarion gasped as your cunt clenched violently around him, his movement growing increasingly erratic. He breathed incoherent strings of pretty words into your ear, pulled your hips down on his cock with so much urgency it left you reeling far beyond your orgasm. He was close, too. His rhythm faltered as he slipped into a frenzy, cock twitching inside you as he lost himself in his poetryâin you.Â
You brought your arm behind you to find Astaronâs sweat-drenched face, cupping his cheek. He groaned as he leaned into your touch.Â
âYouâre so talented, Astarion,â you said. âFill me with all you have.âÂ
That was all it took. With one last grunt, Astarion spilled himself inside you. He continued rolling his hips into you for another moment, his pace slowing before he collapsed on top of you.Â
You let the familiar weight of your lover ground you, enjoyed the way his hands wound under you to caress your stomach, your breasts. Astarion pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before gently withdrawing from you. His seed gushed out of you, leaving his signature on the insides of your legs.Â
âYou really think I have a thing for poetry?â Astarion asked, sheepishly, as he rolled to his side, pulling you with him to rest against his lean chest. âOr does my talent only reach as far as your pleasure?â
The sun had finally risen over the treeline, melting the morning dew from your skin. Drawing lazy circles across his chest, you considered Astarionâs question.Â
âTalent means nothing without practice.âÂ
He hummed, clearly pleased with your answer. âCare to practise with me, then?âÂ
âYour poetry or my pleasure?â You asked, looking up to search his face.
Eyes closed to the sun above you, Astarion smiled. âItâs all the same with you, isnât it, little songstress?â Â
The pale elf pressed another kiss to your temple, pulled you even closer to him as you chuckled at his words.
âI would be quite honoured, Astarion.âÂ
The page had been ripped from your journal. It rested neatly folded in half next to your bedroll, elegant handwriting bleeding through the paper. Bards werenât morning peopleâit just came with the job. Though, even as sore and sleepy as you felt, you wouldâve never missed the note waiting for you to be found upon waking with the sun. Youâd been expecting it, after all. With uncoordinated hands, you unfolded the piece of paper.
âGetting drunk on your
Sweet morning dew, nightingale.
Fucking youâsuch bliss.âÂ
âA.Â
You scoffed at the poem in your hands, carefully folding it again before you reached for a small box filled with similar pieces of paper. You added the poem to the growing collection. There was no talent without practice, and Astarion and you had only just begun.
tag list:
@spacebarbarianweird @bardic-inspo @kawaiiusagichansan @darlingxdragon @herautumnmorningelegance @ayselluna
@chonkercatto
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I was tagged by both @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate and @ollysoxisfree! Thanks friends. đ„°
Bit of a prologue piece for Pocket Full of Rainbows.
Tagging @grandmother-goblin and @jellymellydraws
â
âWhen?â
Gustav blinks, not registering the question at first. That was aâ that was a yes? His heart pounds in rapid fire.
WIP Game
Rules: make a new post and share 1-2 sentences from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context â Let your followers guess!
Tagged by the lovely @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate ! So, (No pressure!) imma tag @tallymonster , @bg-brainrot-and-beyond , @ollysoxisfree
The mushrooms are starting to look less and less familiar the further Morgana walks along the old pathway. Sure, she can still recognise timmask and bibberbangs, bluecaps and glowcaps, and the odd tongue of madness here and there. These, she knows.
(not me running off with a cliche idea, oop.)
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Y'know, I see a lot of posts urging people to comment on fics, so I just want to say, to all the people who do comment, and especially the long commenters:
thank you.
Long comments can be time-consuming. They can be difficult to write, but you leave them anyway!
Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who comments.
You are the highlight of fanfiction writers' days.
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FOR FANFICTION,
*please reblog for a bigger audience*
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Umm. This is an angel. And now I see why everyone in the Bible wanted to bang the angels.
A handsome elf prince to whom you will give your life đ©ž
Inspired by this photo
SPEEDPAINT
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@tragedybunny @baldurs-beach Can I submit a work to your summer creativity event that Iâve already posted a long time ago but it fits the theme and I really love it? Please? âïž đ„°
Beach babies.
Man oh man Dadstarion! My mind could probably come up with a thousand scenarios for this theme.
This one might make you all cry. But like, happy tears? Maybe?
Summary: Itâs a day at the beach with toddler Gale, pregnant Tav, and Dadstarion. Gale loves his Papa and always wants to look just like him; this presents a problem.
Tags/Warnings: fluff, light mentions of Astarion ptsd/trauma, in game spoilers, kids, parenthood, toddlers, pregnancy, light angst w comfort, comment if you see anything else Iâm missing
*
Astarion didnât particularly enjoy the beach. It was often crowded, feeling coarse grains of sand stuck between his toes unnerved him, and it was impossible to find a good vintage for miles unless you brought it yourself.
Which, today, he did.
âLoving the sun and loving the beach are two different things, entirely, my sweet.â The elf drawls as he takes a sip of wine from his goblet.
You, Astarion, and almost-three-year old Gale are all sitting on a woven blanket inside a rather ostentatious canopy tent, taking a respite from playing in the water with the toddler. The canopy had been Astarionâs choice â heâd refused to have any beach days without it this year. As it was Galeâs last summer as an only child, and your first born adored the beach, youâd reluctantly agreed to the ridiculous shelter in exchange for two more planned beach days on behalf of your toddler.
Astarion remarked that perhaps you should have used your strong negotiation skills rather than your community service as the main focus of your political platform all those years ago.
And then you won the familial negotiation. Though you still think your old camp tent would have sufficed just fine.
You sigh at your husband, âI suppose. But I seem to remember you being quite content with rolling around in the dirt once upon a time.â
Youâre watching Gale as he scoops sand into a bucket. His face is covered in the remnants of fruit juice from his lunch, and his little silver curls are bouncing around in the wind. Heâs wearing a thin, white cotton shirt and striped cotton swim trousers â the outfit is basically a childâs version of your husbandâs.
Daddy and his mini-me.
Astarion chuckles, âYes, well⊠we didnât have much choice in the matter back then, did we, little love. And for the thousandth time, I did have a blanket set up in that clearingââ
âI never saw it!â You interject, âSo for all I know, youâve simply decided to tell me that to cover your ahâ butt.â
A huff from your husband as he rolls his eyes at you, âMy love, have I ever lied to you?â
Your eyes narrow, and you open your mouth, about to retort when the elf catches his mistake and is quick to amend his statement.
âHave I ever lied to you after our talk at Moonrise Towers all those years ago?â He asks, cocking his head just slightly, convinced heâs proven his point.
You pause as your mind plays through years of memories. And then you grin playfully, âYes! The night you proposed and told me you found those gold coins on the dock.â
The elf scoffs incredulously, âYou are a pain in the ahâ butt. You know what I mean, Tav. Have I ever lied to you to intentionally hurt or manipulate you since then? Or to gain your favor?â
You chuckle and turn yourself slightly â itâs no easy feat, given the size of your pregnant stomach â moving to peck your husband on the cheek, âNo, my love. I donât suppose you have.â
Astarion hums happily as he finishes off his goblet, âVery well then, dear. I trust that means you believe me when I say I did have a blanket in that clearing and you simply couldnât keep your handsââ
âMommy! I too hot!â Gale suddenly cries.
When the two of you turn to acknowledge the toddler, heâs thrown his shovel and started thrashing his feet, kicking up grains of sand in the process.
Today was sweltering in comparison to the other days youâd spent at the beach. The canopy was unable to protect all three of you from the worst of the mid afternoon heat.
You sigh and hold your hand out to the toddler, âGale, come here and let mommy take your shirt off. Itâs too hot to beââ
âNO!â The little boy shrieks before standing up and stomping on the sand castle heâd just spent several minutes building, âI want look like daddy!â
âMy love, you and daddy will still be in matching pants even if your shirt is off.â You coo, hoping your voice will soothe Gale, though you know the logic is far beyond what an almost-three-year old can understand.
Astarion does not take his shirt off in public. He hasnât since your days in camp all those years ago, when it had been an unfortunate necessity from time to time. But he always hated it.
His scars are not something Astarion is particularly fond of revealing; even your former campmates have never caught sight of his back since the old days. You know as much. So your only choice, really, is to try and reason with the child.
Itâs not working.
Gale is crying now, and his growing frustration is quickly making him overheated. His face and body are both turning red as he wails. Despite the magic dampener around his neck, you both know there will soon be a gust of wind knocking the entire tent down if he isnât soothed.
âGale, darling, wonât you please let mommyââ
Youâre cut off by a shrill scream. The toddler becomes more red; large patches of crimson are splotched across his face and arms. The breeze is starting to pick up quite suspiciously. It wonât be much longer beforeâ
âLook, Gale! Look at daddy!â Your husband exclaims, and when you glance to the side, you see that Astarion has willingly ripped off his own shirt. The muscle feathering in his jaw shows his discomfort, despite the fact the tent is shielding his back from any potential onlookers.
This catches the little boyâs attention. His green eyes snap open and he begins to relax as he examines his father and realizes the older man is, in fact, shirtless. Gale giggles and then tries to rip his own shirt off, though it gets caught around his neck and Astarion has to lean forward to help him.
The toddler grins at his father, âWe match âgain, daddy!â
And then heâs back to playing in the sand, the entire tantrum all but forgotten on his part.
You quietly watch your husband, where he is still sitting nearly frozen, clearly working through something in his own mind. Heâs wearing that faraway, glassy look in his eyes. The look has become exceedingly rare over time, but still rears its ugly head every once in a while.
Your hand finds its way to Astarionâs, where heâs dug it down into the sand, simply trying to clutch onto something in an attempt to keep himself together.
When your fingers brush against your husbandâs, his eyes snap to you, and heâs pulled from whatever thought had been racing through his mind as he threads his fingers through yours. Now heâs clutching onto you.
âYouâre a good father, you know.â You murmur, focusing your eyes on your husbandâs as you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. A moment of silence passes between the two of you as he simply nods in acknowledgment, unable to bring himself to say anything as he sits in discomfort. Gale is singing happily as he scoops more sand into his bucket, oblivious to the two of you.
You flash a wide grin at Astarion and his eyebrows crinkle as he watches you, not understanding why.
âI think the twins think so, too, daddy.â You whisper, and you bring his sandy hand to your stomach, where the first few flutterings of movement can barely be felt beneath the stretching skin.
For just a moment, Astarion forgets himself as he beams and moves to place a kiss on the swell of your abdomen. Anyone looking at your family might have caught the quickest glimpse of his scars in that single, fleeting instance. But then the moment is gone, and he lays down with a sigh, obscuring his back completely.
âI just did it because I couldnât be bothered to pitch the tent again if Gale accidentally blew it down, my love.â Your husband says in that offhanded, airy way of his that he uses whenever heâs feeling particularly vulnerable.
And right there, you think that may be the second lie Astarion has ever told you since your discussion at Moonrise Towers all those years ago.
But youâll let that one slide.
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`â”âą.ž,â”°â”.ïœĄ.Event Intro .ïœĄ.â”°â”,ž.âąâ”ÂŽ
Welcome to the Baldur's Gate 3 Summer Creativity Event.
The idea is to bring the community together to create works around a summer theme!
FAQ:
How does it work? Create a work (art, writing, embroidery, song, anything) based on Baldur's Gate 3 with a summer theme. This blog will share them through the summer. (June through August)
Do I have to follow certain prompts: A list of prompts is below, but fitting in one of them isn't required, as long your work is appropriately summer themes.
How will you share the works? Either @ the blog or submit your post! There will also be an AO3 collection (coming soon). Please don't just tag with a hash tag because that will be very hard to share.
Are there any ratings guide lines? Nope! Just tag appropriately please!
Who can participate? Anyone 18+ since there is not interest in policing who submits what content.
Who's running this thing? Just me, @tragedybunny
Anything else? Please share so lots of people can participate.
AO3 Collection coming soon!
Prompt list:
Ocean / wavesÂ
Sun / Sunburn
Heat / Humidity
Beach / Sand / Sandcastles /Sea glass
Ice cream
Sunsets
Calimshan and Amn
The Sea of Fallen Stars (pirate region on forgotten realms)
Festival / County Fair
Summer flowers / night blooming flowersÂ
Beach Party
BBQ
Travel
Bonfire / campfire stories
Swimming/ water / first time swimming in the ocean
Fireflies
Summer storms
Fruits / summer harvest / summer refreshments
Mosquitoes
Boats / sailing
SurfingÂ
Snorkeling / Scuba diving
Camping (for fun this time)
Summer Love
Dividers by @ / saradika-graphics
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Wyllstarion for @bluerose5 bc weâve been on each others dms about these two men !!!
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Omg Iâm in love! This is so sweet!
C0mmish for sullykaylee đ
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Halsin x Astarion
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The people back home aren't gonna believe this.
The second landscape in my BG3 environments series. The first one is here.
prints ⊠patreon (full speedpaint is available there + wallpapers)
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I would say all of this is accurate besides bad handwriting. Unless they mean when other people have bad hand writing⊠because then, yes.
Thanks for the tag Megh! @bardic-inspo
Tagging @tallymonster @tadpole-apocalypse @wilteddreamsofbaldursgate but no pressure and sorry if you have already been tagged!
hey guys there's this really cute personality quiz here and i think it'd be a fun chain game :)
@kadethecat @biocrafthero @littlest-bugz @the-hydra-sys @anyone else who sees this!!
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I can finally celebrate my favorite holiday with my favorite actor
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Vix is the best at dialogue and adding humor everywhere she goes. I love how she's able to balance humor so well with comfort and angst.
My thoughts while reading:
"He certainly had a big mouth on him. âŠFiguratively speaking. When it came to the literal meaning it was, for all intents and purposes, rather perfectly shaped and sized, she caught herself thinking." -- Yeah I am truly no better than Asmodea.
I am loving their bickering dialogue. They are so well suited for one another in sass-level!
The fact that she pencils a symbol on her forehead to look crazy is really just top-tier unhinged behavior. And Astarion coming in to assist⊠so sweet even though he's a butthole.
Oddie! I love it! And I love Astarion kind of enjoying this little game that he thinks he's going to win. Silly goose, you're going to fail miserably. <3
Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 2
Series summary:
Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldurâs Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodeaâs patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.
Part 1 | AO3 | Overall masterlist
Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character
Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy
Rating: Explicit
Chapter word count: 1,900
Chapter summary: A flashback to how it all began, featuring cosmetics as a charisma modifier, because why the hell not?
Five years ago
The vampire had invited himself into Asmodeaâs tent and now lounged, catlike, on a rug nabbed from the druid grove, lazily observing her as she applied her makeup.Â
The neckline of the ruffled shirt he wore allowed a peek at the ridges of his chest muscles - the overall image was reminiscent of a drawing one might find on the cover of a sappy romance novel. Or would be, had he been less gaunt. The shirt itself was also quite worn, Asmodea noted, and not just from their last few days of travel. Repaired in places, with thread that didnât even match its colour.
Magistrate my ass, she thought. A common thief masquerading as a noble, maybe.
She still wasnât quite sure what to make of him, though she did find his company amusing.Â
He certainly had a big mouth on him. âŠFiguratively speaking. When it came to the literal meaning it was, for all intents and purposes, rather perfectly shaped and sized, she caught herself thinking.
âNow who might you be prettying yourself up for, I wonder,â he purred. âWeâre in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by goblins and gnolls.â
âIt adds to my charm even with goblins, I find,â she retorted. âAnd I donât see you giving Laeâzel shit for applying her warpaint.â
âLaeâzel was openly glaring at me and trimming a branch into a stake just earlier this morning,â Astarion responded. âShe could wear clown paint and a pink tutu, and I wouldnât question her. No offence, darling, but your lute doesnât inspire the same level of caution,â he said. ââŠAnd Iâve seen how well you aim your spells,â he murmured as an afterthought.Â
âIs there no one else for you to bother?â she asked halfheartedly, sighing. âPerhaps you could try cozying up to Laeâzel so she doesnât stake you? She might be interested - I doubt sheâs had elf before.âÂ
ââHad elfâ?! You say that like Iâm a cut of meat,â Astarion said with mock indignation. Â
âYou present yourself like youâre a cut of meat,â Asmodea shrugged. âWith the subtlety of a mallet to the head, I might add.âÂ
âI suppose I havenât had githyanki either...â mused Astarion. âBut no matter, Laeâzel and everyone else are such bores. But you... I sense a kinship in you, my dear. I think we are kindred spirits.âÂ
âKindred spirits?â she laughed. âA bard and a rogue, the biggest cliche in all of Faerun? You can do better than that!â Â
âCliches exist for a reason,â he mused. âWho knows, perhaps destiny has brought us together.âÂ
âAh yes... I can see it now...â She snickered. âWe will adventure together, gambling, thieving and whoring our way through each pub, tavern and inn on the Sword Coast, only to realise that true love had been before us all along.âÂ
âWhy of course,â he agreed. âAll because at the last inn there will be-âÂ
âOnly one bed,â they said in unison. Â
Asmodea laughed in delight as Astarion smiled. Â
âOh you are decidedly adorable!â She teased. âShall we start a book club? I overheard Wyll and Shadowheart discussing some godawful mermaid erotica earlier, perhaps theyâd like to join too.â
âYes, Iâm familiar with that one as well,â Astarion wrinkled his nose. âToo flowery for my taste. Anyway, donât undersell yourself as merely a bard - you are really a warlock, darling.âÂ
âOnly when it pleases me to set someone on fire,â she said, nonchalantly.Â
âWell... You have been stirring a fire in me since the moment we met,â he said emphatically, leaning forward.Â
âAhhh!!! That is absolutely awful!â She guffawed. âI will need to remember to write that down somewhere so I donât forget. Are you sure you donât want to give barding a go? Youâd be fantastic at it, going by the amount of bullshit that comes out of your mouth.â
âI think this world is a dire enough place without me torturing a fiddle or singing,â Astarion said humourlessly. âBut coming back to your ah⊠skillset and its nature. Should we be expecting any further demonic visits in the night? Might you be in breach of your contract, with everything thatâs been going on? Not that little horns and a tail wouldnât suit you.âÂ
âWhy the sudden interrogation?â Asmodea glanced at him with a frown.
âI thought it prudent to ask in advance in case I should expect to be delivered as a blood sacrifice to some demon,â Astarion shrugged.Â
âMy patron is fey. No sacrifices required.â Asmodea went back to her preparations. âThe contract is simple: live under the name theyâve given me, provide them with entertainment, receive powers in exchange.âÂ
â...Thatâs it? âBe entertainingâ?â his eyes narrowed. âThat is the term of your contract?â
âThatâs it,â she answered. âThey have a particular liking for the absurd, vulgar and violent. Renditions of classical works or poetry recitals â not so much.âÂ
ââŠNo time limits? Penalties? Guarantees? No other conditions?âÂ
âLook, I know itâs a shitty contract, but I was in a bit of a bind when I entered it. Quite literally,â she said defensively.Â
âItâs awful, darling,â Astarion tutted. âIâve seen more complicated deals being scribbled down on napkins in taverns.âÂ
âDo I look like a lawyer to you?â Asmodea glared at him.
âNo, you look like a foxy raccoon thatâs about to devour my soul,â Astarion tried to placate her. â...But quite frankly, you should renegotiate. Let me know if you ever want my help with it, I wasnât lying about being a magistrate you know.âÂ
Asmodea only scoffed at that.Â
âMy patronâs been practically bouncing with excitement ever since I was snatched up onto that nautiloid - I think the âentertainmentâ condition is very much in my favour right now.â
Astarion continued to observe her as she began pencilling a symbol on her forehead.
âMay I ask why..? I do think itâs rather fetching, but... why?â he asked.Â
âWhy what?â she asked as she concentrated on her reflection, red pencil in hand. Â
âThe symbol in the middle of your forehead,â he rolled his eyes. âWhy draw it? Is it for your patron..? But it canât be, itâs not even the same every day.â
âItâs just for me,â she replied. Meeting his blank stare, she added: âTheyâre more likely to stay away from you if they think youâre crazy.âÂ
ââŠWho, âtheyâ?â He asked, sounding annoyed.
âEveryone,â she said, simply. âAlthough it doesnât seem to work on stubborn vampires.â She breathed a laugh, meeting his gaze, before continuing. âYou have some real nerve, you know: propositioning me for sex earlier, and acting like youâd be doing me a favour.â She returned her attention to the mirror. âI meant it, you know. Youâre not my type.âÂ
The sheer audacity of the proposal had nearly left her speechless when it happened, though its forwardness was growing increasingly⊠funny, the more she thought about it. It would have been insulting, had it not been so genuinely candid. The man truly believed that sleeping with him would be a gift bestowed by the gods.
She cursed as she botched and started to erase the symbol with her own spittle for the third time in a row.Â
âOh for the love of... Here, let me.â Astarion grimaced, grabbing the pencil from her hand, and sat up, kneeling in front of her. âHold still... And close your eyes, Iâll retouch them as well.âÂ
She took him up on his offer. How many people could boast a vampire doing their makeup for them?
âWhat is your type?â he murmured softly as he worked. Â
âOh you know...â She replied, pensively. âTall, dark, burly. Thick beard, tree trunk arms, strong hands. Smelling of woodsmoke. Brutally masculine.âÂ
His fingers felt cool on her skin as he delicately held her chin, drawing lines around her eyes. She sensed a light scent of bergamot and something earthy as he leaned toward her.Â
Despite herself, she wondered how his lips might feel on hers. Were they cold? Were other parts of him..? Perhaps she would find out, later. After all, why not? Why shouldnât she add a vampire to her list of lovers? Â
The pencilwork stopped, but Astarionâs fingers lingered lightly under her chin. Asmodea opened her eyes to see him much closer than was reasonable or necessary.Â
âExquisite,â he whispered, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back, his index finger slowly running beneath her chin, gently tilting her face upward.Â
Oh hells no. This was not happening now. She wouldnât give him the satisfaction.
âYou didnât just draw a dick on my forehead, did you?â she asked.Â
Astarion blinked, producing a quiet little snort, creases forming around his eyes, adding to the smile that had already been on his lips.Â
âI thought about it, but then I remembered that you do have a reflection,â he said, leaning back away from her. Â
She considered his work in the handheld mirror. Â
âNot bad... Not bad at all,â she said, turning her gaze back on him, with a raised eyebrow. Â
âI have sisters,â he offered, by way of explanation. Â
The vampire had a family? Curious. Â
Astarion continued to linger as she began putting her things away.
âWeâll need something a bit more personal than that pompous name given to you by your patron, if we are to continue to travel together,â he said. ââAsmodeaâ doesnât quite roll off the tongue. Itâs nearly as bad as âShadowheartâ.âÂ
âPatron business,â she shrugged. âDonât ask me why they chose that name in particular. The contract prevents me from even suggesting anything else you might call me.â
âSo Iâm free to choose a nickname for you myself then? Hmm... Asmodea, Asmodea... The first thing that comes to mind is âAssieâ,â he said with a wicked grin.Â
âI will blast you,â she warned, with a glare. âDarling.â Â
âShame, itâs all too fitting for your charming personality... What about... Asmo... No. Momo. No...âÂ
She groaned, throwing her head back as though praying to some god for patience. Â
âNo, no... I have just the thing for you,â he smirked.  Â
âBy all means, humour me,â she sighed.Â
He continued to grin at the half-even woman before him, taking in her intricate eye makeup, the symbol drawn on her forehead, the piercings and wild orange-red locs on her head.Â
âMy magnificent wild warlock...â He proclaimed, gesticulating with a theatrical flourish. âMy darling little bard... I know who you are.âÂ
She narrowed her green eyes at him as he booped the tip of her nose with his index finger.Â
âYouâre Oddie.âÂ
She clicked her tongue but otherwise said nothing, in annoyed resignation, refusing to admit she kind of liked it.Â
Wyll ducked into the tent. Â
âWeâre ready to go.â He gave Asmodea an apprehensive look before continuing. âDo you have any kind of plan for how weâre going to handle this..?âÂ
âMy plan is to wing it,â she replied. âJust follow my lead, Iâve dealt with the fuckers before.â She turned to Astarion, getting up. âCome, âkindred spiritâ. Weâre infiltrating a goblin camp.âÂ
Astarion made way to his tent to grab his own gear, pleased with the progress heâd made. Oh, this quaint little creature could continue to feign disinterest for a while longer â she would do exactly what he needed her to, in the end. There was no rush â he had days, perhaps even weeks, to reel her in â not the mere hours he was accustomed to. What a luxury.
In the meantime, though he was almost loath to admit it, this little game was... kind of fun.
Tags:
@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @asterordinary
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Live action footage of me reading that reblog. Thank you!
Midwinter Carol 10 / The Trunk
Pairing:Â Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC
Word Count:Â 3.3K
Story navigation:Â [1][2][3][4]Â [5]Â [6]Â [7]
Summary/Setting:Â
Fifteen years after the Ascendant and his lover went their separate ways, they run into one another at Wyll Ravengardâs Midwinter Gala. One dance is all they share. A week later, a cataclysm of events, spurned by Eirianwenâs return, uproots the life Astarion had been building for himself.
One thing is made certain: the elven sorceress is the key to any ounce of salvation he may have left, if only she stops slipping through his fingers like sand from an hourglass.
But old habits die hard, and old feelings are pulled to the surface for both the elves. Astarion is forced to confront the wounds of his past and deal with the damage he's done while trying to run from himself. The Ascendant is forced to decide whether he will continue on his current path or forge a new one... perhaps one that leads him back to the love of his life.
Warnings:Â This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarionâs past trauma
-----
âWait, Ani,â Astarion warns when the sorceress releases his hand, her fingers ghosting across his as she walks away. She instantly starts to wander when the servants swarm them at the dungeon doors. The entire situation had caused quite a ruckus, and Astarion is caught between quelling his employees' concerns and providing them various instructions. Heâs simultaneously signing something to Melga and Thrak as he tells another servant to send the maids upstairs.Â
In moments like this, Astarion is reminded that he is constantly surrounded by people and yet always alone. Itâs his fault, he knows; he prefers to place himself above others, an easy way to ensure he will be able to look down his nose at them. He holds everyone far beneath him, apart from the one woman he keeps on a pedestal, built up in his mind like a goddess he worships and a religion only he follows.Â
Eirianwen glances back at Astarion, where she is paused on the stairwell leading to the second floor, and he lifts his gaze to her, quickly pointing to the ring on his finger before turning to answer another question from his steward, Pascal. The cacophony of voices and questions around him, all needing guidance, is unnerving. Ani recognizes the man Astarion is talking to, but is shocked to see how much heâs aged in fifteen years. Heâs almost completely gray. Time is quite different for humans; she often forgets the luxury she has as an elf.Â
It gives her more time to hold grudges and run from mistakes.Â
She spots the ring on Astarionâs hand and then peers at her own hand resting upon the shiny oak banisher, frowning down at the marred flesh. Despite his previous motion, the sorceress is still somehow shocked to see the matching band on her own finger. Her brow furrows as she continues to walk up the steps.Â
What had she missed? How long had she been asleep?Â
Questions dart through her mind faster than she can climb the grand staircase toward the room she used to share with Astarion. Sheâs still walking up the steps in a dazed, daydreaming state. Aniâs almost to the second floor when a sudden bolt of pain shoots through her body, culminating in the overwhelming need to vomit. But no, she couldnât possibly do such a thing, she hasnât eaten inâÂ
Eirianwen retches. Hot, acrid bile spills onto the perfectly polished marble of the second floor. Sheâs doubled over and gasping for air when another violent spasm attacks her body and more green fluid spews from her mouth. She suddenly feels feverish as a throbbing pain pulses in her hand, igniting the entire limb in fire. Two servants rush to clean up the mess as a familiar arm comes around her shoulder.Â
âI donât think you should be standing quite yet, darling,â Astarion murmurs, and without another word he sweeps the Eirianwen off her feet and into his arms. He walks to the bedroom with Ani pressed into his chest; she just barely hears the rapid cadence of his heart.
He carefully places her on the chaise lounge in the bedchambers; a piece of furniture sheâd picked out, incidentally. Theyâd made love many times, in many positions, on this same chaise. Heâd carried her here, wrapped around him, more times than he can remember. Recollections flash through his mind in rapid fire and he swallows as he blinks them away.Â
He leaves her there to speak to the servants on the landing and then quickly returns. Eirianwen feels awful. The taste of bile still sits in her mouth. When Astarion returns he breezes to the carafe next to the bed, on top of one of the side tables, and silently fills a cup with water. Then he hands it to Ani.Â
She drinks in silence. Gods, sheâs parched. Holding the glass is difficult, never mind the weakness she feels in her hand. Her body is shaking.Â
âWho⊠who was that down in the dungeons, Astarion?â Eirianwen finally asks, her voice sounding hoarse, as she lowers the empty glass from her lips.Â
âDelilah. She stole the God Killer,â he replies as he gently takes the glass from the woman and places it on the side table. His brows stitch together as he watches Eirianwen. Heâs never actually interacted with someone after Delilahâs poison has done its damage.Â
Aniâs eyes clamp shut. Her head is pounding. Sheâs trying to follow along, but itâs hard to think past the pain in her body. Another wave of nausea flows through her and she retches; no sooner had she made the sound than Astarion appeared at her side with a waste bin. But nothing comes, thereâs nothing left to regurgitate.Â
âThe dagger Edmund used was laced with a very potent poison. You slept through the worst of it but the effects will probably be there for a day or two longer. The rings are⊠working. But Delilahâs draughts are stronger than anything youâve seen before, Iâm sure. You were out for a few days, darling. Your handâŠâ He trails off as his jaw clenches. He shakes his head and gently gathers Aniâs hair into a braid, to keep it out of the way should she vomit. Deft fingers perform the action without much of a thought, as if it hadnât been fifteen years since he last styled Aniâs hair for her. âJaheira is looking into it. She mentioned conferring with Halsin.â
He senses Eirianwenâs heartbeat spike up a fraction at the mention of Halsin, and feels that sickening twist of jealousy rise in his gutâ perhaps being stabbed by the God Killer had been a moderately better feeling than that sensationâ but quickly stifles it. âNow⊠we can talk more. But let us get cleaned up and then eat something. Itâs quite a bit to discuss. Would you like to bathe first, or should I, darling?â
*
Astarion bathes first as Ani waits in the bedchamber. A set of servants bring her a tray of fruit to snack on while she waits, and the sustenance improves her physical state, if only a bit. Her spotted serval cat, perched upon the chaise, meows away. She listens to Umberâs ramblings and scratches distractedly at the large felineâs fur, occasionally murmuring a response or two.Â
When he exits the bathroom, wrapped in a plush crimson robe and toweling his hair, Astarion meets the sorceressâs gaze and notices she appears to be staring through him, lost in her own thoughts. He cocks his head to the side just slightly, brow furrowing in concern, before he asks, âAre you doing alright, Ani?â
She blinks and then snaps back into the room, her blackened hand flexing against the feline flicking its tail next to her.Â
âUmber says you let her sleep with you in the guest room, and that youâve been taking care of her while Iâve been asleep. She likes the steak and lamb sheâs been eating here far better than the birds and mice she eats on the road⊠youâre spoiling her, Astarion,â Eirianwen says with a weak smile, glancing to the side before stroking the catâs ear. Umber purrs and then focuses her jade eyes on Astarion.
He drops the used towel in a basket at the end of the bed as he moves toward the cat and strokes a single curled finger up under her chin. The creature moves to playfully nip at his digit, affectionately holding it between four sharp canines with no intent to cause harm. This must be how Eirianwen often felt, all those years ago, with a part of her body seemingly always caught between his fangs, doting on a dangerous creature.Â
âI think she wouldâve preferred to sleep next to you, but Jaheira suggested it would be better to not. Sheâs smaller and far cleaner than Scratchâ it was less of an inconvenience.â
He wonât tell Ani he actually enjoyed the company. It sounds too pitiful.Â
Umber releases his hand and then hops from Eirianwenâs side with a flick of her tail. She ducks and hides under the bed before emitting a meow; Aniâs brow furrows almost imperceptibly before it smooths again. After a moment, she moves to stand. Her eyes lift to examine Astarion in the process.
âYour ear is still split,â she murmurs. Eirianwen had never seen a laceration last this long on Astarion; his vampiric regeneration had always kicked in by now. Though she knew the God Killerâs capabilities, it was still unsettling to see.Â
Astarion begins to lift his hand to his ear, but before he makes contact, Eirianwen has her fingers pressed to his flesh. A cooling sensation spreads from lobe to tip as a spell mends the slice along his pinna. And then, almost by force of habit, Ani idly traces her finger down the edge of his ear as she pulls away.Â
The fleeting sensation causes Astarion to stiffen as his body flares with an unexpected wave of powerful, raw, aching desire. His heart jumps. His cock does, too.
*
âMm.. do that again, darling,â Astarion purrs from where his head is resting on Aniâs lap.
Eirianwen fills the tent with a soft, melodic tinkle of laughter as she gently tugs on Astarionâs ear once more, coaxing a little moan from his lips, âOh, you like that, do you?âÂ
âYou know I do, darling,â he responds while he palms at the bulge forming between his legs as his lover continues to methodically massage his earlobes. Astarion groans and rocks his hips forward as a small, relaxed smile spreads across his face, âand thatâs why you always pretend to do it by accident when weâre in the tent.âÂ
He was putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.Â
*
Eirianwen seems distracted as she pulls away from him; she hadnât even realized what sheâd just done. Astarion thinks itâs simply a small, habitual sliver of comfort sheâd so routinely offered once upon a time, but it causes his breath to catch and all the same. The hope he's kept locked in his heart threatens to break from its cage. His ear feels as if itâs on fire, but when Astarion reaches up to inspect it, he finds a perfectly healed pinna.
He clears his throat and then opens his wardrobe, aiming to pull out a set of clothes for himself as he says, âIâll speak to the servants about preparing lunch while you bathe; Iâll be in the office when youâre done. Youâre welcome to borrow something of mine for today, though I know it wonât fit correctly. Iâve sent for your things from Wyllâsâ I apologize, I should have sent for everything sooner.âÂ
âOh⊠itâs not a problem, Astarion,â Eirianwen responds, still lost in a fog as she walks toward the bathroom. Umber meows from under the bed once more. âThank you.âÂ
*
After calling down to the kitchen about lunch, and to secure a meal of short ribs for Umber, Astarion returns to his office. The pungent smell of lye assaults his senses and he quickly moves to toss open a window. The room appeared normal, apart from the gauzy white curtains flecked with blood. No one would think a murder occurred just an hour ago.Â
Astarion vaguely thinks the curtains will have to be replaced tomorrow just before his eyes settle on the mountain of paperwork precariously stacked upon his desk, all requiring his attention.Â
Business never quit.Â
He grimaces and grabs half of the hefty stack, trying to move the scrolls into a desk drawer. Surely much of it can wait; had it been truly pressing, his steward would be breathing down his neck this instant. As Astarion relocates most of the documents, the small piece of parchment Pascal delivered this morning â gods, had it only been hours ago? â sealed with red wax and an unfamiliar sigil, flutters to the floor, catching Astarionâs attention. Heâd forgotten all about it.Â
Long, lithe fingers retrieve the letter and deftly undo the wax fastening. Scarlet eyes run across the page and instantly narrow at the simple, foreboding message.Â
âYou will find me in Elturel when you are desperate enough.Â
â Lady Lysandra Morganâ
Astarion re-reads the message. His fingers tremble as they fold the paper and shove it into his pocket. Desperate. He wasnât desperate for anything, not even for the return of the God Killer. He had no true use for the dagger, nor any plans to use it; heâd certainly slain enough gods for an eternity by now.Â
But then a sudden shock of acid through his veins, beginning at the ring and shooting up his arm, pulls his mind to Eirianwen. He hears her stifle a whimper of pain through the walls. A sickening feeling begins to grow in his chest.
He fears he may already know where this path leads. He may have unknowingly carved the way for the both of them.Â
*
Astarion is scribbling his showy, looped signature on yet another scroll when Eirianwen enters the office. He turns his head to greet her, but the moment he does, his breath is stolen away and his mouth suddenly feels as if he hasnât drunk anything in centuries.Â
Sheâs dressed in his old camp shirt. He must have a strange look on his face, because Ani halts, frozen in place.Â
âIâ I hope it was okay to borrow this,â Eirianwen says, looking down as she tugs at the bottom hem of the clothing piece, where it grazes just above her mid thigh.Â
Itâs clear she isnât wearing a brassiere. The threadbare cotton grazes against the peaks of her breasts, and the darkened patches of skin around her nipples are barely visible through the white fabric. The winter air from the still-open window has chilled the room significantly; the tiny buds hidden beneath the blouse are stiffening in response. His eyes flit across her chest and then back up to her face before she notices.
Is Ani even wearing briefs or is she entirely barren under theâÂ
Astarion coughs and rips himself from his musings as he forces himself to tear his gaze away. He finishes signing the scroll in front of him and grabs another as he murmurs, âYes, that's perfectly fine, darling. Though, I wonder⊠where on earth did you find that?âÂ
âIn the very bottom drawer of your wardrobeâŠâ Ani starts, her voice containing a strange tinge of something he cannot identify, as she settles herself on the tufted leather sofa across the office. She focuses on her blackened hand, bringing the other hand to rub against the marred flesh. âI looked in the other wardrobe drawers but nothing else seemed⊠comfortable.âÂ
Astarion hums a distracted response, continuing to place his signature on documents to avoid staring at the woman mere feet from him. There is a silence that stretches a moment too long.
âI found all the jewelry,â Eirianwen blurts, and then her hands come to cover her mouth as if sheâs shocked by her own admission.Â
Astarion does not need to ask for clarification. She is, of course, referring to the several anonymous commissions heâd made over the years from her parents in Silverymoon. A trunk full of never worn, customized pieces had been locked and tucked away under his bed, until now, when Eirianwen presumably ripped it from its hiding place. The contents alone must be worth close to half a million gold. Heâd spent nearly the entire first yearâs worth of blood money on unneeded jewelry, designed for someone that would not be around to wear it. Astarion often wondered if her parents thought about their daughter when they, unknowingly, made each piece for her, much like he thought of their daughter when he designed it.Â
His fingers twitch just enough to cause a wavering loop in the signature heâs scrawling. His jaw starts to clench as he stares at the parchment before him a second longer before rolling it back up and moving to yet another scroll, âWhat possessed you to look under my bed?âÂ
âUmber,â Eirianwen explains hastily, âshe⊠she said it smelt like my parents under your bed. And, of course, I really had no idea what on earth she meant but she was insistent andâ andââÂ
Ani stops, her eyes shutting and fingers coming to press into the lids as she tries to form a question from scattered thoughts. Astarion chews his own cheek as he considers how to answer the question, she isnât able to ask, and then he lifts his eyes to look at Eirianwen as he taps the quill upon the desk once, twice, thrice. She opens her eyes to meet his gaze, and he offers a simple half-shrug⊠his face is unreadable.
âAfter I performed the Rite and you almost died in the dungeons, I promised I would always take care of you, Ani⊠did I not? I am not one to make a promise lightly; you, better than anyone, know that.â
A gust of air blows through the open office window and grazes against the bloodied curtains, causing them to drift from the windowpane as the two elves stare at each other. Eirianwen sucks her lower lip between her teeth but says nothing.Â
âIâŠâ Astarion sighs and shoots his eyes up to the ceiling as his fingers twist the snowflake signet pinky ring, the only commissioned piece he actually wears, âI⊠hope the money was⊠helpful in your travels. I know you had expressed wanting to travel together afterâ butâŠâ
He trails off, forcing his eyes from the ceiling and back to meet Eirianwenâs gaze. He cannot actually meet her eyes, so he focuses on his favorite vitiligo patch instead. He is horrible at this. This should not be as hard as it is.Â
Ani nods and then opens her mouth to respond, but she is interrupted by Pascal breezing into the doorframe with a thick ledger in one hand. He doesnât peer up from the document as he says, âLord Ancunin, lunch will be served in the solarium in ten minutes as you requested. Thrak and Melga are currently burning the spawnâs corpseââ
âThank you, Pascal,â Astarion interrupts, his tone tight with irritation. The steward glaces up, confused about why he is the recipient of his bossâs ire. But his eyes widen in realization when he spots Eirianwen in the room. He snaps the ledger shut.Â
âApologies,â he murmurs, and after an awkward pause, inhales a sharp breath before saying, âLord Ancunin, when you have a moment, Iâll need to go over the ledger with you. I have some⊠concerns.â
Pascal makes to leave the door frame, and at the last moment pauses and turns to address the sorceress, âGood to see you awake, Lady Eirianwen.âÂ
âSpawn corpse?â Eirianwen asks, whatever warmth had grown in her chest toward Astarion instantly freezing over as Pascal disappears from the doorframe, calling after one of the servants as he goes.Â
Astarion rakes his hand through his hair and nods with a grimace. He cannot ever outrun the mistakes of his past when the woman before him remembers every single one, âYes, butâ darling, like I said, we have a lot to talk about. Lunch first. You havenât eaten in days, and we cannot have this discussion until you eat. Please, Ani.â
He only ever says please when he's desperate; he's delaying the inevitable, he knows. But can he not pretend for a moment longer, before fifteen years of hurt cuts him to the bone? Heâd already survived death from some version of Eirianwen today, he isnât certain he can survive a condemnation for his mistakes from this version, too.
But, he supposes, he has no choice. When it comes to her, it unfortunately seems as if he never does have a true choice, at least not if he wants to keep her within his orbit. He has always been putty in her palms, easily molded by her will alone.
----
Tags: @anukulee @viowolf
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I love you, Emi!
And guys, Emi has THE RANGE. I'm just a fool writing the chaotic stream of consciousness that falls out of my brain and editing it into coherence. If you want POETRY, she is your woman.
A Pocket Full of Rainbows, A Star Up My Sleeve (1950s AU) / Chapter 1: The Drive In
Click here to read on AO3.
Summary: It's 1957, and for the first time in his life, Astarion Ancunin is happy. He's a newlywed, his spouse, Gustav Adler, is the editor-in-chief of the city's second most prominent newspaper, and they play keeping up with the Atherwindes next door. They are picture-perfect domesticity. Or so it seems. Secrets Astarion has kept hidden from his spouse begin to surface around their first anniversary, and Gustav is left to wonder... who exactly did he marry?
Tags/Warnings: This one starts off with smut (light BDSM if you squint and tilt your head) in Chapter 1 so there's that. This longfic will have a lot of hurt/angst/comfort + mild gore + mentions of Astarion's past trauma. I will update with a warning if there is a significant concern in any chapter.
Notes: Special thanks to @leomonae for beta-reading and holding my hand while I write this entire thing that has taken hold of me body and soul. And special thanks to all the awesome supportive people on my discord server that have hyped me up enough to give me the courage to post this.
-----
Cigar smoke spirals out of the barely cracked mahogany door and into the newsroom as the editor-in-chief, Gustav Adler, finalizes the layout for this weekendâs edition of the Baldurâs Herald. Heâs running late â he should have been halfway home, by now. His wife is going to be furious with him if they miss the beginning of the movie.Â
But this story has a chance of finally getting the Baldurâs Herald ahead of the Baldurâs Gate Gazette; he has to get it just right. There is still more investigation to be done, of course, but no one can deny several missing persons and multiple eyewitness reports of a mindflayer in the lower city. Itâs certainly enough to sell papers and promote intrigue.Â
The paper had gotten a decent boost when heâd been promoted to editor-in-chief a few years ago. The promotion of an openly gay man â a half-drow, nonetheless â to the position had garnered quite a bit of attention. Good and bad, of course. But as the saying goes, all publicity is good publicity.Â
In the Heraldâs case, that had been true. The groundbreaking move had put the previously small paper on the map and quickly catapulted it to second place in the rankings, where it had been ever since. Tav was convinced it would only take one powerful story to overtake the Gazette; he felt confident the culmination of this story would be the one to do it.Â
A rapid knock on the door pulls Gustav from his work as he takes another drag of his nearly finished cigar; his top investigator, Karlach, is leaning against the door jamb.Â
âThereâs been another mindflayer sighting. Dekarios is on the ground now, Iâm on my way to meet him,â she says, her eyes alight with excitement. The tiefling had been chasing this story for weeks and finally had enough for her article to make the front page of this weekendâs issue.
âExcellent â Iâll be back in the office tomorrow morning, Kar. I expect an update then. I would go with you two, but the wife wonât forgive me if I cancel two weeks in a row,â Gustav responds as he extinguishes his cigar in the unfinished coffee that sat atop his desk all day.Â
Karlach chuckles good-naturedly as she straightens from the doorframe and moves to put on the suit jacket sheâd been holding in her hand. âTell Astarion I said hello; and thank him again for mending this for me.âÂ
âWill doâ oh, and Karlach, can you run this by the printers before you head out? Itâs the final layout for the weekend edition,â the editor-in-chief says as he moves to exit his own office. He hands the mock-up to his journalist and heads out of the building for the night. In the parking lot, Gustav rushes to his car and hopes his wife isnât too terribly upset with him for being a bit late.
Astarion had been Gustavâs secretary for nearly six months before he finally worked up the courage to ask the other man on a date. It was never easy for Tav, doing such a thing, although sexuality laws had changed in his early adulthood and it was common to see people just like him about the city nowadays.
He couldnât have assumed Astarion was interested in men simply because he alternated between wearing suits and dresses â which had been, of course, one of the things that caught Tavâs attention and fascinated him early on. Astarion managed to look breathtaking in both; Gustav had never seen anything quite like him and spent more time than he should have admiring his secretary sitting just outside his office door. As it turned out, Astarion had been flirting with him for months; he had always worried he was misinterpreting the signals.Â
It wasnât until Karlach hassled him for a week that Tav finally broke down and asked Astarion to dinner. They dated for just under a year, and married as soon as they were legally allowed â all legal documentation still required assigned roles of husband and wife, and in the public sense, these designations were required across the board. Theyâd randomly assigned titles with the flip of a coin.
It seemed ridiculous, in the beginning. Bureaucracy and politics could be so short-sighted; the world never seemed to dot all its i's and cross all its tâs before moving on to the next agenda. In public, the couple always used the assigned titles; at first, this had been mostly to avoid confusion or ignorant comments. But then one night, Gustav had jokingly called Astarion his âwifeâ and it had instantly ignited something within his lover. Heâd never seen his spouse so excited in bed until that moment.Â
From then on, in public and in private, Astarion was his wife. The word just had different meanings depending on context. As an editor, Gustav could wholeheartedly appreciate the subtleties of the phrase; as a husband, he loved the effect the word had on his wife when they were in bed.
*
As Gustav pulls up to the brownstone townhouse he and Astarion share, he immediately notices the new gardenia shrubs and mulch surrounding the Atherwindeâs front stoop. A soft groan of annoyance escapes his lips; heâd planned to tend their own garden next weekend, but now he would have to move that project up. He was not about to let their annoying nextdoor neighbor, Edmund Atherwinde, throw subtle remarks at him for an entire week whenever they ran into one another while leaving for work. Gustav is almost certain Eddie waits to see when he comes out in the morning, just to harass him as they both climb into their Chevrolet Bel-Airs. Gustavâs is the most recent model; Eddieâs is last yearâs model. Not that heâs comparing, of course.
He glances at his wristwatch; itâs twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. They should still be able to eat dinner and make it to the drive-in. He grabs the bow-wrapped box from the backseat and then makes his way into the townhome.
A quick jangle of keys echoes through the short foyer before Gustav calls, âAstarion, Iâm home!â
âYouâre late,â a cool, clipped voice replies from the kitchen. âIâve had to keep dinner warm in the oven for twenty minutes, Tav.âÂ
âIâm sorry, baby,â Gustav responds as he moves to join his wife. He presents the box to Astarion with a toothy smile and a wink. âBut, perhaps this will make it up to you.âÂ
The scowl that had been painted across Astarionâs face soon pulls up into a grin as he takes the box from Tav. A quick tug of the black grosgrain ribbon reveals the present inside â a mink stole. A soft gasp escapes Astarion as he removes the fur shawl from the packaging and wraps it around his shoulders.Â
âGorgeous,â Gustav compliments as he admires his lover. âI think it will go well with the gown you plan on wearing for our anniversary dinner.â
âOf course it will, darling,â Astarion responds before lifting onto his toes and pressing a kiss against his husbandâs cheek, right upon the old scar Gustav got back in his military days. âItâs beautiful, thank you. Now, dinner, dearâ and weâd better hurry.â
*
Dinner was nothing to write home about. Astarion was a fair to middling cook nowadays â in the beginning of their marriage, heâd burnt nearly every meal he made. Almost a year later, heâd managed to get the hang of a few simple recipes. Gustav, to his credit, never complained. All his time in the military taught him to accept far meager offerings than his wifeâs creations; if he could eat cold beans from an aluminum can, he could handle a slightly charred meatloaf.Â
They made it to the drive in just as the last previews finished. Astarion had been exceptionally excited to see this film â a horror movie about vampires, of all things. Gustav was not particularly interested in the movie, but willingly endured for his wifeâs happiness. Until, of course, Astarion pressed up against him a little over halfway through the film â an innocent reaction to the scene playing on screen â and gripped dangerously high on Gustavâs thigh.Â
Desire immediately flared through Tav, and when he turned to look at his wife, he wanted nothing more than to smear the perfectly painted red lipstick on the other manâs lips. So he did.
They were locked in a passionate kiss for several minutes, the movie all but forgotten. Their tongues wrapped around one another in a familiar embrace, a comfortable dance the two of them had become accustomed to. It did not take long for Gustav to begin advancing eagerly upon his wife.
âYouâre insatiable,â Astarion chuckles as his lover playfully nips into his neck. A delighted shiver ghosts up his spine.
âCan you blame me?â Gustav asks as his lips trail to his loverâs chest, just exposed by the neckline of Astarionâs collared dress. His tongue swirls along alabaster skin before a sly hand moves under the skirt hem. âYouâre delicious⊠and Iâd very much like to have a taste.âÂ
Gustavâs thick, purple-gray fingers run along the inside of Astarionâs pale, muscled thigh and travel all the way up to the edge of a sheer, nylon stocking. He quickly finds a garter strap, pulls, and releases the elastic band. Astarion jumps and gasps as the skin on his leg turns into gooseflesh; his husband palms insistently between his legs.
âS-surely you donât mean here, Tav,â Astarion whispers, his legs spreading slightly, making more room to accommodate the hand teasing his hardening cock. But even as Astarion says it, heâs hoping his husband actually does mean here â the mere thought of such a scandalous act is causing arousal to dampen the front of his undergarments.Â
âMmh, and why not?â Gustav asks, already beginning to slide from his seat, down to the floorboard. He wanders his hand down under the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go. It isnât much, but enough for him to comfortably kneel between Astarionâs legs. He brings his hands to his wifeâs knees and slowly presses them open with a sly smile.Â
âIâŠâ Astarion tries to respond, his face suddenly feeling quite hot as a blush of both embarrassment and desire spreads across his skin. His mouth goes dry as he looks down at the man between his legs. Gustav is slowly pushing up the hem of Astarionâs skirt and peering up at his lover as he licks his lips.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â He questions, cocking his head just slightly. When his wife doesnât respond, he begins to lower Astarionâs skirt; his purple-gray hand is suddenly caught between slender, milky-white fingers.
âKeep going,â Astarion quietly urges before casting a glance out the window. Theyâre in the final row of the drive-in. Only one other car is in the same row as them, and the couple in that car are far too distracted by one anotherâs mouths to pay any mind to the two men.
Gustav hums happily as he unceremoniously lifts Astarionâs skirt and drops his head underneath; heâs greeted with a pale, leaking cock straining against a pair of sheer, silk panties. The sight causes his own cock to stir in his trousers.Â
âNow be a good little wife and hold very, very still for me, baby,â Gustav commands with a final snap of Astarionâs garter strap. His wife gasps and squirms in his seat before obediently stilling. Tav doesnât waste any more time with foreplay; his hands come under Astarionâs dress and quickly tear the underwear in two â heâll buy a replacement pair later. Astarionâs cock springs proudly from its confines, bobbing slightly and begging to be sucked.
Tav brings both hands to the pale thighs on either side of his head as he pulls Astarionâs cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head languidly, causing more pre-fluid to leak onto his tongue. The salty, musky taste makes his mouth water in delight. Heâs certain he will never tire of tasting his wife.
A whimper escapes Astarionâs lips when his husband takes all of his length. Gustavâs warm, wet throat contracts around Astarionâs cock and then, much too soon, he retracts and begins to swirl his tongue around its pink, swollen head. Tav repeats this several times and each time his throat squeezes around Astarion, it takes everything within him to not buck upwards. His thighs are trembling. He so badly wants to move, to seek the heat of his loverâs mouth. But he wants to be a good wife, so he forces himself to obey the command.Â
The excited keening becomes louder and more insistent the longer Gustav teases him. By now the movie is almost over, and Astarion is catching flashes of the end scene through blurred vision and panting breaths. He clamps his eyes shut as Gustav, once again, swallows him to the hilt. This time his husband holds the position and hums, both hands squeezing into Astarionâs thighs.
âAah, Tavââ Astarion whimpers, his tone pleading, âTav, pleaseââÂ
But Gustav retracts and his wife whines. He cannot help but smile at the neediness. He forces Astarionâs skirt up over his thighs, exposing his arousal-slicked face and his loverâs hard, weeping cock all at once. He peers up at his wife with a pleased smirk; Astarion meets him with half-hooded lids and blown pupils.Â
âAlready, baby? Really?â Gustav purrs, one hand coming to caress Astarionâs scrotum. He applies a light bit of pressure and admires the way pre-fluid dribbles from his loverâs desperate cock. His tongue darts out to slowly lap up the string of clear liquid running down Astarionâs shaft. âI donât think Iâve worshiped my wife quite long enough.âÂ
Astarion impatiently squirms in his seat. Heâd been doing a rather excellent job holding still until now, but the ache between his legs is growing increasingly insistent, and his husband has teased him long enough. When Gustavâs hands wrap around his cock he moans and his head falls back reflexively. The movieâs end credits are starting to roll.Â
âPlease, Gustav⊠I canâtâ I canât any longer, pleaseââ Astarion begs, through sharp shaking breaths. His hips stutter forward insistently into the other manâs fists.
âVery well,â Gustav responds, and with little warning he drops his hands and takes all of Astarion in his mouth again. Pale fingers clutch into Tavâs cropped white hair, pulling slightly just at the nape of his neck. He hums his encouragement as he bobs his head up and down the length of his wifeâs cock, covering it in saliva and spreading the growing amounts of pre-fluid dripping from its tip.
Gustav can tell by the breathy keening sounds his wife is making that he is close to release. His own cock is straining within his trousers â but that can wait until they get home. The first orgasm always leaves Astarion desperate for more, anyway.Â
Tav swallows Astarionâs length once again, intentionally contracting his throat around the pale cock in his mouth. His wife bites back a moan and comes, hips thrusting up as warm seed spills down Tavâs throat. Astarionâs cock continues to pulse for a while longer, and Tav expertly swallows every last drop of his loverâs spend.Â
When he feels the other manâs fingers retract from his hair, Gustav carefully pulls back and releases Astarionâs slowly softening cock. He swirls his tongue around the tip one last time, forcing a final whimper from his lover before easing back and placing a few kisses against Astarionâs thigh.Â
âDarling,â Astarion pants as he runs his fingers through sweat-drenched curls. His lipstick is completely smeared across his face; he looks wrecked. âTake me home and make love to me.â
Gustav grins in response as he begins to climb back into the driverâs seat. Many of the cars in the lot have pulled away by now. âAnything for my beautiful wife.âÂ
*
They crash through the townhome door, a mess of half-removed clothing and desire. Astarion shoves Tav against the front entrance as soon as it shuts behind them and grinds himself along Tavâs thigh. The rotary phone in the living room is ringing, but they pay it no mind.Â
Gustav quickly undoes the buttons of his wifeâs dress and strips it from his body. Heâs entirely naked underneath, save the garter belt and stockings â the ruined bits of underwear were left on the floorboard of the car. Astarion is undoing his husbandâs belt buckle when the phone stops ringing; he moves to drop to his knees right in front of Tav, but he is quickly pulled back up.
âNot here on the tile, baby. Itâs much too hard,â he murmurs as he guides his wife over to the carpeted living room. As soon as theyâre in front of the couch, Astarion rips Tavâs trousers and undergarments off in one swift motion and then guides his husband to sit on the serpentine sofa.Â
âNow, darling, let me repay you for earlier,â Astarion purrs as his hands teasingly slide up his loverâs purple thighs. Heâs just about to take Gustavâs cock in his hands when the phone begins ringing again; itâs a sharp, shrill, distracting sound.
Gustav groans in irritation. He quickly leans over to pull the handset from the stand and uses a finger to hang up on the caller. He tosses the receiver haphazardly, leaving it off the hook so that the phone will not ring and interrupt him and his wife again. Itâs well past ten at night; whoever is calling can wait until the morning and call back then.
He turns his attention back to Astarion and smiles. Then, he reaches out and brings two fingers under his wifeâs chin before he gently presses upwards. They meet one another with a slow, gentle kiss. When Gustav retracts, Astarion is staring up at him in wide-eyed adoration.
âNow, where were we?â Gustav asks. Astarion chuckles in response before wrapping two pale hands around the cock in front of him; itâs already leaking in anticipation as he slowly strokes up and down the length.
âI think we were just getting to the good part, my love,â Astarion murmurs, peering up at his husband through hooded lids before dropping his head to take Gustav between a pair of lipstick-smeared lips.
The phone stays off the hook for the rest of the night.Â
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Thank you, Vix! Sincerely hoping I do not disappoint the woman that I was writing for back when I only had like 10 followers. I WILL CONTINUE TO INTRIGUE YOU (i hope).
A Pocket Full of Rainbows, A Star Up My Sleeve (1950s AU) / Chapter 1: The Drive In
Click here to read on AO3.
Summary: It's 1957, and for the first time in his life, Astarion Ancunin is happy. He's a newlywed, his spouse, Gustav Adler, is the editor-in-chief of the city's second most prominent newspaper, and they play keeping up with the Atherwindes next door. They are picture-perfect domesticity. Or so it seems. Secrets Astarion has kept hidden from his spouse begin to surface around their first anniversary, and Gustav is left to wonder... who exactly did he marry?
Tags/Warnings: This one starts off with smut (light BDSM if you squint and tilt your head) in Chapter 1 so there's that. This longfic will have a lot of hurt/angst/comfort + mild gore + mentions of Astarion's past trauma. I will update with a warning if there is a significant concern in any chapter.
Notes: Special thanks to @leomonae for beta-reading and holding my hand while I write this entire thing that has taken hold of me body and soul. And special thanks to all the awesome supportive people on my discord server that have hyped me up enough to give me the courage to post this.
-----
Cigar smoke spirals out of the barely cracked mahogany door and into the newsroom as the editor-in-chief, Gustav Adler, finalizes the layout for this weekendâs edition of the Baldurâs Herald. Heâs running late â he should have been halfway home, by now. His wife is going to be furious with him if they miss the beginning of the movie.Â
But this story has a chance of finally getting the Baldurâs Herald ahead of the Baldurâs Gate Gazette; he has to get it just right. There is still more investigation to be done, of course, but no one can deny several missing persons and multiple eyewitness reports of a mindflayer in the lower city. Itâs certainly enough to sell papers and promote intrigue.Â
The paper had gotten a decent boost when heâd been promoted to editor-in-chief a few years ago. The promotion of an openly gay man â a half-drow, nonetheless â to the position had garnered quite a bit of attention. Good and bad, of course. But as the saying goes, all publicity is good publicity.Â
In the Heraldâs case, that had been true. The groundbreaking move had put the previously small paper on the map and quickly catapulted it to second place in the rankings, where it had been ever since. Tav was convinced it would only take one powerful story to overtake the Gazette; he felt confident the culmination of this story would be the one to do it.Â
A rapid knock on the door pulls Gustav from his work as he takes another drag of his nearly finished cigar; his top investigator, Karlach, is leaning against the door jamb.Â
âThereâs been another mindflayer sighting. Dekarios is on the ground now, Iâm on my way to meet him,â she says, her eyes alight with excitement. The tiefling had been chasing this story for weeks and finally had enough for her article to make the front page of this weekendâs issue.
âExcellent â Iâll be back in the office tomorrow morning, Kar. I expect an update then. I would go with you two, but the wife wonât forgive me if I cancel two weeks in a row,â Gustav responds as he extinguishes his cigar in the unfinished coffee that sat atop his desk all day.Â
Karlach chuckles good-naturedly as she straightens from the doorframe and moves to put on the suit jacket sheâd been holding in her hand. âTell Astarion I said hello; and thank him again for mending this for me.âÂ
âWill doâ oh, and Karlach, can you run this by the printers before you head out? Itâs the final layout for the weekend edition,â the editor-in-chief says as he moves to exit his own office. He hands the mock-up to his journalist and heads out of the building for the night. In the parking lot, Gustav rushes to his car and hopes his wife isnât too terribly upset with him for being a bit late.
Astarion had been Gustavâs secretary for nearly six months before he finally worked up the courage to ask the other man on a date. It was never easy for Tav, doing such a thing, although sexuality laws had changed in his early adulthood and it was common to see people just like him about the city nowadays.
He couldnât have assumed Astarion was interested in men simply because he alternated between wearing suits and dresses â which had been, of course, one of the things that caught Tavâs attention and fascinated him early on. Astarion managed to look breathtaking in both; Gustav had never seen anything quite like him and spent more time than he should have admiring his secretary sitting just outside his office door. As it turned out, Astarion had been flirting with him for months; he had always worried he was misinterpreting the signals.Â
It wasnât until Karlach hassled him for a week that Tav finally broke down and asked Astarion to dinner. They dated for just under a year, and married as soon as they were legally allowed â all legal documentation still required assigned roles of husband and wife, and in the public sense, these designations were required across the board. Theyâd randomly assigned titles with the flip of a coin.
It seemed ridiculous, in the beginning. Bureaucracy and politics could be so short-sighted; the world never seemed to dot all its i's and cross all its tâs before moving on to the next agenda. In public, the couple always used the assigned titles; at first, this had been mostly to avoid confusion or ignorant comments. But then one night, Gustav had jokingly called Astarion his âwifeâ and it had instantly ignited something within his lover. Heâd never seen his spouse so excited in bed until that moment.Â
From then on, in public and in private, Astarion was his wife. The word just had different meanings depending on context. As an editor, Gustav could wholeheartedly appreciate the subtleties of the phrase; as a husband, he loved the effect the word had on his wife when they were in bed.
*
As Gustav pulls up to the brownstone townhouse he and Astarion share, he immediately notices the new gardenia shrubs and mulch surrounding the Atherwindeâs front stoop. A soft groan of annoyance escapes his lips; heâd planned to tend their own garden next weekend, but now he would have to move that project up. He was not about to let their annoying nextdoor neighbor, Edmund Atherwinde, throw subtle remarks at him for an entire week whenever they ran into one another while leaving for work. Gustav is almost certain Eddie waits to see when he comes out in the morning, just to harass him as they both climb into their Chevrolet Bel-Airs. Gustavâs is the most recent model; Eddieâs is last yearâs model. Not that heâs comparing, of course.
He glances at his wristwatch; itâs twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. They should still be able to eat dinner and make it to the drive-in. He grabs the bow-wrapped box from the backseat and then makes his way into the townhome.
A quick jangle of keys echoes through the short foyer before Gustav calls, âAstarion, Iâm home!â
âYouâre late,â a cool, clipped voice replies from the kitchen. âIâve had to keep dinner warm in the oven for twenty minutes, Tav.âÂ
âIâm sorry, baby,â Gustav responds as he moves to join his wife. He presents the box to Astarion with a toothy smile and a wink. âBut, perhaps this will make it up to you.âÂ
The scowl that had been painted across Astarionâs face soon pulls up into a grin as he takes the box from Tav. A quick tug of the black grosgrain ribbon reveals the present inside â a mink stole. A soft gasp escapes Astarion as he removes the fur shawl from the packaging and wraps it around his shoulders.Â
âGorgeous,â Gustav compliments as he admires his lover. âI think it will go well with the gown you plan on wearing for our anniversary dinner.â
âOf course it will, darling,â Astarion responds before lifting onto his toes and pressing a kiss against his husbandâs cheek, right upon the old scar Gustav got back in his military days. âItâs beautiful, thank you. Now, dinner, dearâ and weâd better hurry.â
*
Dinner was nothing to write home about. Astarion was a fair to middling cook nowadays â in the beginning of their marriage, heâd burnt nearly every meal he made. Almost a year later, heâd managed to get the hang of a few simple recipes. Gustav, to his credit, never complained. All his time in the military taught him to accept far meager offerings than his wifeâs creations; if he could eat cold beans from an aluminum can, he could handle a slightly charred meatloaf.Â
They made it to the drive in just as the last previews finished. Astarion had been exceptionally excited to see this film â a horror movie about vampires, of all things. Gustav was not particularly interested in the movie, but willingly endured for his wifeâs happiness. Until, of course, Astarion pressed up against him a little over halfway through the film â an innocent reaction to the scene playing on screen â and gripped dangerously high on Gustavâs thigh.Â
Desire immediately flared through Tav, and when he turned to look at his wife, he wanted nothing more than to smear the perfectly painted red lipstick on the other manâs lips. So he did.
They were locked in a passionate kiss for several minutes, the movie all but forgotten. Their tongues wrapped around one another in a familiar embrace, a comfortable dance the two of them had become accustomed to. It did not take long for Gustav to begin advancing eagerly upon his wife.
âYouâre insatiable,â Astarion chuckles as his lover playfully nips into his neck. A delighted shiver ghosts up his spine.
âCan you blame me?â Gustav asks as his lips trail to his loverâs chest, just exposed by the neckline of Astarionâs collared dress. His tongue swirls along alabaster skin before a sly hand moves under the skirt hem. âYouâre delicious⊠and Iâd very much like to have a taste.âÂ
Gustavâs thick, purple-gray fingers run along the inside of Astarionâs pale, muscled thigh and travel all the way up to the edge of a sheer, nylon stocking. He quickly finds a garter strap, pulls, and releases the elastic band. Astarion jumps and gasps as the skin on his leg turns into gooseflesh; his husband palms insistently between his legs.
âS-surely you donât mean here, Tav,â Astarion whispers, his legs spreading slightly, making more room to accommodate the hand teasing his hardening cock. But even as Astarion says it, heâs hoping his husband actually does mean here â the mere thought of such a scandalous act is causing arousal to dampen the front of his undergarments.Â
âMmh, and why not?â Gustav asks, already beginning to slide from his seat, down to the floorboard. He wanders his hand down under the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go. It isnât much, but enough for him to comfortably kneel between Astarionâs legs. He brings his hands to his wifeâs knees and slowly presses them open with a sly smile.Â
âIâŠâ Astarion tries to respond, his face suddenly feeling quite hot as a blush of both embarrassment and desire spreads across his skin. His mouth goes dry as he looks down at the man between his legs. Gustav is slowly pushing up the hem of Astarionâs skirt and peering up at his lover as he licks his lips.Â
âDo you want me to stop?â He questions, cocking his head just slightly. When his wife doesnât respond, he begins to lower Astarionâs skirt; his purple-gray hand is suddenly caught between slender, milky-white fingers.
âKeep going,â Astarion quietly urges before casting a glance out the window. Theyâre in the final row of the drive-in. Only one other car is in the same row as them, and the couple in that car are far too distracted by one anotherâs mouths to pay any mind to the two men.
Gustav hums happily as he unceremoniously lifts Astarionâs skirt and drops his head underneath; heâs greeted with a pale, leaking cock straining against a pair of sheer, silk panties. The sight causes his own cock to stir in his trousers.Â
âNow be a good little wife and hold very, very still for me, baby,â Gustav commands with a final snap of Astarionâs garter strap. His wife gasps and squirms in his seat before obediently stilling. Tav doesnât waste any more time with foreplay; his hands come under Astarionâs dress and quickly tear the underwear in two â heâll buy a replacement pair later. Astarionâs cock springs proudly from its confines, bobbing slightly and begging to be sucked.
Tav brings both hands to the pale thighs on either side of his head as he pulls Astarionâs cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head languidly, causing more pre-fluid to leak onto his tongue. The salty, musky taste makes his mouth water in delight. Heâs certain he will never tire of tasting his wife.
A whimper escapes Astarionâs lips when his husband takes all of his length. Gustavâs warm, wet throat contracts around Astarionâs cock and then, much too soon, he retracts and begins to swirl his tongue around its pink, swollen head. Tav repeats this several times and each time his throat squeezes around Astarion, it takes everything within him to not buck upwards. His thighs are trembling. He so badly wants to move, to seek the heat of his loverâs mouth. But he wants to be a good wife, so he forces himself to obey the command.Â
The excited keening becomes louder and more insistent the longer Gustav teases him. By now the movie is almost over, and Astarion is catching flashes of the end scene through blurred vision and panting breaths. He clamps his eyes shut as Gustav, once again, swallows him to the hilt. This time his husband holds the position and hums, both hands squeezing into Astarionâs thighs.
âAah, Tavââ Astarion whimpers, his tone pleading, âTav, pleaseââÂ
But Gustav retracts and his wife whines. He cannot help but smile at the neediness. He forces Astarionâs skirt up over his thighs, exposing his arousal-slicked face and his loverâs hard, weeping cock all at once. He peers up at his wife with a pleased smirk; Astarion meets him with half-hooded lids and blown pupils.Â
âAlready, baby? Really?â Gustav purrs, one hand coming to caress Astarionâs scrotum. He applies a light bit of pressure and admires the way pre-fluid dribbles from his loverâs desperate cock. His tongue darts out to slowly lap up the string of clear liquid running down Astarionâs shaft. âI donât think Iâve worshiped my wife quite long enough.âÂ
Astarion impatiently squirms in his seat. Heâd been doing a rather excellent job holding still until now, but the ache between his legs is growing increasingly insistent, and his husband has teased him long enough. When Gustavâs hands wrap around his cock he moans and his head falls back reflexively. The movieâs end credits are starting to roll.Â
âPlease, Gustav⊠I canâtâ I canât any longer, pleaseââ Astarion begs, through sharp shaking breaths. His hips stutter forward insistently into the other manâs fists.
âVery well,â Gustav responds, and with little warning he drops his hands and takes all of Astarion in his mouth again. Pale fingers clutch into Tavâs cropped white hair, pulling slightly just at the nape of his neck. He hums his encouragement as he bobs his head up and down the length of his wifeâs cock, covering it in saliva and spreading the growing amounts of pre-fluid dripping from its tip.
Gustav can tell by the breathy keening sounds his wife is making that he is close to release. His own cock is straining within his trousers â but that can wait until they get home. The first orgasm always leaves Astarion desperate for more, anyway.Â
Tav swallows Astarionâs length once again, intentionally contracting his throat around the pale cock in his mouth. His wife bites back a moan and comes, hips thrusting up as warm seed spills down Tavâs throat. Astarionâs cock continues to pulse for a while longer, and Tav expertly swallows every last drop of his loverâs spend.Â
When he feels the other manâs fingers retract from his hair, Gustav carefully pulls back and releases Astarionâs slowly softening cock. He swirls his tongue around the tip one last time, forcing a final whimper from his lover before easing back and placing a few kisses against Astarionâs thigh.Â
âDarling,â Astarion pants as he runs his fingers through sweat-drenched curls. His lipstick is completely smeared across his face; he looks wrecked. âTake me home and make love to me.â
Gustav grins in response as he begins to climb back into the driverâs seat. Many of the cars in the lot have pulled away by now. âAnything for my beautiful wife.âÂ
*
They crash through the townhome door, a mess of half-removed clothing and desire. Astarion shoves Tav against the front entrance as soon as it shuts behind them and grinds himself along Tavâs thigh. The rotary phone in the living room is ringing, but they pay it no mind.Â
Gustav quickly undoes the buttons of his wifeâs dress and strips it from his body. Heâs entirely naked underneath, save the garter belt and stockings â the ruined bits of underwear were left on the floorboard of the car. Astarion is undoing his husbandâs belt buckle when the phone stops ringing; he moves to drop to his knees right in front of Tav, but he is quickly pulled back up.
âNot here on the tile, baby. Itâs much too hard,â he murmurs as he guides his wife over to the carpeted living room. As soon as theyâre in front of the couch, Astarion rips Tavâs trousers and undergarments off in one swift motion and then guides his husband to sit on the serpentine sofa.Â
âNow, darling, let me repay you for earlier,â Astarion purrs as his hands teasingly slide up his loverâs purple thighs. Heâs just about to take Gustavâs cock in his hands when the phone begins ringing again; itâs a sharp, shrill, distracting sound.
Gustav groans in irritation. He quickly leans over to pull the handset from the stand and uses a finger to hang up on the caller. He tosses the receiver haphazardly, leaving it off the hook so that the phone will not ring and interrupt him and his wife again. Itâs well past ten at night; whoever is calling can wait until the morning and call back then.
He turns his attention back to Astarion and smiles. Then, he reaches out and brings two fingers under his wifeâs chin before he gently presses upwards. They meet one another with a slow, gentle kiss. When Gustav retracts, Astarion is staring up at him in wide-eyed adoration.
âNow, where were we?â Gustav asks. Astarion chuckles in response before wrapping two pale hands around the cock in front of him; itâs already leaking in anticipation as he slowly strokes up and down the length.
âI think we were just getting to the good part, my love,â Astarion murmurs, peering up at his husband through hooded lids before dropping his head to take Gustav between a pair of lipstick-smeared lips.
The phone stays off the hook for the rest of the night.Â
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