#aat

[sometimes-lemons]

Found this pic below the cut and had to draw it as Phoenix

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #aat #aa trilogy #trans phoenix wright #trans wrights

[loviatarsluv]

An Acquired Taste

“You play a twisted little game,

but I know in a way,

you need to complicate

believe that though we never eat,

we still know how to feed,

we still know how to bleed”

Astarion x AFAB female rogue tav (third person, no super descriptive features aside from hair color and body)

takes place earlier into act 1, long before the grove party (I have plans for that)

rating: VERY mature (smut incoming lets go besties!!!!!!)

CW: threats of bodily harm (eheh), lots of sexual tension, choking, fingering, oral, some light knifeplay

a/n: I’m gonna be 100% honest w u I have not written in forever so I’m admittedly very rusty, but I have not seen enough enemies to lovers with astarion and I just needed it so thus this was born ^.^

in summary: astarion and tav butt heads constantly and get into a blow up fight where they both say shit they shouldn’t, tav is overwhelmed by everything and he is not helping, so she goes to blow off some steam once they get back to camp and he, of course, petty as he is, cannot let her have a single moment of peace and follows her. she threatens to slit his throat and he gets horny. as one does 🤷‍♀️ (just like me fr)

word count: 7.6k (i'm so sorry i was possessed writing this apparently)

(I have no idea where I got this gif from if someone knows tell me and I’ll tag the op!!)

The trek back to camp is mostly silent, save for the odd comment about the weather or spew of stream of consciousness by Karlach, which provided at least a tiny bit of comic relief.

The air was thick and suffocating between the party’s leader and the vampire who just loved to piss her off - it almost always was slightly tense, but today in particular was much different than what was usual for them.

As soon as they reach the camp, the group splits, all scattering across the site to their own chosen sections of it, Astarion nonchalantly strolling off to his own tent, which just so happened to be the closest one to hers. She audibly growls in frustration, earning a few concerned stares from her companions. She can’t even find peace in her own tent.

Before any of her companions can stop her or inevitably approach her with questions about what happened between her and Astarion or unsolicited and, quite frankly, unnecessary advice, she slips off to the place that had been the one piece of solace she had been able to find as of late. The clearing in the forest near the water's edge that was just outside of camp.

The usually ataractic smell of petrichor mixed with the misty air near the running stream fill her nose as she trudges through the muddy soil, her leather and metal plated boots feeling ten stones heavier than usual. She sets her sights on a fallen tree near the water, sinking down into the dirt before it, releasing a long and deep breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding for what felt like days.

She slowly strips off the outer layers of her lightly plated armor piece by piece, goosebumps prickling her skin with each new bit of skin exposed to the crisp evening air. She discovers a few new bruises and scrapes that hadn’t been there previously when removing certain parts of her gear had become painful, her skin tender and sore beneath it. Her entire body ached, and she was utterly sapped.

The previous few days had been more challenging than anything she’d experienced in recent history - their predicament unfolding before them all in increasingly bleak shades of stormy gray and blood red with each new bit of information they receive regarding the mystery surrounding the parasites that writhed within their skulls. She’d be lying if she said she still held the same amount of optimism toward the prospect of a cure as she had in the earlier days of their expedition. No, that was long gone.

In fact, the only emotion she seemed to feel lately was anger. Rage.

She knew that the world was going to shit prior to being abducted by the mind flayers, but she had never seen for herself how truly doomed it was the way she had since then. It was sobering, to say the least.

She never considered herself to be particularly altruistic or even virtuous by any means, having only been able to survive by picking pockets and slitting throats that stood in the way since her early teen years. She wasn’t proud of it all, and her mind was not unburdened with the guilt that came with some of it, but it was necessary at the time. It continued to be necessary, even more so now.

An image of home flashes through her mind - Baldur’s Gate. The bustling streets, the busy taverns, the upper city where she procured the majority of her coin. She chuckles to herself as she thinks of all of the nobles whose pockets she’d made lighter who were none the wiser  - hells, most of them probably never noticed as gold was never in short supply for them the way it was for the rest of the population. They were easy targets only due to their noses being so high in the air that they didn’t notice those beneath them, scrounging the streets for the crumbs they crushed beneath their perfectly polished boots.

All she had to do was bat her eyelashes, whisper the same sweet nothings that worked on every single one of them, and expertly slip her hand into their pockets while they were enchanted by her every move. It was easier than easy, it was effortless.

She almost misses it - things were simpler, then. It had all become routine after so many years of it. Of course, there was still the threat of death looming over her at every turn but at least she could put up a fight against the daggers and swords that were held to her throat - there was no fighting this. She couldn’t threaten the tadpole with knives or swords or warfare, and she certainly couldn’t fight off ceremorphosis by sheer willpower. Sure, she could cut through every goblin, drow, or cultist that dared cross her path if they didn’t offer a cure or information for a cure, but none of that mattered as the creature inside her was nothing more than a ticking time bomb. Every second that passes could be her last without tentacles and an insatiable appetite for brains, and she’d be rendered nothing more than a soulless monster, doomed to follow every command given to it by an even bigger monstrosity.

Her hope and faith in finding a solution deteriorated more and more as the days passed with no answers, no leads, the prospect of making it out on the other side of this predicament seeming ever more distant. 

She groans loudly to herself, tossing her head into her hands as she brings her knees closer to her chest, wishing she could shrink and disappear. Wishing the mud below her would form a sinkhole and just swallow her, that way it didn’t matter anymore, nothing would.

“Fuck,” She whispers through gritted teeth as she feels tears starting to well up in her eyes, much to her physical and internal protest.

In spite of her throbbing muscles and aching bones, she pushes herself up from the ground, refusing to resort to wallowing in self pity and mourning her once simple life.

But her chest feels as though it were caught in a vice, clamping down on her ribs and lungs and it felt as if she were fighting for every breath. Her fists were clenched so tightly and her nails dug into her palms so deeply that they were on the verge of drawing blood. She felt the need to scream, to cry, to break something - even though none of it would alleviate the weight that rested on her shoulders so heavily. Nothing that was within her reach could.

She felt like everything had come crashing down on her all at once and she was helpless to fight the barrage of what ifs and the potential outcomes of them flooded her mind.

Then, to top it all, her earlier argument with Astarion resurfaces in her mind.

“Apologies for not being as keen to remove the thing that has given me what I’ve been deprived of for two centuries. I’m only saying that we should—“

“So you’d trade feasting on rats in a dirty cell for feasting on brains at the command of some start-up god? You must really be desperate.”

His crimson eyes that were typically bright and playful were now dark and malignant, his jaw clenched and fangs bared. He looked as though he were about to lunge at her, before Wyll grabs him and pulls him back.

She regretted it the moment it left her lips, but she was too angry and too prideful to take it back. But he was seriously irking her - he provoked it out of her, she could hardly blame herself or feel sorry.

“What about you? Roaming the streets, scrounging through the garbage and the dirt for table scraps, stealing from nobles - you’re no better than the rats I fed on, the only difference is that the ones I fed on were more tolerable.”

It was then her turn to get pulled away, as within an instant her dagger was unsheathed and pointed in his direction. She couldn’t tell who it was that grabbed her - perhaps Gale, she thought, who was much stronger than he looked as he subdued her fairly quickly, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her backwards.

It took a lot of talking both of them down to diffuse the situation enough to safely make it back to camp in one piece, both of them too stubborn and prideful to let the matter rest until they just couldn’t stand to be near each other anymore.

His voice echoes in her head, reminding her of every person she’d ever reached out to for help in her life, degrading her to nothing more than a street rat begging for scraps. Her temper rises as she replays his words - “you’re no better than the rats I fed on” - over and over, finally tipping her over the edge. 

She retrieves her rapier from the heap she’d discarded her armor and clothes in, rushes toward a large oak tree, swinging it into the trunk over and over until there’s large slashes in the trunk, the bark flying in shards and bits.

She steps back, breath ragged and heavy, eyes burning with tears that she refused to shed, especially over him and his damned opinion.

She's too enthralled in her own outburst to notice the footsteps approaching in the forest behind her.

“And what exactly did that tree do to deserve your wrath?” Astarion taunts, slowly stalking up behind her.

She doesn’t turn to face him, nor does she acknowledge him at all, tossing her weapon to the ground and walking back toward the stream.

“Tsk, I’m getting the silent treatment now? No scathing insults or cruel comments regarding my past?” He continues to prod, following a few steps behind her.

“Fuck. Off.” She growls through gritted teeth.

He chuckles, the sound bitter and disingenuous, goading.

“Oh, darling. You couldn’t possibly think that we wouldn’t have to kiss and make up after our little spat earlier. We’re stuck with each other in this sordid endeavor, after all.”

Her knuckles have gone white with the force of her clutching onto the fabric of her undershirt that she’d thankfully left on, on the off chance one of her companions came to check on her. Much to her dismay, of course it was the one companion she wished she had never laid eyes on to begin with.

“I’d rather kiss a leech, darling,” she spits, her tone coated in vitriol. “I have nothing more to say to you, unless you’d like me to return the favor of holding a dagger to your throat.”

When they’d met outside the nautiloid crash, and the elf held her at knifepoint demanding information, assuming she was a thrall or working with the mind flayers, she thought perhaps they would get along. She immediately recognized him as a kindred spirit as she knew that she would’ve done the same in his shoes, hells, she was even attracted to him. 

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

Well, not about the attraction. That, unfortunately, did not dissipate.

If anything, it only made her hate him more.

He almost cackles, stalking in ever closer, closing the gap between them step by step. She resists the urge to step backwards to increase the distance between them once again, and stays planted in place out of spite, digging her heels into the dirt for extra support. 

“I think there’s a lot that we both want to say and do to each other - the question is who’ll be the first to act.” His voice is equal parts threatening and sultry - something only he did so well.

He could make you loathe him and lust him in one fell swoop with ease. It was one of his biggest strengths, and a large reason why she hadn’t told him to piss off and find another group to leech off of. He was useful in and out of battle, much to her dismay. 

“The only thing I want to do with you at this very moment is throw your pasty ass in the river and hope that you’ve forgotten how to swim.” She spat.

He continues to stalk closer, their bodies now less than a foot apart.

“You’re stubborn. I like that about you. You don’t accept defeat easily, even when it’s knocking at your door. It’s quite admirable, really,” he pauses to lean forward, lowering his face so they’re eye to eye.

“Admit it, dear, you’ve met your match with me.” He grins a devilish grin that she wants to slap off of his pretty mouth. If he were any closer, she might have.

“This isn’t a competition. I want to be rid of this damned thing and you want to step in the way of my and everyone else’s survival at every turn just for your own selfish sake!” She seethes, her voice raising and echoing through the woods.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act as though you give the slightest bit of a damn about anyone’s survival but your own, altruism isn’t a good look on you, pet. You and I are cut from the same cloth, whether you want to admit that to yourself or not.”

Her once empty fist was now grasping the handle of her dagger that she had sheathed and strapped to her thigh, as she always did, a habit that came in handy more times than she’d like for it to.

“I am nothing like you.” Is all she manages to hiss before he finally closes the gap between them, his face merely inches from hers, basically towering over her - their stark height difference being something only he had noticed and fully planned on using to his advantage.

He feels the heat radiating off of her, and he tells himself that it’s due to more than just anger to stroke his own ego. He knew that she was attracted to him, he’d caught her eyes lingering on him when she thought he wouldn’t notice - when he’d change into his evening clothes just outside his tent, when he would traipse off into the woods to hunt at night, and in general throughout their days traveling he would catch her eyes on him, watching him. It made it all the more exciting for him, knowing that even though she despised him, she’d let him have his way with her if the opportunity arose. He was just biding his time for the right moment and preparing all the perfect words that he knew would reduce her to putty in his hands.

“Keep telling yourself that, if it’ll help you sleep peacefully at night.” He whispers, his eyes dark and hungry - she couldn’t decipher whether it was for her or her blood in one way or another.

“How can I sleep peacefully knowing there’s a bloodsucker who hates me in the next tent over from me?” She half jokes, not letting this closeness falter her composure, despite the way her heart was racing a million a minute.

He flashes that damned smirk that he does when he’s up to something, one of his fangs peeking out over his bottom lip as he does, glinting in the golden glow of the sunset. He almost looked human, in this light. His usually pallid skin is nearly lively and his crimson eyes almost appear to be a shade of dark brown instead. Although, she thinks that his eyes were probably blue, before. Not that it mattered, not that she cared.

“What makes you think that I hate you, darling?” His face flashes a feign innocent expression, in spite of his eyes still holding that same intense darkness that bordered between disdain and desire.

“I certainly don’t think that you like me, by any means. And don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.”

His smirk widens into a sadistic grin, both fangs now on display.

“On the contrary, sweetness. I think we need to stop lying to each other if we’re going to continue this little adventure of ours together,” his voice is low and breathy, rumbling in his chest almost like a growl. He brings a hand up to trace the side of her jaw gently, and she flinches away.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” He continues, his once gentle caress turning into a rough and forceful grab as he forces her to look at him, his blood red eyes boring into hers.

“I only watch you because I don’t trust you. I thought that’d be pretty clear.” It was a lie. She knew it was a lie, but it was only a half lie, technically. She didn’t trust him, she hadn’t since the beginning.

He lets out another cruel laugh, and she knows that he caught on.

“Hmm. You know, I’d assume you would be a better liar - how disappointing for you, but delicious for me.”

This was the last straw for her as she promptly unsheathes the dagger that her finger had been itching over since he made his unwelcome appearance into her life, pressing it to his throat, slowly pushing him backwards until his back hits the nearest tree.

His demeanor doesn’t falter for an instant, his face still twisted into that same demented sneer - the bastard was enjoying this.

The air between them was so thick it would have had to be cut with a great sword as their eye contact never breaks, neither of them intending to surrender.

“Give me one reason not to slit that pretty throat of yours.” She snarls behind gritted teeth.

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple grazing against the cool metal of her blade. He stares down at her and can’t help but admire her - eyes wild, long raven black hair uncharacteristically disheveled with some strands sticking to her forehead due to leftover dried sweat and grime, her pressed against him hard with only a flimsy shirt shielding her body from him. He doesn’t even try to hide it, letting his tongue slip out to wet his bottom lip, an undeniably lustful look in his eyes.

It takes her a moment to notice when she finally comes back to her senses after her adrenaline settles, a scowl painting across her face as the realization hits.

“You’re disgusting.” She hisses, pulling away from him, lowering her blade.

Despite her words, the way he was looking at her sparked something in her - something she had done so well to disregard and push down up to this point, but her resolve was weakening under his gaze.

He doesn’t respond, eyes never leaving her as they trail up and down her body, constantly returning back to her bare legs and thighs. And from the angle she stood, with the sunset behind her, her light colored linen shirt was nearly opaque and he could see the outline of her body. He feasted his eyes on her delicate curves, the way her hips jutted out and her waist dipped in above them, her toned arms flexing, muscles clenching. She was unquestionably sexy, and his craving for her had doubled if not tripled at the sight of her in this way, even after she pressed her dagger to his neck. Hells, even then.

She starts to back up as his gaze only intensifies - hungry eyes trailing her body felt like hot coals being dragged across her skin.

Before she can make it more than a couple inches away, his hands are grasping her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh to a bruising point, pulling her back to him and flipping them so that her back is flush against the tree where his had been, effectively switching the roles and asserting his dominance over her, as he’d been dying to do for what felt like centuries.

His icy hand comes up to her throat, closing his fist around it firmly but not enough to entirely restrict her breathing and pinning her against the wood, his face now close enough to feel her hot breath against his cheeks.

The rough bark digs into her scalp and back, his fingers press into the spot just below her jaw near her pulse point. He feels her pulse thrumming rapidly against his fingertips, he can hear her heartbeat racing in her chest.

“You wound me, pet… I almost believed that one.” He purrs, his cold breath and the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine, and an unwelcome heat through her, pooling low in her core.

With one hand still on her throat, his other hand rests on her waist before languidly roaming the parts of her body that weren’t covered by his own pressed against it.

She feels helpless under his touch, all of her previously built up walls and her icy facade start to melt beneath him, but not without her brain chiming in and reminding her who he is and how bad of an idea this was.

“Let me go.” She whispers plainly, unable to muster enough nerve to yell or scream or fight back, settling for no emotion at all.

He smirks at her, his hand advancing upwards, his fingers laving over the side of her breast, causing her nipples to harden, peaking against the soft linen fabric of her shirt.

“Is that what you really want, darling? Your body tells a different story,” he hums, his finger now grazing her nipple agonizingly gently, disrupting any thought or intention of fighting him off.

She's unable to find a word that could suffice in telling him to stop, but also dear gods please keep going. Her body was taking the reins, and she blames it on having not had any sort of intimacy since long before the nautiloid. Only to avoid the prospect that she was truly enjoying this.

Her silence doesn’t suffice, though.

He tightens his grip on her throat, pressing his index finger and thumb on either side of her jaw to direct her face so their eyes meet.

“I need you to tell me what you want, pet. I can’t do anything for you if you don’t tell me what you want.”

She bites down on her bottom lip almost hard enough to bite through, a slight metallic taste hitting her tongue. Her body was trembling with the effort it took to contain herself, to not give in to him but it was proving to be an insurmountable task. The logical side of her brain wants to say no just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of her begging for him like he wants, but she can’t. The part of her brain that is apparently driven by the spot between her legs and the rest of her body is screaming over any logic and telling her everything she doesn’t want to hear.

“Harder.” She barely manages to choke out, her voice strained against the pressure of his hand on her throat.

He freezes, his body stilling and tensing up.

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t quite hear you.” He grits his teeth, his voice low and his mouth centimeters from her ear.

“Harder.” She says louder, placing her hand over his and pressing down.

Gods, he could’ve come undone right then and there.

Without another word, their lips collided in a frenzied and feral kiss, one that was inevitable, they both learned, judging by how effortless the kiss was - their lips melding and their tongues in sync as if they’d done it a million times before. Her fingers ran through his ivory curls, tugging at the roots and eliciting a groan from him that sent a chill up her spine.

He obliged her request, slightly closing his fist tighter around her neck, which chokes a moan out of her that he quickly swallows in another kiss. His free hand greedily continues to roam and grab at anything he can - her thighs, her ass, her breasts, her hips. He can't get enough of her, he swears even being inside her wouldn't satiate his desire for her. He wants to mark her, he wants to claim her, he wants her to be his, even if it was only for this purpose alone.

She hooks her leg around his, pulling him flush against her and feeling his hardened cock straining against his breeches as it presses to her lower stomach.

She almost gasps, disappointed but secretly pleased to discover that he was big, from what she could tell through his clothes at least.

She had hoped she could at least say he was small or that the sex sucked after it was all said and done, but she had an inkling that this was just yet another thing she would have to begrudgingly give him his due credit for.

He notices her reaction to the bulge in his pants, and smirks as he presses a wet kiss to her jaw, then rocks his hips forward to press himself against her even harder.

"This is your doing, you know," He breathes, a smirk evident in his voice.

Annoyed by his arrogant words and gesture, she digs her nails into his shoulder, a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a frustrated growl escaping her as he continues to suck on her neck, grazing the skin with his fangs.

“I’m starting to think you like having your life threatened a little too much.” She breathes.

He chuckles, lips still hovering over hers. “Only by you, darling.”

He palms at her ass cheek roughly, surely leaving a slew of intentional bruises so that she has a reminder the next morning, then smacking it - his frigid touch adding to the sting of the rough contact.

She yelps slightly, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle any noises she may make. He shakes his head, releasing her neck and bringing his hand up to trace her lips with his fingertips.

"No, no, sweetness, I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. For now, at least." He has a look as if he was planning something that instantly set her on edge - she never knew what to expect from him, especially not in this sort of circumstance.

"You're such an ass," She grunts indignantly, before he dips a finger in between her parted lips.

Almost as if on pure instinct, she sucks on his digit, swirling her tongue and laving it in her spit. His breath hitches as he stifles a pleased groan. She smirks pridefully, his finger still in her mouth.

"And yet, here we are, darling."

In rebuttal, she bites down on his finger just enough to hurt him, which causes him to hiss in pain. He shoots her a warning glance, then relaxes when he sees the amusement on her face.

“So feisty.”

He rubs her bottom lip with a second finger, a silent plea to add another into her mouth, which she promptly obliges.

She gives the second finger the same treatment as the first, her mind running wild with images of his cock in place of his fingers, how he might taste, the way it already weeps with arousal for her - it felt so wrong, yet she couldn't seem to get enough.

He pulls his fingers out of her mouth with a pop, his crimson eyes holding hers in an intense stare as he brings his still dry hand down to hook her underwear to the side, the cool breeze hitting her drenched cunt and making her suck in a breath. He makes a show of bringing the two fingers that had just been in her mouth down to rub her soaking folds, making sure that she was watching his every move.

"Fuck, you're already so wet for me." He moans, his voice low and gravelly as he slowly begins to spread her apart, the filthy sounds of her arousal like a song to his ears.

A loud moan rips through her as she throws her head back, the slightest touch embarrassingly already almost too much. Maybe it was the anticipation, maybe it was because it'd been so long since she'd been touched like this - or maybe it was just another testament to how badly she needed him. His touch.

"Rather sensitive, aren't we, pet?" He teases, dipping his head down to place a kiss to the part of her chest that was exposed by the low neckline of her shirt.

"Shut. Up." She growls, her hand gripping the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. The rumbling of his laughter echoes in her chest as his mouth stays pressed against it.

He presses wet kisses further and further down as he slowly moves his face lower, sinking to his knees in front of her.

She can't contain the gasp that escapes her as she peers down at him - his typically pristine and well groomed silvery white curls were a disaster as a result of her hands ravaging them, his eyes were dark and lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Not to mention, the satisfaction that came from him being on his knees below her, knowing what he intended to do - gods below, it was almost too much to bear.

He raises her shirt higher, holding it up between her breasts and getting just a small peek of the underside of them - the temptation to rip the wretched thing off of her and completely bare her to him crossing his mind. He decides against it, unsure if she'd want to be fully exposed in case someone decided to come check on her.

He, personally, wouldn't mind any of the others finding them this way - that way they would know that he was staking his claim on her. He was well aware that he was far from the only one in the camp that had dreamt of touching her, and he planned on being the only one who gets to.

He straightens himself up so he can trail another line of wet kisses down her abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of her underwear. His eyes flick back up to hers, finding that she had been watching his every move - satisfied with how quickly she catches on to his desires, as if it were natural to her.

He hooks two fingers beneath the fabric on each of her hips, waiting for her to protest. She doesn't, instead she reaches her hand down and attempts to pull them down herself. He grabs her wrist, stopping her.

"Ah ah, allow me." He commands, his voice equal parts soothing and threatening. She drops her hand back to her side. "Good girl."

He rips the fabric down her legs, letting it pool at her ankles before he hooks an arm under her thigh and lifts it so that she steps out of them. He pushes them aside, keeping her leg lifted as he pushes her night shirt out of the way once again, revealing her drenched and throbbing cunt to him, at long last.

He practically salivates at the sight, his eyes burning trails all around it as he drinks in every inch of her newly exposed flesh. This causes her to blush for the first time during this encounter, suddenly feeling self conscious about her most intimate area. She feels the urge to cover herself, her leg instinctively moving to clench against the other. He stops her quickly, pressing her leg up even higher, stretching her already sore thigh muscles.

"Absolutely perfect. To think you’ve been keeping this all to yourself." He coos, his voice now softer, reverent, even. As if he were quietly admiring the finely crafted sculpture of a goddess on display in the foyer of a tabernacle.

With her leg now draped over his shoulder, he continues his attack of wet and hungry kisses up her leg. He toys with the knife strapped to her, running a finger along the hilt of the blade, then biting the leather strap on the innermost part of her leg, his lips brushing against the skin and causing goosebumps to prickle up.

He slowly continues trailing up to the apex of her thighs, pausing at the very top of her thigh and nipping at the plush skin.

Her arousal and frustration had started to truly boil within her, him taking his damn sweet time was beginning to piss her off all over again and she knew he was doing it deliberately. He was trying all that he could to get her to beg.

"Astarion, if you don't eat me out right now, I'm going to kill you."

She wouldn't beg, no. Threatening, though? Easy.

"Patience, darling. Good things come to those who wait."

She scoffs. "I'm starting to think you're stalling. Scared that you won't be able to live up to your reputation?" She taunts in an attempt to anger him enough to finally oblige her.

His eyes narrow, his once smug face falling into a scowl.

He quickly unsheathes the knife on her thigh, grabbing it by the blade. Her eyes widened.

"What the hells are you doing?" Her voice held a bit of unease as she watched him gently tap the tip of the blade, as if he were testing the sharpness.

He grins wickedly, his eyes flicking from the dagger back up to hers. "I'm going to shut you up. Open," he commands, bringing the hilt of the dagger up to her lips.

She shoots him an uncertain look, confused. He sighs, frustrated, then presses the hilt further until her lips parted, and she took it between her teeth.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the golden light shifting to a cool blue glow, the reflection of the moon glinting off of the recently sharpened and polished blade. She hadn’t realized just how sharp Lae’zel made it, and having it so close to her face this way truthfully made her nervous.

A twisted part of her enjoyed it for that fact.

He looks up at her, the sight of the hilt of the dagger that she'd threatened him with only minutes prior, now held between her teeth both ironic and unequivocally erotic.

"Much better. Shall we try this again?"

Satisfied with the outcome of his bright idea and the muffled groan of frustration from the only one who’d been plaguing his thoughts when he was alone in his tent, he returns to his prior ministrations, starting his trail of kisses right back where he'd begun them just at the side of her knee.

He repeats the process identically to how he'd done it previously, except this time he bites the top of her thigh slightly harder, eliciting a whimper from her, nearly causing the knife to slip out of her mouth.

"Careful, pet." He warns, a slight smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

With his face still right at the crest of her thigh, cool breath fanning across her burning hot flesh, he brings his even colder fingers back up to tease her folds. She jolts at the sensation, involuntarily crawling upward onto the tree, now on tiptoe with her leg that's still on the ground. He tightens his arm around her thigh, pulling it down on to his shoulder slightly as if to warn her to stay still. She obliges, flattening her foot back down and relaxing her posture as best as she can manage, the thought of making this take even longer agonizing.

His deft fingers work her slowly, touching everywhere but where she needed him most. The sounds of her slick arousal seemed much louder now that they’d both gone mostly quiet apart from their heavy breathing, and she feels that damned blush creep back up to her cheeks once again. 

She involuntarily yelps when his fingers tease her entrance, her walls instinctively clenching around nothing. She disobeys him by wriggling slightly, then realizes and quickly tries to cease her movements. He lets his thumb rest against her swollen and throbbing clit, refusing to move even an inch until she settles down.

“Look at you,” he coos. “So eager for me. I almost want to take that dagger out of your mouth and hear that sweet voice moan for me again.”

She bites down even harder into the hilt of the dagger to stifle the moan that threatens to escape her throat, certainly leaving teeth marks that she’ll have to hide in case anyone needs to borrow it later.

He chuckles, his eyes still trained on her face as he pushes ever so slightly against her entrance, his thumb pressing harder into the over-sensitive bud - savoring her every reaction to him. The way her brows knitted up, the way her glossy eyes widened, her hands clutching the fabric of her shirt and holding it close to her chest, the way the dagger shifted slightly in her mouth as her jaw clenched around it. She was a feast for his eyes and he intended to savor every bite. 

Finally, he decides to show her mercy and push his fingers further in, careful to move slowly and give her time to adjust. Her eyes blow wide and her head falls back against the tree, giving him a full view of her neck that makes his mouth water. 

Next time, he thinks to himself.

His fingers are just barely not too thick for her - the stretching only slightly uncomfortable and otherwise euphoric. He pumps in and out at a lazy pace at first, quickening over time as he feels her fully adjust after a while. She’s perfectly tight, her velvet walls clenching his fingers with every plunge into her depths. He can barely think straight, all rational thought having left him ages ago. All that he can think now is how badly he wishes it were his cock in her rather than his fingers - but as he’d told her, good things come to those who wait. 

She feels herself creeping ever closer to her peak as his movements become more and more rhythmic and deliberate, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit as his fingers piston in and out, hitting all of the right spots and driving her wild. Her body is buzzing, her legs trembling. She wants to resist how incredible this all feels, but gods, does it feel incredible. 

Everything that comes after this is a problem for later, right now, all she wants is to—

“Aah!” She yelps as he curls his fingers, the dagger slipping from her mouth and thankfully dropping to the ground beside them. 

He grins, continuing his ministrations. “Are you gonna come, pet?” 

She takes her bottom lip in between her teeth, scared to say yes in fear that he may stop and deprive her of her release just to spite her.

“Answer me.” He commands, his voice coming out as a low growl. 

She reluctantly nods.

“Use your words. Answer me.”

“Y-yes. Gods, yes. Just… don’t stop.” She whines, trying her damnedest for it not to come out as a beg, but rather a command. It was mildly successful.

To her surprise, he speeds up the pace, pumping in and out of her hard and fast - the way she so desperately craved it. She feels herself right at the edge, her orgasm impending - he can tell, as she writhes and whimpers over him. Just as he can tell she’s about to hit the peak, he stops. 

She keens at the sudden loss of friction and movement, her walls clenching down around his fingers even harder, her cunt throbbing and dripping onto his hand. 

“Why…” Is all she manages to say, her breathing ragged and her chest heaving.

“I want you to come on my mouth.” 

That alone could have sent her over the edge. 

She nods fervently, her hips bucking forward toward his face. 

He considers punishing her for being too hasty and too eager, but he couldn’t care less any more to keep up the game - he needs to taste her. He needs to devour her. 

He moves his thumb, making way for his tongue to replace it. He expertly strokes his tongue across her folds, her essence sweet and tangy on his taste buds. He swipes across her clit, causing her to jerk into his mouth, a string of incoherent curses leaving her lips. 

She drops the fabric of her shirt and threads her fingers through his hair once again, gripping it almost painfully. He groans against her, the vibrations of his voice against her causing her to see stars. 

He lifts her shirt out of his way once again, mouth never breaking from her, and growls in frustration at the piece of fabric that kept dropping into his face. Taking his growl as a silent command, she rips the fabric over her head and tosses it aside, now completely naked and bare to him as well as the cool night air.

His eyes widened at the sight of her, finally getting a full view of her breasts and the rest of her that was previously unrevealed to him. He breaks away from her cunt for a moment, both hands moving to palm her full breasts. 

“You are exquisite.” 

She’d almost prefer if he’d insult her, be cruel to her, say the worst things he can think of - that way she wouldn’t have to grapple with these new feelings that are bubbling up to the surface at how generous of a lover he’s proven to be, when only minutes prior she was sure that they shared a mutual hatred for each other. Maybe he was just putting on a show for her, like he always did. 

Yes. He’s putting on a show. He has to be, she thinks. 

She hisses through her teeth when he finally brings his mouth and hand back to her mound, wasting no time in resuming his prior crusade to make her come, pumping his fingers at a punishing pace, his tongue circling her clit in tandem. He keeps his free hand on her breast, pinching her nipple hard, causing her to roll her hips into his face. 

“That’s it, love. Take what you need.” 

For fucks sake, he’s going to be the death of me. 

His words, his mouth, and his dexterous fingers are a wicked combination - every single movement, every single word, every lap at her needy cunt is nearly too much for her to bear as she uses every bit of her remaining strength to keep from crumbling into a heap in the dirt. 

As requested by him, she continues to rock her hips forward, grinding down onto his fingers and mouth, his fingers hitting all the right places to drive her over the edge. She grips at his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his ruffled evening shirt, chest heaving as she creeps ever closer once again, and silently prays he has mercy on her this time. 

“Astarion, I’m—“

“I know, love. Come for me,” he says, muffled with his mouth still tongue deep in her. 

As if on command, she shatters, tumbling over the edge into free fall towards the hardest orgasm she’s had in months, perhaps even years. 

Her body shakes and writhes as she gushes on his tongue, but he doesn’t slow his movements, still pumping into her as she rides out her orgasm, pangs of unbridled pleasure crashing over her like tidal waves.

Her legs quiver, the leg that she was using to stand begins to buckle at the knee as all strength she’d had left from the day has finally been sapped from her body. She slowly slides down the tree into his lap, eyes closed and still reeling. 

She manages to weakly tilt her head forward, looking him in the eye for the first time with new eyes - unsure what that meant for her yet. She was half sure that she still hated him. Half. 

He grins at her, his own chest still heaving as he catches his breath, ruby irises lighter than before, a look in his eyes that she doesn’t quite recognize. 

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been dying to do that since the day I met you.” He says, popping his fingers into his mouth and licking her slick off. 

She swallows hard at the sight, her still sore and sensitive core starting to flutter again as he licks his fingers clean. 

“I still don’t like you, you know. You’ll have to do more than make me orgasm to change my mind.” She says, her tone unusually calm and amicable toward him despite her words. 

“Oh darling, who said we had to like each other to do that? In fact, I think it makes it all the more thrilling.” He brings his hand up to her cheek, gently caressing it and swiping his thumb across it. 

She puffs air out of her nose, a wry smile on her lips. “Who says we’re going to do that again?”

He grins, bringing his still wet lips and face closer to hers, his breath smelling strongly of a mixture of her essence, wine, and a bitter metallic smell that was undeniably blood - she assumes he hunted not too long before he joined her in the woods. 

“You can hate me all you want, my sweet, but I know that nobody has ever made you feel the way that I do. It’ll only be a matter of time before you’re crawling back into my bedroll, begging for another taste.” He taunts, his voice in that same low and sultry tone he did so well, the one that he knew had the power to melt anybody right into his hands. 

She narrows her eyes for a brief moment - then an idea flits into the back of her mind, a mischievous smile following suit. The game was now set, and she was ready to play. 

“We’ll see who begs who first, darling.” 

part two - ♡︎

#this was a wild ride #lmk if u like it hehe #astarion #astarion ancunin #spawn astarion #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #if u squint #enemies to lovers #idk what else to tag this lol #my fics #aat

[closetofcuriosities]

#t shirt #movie #white #martin scorsese #the king of comedy #robert de niro #aat #and after that

[littlealienproducts]

Cute & Bright Illustrations and Stationery by geeniejay

#geeniejay #stationery #supplies #stickert #stickers #sticker #washi tape #aat #cat #mushroom

[lisahafey]

#AAT are back in my IG targeted ads #Crown Prince Azi Of Egypt #Samson Kayo #oluwande boodhari #oluwande #Olu #our flag means death #OFMD #OFMD s1 #the hoity toity party #OFMD meta #AAT #finance #business man #investment #oluwande boodhari as I live and breathe

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet Sunday

Tagged by @monsterrae1 for a six or seven sentence sunday… and sharing again a bit of the andromeda re-write due to circumstances 🙃. thanks for the tag lovely!

Tagging with no pressure @quietborderline @tkwritesdumbassassins @alyxmastershipper @outtoshatter @westernlarch @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry @megasaurus-regina and anyone else who wants to play along.

Banner by radio chatter, chapter art is mine.

Title: An Andromeda Tale, Book One, Chapter One—rewrite edition (DRAFT).

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda

Pairing: Endgame MRyder (Reyes Vidal/Scott Ryder) various others

Fic Summary:

Scott Ryder never saw his life going this way, not that anyone ever asked him his opinion. Now he's pathfinder with too many people depending on his young shoulders and trying to figure out what he actually wants for himself. Reyes Vidal, man of mystery, former pilot and now sometimes smuggler. Who knows where he came from or his motivations but he's come to Andromeda to change his destiny. What neither Scott nor Reyes could have predicted is what their lives would be once they came to Andromeda.

Tags/warnings: this is a revised first draft—meaning that things are probably still going to change further. I’ve aged up both Reyes and Scott for this fic by a few years (not hugely).

2818 CE July 2nd

Reyes Vidal, Shuttle Pilot, callsign Anubis 

Location: Andromeda Initiative Shuttle

Status: Increasingly concerned about Initiative short and long term viability

Things were not going as they were supposed to. It's been six months since the engineering and transportation crews awakened to find that the planned arrival in Heleus had not gone according to plan. This was followed by more awakenings than were reasonable, given the dire supply situation. 

A major blow was dealt to the Initiative when the Nexus crashed into the Scourge. Jien Garson and several other high-ranking administrators had all perished in the accident, leaving the Andromeda Initiative without an experienced guiding hand to see them through what had been anticipated to be a critical moment. 

The current administration had made the questionable decision to awaken more and more people than they should have. The resources available with the hydroponics farms were significantly reduced as the entire section had been damaged in the collision that had halted the Nexus—or perhaps the awakenings were not part of the administration's plan if rumors were true about the unauthorized awakenings. 

Decisions coming from the top were slow and of questionable value. Tensions were running at an all-time high between the security and administration teams and everyone else as supplies continued to run low or go missing. Hoarding was starting to be reported, and two humans had been punished severely by security last week for hiding rations.  

Reyes had been one of the first pilots awakened to run exploration teams to and from different planets and had a first-person view of how bleak things were on that front. He'd been the pilot of one of the eight expeditions to explore worlds to see if they were habitable. The system and planet he'd been sent to was a barren wasteland without a breathable atmosphere. 

Two days ago, there had been an announcement from the administration suggesting that people needed to start volunteering to be put back in cryosleep or there would be mandatory re-entrants. 

No one had volunteered, and the atmosphere on the Nexus had been balancing on a knife's edge since. 

Supplies would run out within two months at current usage rates, and selective rationing and meal skipping had been in enforcement for the last two shipboard weeks. Sloane's security forces had been harassing the scientists, who were barely restrained as Corvannis and his cohorts spread malcontent and disagreement with the admins among the other personnel.  

Repetitive threats from the "professional" security staff run by Sloane Kelly had encouraged him to keep his head down and out of the trouble brewing as a valuable pilot with a military background. It wasn't hard to read the tea leaves that a power struggle was going on way over his head. 

The scientist team he'd just picked up from Eos had a defeated air around them and were quiet on the transport despite attempts from the administrative analyst to engage them in idle conversation. Not all of the team had left—three scientists insisted on staying no matter what the analyst had said. 

Leaving the three scientists behind had left a bad taste in his mouth. Reyes wondered if he was leaving them to die on the planet. The last attempt from the analyst to get them to get in the shuttle—that he'd overheard—had been a threat that no further help would be coming and that staying was a death sentence from either the environment or the hostile alien raiders. 

That threat finally got the scientists and engineers to mostly pack it in. As they boarded the shuttle, every one of them refused to make eye contact with Reyes or his co-pilot, Kenax.

He wasn't supposed to have heard what the analyst said. He wasn't supposed to have heard a lot of things lately. 

Scuttlebutt had it that the administration was going to employ the Krogan as mercenaries if things got worse. Reyes had never had a problem with a Krogan and didn't want to find out how painful a disagreement with one could become. His limited interactions with Kesh aside, he'd rather not get anyone's attention that way. 

Entering the course corrections for the Nexus, Reyes takes a deep breath before making eye contact with Kenax. For a Turian, Kenax is a solid pilot with an eye for barely staying on this side of trouble and a penchant for discussing the merits of different sniper rifles. Reyes hasn't worked with many Turians before Andromeda, but it appears that Turian stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. 

Kenax taps on Reyes' wrist as he finishes inputting the course correction. "Be careful when we get back," he says while glancing significantly back toward the hold where the analyst is trying to get the most senior scientist to engage with him in discussing his favorite types of cheese loudly. 

As if there is any more cheese to be had left on the Nexus to dream about eating.  

Reyes would consider crime if it got him some cheese instead of another chalky protein bar that claimed to taste like chocolate. 

"I plan to stay out of things," Reyes murmurs back.  

"Before we left, there was talk of a meeting to discuss things without admin present—I'd stay away if I was us," Kenax returned his attention afterward flight display. "Us pilots need to stay out of the gunfight when it starts. There'll be enough of a mess to pick up afterward."

"I thought all Turians were genetically inclined to trouble and gunfights…."

Kenax's mandibles flare in the turian version of a smile, stretching the three vertical black lines of his colony marks on the right side of his face until they are crooked. "Us Turians like odds in our favor and keeping our friends at our backs. Kaetus—Sloane's pet—has been implying something will happen soon."

"I'm glad it's you referring to him as her pet and not me," Reyes says with a mischievous and flirtatious wink that he knows Kenax won't take seriously. "I'm going to stay out of things. I plan on helping out the engineering teams with the hydroponics repairs when we get back since the life support repairs are mostly done. It's not like there's any shortage of repairs that a part-time mechanic can't help with."

Not taking the bait, Kenax flares his mandibles into an even bigger smile that resembles staring at a friendly shark. "Yes, your tendency to get completely covered in grease and oil while repairing all things mechanical should keep you out of trouble. It's a good thing I'm not your type. But stay out of the levels below Operations for the next few days."

Exchanging knowing looks, Reyes focuses on the nav panel as they make multiple small jumps to navigate around the odd dark energy tendrils that ensnared Heleus back to the Nexus. 

Reyes trusts that Kenax's connections as a Turian are probably a lot more accurate than the reluctantly forced camaraderie that exists between the three human pilots he shares quarters with. he generally spends more time with Kenax than with the other humans as they have been hot racking until 'more resources can be secured' and more living units provided with power and water. 

Neither Reyes nor Kenax speaks further. They worked well as a team despite never having met before arriving in Heleus and being assigned co-pilots. 

When they reach the limits of Nexus flight control, Reyes hails the flight deck and gets assigned a docking bay which they then guide their shuttle into with minimal fuss and effort. 

As they unstrap from the pilot cradle, Kenax gives Reyes one more significant look before darting his eyes to the human analyst in the back, who was now escorting the scientists out of the airlock and into the bay. "Stay out of trouble, my friend. There are dark clouds on the horizon."

Feeling a forbidding chill that causes a shiver to run down his back, Reyes nods and clasps hands with Kenax in farewell. "And you stay out of it as well, my friend." 

Pausing at the end of the airlock, Reyes watches as his passengers all exit the bay under the close watch of the analyst and several security guards. There is a general lack of people in the area, which is unusual. 

Something is up. 

Kenax glances back again, wondering why Reyes hasn't followed, then turns around and follows the guards out of the bay without drawing attention to Reyes' remaining behind. 

Returning to the shuttle, Reyes grabs his old flight jacket from where he had stowed in his pilot's chair compartment during their preflight checks. It was his Uncle's old leather jacket and is frayed at the cuffs, and he could get a newer Initiative-branded one; however, Reyes swears it still smells of home even though he'd left home behind for Andromeda six hundred and some odd years ago. 

The jacket is one of his few personal possessions and had taken up almost a quarter of the limited extra weight allowance he was granted as a lowly pilot. Pulling the jacket on over his flight suit, he grabs his small flight pack and hits the latch to close the shuttle airlock, initiating shutdown and sleep mode for the engines. 

As the shuttle settles into an electronic version of sleep, he hurries away toward hydroponics instead of stopping at his quarters like he usually would upon returning to Nexus. 

Something tells him to keep his limited personal possessions on him for now and to stay out of the more populated areas where people liked to gather and discuss the ongoings of the administration.

#an andromeda tale #rewrite edition #Snippet sunday #revised first draft #Mreyder #reyes vidal #scott ryder #mass effect andromeda #mea #AAT

[uselessmonsterboy]

Also hi have a snack of fic warm ups i swear this fic isnt dead

#mute tones #aat #update post

[sw5w]

What the —

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 02:03:37

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo #Great Grass Plains #Battle of Naboo #Battle of the Great Grass Plains #Jar Jar Binks #general command storage #unidentified battle droid #B1 infantry battle droid #receiver assembly casing #standby mode #backpack clamp #Gallo Mountains #unidentified militiagung #unidentified Gungan #AAT #Captain Roos Tarpals #Armored Assault Tank Mk I

[simeonscott]

Take cover!

#star wars #star wars toys #star wars micro galaxy squadron #micro galaxy squadron #microfigures #microgalaxysquadron #star wars the clone wars #AAT #Battle Tank #Droid Army #Yoda #Clone Trooper #captain fordo #R2D2 #Astro Mech #Toys #Tank #my photo #toy photos #toy photography #figure photography #custom diorama #the vacuuminator #modular media #toys #podcast #figurephotography

[toodamnninja]

Lego Star Wars Advent Calendar day 11: A microscale Clone Wars era Armored Assault Tank (AAT)

#Lego #Star Wars #advent calendar #Clone Wars #Armoured Assault Tank #AAT #phoTOYgraphy

[aatnobnod]

#aat #nnnnnnnn #photo #life #metamystique #art #inspiration #inspiring quotes #quotes #spiritualhealing #love beyond infinity #universe #metatron

[sometimes-lemons]

🌅

#SORRY I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST THIS HERE #ace attorney #aa trilogy #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #aat #nrmt #narumitsu #trans phoenix wright

[loviatarsluv]

An Acquired Taste (3)

"Things we buried low

Coming to the surface now, my love

You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game”

gif by @cheekylittlepupp ♡︎

Astarion x AFAB f!tav oc (Aelia) [third person]

rating: mature

CW: injury, hurt/comfort (sort of), blood drinking, angst, mentions of death

a/n: listen I know sucking the poison out of someone’s blood doesn’t actually work but let’s just pretend it does for the sake of astarion doing something he thinks is helpful it’s such a rare occurance as it is!!! also next chapter is gonna be the grove party!!! things are happening!!!!

in summary: aelia gets injured during a skirmish with some gnolls and astarion feels conflicted aka these two need to just actually communicate for once for christs sake !!!

word count: 7.4K

Fighting a group of gnolls toward the end of a long and draining day of exploring perhaps wasn’t the most brilliant idea any of them ever had. 

Not that it was really optional regardless— once a gnoll picks up your scent, there’s only one way to get them off your tail. Nasty creatures. 

Aelia was struggling to keep up with one of the smaller and faster gnolls, her usually agile feet betraying her as she stumbled over the charred corpse of the gnoll that Karlach had just decimated. The smaller gnoll takes advantage of her lapse in focus and her slowed movements due to her burning and exhausted muscles and lunges toward her, grabbing her by the throat and raising her into the air, looking into her eyes with cloudy and bloodshot eyes as it unleashes a guttural roar.

She claws at the creature's grasp, then reaches for her dagger at her hip— and much to her horror, finds it missing. She tries to scream out to anyone in earshot, only for a weak and strangled noise to leave her lips instead. Just as the gnoll brings its other paw up to finish her off, an arrow pierces through the arm that had been holding her, her body dropping to the ground in a limp heap as its grip releases. 

The gnoll stumbles backward howling in pain, then begins to search the area for the source of the arrow, turning frantically and seeking out whomever it now directed its rage at. 

Aelia gasps in short bursts, her breath struggling to return to her. Her chest feels heavy and she feels her vision beginning to black out, her left arm feeling as though it had been lit on fire. She grunts in anger as the gnoll’s focus returns to her, letting out another rageful roar as it yanks the arrow out of its forearm. 

Just as the beast begins to charge toward her once again, she hears the sound of metal scraping across the cobblestone, then sees the flash of a dagger being slid toward her— her lost dagger. Before she can determine from whom, she grabs it with just enough time to leap up and plunge it into the neck of the charging gnoll, but not before it gets a good swipe at her with its razor sharp claws across her chest. She cries in agony, then unsheaths the knife from the beast’s flesh but only to plunge it once more, this time through its skull. 

The creature’s limp body drops to the ground with a loud thud that echoes against the large rocks and boulders that surround them, her  own body falling to the pavement along with it. She quickly rolls away from it, her head accidentally hitting the stone a little too hard and her vision blurs and loses focus for a moment. 

She lay there motionless while the chaos that was the majority of the party still finishing off the rest of the gnolls rages on— beginning to wonder if this would be what finally did it. A fight with a simple gnoll would be her end. After having fought cambions in the hells, mindflayers aboard an illithid vessel, fuck, even a beholder once before all of this— Tsk. Pathetic. 

Just as her eyes flutter closed and she feels herself beginning to fade, she hears heavy footsteps running toward her, the sound of metal gear clunking and people murmuring as they approach her. 

“Shit, she’s fading fast. Does anyone have a healing potion?” A male voice says frantically— one that if she had been more than slightly conscious would have both irritated her and made her stomach flip and churn with a thousand different emotions that she’d rather not attempt to dissect, even in this state of potential death. 

“We used the last one earlier today,” a female voice replies forlornly— likely Shadowheart. 

“You are a cleric, surely there’s something you can do about this.” He growls, irritation and… something else in his voice, something she chooses to ignore.

She feels a gloved hand grab her arm and manipulate it gently to inspect it, a fiery and searing pain tearing through her from the slightest of movement. She hisses and her body begins to writhe weakly, the pain gripping her and dragging her further and further away from consciousness. 

“Shit,” Shadowheart whispers, gently dropping Aelia’s arm back to her side. “Poison.” 

Another loud set of footsteps clambers over to them— Karlach. 

“What the fuck happened?!” She shouts, worry evident in her booming voice. 

“We need to get her back to camp, or—”

“Grove.” She weakly interrupts, her throat feeling dry as a bone in contrast to the thin layer of sweat coating her body as a fever sets in. 

The three of them exchange glances between each other, Shadowheart giving a tight nod to Karlach before her loud footfalls disappear once again. Sounds were no longer clear, they were muffled and faint unless they were very loud, and she felt herself slowly drifting off. 

“Darling…not a good place… nap,” She hears, losing a few of the words in the inky abyss that was her brain right now. She wants to respond with a snarky remark, only because she knows that it was Astarion that said it due to the use of his favorite pet name. 

She isn’t sure if it’s the delirium or maybe the poison in her veins, but something in her wants to reach out for him. To touch him. Just to ground herself, maybe. He was solid, he was something tangible and real, despite his looks betraying that fact— half of the time she swore maybe he was just a beautiful tadpole induced hallucination. 

So she does. She can’t see him clearly, but she finds him based on his presence and blurry visage, her hand weakly gripping onto his arm. She sighs when she feels his cool skin against her palm. 

“So…cold,” she whines, taking a shallow breath between words, and the effort of uttering just two words felt as if she’d fought off another gnoll. 

She doesn’t hear it, not well at least, but he chuckles softly. He places his other hand over hers, something in him stirring that feels entirely alien and strange. He didn’t even have a word for it. But it was there, and it was gnawing at his insides in a way that made him feel sick. 

“Ast—”

“Stop. Talking,” He shushes her, his tone sharp but not cruel. “You’ll tire yourself out. I need you to stay awake for just a few more minutes, can you do that?” 

She tries to respond wordlessly, attempting to nod her head, or shake it, or something— but any and all movement felt as if she had restraints covering every inch of her body and holding her firmly in place, each and every one of her limbs feeling as though they weighed a million pounds. She goes limp, her hand slipping off of his and falling onto the rough cobblestone. 

She sinks into the abyss, exhaustion finally winning over her attempts to remain conscious. Everything disappears into the void, except one last hardly audible word from Astarion that she couldn't even comprehend.

~

“Aelia,” he prods her, hoping the sound of her name would keep the attention of her brain for just a bit longer, only to receive no response. 

His entire body freezes— he could still hear her heartbeat, despite how meager and slow it was, he could see her chest still rising and falling, and yet… 

Fear. That’s what it was. 

He felt fear. An emotion he was not at all unfamiliar with, but one that usually only extended to his own wellbeing. And yet, as he sits beside her— this beautiful and now broken creature that he found so immensely fascinating— and watches her grip on her own mortality beginning to slip and falter, he feels terrified. 

She was the group leader, after all. She was the face of this entire endeavor, the voice and the charge. Where would that leave him and the other five of their companions if she were to…? He sighs deeply, the breath coming out ragged and shakily. No, that won’t happen, he won’t let it. 

Suddenly, his shoulders straighten and his mind races with a potentially very stupid idea. 

He looks down at her, her already pale and bluish tinted skin an unusually sickly shade, her face glistening with a sparkly sheen from sweat and her dark hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks. Her dry and cracked lips are parted as she takes very shallow and pathetic breaths. His eyes darted to the gash in her arm— he could smell the poison. A putrid and rotten smell that he was certain was a poison even he was unfamiliar with— surely something exclusive to gnolls. He takes a deep breath, then very gently and carefully moves her arm, leaning over her body. 

“Aelia,” he whispers, placing a hand on her clammy cheek, trying to get any sort of response from her. He shakes her face just a little, and her eyelids make a feeble attempt at opening. His shoulders sink. “Shit.” He breathes. Time was running out. 

Where the hells did everyone go and what was taking them so long?! 

He glances around, searching for any sign of any familiar movements or footsteps, only hearing the breeze whistling through the trees and the melodic calls of the local birds and various other animals. He could still hear her heartbeat. Faintly, but just barely audible to him nonetheless. 

There was no more time to waste. He had to do this now or not at all. Before he can stop himself, he quickly presses his lips to the jagged wound in her arm and begins to suck. 

The taste is terrible— a vast contrast to her untainted blood that she so graciously allowed him to taste a few nights prior— it was sour and absolutely vile, yet somehow still a step above the dead rats he was used to feeding on for the last couple of centuries. He suckled at the wound for a few more short moments, before finally pulling away and quickly spitting the polluted liquid out beside him, trying not to heave along with it. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then wipes it off on his pants and quickly presses two fingers to her pulse point, sighing when he notices no change in her heart rate. 

He knows that simply sucking the poison out of one of her various wounds wouldn’t miraculously bring her back to her full and lively self—and damn the part of him that wishes it would, so she'd sit up and say something snarky or cruel to him, like she often did. He wants to scoop her up and carry her back to camp and tuck her away in the safest corner of the small piece of land they’d claimed as their own— the group, he means, of course— but he knew if he tried to move her it would be clumsy and painful for her. It would hurt more than it would help. 

Gods, he hated this feeling. This stupid, idiotic feeling in his chest. 

He reminds himself that this simply a survival response— she was crucial to his survival. He’d already made such progress on his original plan, and if she were to die, he’d be right back at square one. That thought alone was agonizing. And not to mention, he knew for a fact that no one else in the group would possibly feed into his bullshit— she was his one shot. 

It was entirely selfish. He was selfish. 

But he repeats to himself what had been somewhat of a mantra to him for the past two centuries— I did what I had to do. I do what I have to do. 

No matter the way it causes bile to rise in his throat at the thought of it all. 

At long last, he hears footsteps approaching behind him long before they ever come into view, but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t take his eyes off of her. Even when Wyll and Karlach approach them, he watches Wyll scoop her body up with ease, essentially ignoring the vampire crouched beside her. He follows them with his eyes as he slowly stands and trails after them. 

“Can you at least attempt to be subtle about your bloodlust?” Shadowheart seethes, gripping his arm and yanking him back. He reacts lightning quick, flinging her hand off of him and reaching for his dagger. 

“What are you talking about?” He barks back, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, hand hovering over his blade. 

“She’s on the brink of death and you just couldn’t control yourself,” she says, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “There’s blood on your mouth.” 

He sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’d likely be dead right now if I hadn’t— I-I sucked the poison out of her blood. You and that oaf were taking your sweet time getting back here, so I figured something was better than nothing.” 

The half-elf eyes him up and down, a deep scowl on her features. She can tell he’s being truthful, yet she just cannot let go of the boiling feeling of distrust in her gut. “I don’t trust your intentions. Not with her, and frankly, not with anything. Watch yourself, spawn.” 

Astarion chuckles humorlessly, offering her a challenging smirk. “What, are you jealous? Darling, if you want something, do not be afraid to ask.” 

She scoffs. “I would sooner kiss the gith on the mouth.” 

“Ooh, please do let me know before you attempt— I’ve no doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to behead you for even trying. Might make for an entertaining evening.” He teases, nonchalantly checking his nails. They were filthy. Ugh. 

Shadowheart rolls her eyes and turns to trail after Wyll and Karlach, Aelia dangling lifelessly in the warlock’s arms. 

Astarion watches them for a moment before finally following, the weight of not knowing whether she would wake again settling back into his chest and gripping at his undead heart as if it were in a vice. 

It had to work. Something had to work.

~

She wakes slowly, the harsh sunlight peeking in through the flap to whatever tent she was currently in— she assumed it was her own, but with how blurry her vision still was and how blinding the morning… afternoon? Whatever time it was— the sun was bright as all hells. 

She shifts, making a bold attempt to sit up, only to cry out in pain as she is reminded of the giant wounds still on her chest. They’d clearly been cleaned and dressed while she was unconscious, and she can’t help but wonder who had done it. She figured Shadowheart was a safe bet as the group’s only cleric, and smiled to herself. As much as they butted heads, she knew above all, Shadowheart seemed to truly care for her, in a way that she wasn’t entirely sure she deserved.

She hears a couple different sets of hurried footsteps outside her tent before the shadow of someone peeking their head in her tent blocks her from the sun. She silently thanks whatever god for it as she becomes aware of the incessant pounding in her head. 

“I heard shouting, are you alright?” Shadowheart asks, concern laced in her tone. She offers her a tight lipped smile. 

“I’m alive, if that counts for anything.” She half jokes, an unenthusiastic chuckle escaping her as she tries to ease the tension. 

She didn’t want anyone fussing over her, she didn’t need it. She didn’t need to be coddled— she survived this long without anyone giving her a second thought, so she’d continue to do so— despite her appreciation for any efforts on her companions’ parts and the lengths that were clearly gone to to ensure her survival, otherwise she would’ve been gnoll chow. 

Ugh. She really fucking hates gnolls. 

Shadowheart heaves a sigh of relief, then grimaces as a red and fiery hand pushes against her thankfully armored shoulder and shoves her aside. Karlach peeks her head in, her longer and still intact horn catching clumsily on the tent. Aelia giggles, then grimaces from the pain in her chest once again.

“There you are, soldier! Fuck, I was starting to get worried!” The tiefling chirps, her eyes wide and filled with delight. Aelia thinks how she wishes she could give her the biggest hug in the world, and how she certainly gives incredible hugs when she’s not literally burning to the touch.

“Takes— ah — lot more than a measly gnoll to take me out,” she grunts, once again attempting to shift her body as she feels the intense stiffness in her neck. How long had she been out? “How long was I asleep?”

Shadowheart peeks her head back in, forcing Karlach to shove aside once again. “About a day, none of us wanted to wake you. Figured you needed as much rest as possible.” 

Her head falls back, anxiety gripping her as she realizes she’d lost so much time. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry, nothing spectacular happened while you were out. We did go to the grove and raid the healer’s stash and nearly got caught, thanks to the only other rogue aside from you refusing to leave camp.” The half-elf groans, rolling her eyes. 

Oh.

Why is her heart beating so much faster now? Surely an after effect of whatever healing potions they gave her while she was out, right? 

“S-sounds like him,” she unconvincingly jokes. “Always leaving the dirty work up to someone else.” 

Shadowheart narrows her eyes at her companion, then sighs. “I suppose I should tell you that you may not still be here without him. That poison—” she points to her left arm which was snugly wrapped in blood soaked bandages. “Well, let’s say his vampirism came in handy for once.” 

Aelia swallows hard, her throat sore and feeling as if she’d swallowed a dozen daggers. A pit forms in her stomach, and she wishes it would just swallow the rest of her whole. 

“Oh.” 

Shadowheart gives her a strangely sympathetic look in contrast to the previously sour expression on her face. As if she understands the turmoil boiling in Aelia’s gut— as if she’d experienced it herself before. 

“Do you need anything right now? Hungry? I’m sure Gale would be happy to warm up some breakfast for you.” She shifts the conversation, and Aelia is thankful. More thankful than she could ever tell her. 

“Um— no, no. I’m okay. Thank you.” She offers, despite the rumbling in her gut. She fears if she attempted to put anything in her stomach that it would only come back up, and figures hunger would be a safer bet. 

Shadowheart nods in affirmation, then without another word retreats back to her own tent, leaving Aelia in silence with only her own hurricane of thoughts and questions brewing in her head to keep her company. 

Why would Astarion do that? Why would he risk himself for her, when she was sure he didn’t even actually like her? He just liked to torture her, to mess with her. She was easy entertainment for him. Nothing more. 

Not to mention, he wasn’t exactly the save you from dying at the last second type— generally speaking, he was usually more than willing to leave people to their peril, no matter what or whom it was. 

She shakes her head, dismissing whatever stupid ship of thought her mind had begun to sail on. She knew trying to understand him was a futile task— he was generally unreadable behind his perfectly poised and practiced persona. He could say one thing, then do something that completely contradicts his own words the next second and vice versa. It was pointless to dwell, as she was certain she’d likely never receive an answer to any of her questions. 

Which was fine. Completely fine. 

She was absolutely going to drop it. 

~

The sun had already begun to set before she finally (and very clumsily) made her way out of her tent, cursing quietly. 

She glances around, seeing each of her companions meandering and tending to their usual nightly activities and feeling strangely thankful for it. Strangely thankful that she gets another night with this very strange group of people that she had begun to feel an unfamiliar fondness for. She wasn’t used to feeling comfortable or even accepted in any sort of community— she’d always been more solitary. It was easier that way. Less to keep up with, less to worry about. Less chance of getting anyone mixed up in her tumultuous life. Less chance of her getting hurt in ways that actually mattered. 

She catches a flash of silver hair out of the corner of her eye, and turns to catch sight of Astarion just as he ducks into his own tent. 

She sighs. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more— to pretend that Shadowheart had never told her what he’d done for her and feign ignorance, or ask him why. And depending on his answer, possibly even thank him. If she felt generous enough by the time the conversation concluded, that is. 

Without her brain commanding her legs to do so, she’s walking in the direction of his blood red tent just a few paces away from hers, stopping just outside of the closed and sealed flap. 

She debates for a moment. Perhaps the closed tent was a sign that maybe now wasn’t a good time, maybe it was a bad idea to even come over here, gods why did she ever come over here?

“I can hear you out there,” his voice calls to her from inside his tent with a huff, almost as if her mere presence was already exasperating for him. 

Her face falls to a frown, and the urge to turn and walk away is strong. Very strong. In fact, maybe she should just—

“Is everything alright?” He asks, his voice softer in contrast with his previous tone. It’s enough to stop her in her tracks. 

Her shoulders sink and she turns around to find him now outside of his tent, staring down at her intently, a nearly imperceptible amount of concern in his ruby irises. 

She pauses, suddenly even more unsure of why she ever left the comfort of her tent to begin with.

“Um— I just… Shadowheart told me. What you did.” 

Stupid. 

He looks at her, his expression shifting from an earnest and concerned expression to a grimace that almost seemed pained. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and averts his gaze from her. 

“And?” He asks, his tone sounding as if he were offended by the mere mention of his good deed. 

She blinks at him, confused by his strange back and forth between care and irritation.

“Why?” The only word that had been playing in her head over and over since this morning. 

He sighs, his impeccable posture faltering for less than the blink of an eye before he corrects himself and shrugs. “You’re no good to anyone dead.”

That wasn’t the answer she hoped for. What answer was she even hoping for? Whatever it was, it wasn’t that. 

“Why would you risk yourself like that for me, you could’ve waited for everyone to get back, I’m sure I—“ 

“I’m undead, darling. It’ll take more than a lick of poison to finish me off. Besides, I spit it out. While I’d hate to waste a drop of your blood, it was tainted. For more reasons than one.” He explains, the last sentence more so under his breath than completely audible. 

“Well… just…” she sighs for what felt like the millionth time since being in his presence, despite how much it made her still wounded chest ache. “You don’t have to do that, you know?” 

His nonchalance was beginning to piss her off. He looked as if this conversation were the most dull and unnecessary thing in the world. He looked bored. 

“We're even now.” He says simply, his gaze settling on something behind her, then flicking back to her face. “A simple thank you wouldn’t go amiss, though.” 

A flash of a memory from a few nights ago when she’d allowed him to drink from her when he was starving presents itself to the forefront of her mind. Somehow she’d almost forgotten, and hadn’t even considered that as a reason for him to do something like this. Then a wave of guilt washes over her. 

“I didn’t do that for you with the expectation of reciprocation on your end. You never owed me.” She says, and hearing the words coming from her own mouth makes her heart ache knowing they were words she’d never been told herself. There was always a catch, in her experience. There was always an expectation of repayment. Nothing was ever free. 

His face is unreadable. Somewhere between thankful and rageful, but it’s impossible to determine whether it was more one or the other, no explanation for either within reach. 

“Well, you are welcome nevertheless. Goodnight.” He says, his tone sharp but deadpanned, as if he had to physically restrain himself from saying anything more before retreating back into his tent and closing it off, his impenetrable walls now sixty stories high. 

The night feels several degrees colder after their icy exchange. She stands there for a few more minutes as she attempts to recover mentally— she rarely ever left an interaction with Astarion feeling anything less than lost, but this was something else entirely. They still didn’t particularly get along, despite the strange and physically intimate side of their… acquaintance may be the best word for whatever it was. But prior to this conversation, things had almost begun to feel lighter. More akin to a friendly rivalry, versus bitter resentment. 

The lightness had now subsided— a dark fog of dread now loomed over the tiny red tent that he had retreated into and she stood outside, unsure whether to run away or try to make amends. 

Gods, who was she kidding? Just because he saved her, she wanted to kiss and make up with him? He said it himself— it was nothing more than an act out of obligation, nothing more and nothing less. It was not for her benefit, it was to clear his own selfish and arrogant conscience. 

Old habits truly do die hard. 

She begins to back away slowly, watching his shadow disappear as he blows out the candle inside his tent, plunging it into darkness and effectively serving as a not so polite fuck off from him to her. Duly noted. Message received. 

She grumbles a curse under her breath that she’s certain he heard, with his stupid freaky vampire hearing, and turns to amble away and back to her own tent and perhaps stay there for the rest of eternity. 

The prospect of permanent solitude would certainly be far preferable to having to face him again in the morning. 

Just as she reaches the threshold of the comfort of her tent that was just screaming her name, she hears another voice calling to her from a short distance behind her. She turns cautiously, afraid perhaps her confrontation with the vampire spawn that was the subject of her current ire would come to pass all too soon. She’s relieved when she realizes it’s only Gale. 

He tentatively approaches her, his gaze soft and sympathetic as he looks at her. “How are you feeling?” 

She freezes, unsure how to answer that question. She was breathing, surely feeling physically better than she had when she woke this morning— mentally, though? She was a little worse for wear. 

“Alive,” She shrugs, unable to feign an ounce of optimism. She was bone weary and she knew it was more than obvious. “Are you well?” 

Gale shakes his head, smiling wearily at her redirection. “As well as a potential illithid thrall can be. Though I’m quite happy to see you up and about once again. You gave us all quite the scare.” 

She offers him a halfhearted smile, shifting her weight awkwardly at his earnestness. “Thank you, Gale. Hopefully I can actually be useful once again by morning.” 

He takes a careful step closer, placing a hand ever so gingerly on her shoulder. “Your presence still gracing this camp is more than any one of us could possibly ask for. Go get some rest.” 

Her eyes widened, her heart twinging at his words and his kind outreach of comfort toward her— it felt so alien, to have this group of strangers give a damn whether she drew breath or not. She wasn’t quite sure how to accept such an outpouring of appreciation toward her very being, so she offers him another smile, this one reaching her eyes, and nods. 

“Goodnight, Gale. Thank you.” She utters as she watches the kind-hearted wizard retreat to his tent on the opposite side of the camp, returning the smile she’d given him just before ducking into his tent for the night. 

A long breath releases from her, her entire body shifting with the effort it takes, pain shooting through her still at the motion. She groans, hoping to any and all gods that Shadowheart will be able to properly heal her tomorrow morning, if only to spare her from the unnecessary kindness and concerned looks from her companions. 

Albeit, not all of them. 

-

A full day had passed with little to no interaction between Aelia and Astarion. 

She didn’t mind it, frankly. The more space between the two of them, the better, she thought. The more distance between them, the more she could ignore the pull she felt towards him. The less she saw his face, heard his voice, looked into those damned stupid ruby colored eyes— the better off she was. 

His presence was scarce, sticking to himself even during a small skirmish with a rogue band of goblins on the risen road where he found a high vantage point and picked them off from there, watching his companions from above. She would risk brief glances at the vampire spawn, and their eyes would meet for an instant before she would direct her gaze almost anywhere else other than within reach of his piercing one. 

Despite her best effort, their last conversation lingered in her mind, replaying over and over to a point of insanity. The way his silky voice started off so soft and saccharine as he regarded her, only to harden and turn sour by the end of the encounter. She couldn’t for the life of her connect the dots to determine what had him tilted so instantly— had she really said something so egregiously offensive to him? 

Not that it mattered. It didn’t matter. 

The group was en route toward the goblin village in hopes to find either the Priestess Gut or the druid, Halsin, and likely tear through the entire camp for the sake of the grove and the tieflings’ safe departure. Now was no time to lose focus. Anything other than the goal at hand could be saved for another time. Providing they survived this encounter, if they could ever be so lucky. 

If they were really lucky, they’d even come out the other end tadpole-less. 

Though, she had little reason to believe Lady Tymora was often gracious enough to extend blessings her way. She never had before, why would she now?

The group finally finds the dilapidated and hardly trustworthy bridge that led to the ruined temple of Selune, stopping just before it and exchanging wary glances. Before they can argue about who will go first, Aelia pushes past the rest of the group and steps onto the bridge with one foot, testing it with her weight before stepping carefully across, stopping midway to glance back at her counterparts who watched her with bated breaths. 

“Well?” She challenges them, nodding toward the other side of the bridge expectantly. When no one moves for a few breaths, she rolls her eyes and turns to continue the trek across, the bridge slightly swaying and creaking under her weight. “We’ve come all this way, fought monstrosities— and a flimsy bridge is what gives you lot pause? Tsk.” 

The group is silent apart from a sudden chortle from Astarion as he pushes through the group and follows suit. “Let's get this bloodbath over with, shall we?” 

He joins her at her side, giving her a sidelong glance and a smirk. She’s unable to entirely hide the shock in her face toward him acknowledging her after an entire day of blatant ignorance. 

“The sooner the better, eh, darling?” 

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, offering no response. 

He sighs, his face softening slightly as he turns to face her fully. “The silent treatment? Really?” 

“A taste of your own poison. Ha, ironic.” She deadpans, in spite of the glossiness of her eyes as water starts to pool in them. Astarion opens his mouth to speak, but it snaps shut as quickly as it opened. She huffs, her shoulder colliding into his as she pushes past him. 

He stands still as a stone for a moment as he watches her trudge forward, an unnamed emotion roiling in his chest. Before he can take a step to chase after her, a hand is clapping against his back, then an arm is slung over his shoulder. 

Astarion breathes deeply, closing his eyes in annoyance. Wyll. 

“What have you done this time, vamp?” He jokes, his jovial tone grating to Astarion’s already pounding brain like the sound of metal scraping stone as Lae’zel sharpened her sword. Every. Night. 

Astarion slips from the Blade’s grip, entirely disregarding his presence and continuing forth, careful to stay a safe distance from their leader as the rest of the companions follow suit. 

Wyll exchanges a glance with the rest of the group, receiving either shrugs or eye rolls as they watch the two push forward, their bodies near each other  as they walk, but their minds and souls could not be further apart. 

-

Once inside the goblin camp, the group splits off into different directions, breaking into pairs, aside from Aelia and Astarion, who each opt to go solo, and Wyll, who joins Shadowheart and Karlach. They planned to reconverge within the hour near the entrance to the temple, each group going their own way to eavesdrop on the goblins’ conversations as they meandered, in an attempt to gather any information they could and also find any weaknesses or vantage points for the battle that was sure to ensue. 

Aelia watches her companions depart, taking note of what direction each of them went in so she’d have an idea of what areas were being covered so she could determine where she should focus her efforts. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of Astarion climbing a ladder that led to the top of what appeared to be a watchtower. Naturally, he chooses the lazy route of it all, opting to observe from above rather than do any actual leg work. Typical. 

She wanders through the crowd of drunken goblin patrons, hardly hearing a coherent word being expressed in between hiccups and belches— until she comes across a strange and somewhat secluded alcove with a large statue of Selunè in the center of it. It’s oddly quiet in this smaller section of the ruins, and strangely unpopulated. It’s littered with random barrels and crates scattered and stacked in complete disarray— even their supplies reflected the chaotic nature of the little beasts. 

Though, with no goblins around to interrupt, there was little stopping her from indulging a bit and helping herself to any useful supplies she could pilfer from the stash. She does a quick sweeping glance to ensure she truly was alone and out of sight of any guards before ducking behind a large haphazardly stacked pile of crates. 

She doesn’t find much, but whatever she deems useful she quietly stashes away in her pack, hoping she won’t regret adding any extra weight to herself in the process. She stands and dusts herself off, wiping her hands on her trousers then pulling her pack back onto her shoulders as her eyes do another sweep of the area for any prying eyes. 

Just as she’s about to move on, she senses a looming presence, watching her, and not from a comfortable distance. The feeling of eyes on her back is as clear as it would be if someone were literally holding a knife to it, and she quickly moves to retrieve both of the daggers attached to each of her hips. She moves deliberately but scarcely so as to not give away her position after she hides behind a large stack of barrels and crates. 

Just as she moves to peek her head out, an arrow soars past her face, missing her just enough to seem intentional. Her brows knit together and she looks in the direction she presumes the arrow came from, just barely catching a glimpse of silver tresses as they duck into the shadows. Her body relaxes slightly, but not entirely as she steps out from the pile. 

“Don’t you have something better to do?” She hisses, annoyance evident in her tone. 

There’s a decently lengthy pause before he appears again, as he gracefully scales down the side of a wall covered in ivy and vines. 

“Don’t you? Shouldn’t our fearless leader be cavorting with goblins and squeezing any bits of useless drivel about this cult that she can wrench out of them?” He retorts, stalking toward her in slow and mocking steps, a smirk on his face. 

She rolls her eyes. “As if you weren’t thinking of doing exactly as I was doing.” 

He chuckles, stepping toward her, then circling her as if he were a bird of prey circling its rodentia feast. “Great minds think alike, darling.” 

“Oh, now you’re trying to flatter me? Your rotten streak knows no bounds, truly,” she grimaces, anger bubbling within her, her face starting to feel hot and her body stiffening. “As if you don’t regret saving me the other day.” 

He stops mid step, his entire body stilling as if he’d been petrified. He stays that way for a moment, contemplating his next words.

“I’ll take your silence and lack of response as confirmation. And honestly, maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll get bested by a worg or a bugbear and you’ll be rid of me at last.” She seethes, turning on her heel and beginning to march away, a hand on her wrist being the only thing that stops her from going any further. 

The hand is cold and tense, the grip on her wrist unyielding. His hand trembles slightly, and she can feel it. Her eyes find his face— a pained expression painted on his alabaster features. Something between anger and confusion, but it truly seemed as if it physically hurt him. 

“You think I regret saving you?” He asks incredulously, his brows low and his eyes piercing. 

She wrenches her wrist from his deft fingers, her eyes narrowing and her face scrunching into a glare. 

“You’ve done nothing to make me think otherwise.” 

She wasn’t sure why she had been longing for him to just talk to her since that night— even if it was just their usual bickering and witty jabs at each other. She wasn’t sure why she felt a sharpness in her gut every time she’d catch him peering at her only for his face to turn away the second she returned his gaze. She wasn’t sure why his uncharacteristic silence was so deafening. 

And yet, now that he’s here, and she can hear his velveteen voice and see the red blooms of his steely irises, she almost preferred his pointed reticence. If only to spare herself another second of this idiotic aching in her chest. 

His face softens, his feline-esque eyes rounding and his brows relaxing. He runs a hand through his ivory curls, taking deep breaths that they both know he doesn’t need. 

“Do you regret being saved?” 

A loaded question. One she’s not sure she should answer terribly honestly, otherwise she’d stand here talking for hours rather than doing what needed to be done. 

“No. I only regret that you felt obligated to do so.” 

Somehow, her answer was still too honest. Too revealing. But honest, nonetheless. 

The vampire is unable to conceal the storm of turmoil raging in his ruby eyes. It’s evident, clear as crystal. His jaw flexes and tightens as he looks at her, hoping somehow that she could just read his mind. He knew she could if he allowed her to, with the shared connection via tadpole— but he was afraid of what she may actually see. Things that he would never wish for anyone to see or experience, not even his worst enemies, and especially not her. 

“I may be a monster, but I’m not the kind of monster that leaves a fr— an acquaintance… to die in the street. I know all too well what it’s like to be left to rot on cobblestone without a second thought.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before ultimately silence wins over any other response she could possibly offer him. This unusual moment of vulnerability from him gives her pause. It’s a far cry from his typical sycophantic behavior, and she feels the urge to reach out to him despite her better judgment. To comfort him. She assumes he probably hadn’t been comforted in quite some time— much like she hadn’t been, prior to this adventure of theirs. 

“Thank you,” she breathes. “For saving me. I never…thanked you. For it.” 

Gods, how did he manage to siphon every bit of charisma out of her every time they spoke? 

“Don’t thank me. Just help me eviscerate some goblins, squeeze some information out of the slimy bastards, and we can call it even.” He smirks that damned smirk that makes the tip of one fang peek over his rosy bottom lip, and her stomach flutters. 

“You flirt,” she mirrors his smirk, though she knows it doesn’t quite have the same effect that his does. “You’re speaking my language now.” 

“As I’ve told you, you and I are cut from the same cloth. Kindred spirits, right from the start. For better or worse.” He muses, his face turning more earnest, his eyes softening just slightly, just enough for her to notice the strange warmth in them when she had been so used to everything about him being cold. His stare, his skin, his breath, his demeanor. 

“I’ve yet to see the ‘better’ side of that deal.” She teases. 

As much as she hated admitting it, he was right— their origins had correlating themes that neither of them could deny. They had this strange understanding of each other despite their bickering that in moments like this, their strange friendship— if you could call it that— made perfect sense. 

“Oh, I think you have,” he purrs, seduction dripping from his lips like well aged brandy. “I’m more than willing to jog your memory, if you’d like.” 

He stalks toward her, all heavily lidded eyes and temptation, until their bodies are nearly pressed flush against each other. He taps her chin with a finger to tilt her head back so that their eyes meet. The magnetic pull between their lips is undeniable as their faces hover all too closely to each other. 

“I don’t know, perhaps I could wrestle a bugbear or a drow for the same amount of entertainment.” She whispers, attempting to goad him, her voice ultimately unconvincing. Astarion grins cheekily, as he’s caught her out. 

“You and I both know that isn’t true. But perhaps we can continue this conversation later, hm? You know, post goblin bloodbath.” He offers, his tone cool and collected but she perceives the slight desperation in his words— the hope in his eyes. It sends a shiver through her. 

“Perhaps. I’ll consider it,” she places a hand on his jaw, cupping it and tapping his cheek with her fingers playfully. “Under one condition.” 

He cocks a brow, savoring the way her warm hand feels against his undead skin. “And what might that condition be?” 

She smirks, standing on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You put everything back where you found it.” 

He smirks sheepishly, reaching in his pocket and retrieving the bits and bobs he’d nicked from her bag while they were speaking. “See? Cut from the same cloth.” 

She rolls her eyes, pushing away from him and patting his shoulder. “Let’s go hurt someone, you fool.”

part one - ♡︎

part two- ♡︎

#astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x oc #astarion x f!oc #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #aat #my fics

[closetofcuriosities]

There Will Be Blood - 2007 - Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

#movie #hat #aat #and after that #there will be blood #paul thomas anderson #production crew #crew hat #Oil! #Paul Thomas Anderson #cinema #western #thriller #Daniel Day-Lewis #daniel plainview #Paul Dano #eli sunday #Dillon Freasier #Colton Woodward #Ciarán Hinds #Erica Sullivan #Russell Harvard #There Will Be Blood - 2007 - Dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

[froggyplanet4269]

I may be cringe

but I'm free

#artists on tumblr #oc concept #oc artwork #aat #ancient alien's theory #portal #portal 2 #gijinka

[welcome-to-dragonshead]

here comes the boyy!!

hello boy :) welcome! :D

☆☆☆

art - @froggyplanet4269

#YES we went for a fox aesthetic #AND CRYPTIDCORE AS WELL #this one was SO hard to make a sheet for #also yeah thats sage #he changed a bit #fun fact; his scar is a burnt scar he got while being stupid as a kid (his parents werent watching) and it just #stayed like that #writers on tumblr #artists on tumblr #ancient alien's theory #writing #oc artwork #oc concept #art #oc stuff #artwork #aat