#astarion favouritism just makes me feel bitter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justporo · 5 months

Text

Sweet Things

You've been brooding all day, even Astarion is at a loss on how to pull you out of it - until he offers you a sweet treat, with lots of bickering of course.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Written for the Hot Chocolate/Mulled Wine" prompt of the BG3 Winter Holiday challenge. Honestly my favourite piece I've written so far for the challenge - let's see if it will stay this way.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: none Wordcount: 1,6k

~~~

You had been in a bad mood the whole day with no particular reason for it. And nothing was able to lift your mood. Not even your vampire and his usual shenanigans had been able to pull you out of your puddle of negative feelings. Especially when Astarion had suggested you come with him into the city to run some errands.

The usual excitement you felt to go outside during the crispy cold but beautiful winter weather, to walk through the snow and see the lights in the city - it was non-existent today. In fact, you had taken one look out of the tall living room window, scowled and Astarion had thrown a little fit about how ‘you made him venture forth into the perils of the winter smitten city so the two of you may yet survive the bitter cold’. But even his histrionics, little pout and round red eyes had done nothing to change your mind.

Astarjon had sighed in defeat: “Alright, my love, you go and soak in your bad mood as long as you can, I'll wrangle you out of it soon enough.” “Don't threaten me with a good time, Astarion”, you had replied dryly but the vampire had just smirked. A plan had undoubtedly been set into motion. After that he had been off to go into the city - of course not without coming over to you, cupping your face softly and pressing a kiss to your lips.

Afterwards you had tried to make your peace with your bad mood and had curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace, just staring into the flickering flames.

A while later you heard Astarion return to your shared home.

“I've returned from the hunt, my love, and I bring you some bounty”, the vampire declared. You turned around to see him standing in the doorframe with a huge grin and an inconspicuously looking bag in his hand. You saw some melting snowflakes glisten in his curls. He looked very proud of himself with how he let the bag dangle in front of you, one eyebrow lifted inquisitively.

Oh, you knew he was daring you to ask about it. This was one of his signature ways to get what he wanted: teasing you by holding the carrot in front of your face and then quickly moving it out of your reach with an “ah ah ah” and a fang-baring grin.

And you felt how his tactic even slowly started to work now.

“A bag? Aw Astarion, you shouldn't have! Bags are my favourite!”, you gave back and felt a sassy grin grow on your face. Turning around on your knees on the plush sofa you placed your arms on the rim of the piece of furniture and then placed your cheek on top of it - basically hugging the backrest.

The vampire frowned at you, obviously unsatisfied with your insolent reaction. But he wouldn't be Astarion were he to give up because of that.

“Yes, a bag. And if you stop being such a miserable and yet so sassy little thing, you might even get what's inside of it”, he snapped back mockingly.

“You know, usually this time of year when someone threatens you with the thing they have inside their bag it's a rod to punish the naughty.”

“Well, seeing how naughty you've been to me today, who says there isn't a rod in there?” His grin had turned sultry, his gaze dropping in a way that made other than your negative feelings churn inside of you.

“I repeat myself from earlier: don't threaten me with a good time, Astarion”, you replied with a smirk. Simultaneously you noticed that your bad mood was slowly lifting. Well, he was your soulmate after all, wasn't he? He knew all the tricks.

Astarion in the meantime had put his hands on his hips in an affronted manner. You heard telltale, soft clanking sounds coming from the bag and raised your eyebrows at the vampire.

“So, are we sulking or are we trying to outwit me, eh?”, he commented with a little sneer, but you knew he was only teasing. “Can you at least decide what your mood is?”, he continued when you first made big sad puppy eyes at him and then stuck out your tongue at him. “It's getting exhausting to keep track of your whims, love.”

He quickly and easily dodged the pillow you threw at his face and grinned at you.

“That's pretty rich coming from you, love”, you answered and flipped him off. “Now tell me what's in the bag!”

The vampire clicked his tongue in disapproval: “You lost the privilege of finding out when you threw the pillow, no you'll have to wait.”

You threw another pillow with a pout but your partner had quickly turned and left the room altogether.

Since you had no intention of losing other privileges and knew exactly that Astarion was way too greedy for praise and thus would come to you again, you just turned around and lounged on the couch once more. You closed your eyes and felt that most of your bad mood had disappeared already, so you simply relaxed to the bustling and rustling that had started coming from the kitchen.

You hadn't planned on drifting off.

But then you were awoken again by the smell of something delicious filling your nose. You opened your eyes and saw an incredibly ugly mug in the form of a boot in front of you.

But more important than its form were its contents you immediately recognised as: delicious hot chocolate with some slowly melting meringue drops on top of it.

And when you looked up you saw that Astarion was holding the cup almost directly under your nose with a smug grin on his lips.

“Something sweet for my sweet thing?”, he asked while batting his eyelashes excessively and his grin growing even broader.

“Where did you find the most hideous mug on this plane of existence?”, you replied and sat up on the sofa - also making space for Astarion to sit beside you.

The vampire sighed massively while he sat beside you and handed you the mug: “You are a ghastly little thing today, have I told you that?”

“At least with me it’s only today.”

Now even Astarion was flabbergasted.

“By the gods, love”, he said with raised eyebrows and then took a swig from his own mug you hadn’t noticed before. “You really do spend too much time in my company”, he finished after he had put down the cup again.

You peeked over at his cup and figured he must have gone for something with a little more kick than hot chocolate - mulled wine most likely.

“And now go and drink your hot chocolate which I so painstakingly made for you, love, or I’ll show you ghastly”, he said and leaned to you, narrowing his red eyes at you. You just made big innocent puppy eyes at him again.

You had every intention to comply - but first you swung your legs over his and covered the both of you with your blanket to make it extra cosy. And then after some fussing from the vampire and some readjusting you had snuggled up on the couch. Astarion kept sipping on his mulled wine and you finally tasted your hot and sweet beverage.

When the first of the rich, warm taste hit your tongue, you couldn’t help but let out a pleased moan and let your head fall back.

“It tastes amazing, love”, you moaned and let your eyes roll in delighted pleasure.

“Well then. Maybe I should introduce some hot chocolate in the bedroom if this is how you react to it”, Astarion commented. He was trying to play over it with his sultry joke but he was obviously proud of himself for having made what caused this reaction in you.

“You prepared it perfectly, Astarion, thank you”, you said now in a genuine tone and let one of your hands cover his which he had carefully placed on your blanket-covered knees.

He looked at you then with a small, sweet smile.

“Thanks for taking the time and the patience to put up with me and make this, Astarion”, you said and softly squeezed his hand. His smile grew broader.

You sat and drank and talked and joked. At some point you made Astarion try his own creation while you got a sip of his also very delicious mulled wine. He insisted he still preferred savory because he already had that one sweet thing in his life. But you saw him lick his lips after trying the chocolate.

When you had downed your beverage to the last drop, you sighed contentedly while the vampire looked fully pleased with himself.

“Feel better now?”, he asked and put his mug down on the floor. You simply nodded and watched as he leaned over to you.

“Good”, he whispered while he kept leaning in closer still. “But you still have a little something there”, he continued in a deep tone and eyed your already opened lips. You just made a silent “oh” while you expectantly awaited yet another treat from Astarion.

He softly grabbed your chin and closed the distance between you. You closed your eyes, expecting the kiss.

But then the vampire just grossly licked over and around your top lip to get rid of the remaining chocolate there.

You kicked and squealed trying to get him off you and stop torturing you with this gross procedure but he had the upper hand.

And then he had jumped up grabbing both your cups, promising to return with a refill of mulled wine for the both of you while you wiped off your mouth with the back of your hand.

“And you call me ghastly”, you screamed after Astarion but you couldn’t stop the big smile spreading over your face.

From the kitchen you only heard the vampire’s laughter in response.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

704 notes · View notes

avocado-writing · 2 months

Note

If you’re still open for prompts, can we get Tav to bring Astarion for shopping, claiming she has no fashion sense, but in truth it’s to make him buy something for himself?

I don’t know if you’ve seen the free cam screenshots, but the inside of Astarion’s test is bleak and messy, and in the lower city camp he’s hanging filthy rags to dry above his tent, like he’s so used to only focusing on his outerwear that he forgot he can actually get himself some nice towels and bedding for personal use.

notes: what a sweet request! i get so many lovely requests for astarion and it's what he deserves tbh.

words: <1k

rating: T

“I’m not sure why you need me to come with you. Apart from because you’re in need of my stellar company, of course,” Astarion sniffs.

“Well, you have the best taste in camp, and I trust you with this sort of thing. Besides, what were you really planning on doing today apart from irritating Gale?”

Astarion makes a show of putting in a bookmark and slamming his novel closed, looking up properly at where you’ve wandered over to him. He pretends to be a bit irked, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the words in front of him anyway - he was too busy sneaking glances up at you as you helped out around the camp. It’s something he’s been doing a lot recently. His eyes are drawn to you. He is drawn to you. Magnetised.

But that is far too raw-hearted and personal for you to know, so he’s desperately trying to hide his weakness for you beneath a layer of palette-knifed-on apathy. He suspects it isn’t working.

“Come on,” you continue, your pleading too sweet to be ignored, “it won’t take long. I just need to get a couple of bits for my tent, you know, to spruce it up. Please?”

Astarion groans. Secretly, he doesn’t mind. He’d quite enjoy it, actually. But if you know that then you suddenly have power over him, and the idea of letting someone have power over him again, even if it’s you, scares the unlife out of him.

Still, though. When your eyes are buttery-soft and there’s that furrow in your brow which comes with your sincere confusion, he feels his walls being shattered.

“Fine,” he groans, dramatically, “I suppose you do need some help picking out nice things. Let’s head off, then.”

He tries to ignore the way that his heart does a silly little leap when you light up at the idea.

And so, Astarion lets you drag him into Baldur’s Gate. He is once again overwhelmed with how much he missed the city - not during the times with Cazador, of course, but back in his youth, when he was able to stroll about and shop like this under his own free will. When he had a magistrate’s salary and a healthy portion of it could go on things like this, frivolous and fine things. Maybe he is a little bitter at first as you take him store-to-store, but he soon finds himself relaxing into the joy of a spree; when your hand tangles with his he lets you lead him around, quietly revelling in your delight as you leaf through linens and silks.

Your day together becomes a chorus of, “this one or this one?” holding up bedsheets for him to help you decide between, letting him make a lengthy decision as he tests threadcounts against his alabaster fingers. He helps you pick blankets, new soft towels for when you’re able to bathe (a luxury at the moment, but still…) some sweet-scented candles and incense for your tent to cover the smell of dirt caked into you all.

He suggests lavender. It’s his favourite.

At the end of the day he watches you count out gold onto the final merchant’s counter before taking a heavy woven tote full of your purchases. It feels like a satisfying venture has been had, but he still feels a bit hollow - after all, your hands are full, and his are achingly empty.

You stop when you clear the doorway back onto the street, and hold the bags to him.

“What? I’m not carrying your things for you. I’m not Karlach!” he says, appalled. You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m not making you my pack mule, Astarion. I doubt you could be - ” he’s about to interject and bite back at that little jab, but you barrel on regardless, “ - they’re a gift. This is all for you.”

He freezes. Blinks. Eyes drop down to the shopping as if it’s a Mimic, waiting for him to let his guard down so that it can eat his arm.

“All for me?”

You nod, and when he doesn’t move to take the handles, you gently open up his fingers like the petals of a flower and deposit them into his palm instead.

He feels the weight of the new things. Of his new things. He doesn’t know how to respond. His brain feels blank.

“I have money, you know,” he says, partly defending himself against your kindness, and partly against the idea that you might think he’s in need of charity. You sigh and cross your arms, a sure sign of not taking any of his nonsense right now.

“I know, and I am perfectly capable of giving you a gift because I think you deserve one. There is no trick here, Astarion. I just thought you should have a couple of new bits because you barely buy them for yourself. You’re allowed to have nice things, you know.”

Ah. That hurts him a bit, not because you’re being unkind, but because maybe you’re being truthful. His hands became used to a needle and thread by candlelight, to tiny neat stitches done with such precision it was difficult to notice that anything he mended was ever damaged at all. But he does not live that life any more. He can open himself to the possibility of being pampered again.

He likes that idea.

He retracts his arms, clutching the shopping to his body, as if he’s afraid that you’ll change your mind. You smile at him so brightly that he feels as if you are the sun.

“...Thank you,” he manages, eventually.

“Any time,” you say, and he knows you mean that.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @hopeful-n-sad

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #request #my writing

346 notes · View notes

twistedapple · 6 months

Text

On bergamot and aged brandy

EDIT 3/11/2023: Part three of the Perfume Rant is up, it's about my OC Nuria this time!

Hiiii~

With the successful reception of my Perfume Rant about Raphael's amazing fragrance, I've decided to tackle Astarion's!

For all of the technicalities, please refer to the first post.

Now, about our favourite vampire's scent.

In the previous post, I presented the great families of scents, as well as some concepts such as daytime/nightime perfumes, and how seasons are linked to them as well since temperatures affect the way scent molecules develop themselves. Based on the ingredients for Raphael's perfume and their potential order of notes, I had guessed an oriental perfume for him with intense projection, I may even suggest it to be more of a nighttime type of perfume as well, very enticing and enveloping.

Based on what we know of the ingredients listed for Astarion's perfume, he may very well be the exact opposite of Raphael's.

The notes Astarion gives for his perfume are bergamot, rosemary and a touch of aged brandy. Based on these scents and their olfactive families, I wager that we can yet again take these notes in the order they're given by Astarion, because it makes sense.

Top note: Bergamot is a fairly common top note. It is extracted from a bitter and inedible citrus of the same name, and creates a refreshing citrus scent with a spicy undertone. It is commonly associated with Chypre and Floral scents to give an energetic twist, although it can also be found in more classic perfumes.

Heart note: Rosemary is an aromatic herb, commonly used as a spice for cooking or for haircare to promote growth, strength and shine. It has a fresh, herbal scent fitting the Chypre family (woody scents), and provide for a clean and almost bittersweet scent.

Base note: Aged brandy isn't a scent in itself, however a clever mix of scents can give the impression of aged brandy. To obtain that type of scent, a blend of aromatics and musk may be possible - and we already have one aromatic in the heart note for that very purpose. I'd wager that adding scents such as oakmoss, musk and a hint of tobacco may very well do the trick. It adds an attractive depth to the fresh and clean impressions, without dirtying them. On the contrary, I think this complexity helps elevate the top and heart notes by being fairly complementary, since it retains some of the fresh tones as well through more aromatics, but it makes them feel warmer.

I think Astarion's perfume is about as enticing and pleasant as Raphael's, to be honest. However, it gives a very different impression. We start with a fresh citrus, then go for a clean woody tone, before finishing with a warm note. Overall, it is an elegant perfume that reflects both Astarion's youthful spirit now that he has gained his freedom, and his more distinguished side - visible in the way he dresses and behaves. I imagine it to have less projection than Raphael's perfume, however it'd be more inviting for intimacy - which is both sad and pleasant because we can associate it with Astarion's 200 years long prostitution job for Cazador, but also his way of getting us players in his good graces... Until he realises that he is having The Feelings as well. Interestingly, I see his perfume more fit as a daytime type, however it can be cleverly used as a nighttime perfume, as I just explained, thanks to its solid base note.

To conclude, I think his perfume would make for a wonderful unisex blend, it certainly feels very charming! In my opinion, this is the type of tasteful scent that makes you want to bury your face in the neck or the shirt of its wearer... Which definitely suits Astarion and how we feel about him.

Anway... I made that post while purposefully going blind on the already existing Astarion themed perfumes and candles, so please don't come after me if I miss the mark. I'd rather chat about it all because I really love perfume.

What's the next step? My own BG3 OC, Nuria. However, I'll release one more sample before tackling that one. I have a very precise image in mind for her, but I'd like to keep introducing her a bit more before that. Feel free to poke me if you're curious about her, though!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #The Perfume Rant #the perfume rant #Astarion smells extremely nice imo #I'd be very much sold on his scent #Also honestly if he did it himself like kudos my dude you could indeed have worked as a nose in the perfume industry #I am not exaggerating when I say that it's a highly elegant and tasteful scent

28 notes · View notes

optiwashere · 2 months

Note

How do you rank the companions? Favourite to least favourite?

This question is the worst. How do I even answer this? I love all the companions, and that's not a joke, so this is just unfair lmao.

Uh.

Shadowheart - She's babygirl, she's cutthroat, she's trauma, she's tragedy, she's anger, she's bitterness, she's softness, she's warmth, she's a scared little girl, she's a proud and powerful cleric; she's my everything in this fandom. I literally bought BG3 at launch without even thinking about companions or romance or anything like that, and I didn't even really like her that much when she first joined. Not because of the weird shit about her being "mean" (lol) but because she just seemed like a generic Evil Cleric archetype at first blush. As a writer, her dialogue caught my ear every time she spoke. Everything she said was laced with this... obliviousness to her own situation, her own approval/feelings, that I knew it had to be either intentional or tremendously awful writing. Regardless of which path you take her story, even if I prefer the "good" path, she is just full of details to explore and dissect.

Minthara, Karlach - I love Minthara to the point where the Minthara fuckers are genuinely worse off that Shadowheart even exists lmfao. Karlach is the kinda character that other fandoms would be fucking lucky to have; she's blunt, she's funny, she's crass, she's tough as hell, and she's seven feet tall.

Wyll, Lae'zel - Wyll is a phenomenal romantic, suave, funny, tragic character hiding under a lack of content (including the ability to make his own decisions/take control of dialogue situations like the other origin companions) and I love Lae'zel because she's the intelligent warrior trope that rarely is given to a woman. Even if she is indoctrinated. Also, I adore her hair so much it's unreal.

Gale - I actually love Gale in the playthroughs where I take him along. I understand a lot of people had issues with him coming onto them in unexpected ways, but I personally didn't so he was always a very solid bro. His stargazing scene is actually something that I wish a lot of characters had. The fact that you can share that with him platonically is so very sweet.

Astarion - His story in the game, while not as connected to the main plot as pretty much everyone else, was really touching the first time I played through it. He's enjoyable to have in a party, he has good banter, his quest is great... I'm just not that interested in exploring him beyond that, I guess?

Jaheira, Minsc - The only reason they're this low is because you get them so late. They have tons of great additions and dialogue, and the VAs did a perfectly good job of emulating the characters. I have always loved these two characters throughout BG1 and 2, and having them there in 3 was actually amazing. Jaheira dropping a, "Nature's servant awaits?" Yeah, that hit me in the nostalgia. Minsc and Boo just... in general? Same.

Halsin - I'm trying my best not to fall into the same trap that people who dislike Gale fell into when the game first came out. However, he really would not take "no" for an answer in my first playthrough, and combined with his "I believe in all love" polyamory, he reminded me so much of the worst strain of men in my actual life that it's a genuine struggle to separate those things. I'm working on this every day lmao.

#hey you can ask me things!

8 notes · View notes

villanbelle · 4 months

Text

In Sunshine or Shadows

I haven't posted to tumblr in forever, but that dock scene for romanced Astarion especially... I just couldn't let it go. I wrote this as the idea wouldn't leave me alone and thought someone else might enjoy it. Set between Karlach's ending and the morning chat with Astarion.

Astarion x Female!Durge (half-drow named Greyafae) Fluff, hurt/comfort, dancing and the tiniest mention of implied smut. Slight spoilers for the dark urge storyline

AO3 Link

With one final burst of flame, the portal to Avernus disappears with Karlach and Wyll inside. It leaves behind a warm kiss against Greyafae’s cheeks that’s quickly stolen by the breeze, and a ringing in her ears that fades as she stumbles to her feet.

She turns toward the others and feels Shadowheart’s eyes follow her as she nears. She spares her a glance and sees the quirk of the cleric’s lips as she says, “I shouldn’t be surprised Wyll volunteered to go with Karlach, I’m just glad she agreed to go back to Avernus after resisting for so long.”

Greyafae doesn’t respond as she marches past, trying to keep from tripping over her feet as each step quickens with every thud of her boots against the dock. The faces of her friends fall into frowns and raised brows that no doubt come to stare at her retreating back as she passes. But, as she brushes past Jaheira, a tight grip on her wrist grounds her to the spot. “Slow down cub, no use falling and breaking your neck now the day has been well and truly saved”.

There was a time such interference would be met by a quick blade to the throat, or some other deadly display of irritation. But her murderous urge had been killed and usurped by another desire, one centred around a certain vampire spawn who had just disappeared in a puff of smoke. Greyafae looked down at the offending hand then up to the druid's face. “I need to find Astarion”.

Jaheria’s grasp doesn’t relent and neither does her glare. She narrows hazel eyes as though something well-hidden lays just out of view and squeezes a little tighter. Then she huffs, and as a herb-scented breath hits Greyafae's lips she realises how close their faces have gotten. “Go then, far be it from me to come between true love. Just be sure to tell him there’s a bottle of wine waiting for him at The Elfsong. I know complaining about the flavour is his favourite pastime.”

Jaheira frees Greyafae’s wrist with a nod as Gale adds, “That’s assuming The Elfsong Tavern still stands after the havoc that’s been reaped upon the city.”

“Ever the optimist”, Shadowheart teases, but whatever reply comes after is lost to the distance Greyafae puts between them as she dashes toward a part of the wharf that has been mostly untouched by falling debris. Enough unloaded cargo stands unshattered with an offer of shelter that hope begins to blossom where fear had taken root. She calls to Astarion, but the screams of seabirds stifles her cry and so she tries again, louder, trying to push past the tightness of her throat and the urge to cast a few scorching rays toward the sky. The taste of bitter ash coats her tongue as she calls once more. No doubt the cinders of a burning house in the distance. But for one second too long, enough time to plant a seed of doubt, she wonders if it’s the last taste of her lover she’ll ever have again.

“Astarion!” The crack in her voice makes her wince as she descends upon the last row of crates.

Empty.

An unfilled barrel bears the brunt of a sharp kick. Rather than face the same fate, those stacked on top tumble over the edge of the dock and into the river. Bitter droplets splash against Greyafae’s cheek as she darts ruby eyes along the view ahead and sighs, knocking the base of her palm against her skull in time with her self-inflicted scolding. “I should have been with you, I should have been with you, I should have been with you. Where are you, first in my heart?”

A slight movement catches her eye in an area of the dock she’s missed, where a few piled crates are hidden away by a mess of tangled fishing nets which now shift in such little motions a poorly timed blink would miss them. “I- I’m over here, darling.”

He is only a few feet away, but sounds so small his voice could be mistaken for a trick of the wind. She runs, skidding on the wet wood beneath her but keeping her balance long enough to fall freely to her knees before him as though in prayer to the one God who ever loved her back. Astarion huddles in an empty space between stacked wine crates, his knees held to his chest in a tight embrace like a scolded child. His head hangs low, his white curls limp after their group descent into the Chionthar river. His skin has lost the deathly grey, no longer flakes off and flutters in the wind, but is still somewhat ashen and fractured in places. It reminds her of the golden veins streaked across Dame Aylin’s divine face. Though, heaven's touch was nowhere to be seen in the cold, blue cracks on her lover’s skin.

“You're a sight for sore eyes.” She doesn’t mean for it to sound like a joke. He would know by the way her shoulders sit hunched about her ears if he weren’t so fascinated with the floor. At his silence she adds, “I shouldn’t have let you run off alone.”

He still doesn’t spare her a glance, but does shake his head as he confesses in a gentle tone, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Greyafae clenches her jaw until her teeth start to ache, then asks, “Do you want me to go?”

Astarion looks at her then, eyes glassy and so impossibly round. “No. It’s just, I can’t stop myself from feeling this shame. This was supposed to be our glorious victory. Yet here I am, banished to the shadows once again. I’m the only one to have lost.”

She reaches out a hand that quickly falls to rest atop her thigh instead. “It feels like that now. But at sunset, you and I can walk hand in hand through the city that we saved, to meet the friends who fought by our side, then we’ll fall asleep in each other’s arms and wake up to a world without any hold over us. I don't know about you, but that sounds like something close to victory to me.”

Astarion opens his mouth to speak but then seems to think better of it. “That was nearly poetic, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he teases with a rasp to his voice after a few heartbeats pass.

“You’re a good influence on me.”

He barks a sharp laugh, the kind that has his fangs on full display, and the butterflies in Greyafae’s stomach flutter about all the way up to her heart. “Not too good I hope.” His smile softens but lingers enough to deepen the lines around his eyes. “You couldn’t just leave me to sulk, could you?”

She shakes her head and her shoulders loosen, making it easier to offer a smile in earnest. “I want it all too. In sunshine or shadows.”

His unyielding, narrowed, sanguine gaze holds her still then flicks across her freckled face before falling to his feet. She sees, more than hears, his gentle sigh before he meets her eyes once more and asks, “So, do you actually have a plan to get me out of here, or are we destined to linger amongst barrels of rotting fish until the sun goes down?”

A deep hum resonates in Greyafae’s chest, a grunt falling from full lips as she stands up into the sun's embrace once more. It feels like mockery to be bathed in golden rays before him and guilt eats away at her core like flies on rotting fruit. The urge to squint against the sun builds as she scans the horizon, but the sting feels like a pitiful punishment in comparison to what Astarion suffered by its light, and so she peers on unblinking. A crumbling warehouse, torn apart by a toppled building from the street above which has destroyed half the roof and far-side wall sits on the opposite side of the dock. Though, the windows sit up high and enough of the walls stand intact to embrace them both in shadow.

Crouching down once more she tells him, “I can transport us somewhere with a little more leg room.” Then adds with a smirk, “It’s lucky for us you’re almost as good at killing as me. It means I get to save all my useful spells for when it really matters.”

With a tut, Astarion wrinkles his nose as if smelling something awful, but doesn’t bite at the bait. “Ugh, you couldn’t come up with a plan that doesn’t involve dimension door? It’s like you're actively trying to make my day even worse.”

She snorts at the memory of their last encounter with the spell though it isn’t particularly funny. Maybe it’s finally having memories to look back on once again that brings her so much joy. “Perhaps you’d like me to fetch you a parasol instead?”

His pale brows knit together and the half-drow’s grin turns upside down. “I’m glad my abject misery brings you so much pleasure.”

It stings her right in the centre of her chest, no doubt he'd consider that a bullseye. “You know better than that.”

Astarion relents as soon as the words leave her mouth, his face smoothing back into its mournful pout. “I know.”

“Shall we?”

He breathes in a steadying breath through his fangs before tipping his head toward her. “Whenever you’re ready.”

The incantation takes just a moment to breathe into life. An ancient, draconic heat wraps around them as her magic whisks them away to the ruined building. They land with a stumble, and Astarion uses the momentum to run toward the shaded half where the only threat of sunlight beams through windows far overhead.

As hard as her fingers twitch in their desire to reach for him, to tangle in his hair and tease the tips of his pointed ears and trace the fading cracks on his cheeks until all her love pours into them, she knows better. He stands still, glaring at one particular piece of debris by his feet as he drifts away somewhere she can’t follow. It isn’t until he turns her way and catches her looking she realises she’d been doing the same.

“You do realise you’re staring?” It is an accusation rather than a question. One asked by a wounded bird who fears the fox will see his broken wing if it looks too long.

Several quick blinks bring her out of the daze. She straightens her tilted head as her neck begins to protest and tucks a strand of white hair behind the subtle point of her ear. “It’s strange for you to be so quiet.”

He leans forward and gestures a hand toward her. “And what would you have me say?”

“You needn’t say a thing. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She can see the creases form on his brow despite the distance between them. “Well, we’re all having to deal with things we don’t like, Grey.” Throwing his hands into the air as he scolds her, he adds, “Apologies I haven’t the desire for a witty repartee,” then folds his arms against his chest.

Perhaps it’s the fire in her blood that always makes the sparks that fly from Astarion’s tongue fail to ignite her meagre fuse. Or maybe they fly over her head because she knows he doesn’t mean for them to burn her. So she asks him a question she’d asked once before, after his night of rebirth spent tangled together in the dirt of his grave. “Having regrets?”

Astarion’s shoulders rise and fall with a sigh before he slouches forward like a puppet with snapped strings. “Still no. It does sting more than I’d hoped though. I truly thought for a moment the change was permanent. That I’d be able to walk in the sun for good.”

“I thought so too, seeing you standing there. It was a cruel carrot to dangle in front of you.”

He scoffs, a sneer making a singular fang poke out. “Compared to the carrots offered by Cazador, and the veritable banquet of sticks that followed, this one I can tolerate. I just need a little time to…adjust.”

A smile rounds Greyafae’s cheeks, yet despite its sincerity she can feel it doesn't quite reach her eyes. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”

“Thank you.” He closes his eyes, inhales a breath he doesn't need and stands a little taller. “I’m grateful I don’t have to wander back into the darkness alone, and that I get to be here with you.” He turns before he can see her swallow past the lump in her throat and strides toward a piece of broken concrete, large enough to sit on. He sweeps a hand across the top before he does so, wafting away the rising dust before he takes a seat and drifts away into thought once more.

She watches him until a shiver crawls up her spin, a chill settling deep inside her bones. The cling of her damp clothes has loosened enough to be comfortable, still she takes off her boots and sodden socks so she doesn’t have to hear them squelch as she gathers up scattered pieces of broken, wooden beams. It’s quick work to bundle them into a pile, something close to how Wyll would when building a campfire hot enough for Gale to sweat over as he prepares an evening meal. She rubs her hands together as the last piece of jagged wood is placed, a feeling almost like pride making her grin. Resting on a knee, she takes off her bulging pack and rummages through the trove of wonders. Spare daggers, alchemical ingredients and a random selection of potions spill out as she unties the cord. Beneath them all are a collection of crumpled scrolls, simple spells she had meant to sell. Though now, as she shivers again and sees Astarion do the same, a better purpose comes to mind. While some are too damp to be useful, the rest she tears into smaller pieces and tucks into the woodpile. As she grabs a final fistfull of scrolls, a little wooden box beneath them catches her eye. There’s nothing else like it amongst her hoard and no memory comes to mind of why the little trinket was special enough to warrant keeping. For now, however, she focuses on warmth, a simple cantrip setting the wood ablaze.

“Bloody hells,” Astarion curses with a start at the sound of bursting flame and crackling wood.

“Sorry, I meant to warn you.” She means the apology, despite how far away she sounds, but the mysterious box has her mind wandering. Reaching deep into the bag once more, she pulls out her prize and lifts it high into the air as though it were a first-place trophy. A sweep of her tongue wets her lips as she brings the box closer to her frowning face. She turns it over, opens the lid, then leaps to her feet with a gasp as a sweet melody begins to play. “I can’t believe I forgot about this.” A music box, stolen from a decrepit hospital in a cursed land. She floats over to where Astarion watches her and places it next to him on his makeshift seat. Her shadow dances in the firelight as she begins to sway along to the tune, then she offers her lover a hand. “May I have this dance?”

He recoils a touch, no doubt if he had recently fed the tips of his ears would be a pale shade of red. “Don’t be silly, now is hardly the time.” Despite his objection, his wide-eyed stare falls to her presented hand.

Her eyes drift to a close as she continues to move, basking in the flames that warm the golden scales curved around her temples. “Pretend we’re at a masquerade, there’s a room full of faceless people with very deep pockets. Or pretend it’s just the two of us in a cottage somewhere, with a crackling hearth and moonlight creeping through the window.”

She hears him inhale through his nose, then breathe out a gentle sigh. “You paint quite the picture.”

She opens her eyes as his long, nimble fingers slide against her own. He pins her with his stare as he stands and brings his free hand to press against her lower back, pulling her into his embrace until their bodies collide. Her own touch falls to the back of his neck to caress small circles against his cool skin as her arm rests lazily across his shoulder. They lose themselves in each other's eyes for a while, her chin pressed against his chest as she peers up through long, dark lashes. Astarion regards her through a half-lidded gaze, soft as Cormyr silk. If looks could kill, he’d have a road paved with indignant corpses as long as the Chionthar trailing behind him. But if a look overflowing with love and safety and gratitude could melt, he'd reduce her to a giant puddle on the floor. Eventually he blinks and she remembers to breathe, chuckling at the ease with which he is able to take her breath away. Rising onto tip-toes, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and he tugs her tighter in response. She lingers until the spread of his smile brushes against her lips and then, with a satisfied sigh, lays her head against his shoulder. Astarion’s cheekbone comes to rest atop her crown and, not for the first time, she wonders if in another life she’d feel his heart beating as fast as hers where their bodies melt together.

Their dance doesn’t last for long before the song begins to wind down with its final notes. Her heart clenches at the thought of it. But a sorcerer's gifts needn’t always be saved for flinging fireballs into enemy crowds. A subtle flick of Greyafae’s wrist and a whispered incantation has a transparent, blue hand manifest just out of reach. She extends the spell to last more than its usual minute and feels the last of her most potent sorcery ebb for the day. The hand floats over to the music box with nothing more than a thought, large fingers poised on the lever to ensure the song remains unending. Astarion shifts his cheek against her like an affectionate cat and, for a moment that makes her tense, lifts his hand from her back. Though he stills again as his touch returns, a little lower than before, she brings a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck to smooth what feels like teetering peace. But a sudden waft of something like dying embers has her peek over his shoulder once more at the campfire, though it burns as bright as it had a moment ago. Astarion’s questioning eyes fall upon her at the disturbance and she leans in to press a kiss against his temple in apology. As her nose presses close to his curls, however, the smell overwhelms her. The smell, she realises, of Astarion’s burnt skin and scalp clinging to his hair. The sick, heavy punch that lands in her gut has her bury her face deeper into his shoulder again before mumbling, “You can feed on me, if it’ll help?”

“Hmm?” He answers, voice thick like he’s just woken from a slumber.

“If it will help you to heal faster then you’re welcome to feed on me.”

Astarion’s grip leaves her briefly once more before he replies, “I seem to be back to my usual, unburnt self. As far as I can tell?”

She pulls back to look at him, prodding a finger against his chest to emphasise her point. “If there’s one thing we’ve learnt by now, it’s that skin-deep scars are the quickest to heal.”

He grins, and even in these circumstances it somehow looks so wicked. “In that case, I’ll never say no to a free feed darling. Certainly not from your delicious self.”

With a shake of her head and a poorly-hidden smirk, she stands on tip toes and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a loose embrace. Astarion presses one, two, three kisses against her neck but lingers on the last one. She feels the scrape of his fangs a breath before he sinks them in with a quick thrust, one hand pressing against her still while the other cradles the back of her head, his skilled fingers caressing her hair like the delicate strings of a harp. The scar from the last time they’d shared a moment like this had faded long ago. A stark contrast to the deep bite carved out of Astarion’s neck, the first scar Cazador ever engraved onto his flesh and perhaps the only one Astarion isn’t even aware of. Despite their off balance hold, they still manage a subtle sway, their bodies moving as one. The press of his lips against her wound lets her know when he’s had his fill, followed by the soft flick of his tongue to capture rogue blood drops which threaten to trickle down her throat. She considers it an honour to be such a rare treat, one relished for succour over sustenance. A thought that makes her stifle a laugh; a bhaalspawn-shaped comfort blanket for a fearsome creature of the night.

They stay wrapped up in each other even though silence is their lone accompaniment, the mage hand floating forgotten by the fire which has long since turned to cinders. Greyafae pulls back to see Astarion’s lashes flutter open like he's been pulled from a deep dream. His curls have come back to life from time and warmth and billow about his head, fluffier than any cloud she’d ever seen. She places a hand against his cheek and rubs a thumb against a spot of dried blood as he leans into the touch. “Thank you for the dance.”

He laughs softly and takes a small bow as they part. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. Karlach’s engine finally burnt out and, well, I wanted to keep my promise.”

He frowns for a moment and taps a finger against his chin, then spreads his arms out wide. “At least she managed to survive long enough to rid herself of the parasite. Still, it is a pity.”

“She went back to Avernus in the end, and Wyll went along with her.”

Pale brows shoot up toward his hairline. “Really? So she chose survival after all. Funny, isn’t it? How little we know what we truly want until we hear those midnight chimes.”

“Fear does strange things to people.”

He dips his head in a deep, slow nod. “That it does, darling.”

Craning her neck upward, Greyafae sees the traitorous sun has sneaked away from the windows to drown their exit in its light. “There’s still some time to kill yet.”

Astarion averts his rounded gaze for a moment, lifting it to look up at the ruined ceiling. “I’d like some time to myself, if that’s alright? You go ahead and meet up with the others. I’ll come and find you when it’s safe to do so.”

She swallows hard, lips pursing for a brief moment as her stomach twists into knots. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.” He tilts his chin forward, nose rising into the air. On anyone else it would look like pride, but his shoulders stoop in a way that roots her feet to the ground and makes her want to fall on scarred knees and beg him not to make her go.

Instead, she takes his hand and squeezes until he returns the gesture and says, “We’ll be at The Elfsong, or whatever's left of it. I’ll see you whenever you’re ready”.

He brings his right hand to rest on top of hers where their left ones are joined. It takes her back a month or so, to the bottom of Moonrise towers, where he’d left his unbeating heart in her bloody hands and trusted her to help bring it back to life. She can tell by the way his lips fall into a smile, so similar to the one he’d worn back then, the memory echoes in his mind as well. “Thank you, my love.”

True to his word he finds her not long after the sun has set. Their friends cheer for him as he nears their table, deep into their fourth round of drinks, and he scoffs at their inability to hold their liquor with dignity. But Greyafae sees his bottom lip tremble, sees how unafraid he is to bare his fangs in a wide grin as Jaheira pulls out the promised bottle of red wine for him to critique. As the group settles into their cups again, Astarion slips a hand around Greyafae’s waist and whispers a wish against her ear that they hide away from the others for the night, far from the noise and the drunks and the embellished stories. They sneak away up the stairs like forbidden young lovers and retire to the only room with a lone bed. He kisses her first like it’s a question, then again like it’s a demand, and last like a pleading request from a starving man. She answers with a brush of her lips against each cheek, then his forehead, and pretends not to notice how his tears cool the skin on her cheeks. He makes love to her as though their eternity is guaranteed, stopping every so often to kiss her with such a hungry craving it takes her to the cusp of drowning before she has to break away and gasp for air. Afterwards, he falls into a trance with his head on her chest. Though, it's the weight of every win, every loss and sacrifice they’d endured this far which pins her against the bed and has her weep herself a lullaby before falling into a slumber.

When she wakes it's to an empty bed. Astarion stands just beyond an open window, pulling back a rich, red drape to peer down at the dawn-lit streets from a shadowy corner of the room. Though she isn’t quiet, he doesn’t notice as she slips out of bed and pulls on yesterday’s clothes.

“Good morning,” she says with a yawn as she comes to stand in the morning light.

Astarion drops the heavy drape with a start and turns to her, stepping forward into the spot where the sun had just shone. Something about him feels different, there’s a softness to his stare but a tension that has him standing just a touch too stiff. She can feel an unspoken question haunting the room, but she just offers him time and a warm smile as he returns her greeting. “Hello, Darling.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little fic <3

#astarion #astarion ancunin #spawn astarion #astarion x dark urge #astarion x oc #bg3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate iii

8 notes · View notes