#deadwinter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aevallare · 3 months

Text

vow

light plot. heavy smut. mind the warnings. you can read on ao3 here

pairing: ascended astarion/f!tav

word count: 5220

warnings: menstruation kink, throne sex, oral sex, obsession, jealousy, kidnapping, power dynamics, dubious consent, light bondage, inappropriate use of mage hand

preview:

Astarion asks, “Won’t I hurt you?”

His voice. She hadn’t forgotten, really, but melancholy floods her nonetheless. “I don’t know. But I had to make him think that.”

“Devious.” He claps in a mockery of applause. “You’ve made me look a downright fool, darling. Imagine my disappointment when I showed up to that godsforsaken pity party Withers threw and you weren’t even there.”

“I was busy.” She has to keep her answers short. If she gives him an opening, she’ll be lost forever. It’s that simple.

enjoy!!

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Auri’s cycle has always been a fickle thing. It’s stabilized some in the months following their defeat of the Elder Brain and as her stress and anxiety have leveled out, but her cycle is still far from predictable.

The twisting pains in her stomach are far from the worst they’ve ever been, but they’re uncomfortable nonetheless, and when she wakes to them and a sealed letter in her pack, she knows today will be strange.

Auri recognizes the author of the letter instantly, though. She’d know Withers’ hand anywhere. Her lips part as she reads.

It’s an invitation. Withers has invited everyone who liberated Baldur’s Gate and, apparently, a few others besides. He’s arranged for Karlach and Wyll to come up out of Avernus and transport for Halsin and Shadowheart from their respective homes. Lae’zel, too, will be in attendance, and Gale is on holiday anyway.

And Astarion, of course, though Withers leaves his name for last. Auri imagines that he’d rankled at the slight of not being asked to host.

When her stomach twists, it isn’t just menstrual pains. She tries not to think about Astarion if she can help it, though it’s much harder when her troupe is in Baldur’s Gate and the Szarr-turned-Ancunín estate looms over her at every turn.

The invitation’s for tomorrow, and Deadwinter is one of the biggest performances of the year. No one would ask any questions if she begged off for the night, but–

“Auri, can I get your help out here?” Amar calls, and Auri blinks.

She stares for a moment longer at the invitation, and then she says, “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

Auri throws the invitation into the fireplace. The flames lick away at it until Auri could almost forget she ever received it in the first place.

She steps towards Amar’s voice, and as she walks, the burden bears down on her.

When she’d helped Astarion ascend, it had seemed like the right choice for a multitude of reasons.

It would make him stronger, for one, in the fight against the Elder Brain. The odds were already so stacked against them; it made sense to make him the Vampire Ascendant.

He would never fear anything again. That mattered to Auri, and it mattered a lot. She’d known it would change him. She’d known it would ruin whatever love they had. She simply wanted him to feel safe.

And before every other consideration, it was what he wanted. If there was anything that she’d tried to impress on him in the weeks leading up to that moment, it was that what he wanted was important.

But she hadn’t understood. Neither had he. The Astarion she was in love with wouldn’t have wanted to become what he is now, a caricature of a vampire.

Auri doesn’t think that’s what he would have wanted, at least, but it’s been more than a year since she’s spoken to him. It’s been more than a year since she was in Baldur’s Gate at all.

She exhales. They’re here for three days. If Withers somehow comes knocking when she doesn’t attend the party, she’ll say she never saw the invitation at all.

Auri always feels silly at the Deadwinter performance. The outfits show far too much skin for what the weather should allow, but the venue is always artificially warm, so she can’t complain.

She just can’t leave the tent without nearly freezing to death. Auri pulls at the skirt, thankful that she’s at least allowed a semblance of short leggings underneath. If Amar’s to be believed, the outfit is supposed to evoke the idea of a snowflake, though her hair seems at odds with the concept.

Before she steps out on stage to take her usual place at Amar’s side, she exhales.

The others are all together by now. Karlach and Wyll have stepped out of the hells. Gale and Lae’zel have teleported in. Shadowheart and Halsin have no doubt arrived. Did Astarion arrive as a bat? They’ve surely realized that she isn’t coming.

It doesn’t matter. There’s a show to put on.

The smile Auri wears is radiant. It would glint off snow if the tent allowed it entry. When she steps into the light, the crowd is raucous.

They know her, of course. How couldn’t they? She’s the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. There’s a statue of her in the middle of the city.

Auri waves, smile never faltering, and Amar, voice magnified by a spell, says, “And you all know Aurora, I’d imagine! After all, without her, this crowd would look much different!”

He lets out a bellowing guffaw that almost turns the smile on Auri’s face real. Amar’s good at his job. He loves it and it shows.

When he gestures for Auri to take her lyre in hand, she does. This is like breathing. Her head tilts to the side and again, she exhales. Her fingers brush against the strings lightly, and she manages to play precisely one note before she sees the mist.

The lyre falls to the ground. In any other situation, she’d wince at dropping it, but there’s no time.

“You need to get out of here,” she says to Amar. “You need to get everyone out of here.”

But that’s futile. How wouldn’t it be?

Astarion’s the Vampire Ascendant, after all.

When Astarion manifests before her, all air leaves the room. He’s as stunning as ever with his marble skin and ruby eyes, perfectly manicured hair and nails.

And he doesn’t slaughter everyone in attendance, which is thoughtful of him.

Amar hasn’t moved from her side. He knows exactly who Astarion is, and he’s unwilling to leave Auri alone.

“Go,” Auri repeats. “He won’t hurt me.”

Amar swallows hard behind her. Auri herself doesn’t know if she believes that’s true. Regardless, he finally leaves, and the spectators continue filing out as Astarion asks, “Won’t I hurt you?”

His voice. She hadn’t forgotten, really, but melancholy floods her nonetheless. “I don’t know. But I had to make him think that.”

“I was busy.” She has to keep her answers short. If she gives him an opening, she’ll be lost forever. It’s that simple.

Astarion sets his mouth in a line. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Deadwinter is our biggest performance of the year.”

He casts a sarcastic glance around the now-empty room. “You wouldn’t know it from the crowd.”

Auri scowls. “Yes. I wonder why.”

“Embarrassing, really, this turnout.” Astarion sighs, shaking his head. “You’d think more people would have shown up for the Hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

“You know I never wanted that title.”

“I personally always thought that Consort of the Vampire Ascendant was much more prestigious, but what do I know?”

Auri has a million things to say to that, chief amongst them that she misses him more than words can say, but instead she stays quiet.

When she doesn’t rise to the passive aggression, Astarion exhales through his nose, unimpressed. “Well, in any event, your evening seems to have been freed up.”

Auri’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“Relax,” Astarion says, every inch of him a predator, and Auri’s always felt like prey. “I have nothing but the best intentions.”

Anxiety bubbles in her throat, but it’s not like it matters. When he steps forward and his mist swallows her, she can only be thankful that he hadn’t leveled the troupe entirely.

It’s fast, traveling this way. Auri expects to arrive at the party, where she’ll have to field a hundred questions about why she hadn’t come in the first place and why Astarion had fetched her.

But it isn't the party at all. When her eyes open, she’s standing in the halls of Cazador Szarr.

Or they used to be his halls. They’re Astarion’s, now, Auri supposes, and the decor’s changed drastically.

Auri’s breath catches. There’s finery as far as the eye can see, yes, but more than that, this isn’t the lair of a singularly self-obsessed vampire.

It’s the colors. There’s Astarion’s red and black, yes, and the Ancunín crest is present everywhere, but there’s another color threaded through the hall.

There are accents of seafoam everywhere.

Auri’s lips part. He’s laced his lair with her. It wouldn’t matter where he looked. Astarion’s designed this room so that her favorite color is intertwined with his.

“This–” Auri swallows and steels herself. “What trick is this?”

“Trick?” Astarion asks, unimpressed.

It has to be a trick. It must be.

But it’s not. The seafoam alone could have been a trick, but there’s something else.

Auri walks down the hall with Astarion as her shadow. The room is conspicuously empty; it takes an army of servants to run this estate, no doubt, but Astarion has clearly arranged for them to be nowhere near here.

And at the end of the hall, there are two thrones.

One, clearly, is his. It’s better-worn, and every throw and cushion is in his colors. The other looks almost untouched.

When they met, Auri had been wearing seafoam and gold. The throne that isn’t Astarion’s looks like a concentrated vial of ocean and sunshine. It would be altogether out of place but for the way the same blue-green color weaves through the rest of the decor.

“I have made reminders of you to never forget how the thing I crave more than anything else walked away.” Astarion stands next to her as if he’s considering the throne himself. “And then you step into my city bleeding freely and expect to simply avoid me by not attending a function I only deemed worth my time because you would be there.”

“You could not smell my cycle from here–”

“I could smell you from the moment you set foot in Baldur’s Gate. I could certainly smell you this morning when you woke.”

Auri blushes despite herself. “That’s none of your business. You have your pick of meals these days anyway. I have no doubt about that.”

Her pulse pounds in her throat. Astarion can probably see it.

“If I have my pick,” he drawls, circling behind her, “Then surely it won’t be a problem if I choose you to feast on.”

Still, his voice holds this much power over her. When Astarion speaks, Auri bites her lip. He continues, “I have craved you every moment since we parted ways. No taste has compared, and believe me when I say that I’ve searched.”

Auri doesn't know if they're talking about sex or blood. She doesn't think it matters. Still, she doesn't speak. Astarion says, “Don't you find it funny how your traveling band of misfits never meets trouble on the road? Do you think that that’s a coincidence?”

Auri swallows hard. “What are you saying?”

His voice is at her ear. “I became this for you, little love. I kill and I maim and I slaughter, and I do it all for you.”

Astarion’s right, in his way, though Auri doesn’t want to admit it. He’d made it clear that he wanted to ascend to protect himself and her, too.

“Then stop all of it for me,” she says.

He chuckles, smirking. “It doesn’t work that way, darling. We made me into this. You’re the one who decided that she didn’t like the result." He pauses. "What say you that we make a deal?” Astarion asks. His hand is cool on her cheek and Auri leans into his touch reflexively. “Whether you admit it or not, you’ve missed me. I’ve been honest about how I’ve hungered for you.”

And he’s right, of course. Here, alone with him, the year without him falls away and Auri is as weak as she ever was.

“What do you propose?” she asks. His touch is feather-light along her collarbone.

Auri tries to steel herself, but it's futile. He's already won and he knows it.

“You're attached to your pathetic excuse for freedom, I know.” His fingers inch closer to her breast. “But let's put your willpower to the test.”

This is a mistake. She knows it.

Astarion is in front of her again. His hand switches course and finds purchase on her chin, tilting her head to the side to expose Auri's neck.

“For every climax that I bring you to, you give me a month.”

His words snap Auri from her lust-drunk haze. “A month? What do you mean a month?”

“I mean a month.” The hand that had exposed her neck falls between her legs, palming her clit through her leggings. Auri exhales a shuddering gasp as he continues, “For each time you come, you'll spend a month on the throne that I've built for you. My bed will be yours. This estate will be yours. And for that month, you'll be mine properly.”

This is a mistake. She’d known it already, and the fact becomes clearer by the moment.

“I stay mortal,” she says, her voice trembling. Astarion applies pressure again between her legs, and Auri whimpers.

When her hips buck into his hand, a wicked smile spreads across Astarion’s face. “Why you're so attached to your mortality is beyond my comprehension, but yes. If that's what it takes for you to agree, then mortal is what you'll remain.”

His words are annoyed but his tone is far from it.

“You won't touch Amar. You'll leave the circus alone.”

Her resolve was never going to last. She'd given in before they'd even begun.

Astarion rolls his eyes and his hand leaves the spot between her legs. Auri gasps with loss, but it doesn't last long. He scoops her into his arms and turns, depositing her onto the throne next to his.

Her throne.

“I would make you royalty, and your concern is with that ragtag group of nobodies.”

Just as she's adjusted to sit properly, Astarion falls to one knee, pulling her legs forward so that he's between them.

“They aren't nobodies–” Auri protests, but it's futile. This was over long ago.

His knife sits at the hem of her leggings. “If they aren't nobodies, then why did you spend the entire time that that pretty little fire dancer was between your legs wishing it was my mouth on your cunt instead?”

A blush burns through her as hot as the lust she can't deny in her core. “That's not true–”

“Oh?” He tilts his head to the side. “Then tell me to stop.”

The fling with Evana had been short-lived and mediocre. This will no doubt be anything but.

When Auri doesn't protest, Astarion pushes her skirt upward and runs his knife down the seam of her leggings with ease.

“Do you accept my terms, then? Or are we going to let all this blood go to waste?”

Need throbs in Auri's stomach.

“You won't touch them,” she repeats.

Astarion stares at her with twisted devotion.

“For you, my treasure, anything.”

She can regret this tomorrow. For now, she fists a hand in his immaculately coiffed hair to help his mouth find the place it belongs.

The first swipe of his tongue is like coming home. Astarion licks her clean without shame, and Auri doesn't know how she ever thought she could replace him with another. When the flat of his tongue presses against her entrance, she squirms impatiently. Astarion looks up at her, left hand gripping her thigh–

And with his right hand, he snaps.

His eyes dance with dark delight, and something spectral pulls at her fingers.

A mage hand.

“What–” she starts, but that’s all that she manages before the apparition gathers both her wrists in its grasp and pins them behind her.

His mouth pulls away to answer her unasked question. Auri's hips try to follow, but Astarion only smirks.

“It's your throne, darling, but I'm the one who built it.”

Blood adorns his face. He seems entirely uninterested in wiping himself clean. His tongue runs along his lips, and he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

The Vampire Ascendant kneels before her, but it's a mockery of control that the position gives her.

“You'll get what you seek, and you'll get it many times over. In fact, I plan to give it to you as many times as there are months in the year.”

Twelve times– there's not a universe where she can orgasm twelve times–

She doesn't get to finish the thought. Astarion's mouth continues what it started, and Auri can do nothing but fall prey to his expertise.

There's no learning curve for him. He knew her body perfectly before he ascended and she became the Hero of Baldur's Gate, and he hasn’t forgotten in the year that they’ve spent apart. Astarion nips at the soft flesh of her inner thigh and all Auri can do is cry out, the pain intermingling with pleasure.

When he devours her, Auri can’t remember why she ever let him leave. She can’t remember why she left him.

Since she was named the big damn hero, everything has been an exercise in trying to be good. It’s exactly like it was before the tadpole but with the pressure of everyone’s expectations piled on top.

When Astarion’s lips pull at her clit, two fingers slip inside her.

Hasn’t she earned it? Hasn’t she earned this instance of selfishness, of desire?

The mage hand is unrelenting. She wants to thrash; she wants to ride his fingers, wants to fuck herself on them to orgasm. The pace he builds instead is infuriatingly slow, the suction torturous. When his fingers curl to press at the spot that only he has ever been able to hit perfectly, she gasps out, “Please–”

His mouth leaves her clit with a pop that Auri will never forget for as long as she lives. “What’s the rush, darling? We’ve got, well, as much time as I decide we have.” When he pushes the third finger inside of her, Auri’s eyes roll back into her head. His smirk is infuriating, but all it accomplishes is making Auri even slicker. Astarion continues, “On the other hand, there’s no reason not to start all of this with a bang.”

His thumb presses into her clit, and just when Auri thinks that release is imminent, he replaces his thumb again with his mouth.

Auri shatters.

Still, the mage hand doesn’t release her. When she tries to free her hands, its grip tightens if anything. Her wrists will be purple with bruises tomorrow, but Auri doesn’t care. Her hips cant upward into Astarion’s face, but he’s gracious toward her climax. As he works her through it, his mouth slows, careful not to overstimulate her as he goes.

She’s still in love with him. He’s not the same man that he was, but as the lightning bolt of an orgasm rips through her body, it’s the only thought in her mind.

When she comes back down, he’s staring at her as if she’s some marvel of the universe.

“A month, then, that you’re mine.”

He withdraws from her cunt, and Auri exhales at the loss. Astarion never stops watching her as he stands, the mage hand dissipating. He licks at each of the fingers that were inside of her in turn.

“I’ll claim this month, I think,” he says, almost absently.

Auri’s still breathless. “This month?”

He raises an eyebrow as if she’s asked a stupid question. He should look disheveled, untethered in some way, but he doesn’t.

He just looks hungry.

“What better way to ring in every new year than by tasting your blood and cum?”

And Auri can’t really argue with that, especially not when desire makes her face flush again. She deflects instead.

“Are you going to stand there or are you going to make good on those twelve climaxes?”

Auri recognizes that the challenge is a mistake the moment that the words leave her lips.

Astarion's grin is devilish. “I was erring on the side of hyperbole when I implied twelve.”

There's blood underneath her. It stains the pillows and throws that he's taken care to decorate the throne with.

Astarion's always been fast, but now, he's supernaturally so. When Auri blinks, he's on top of her.

“How many can you handle, I wonder? How many times will your body let me unravel it?”

A lifetime ago, when they were both other people, Auri was gentle with him.

But that was a lifetime ago.

She fists her hands in the front of his shirt and pulls him to her. Her teeth clatter into his fangs when she kisses him. Auri’s never had the grace that he does.

“Let's find out,” she hisses into his mouth.

When he grins, it’s bloody. “How shall I give you my cock, then, sweet treat?”

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as it’s him.

“The Vampire Ascendant, asking my opinion–”

Auri gets the feeling that he might be annoyed were he not drunk on the vitality he’s just lapped from between her legs. Instead, he says, “A privilege, to be sure,” and when Auri throws her head back and laughs, it’s real. Astarion blinks at her, almost surprised, but it lasts only a moment. He exhales, nodding at the shirt she’s somehow still wearing as he begins to unlace his breeches. “Off.”

She complies gladly, slipping out of what little clothing remains on her body and expecting him to do the same, but he doesn’t. Auri swallows hard as Astarion’s cock slips free, but he makes no motion to further undress.

Instead, he once more lifts her into his arms effortlessly, taking the seat she’d occupied just before. He’s flush with the back of the throne, and Auri’s exposed entirely on his lap.

And again, any illusion of power that Auri had slips away. She has a knee on either side of his hips, and she grasps for equal ground when she says, “You always did like me on top,” but she’s already panting. “My cycle is going to ruin your lovely outfit.”

His cock teases her entrance. Auri’s mouth is dry.

“What better fitting metaphor for the way I’m about to ruin you?” he asks.

Fine things tainted by taboo. They’re the same that way. They always have been.

When he sheathes himself inside her, Auri thinks she might black out. Her head lolls backward as she takes him, and to any god that might be listening, she whispers, “Fuck.”

His hands are on her waist as he guides her downward, soaked as she is with blood and cum, and Auri moans as he fills her. He thrusts up into her once, softly, and one of his hands drifts to her breast. His nail flits along her nipple, a tease of a thing, and Auri’s hips roll instinctively.

Astarion exhales through his nose, his eyes half-lidded. For all his posturing, he wants her as badly as Auri wants him. She raises her hips to take him again, to fuck him until she can’t breathe, but even as she rides, he sets the pace. The hand on her waist helps her up and down as his cock turns slick with her, and with the other, he kneads the soft flesh of her breast.

When she tries to lean back and take him as deeply as her body will allow, the hand on her waist stops her.

“What–” she starts, dizzy with lust. His cock throbs inside her. When she tries to move, again, he stops her. “Let me–”

“How many were there?” he asks, voice cold.

“What?”

Obsession wars with lust in Astarion’s eyes.

“Who else tasted you, fucked you, loved you while I pined after you?”

“Are you seriously asking this right now?”

Astarion grips her face with the hand that had been preoccupied with her breast. “Yes.”

Auri’s racing heart stems from fear, adrenaline, and the cock still buried inside her.

“There were only two. You know about Evana.”

“And the other?”

Auri barely remembers the other one. She was blackout drunk in a bar in some backwater dive, looking for any way to bury the fact that she’d let Astarion slip out of her grasp.

“I don’t even know his name.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as if he doesn’t believe her. She’d be happy to play his cock sleeve another day, but this wasn’t the deal they struck.

“Read my thoughts if you think I’m lying,” she challenges, but the intrusion of his mind into hers never comes. The intrusion between her legs, though, fucks upward, and Auri cries out.

“Did they fuck you as well as I do, darling?”

He knows the answer. Auri knows that he does. He just wants to hear her say it.

“No one fucks me like you do,” she says, and at last (at last) he gives her what she wants. Her body’s so sensitive; Astarion thrusts into her hard enough that it almost hurts, but it doesn’t matter. Every move he makes electrifies her, and again, her own pleasure’s outside her control. She’d meant to ride him, an at least symbolic display of power, but he’s stolen it from her.

And she’d let him do it forever.

The realization coincides with the hand on her waist drifting down her body. Auri doesn’t notice. She’s too busy losing herself in the heat that’s building in the pit of her stomach.

When his fingers find her clit, Auri falls forward at the stimulation, catching herself on the back of the throne. Her face is nearly touching his, and the movement has the side effect of grinding her clit into his hand.

“You’ll come for me, won’t you?” he asks, voice low.

He doesn’t have to ask. She would anyway. But when he speaks, it pushes her over the edge. Pleasure rips through her body for a second time, and Auri isn’t sure, but she thinks she actually screams. She collapses into his chest, every muscle in her body contracting as he thrusts slowly into her twice more before coming to a stop.

“A second month, then.”

He sounds so self-satisfied, as if he isn’t waiting to spend himself inside her, too.

She loves him.

Gods, but she loves him, still.

Auri can’t give him what he wants. But maybe she can meet him halfway. Her mind’s not working. She’s been fucked so thoroughly that she barely knows up from down, but she can’t afford that.

When he slides out from inside her, Auri’s confused. Surely he’s not done after all his talk of ‘an orgasm for every month of the year.’

“Since you like deals,” Auri says, undercut by the fact that she can’t catch her breath, “I have a proposition for you.”

Astarion’s tongue runs along his teeth and he raises an eyebrow.

“I won’t give up my life with the troupe, but–”

Astarion clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Disappointing, but unsurprising,” he says, and without a modicum of decorum, he turns her so that her back is flush with his chest. Auri rests comfortably in his lap, and momentarily, she thinks that this is surprisingly tender.

His hand spreads her legs.

“If you’re going to offer me some sort of consolation prize, I’d like you to see just how lovely you look with my cock stuffed inside you while you try to negotiate.”

How is it possible for her to still crave him after she’s come in his mouth and on his cock? It looks obscene between her legs, rubbing up against her clit, covered in her blood and cum both.

“Just think about how much easier it would be to keep an eye on me if you were here,” Astarion says, a hand under each of her thighs. His mouth is at her ear; he’s closer to coming apart than he wants her to think. His voice is ragged with it. Auri reaches a hand behind her to catch in his hair.

“Why can’t I have both?”

He answers by sinking himself inside her. Auri watches as his cock disappears into her, and again, there’s that inimitable feeling of fullness. This position–

She’ll never last.

“I’ll give you everything.” Astarion’s cock slams into the spot that makes her vision go white. “Gold, jewels, instruments you’ve never even heard of.” Auri can’t think. She can’t breathe. He’s the only thing there is and the only thing that matters.

Except that’s not true, no matter how much she wishes that it were.

“Three months. I’ll give you three months a year, whichever ones you want.”

Astarion nips at her neck, just enough to draw blood. “You’re going to give me that anyway, precious thing. Those were the terms.”

She’s going to break. She’s going to cry. He thrusts into her mercilessly, and the pleasure is relentless. Again, his hand finds her clit, and Auri briefly thinks that this might actually kill her.

“Three months,” she repeats, though not without scraping her nails against the back of his head.

“I think not.”

Auri cries out but steels herself. Ecstasy is just within reach, but Astarion’s close, too. She can feel it in the way his fingers dig into the flesh of her thigh. “Six, then.”

“Twelve, then, if you’re going to be stubborn.” A veritable growl bubbles from his throat, his thrusts lose their rhythm, and his fingers on his clit lose their discipline as finally, finally his unaffected veneer slips.

“Six,” Auri gasps. “Six months each year, but you can come to me and feed as often as you like.”

It’s the first time that Auri feels the balance of power shift in her favor.

“Come for me, you confounding thing,” he says, and he isn’t asking this time. The pressure on her clit is rough and she spirals into a third climax. Astarion chases her into it as her muscles spasm around his cock and in the same moment, his fangs pierce her skin.

She writhes, coming around him as he spends himself inside her. Her own blood trickles down her neck, but she has no doubt that he won’t let it go to waste. His cock pulses as he rides out his own end, and Auri doesn’t think she has ever been this deliciously full.

“Six months I'll be with you, but year round I'll be yours to feast on.” Auri’s vision swims as she speaks, the cumulative effect of three orgasms and Astarion feeding. When he finally pulls his mouth from her flesh, he’s silent.

He’s still hard inside her. When he shifts to a more comfortable sitting position, Auri’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not convinced,” Astarion says, and Auri bites the inside of her cheek. “But perhaps you could try to sway me in the bedroom, instead.”

He kisses the wounds he’s just inflicted on her throat. Auri smiles.

She’ll get her way. She always does. And she loves him.

Maybe that’s enough.

“You don’t want to make an appearance at the party?” Auri asks.

Astarion smirks. “I’ll drop you off there naked after I’ve had my way with you if you’re still being stubborn about letting me give you the life you deserve.”

Auri snorts. No matter what path her life takes, it always seems to lead her back to Astarion.

Auri likes Deadwinter.

thanks for reading love u bye

#astarion x tav #astarion #tavstarion #tav x astarion #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 smut #astarion ancunin #astarion smut

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ryttu3k · 2 months

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Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction recs

Ongoing list of Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction recs. Sorted into oneshots, complete multi-chapters, and in-process multi-chapters, otherwise listed alphabetically. Italicised titles are absolute favourites.

Mostly Astarion-centric because the brainrot is real.

This is not including the approximately three dozen fics I have bookmarked to read later god help me.

Oneshots

A Helping Hand by rjestudioarts. Astarion/Halsin, 2.2k. Astarion goes to Measures to do something for his lover.

a social forced choice question and answer game by unsungillumination. Tadpolycule, 1.5k. The gang play FMK.

ascendant, alone by atomjenkins. Astarion-centric, 3.3k. Astarion begins his new life as the Vampire Ascendant.

anything? choose to live by alwaysyourqueen. Astarion-centric (minor Astarion/Wyll), 4.7k. Astarion sees a familiar face amidst the newly-freed spawn.

Best Unspoken by Asidian. Wyll/Astarion, 4.8k. Wyll learns, through painful lessons, about minding his tongue.

caught between the dark and the dreaming by Raayide. Astarion-centric, 18.9k. Astarion is dosed with klauthgrass; he and his companions deal with the consequences.

chaos construct by birthright. Astarion/Dark Urge, 4.9k. Astarion offers the Dark Urge his devotion.

Come Hell or High Water by Udaberri. Astarion/Karlach/Wyll, 606 words. Karlach returns to Avernus, but this time, she's not alone.

Dagger to the Heart by trashmaven. Developing Gale/Astarion, 1.3k. Astarion finds an interesting book in Gale's tent.

Deadwinter Warmth by Asidian. Astarion/Karlach/Wyll, 4k. A few times Astarion is kept warm.

Did I Think That Out Loud? by SomeoneNamedGem. Mildly tadpolycule, 3.4k. The tadfools versus thought-sharing brainworms.

fill me from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty by solistrix. Aurelia and her siblings, 6.8k. Aurelia reflects on being the eldest sibling.

Fool Me Once by cyranonic. Karlach, Gortash, and Astarion, 6.9k. Karlach and her history with Gortash.

Five times Wyll spill the jug (and the one time Astarion does) by Yinello. Astarion/Wyll, 2.3k. Astarion vs Wyll's puns.

folie a deux by binder. Astarion/Gale, 8.3k. Astarion, a college student, starts having some peculiar dreams.

Four Sonnets and a Death Threat by HigharollaKockamamie. Gale-centric, 1.3k. Gale writes poetry.

Friendly Fire by Asidian. Karlach/Astarion, 5k. Astarion gets into a spot of trouble, Karlach comes to his aid.

Hedonism by ushuaz. Wyll/Karlach/Astarion, 4.1k. Astarion sort of stumbles into a relationship with Wyll and Karlach, and decides to teach Wyll hedonism.

Howl by menzoberranyr. Shadowheart-centric, 2.4k. Werewolf Shadowheart agenda lives!

if we put our worms together by corviiid. Gen, 1.9k. Short collection of modern AU microfics.

It's the Thought that Counts by Sephiius. Omeluum/Blurg, 3k. Omeluum attempts to make breakfast for Blurg, with 'attempts' being the keyword.

jackrabbit by tomorrowsrain. Astarion-centric, 15.6k. Astarion slowly develops a friendship with the others.

Jergal's Guide to Surviving a Mindflayer Invasion (And All of the Tadpole Sex That Comes With It) by falco_c. So many, 1.8k. Withers sees All (and lowkey wishes he didn't).

Just a Touch Pathetic by patster223. Gale/Astarion, 4.6k. Modern AU, explicit. "Or, two men try to bully each other into having self-esteem and then have sex about it."

Laborious Love by BhaalsDeep. Karlach/Astarion, 6.9k. Astarion makes a gift for Karlach.

Let's pray to the stars (for another chance) by Astralia. Astarion/Gale, 12.4k. Gale, born 170 years earlier than in canon, visits Baldur's Gate, and is seduced by a pale elf.

Like A River Flows by smallhorizons. Wyll/Astarion, 4.3k. On the eve of their departure for Baldur's Gate, Wyll considers his past and Astarion attempts sincerity.

Loopholes by starkraving. Wyll/Astarion, 5.3k. Astarion tries to work out the details of Wyll's pact. It backfires somewhat.

Melted Snow by Asidian. Karlach/Astarion, 3.3k. Cuddling for warmth!

noble pursuits by arcanefoxx. Astarion/Gale, 3.3k. Gale ascends. Astarion does not.

no one will love me like you again by FlowerCitti. Karlach/Astarion, 2.6k. Karlach regains the ability to touch.

Repairs by Asidian. Karlach/Astarion, 1.4k. Karlach approaches Astarion in his tent.

restless all night by hermitized. Karlach and Gale, 2.2k. Karlach and Gale commiserate over their fates.

Say you, say you, say you love me by God_I_Love_Butter. Gale/Astarion, 4.1k. Gale uses a Wish spell.

Seven Minutes in Avernus by cyranonic. Astarion and Karlach, 3.5k. Astarion and Karlach get trapped together.

Soak It In by shinymailbox. Karlach/Astarion, 3.8k. With time running out, Karlach and Astarion go for a swim.

Some Culinary Advice by Asidian. Astarion and Gale, 1.8k. Astarion attempts to cook.

surprise, surprise by foxflowering. Wyll/Astarion, 3.7k, explicit. Wyll has a surprise. Two of them, actually. Also some beautiful character study for them both, but yes, two... surprises.

Taters by OrangeChickenPillow. Karlach-centric, 1.6k. Karlach finds new speakers for her language.

temporal displacement by PurpleCatGhost. Wyll/Astarion, 4.8k. 20-year-old Wyll Ravengard meets a stranger who definitely seems to know him.

That old honey and vinegar by wearethewitches. Isobel and Thisobald, 1.4k. Isobel summons her brother for a first and last talk.

The Dead Shot by anonymous. Gale/Astarion, 2.1k. Modern AU. Astarion discovers new advances in photography.

Trial by Fire by monsterkiss. Karlach/Lae'zel, 3.7k. Lae'zel has… some fascinating flirtation techniques.

Uncrossed Lines by Asidian. Astarion-centric (with Wyll, Halsin, and Karlach), 1.9k. Astarion's friends defend his boundaries.

Upon Reflection by ellnick. Astarion/Gale, 2.7k. Astarion makes Gale have some realisations about his past relationship with Mystra.

We Happy Few by geometea. Wyll/Astarion, 30.1k. Fifteen years ago, Wyll saved the world, and all it cost him was his soul. Fourteen and a half years ago, Astarion disappeared.

well received by howeverlong. Astarion and Scratch, 1.3k. Astarion is Befriended(tm).

Multi-chapters and series

And All I Get Is The Gift Of Growing Old by Hatigave. God!Gale/Ascended!Astarion, 14.4k, explicit. Astarion and Gale are tremendously bad for each other.

Attrition by theneonpineapple. Wyll/Astarion, 62.9k. Prince Astarion of Larian vows to use his arranged marriage to Prince Wyll of Ultania to find a cure for the vampirism he's been cursed with.

burning bright by floralprintshark. Wyll/Karlach/Astarion, 9.9k. Technically an ongoing series, but all the individual parts are complete oneshots. Wyll, Karlach, and Astarion work out assorted aspects of their developing relationship.

Hells Escape Pact by ushauz. Wyll/Karlach/Astarion, 17.6k. Wyll is a devil, Karlach has been in hell for thirteen years, and Astarion was sacrificed. They meet in Avernus and decide it's time to get out of Avernus, tyvm.

how to escape the torment nexus by ushauz. Astarion/Wyll, 33.2k. Not many of the party survive the Netherbrain. Astarion does, and decides Wyll will be another.

love what is mortal by weatheredlaw. Halsin/Astarion, 36.6k, explicit (but not a main focus). Astarion decides it's time for a family reunion.

Monster Support Group by ushauz. Astarion/Wyll, Shadowheart/Karlach, 57.1k. No tadpoles, but they come together nonetheless.

Old Breaks by Asidian. Halsin/Astarion, 8k. Astarion has chronic pain from Cazador's tortures, Halsin looks after him.

Sharing by Asidian. Tadpolycule, 6k. Everyone is a polycule; people communicate.

The Baldur's Gate ABCs by improbable_archivy. Gen, 2.9k. A spectacular collection of poems!

The Cure by BlackwaterVial. Astarion/Raphael, 48.7k. Raphael ends up on the receiving end of a clumsy seduction by a newly-turned spawn and decides, hmm, he can do something with this.

What Drifts on the Air by Letterblade. Tadpolycule (and Halsin), 41.1k, explicit. "*slaps roof of orgy* this baby can fit so many feelings in it!"

Who's the goose that's on the loose? by JustPoro. Mild Astarion/Tav, 8.8k. Is that your sandwich? Not any more.

Multi-chapters - in process

Perceived Impressions by Acinonyx1. Halsin/Astarion, currently 38.3k, 15/17 chapters posted. Astarion is captured by the goblins, and thrown in the cage of a surprisingly non-hostile bear.

Seen by ayvaines. Gale/Astarion, Cazador/Astarion, currently 118.2k, 34/70 chapters posted. Astarion joins his fiance Cazador's Dungeons & Dragons game, and finds something in the game's charming DM, Gale. (Content warning: may be triggering for those in/who have been in abusive relationships.)

snare by parsnipit. Astarion/Halsin, eventual Astarion/Halsin/Dark Urge, currently 48.9k, 11 chapters posted. Fresh from helping save the world, Halsin makes a discovery in the depths of the Czarr Palace.

Something Lonesome and Wild by passing_lives. Astarion/Gale, currently 100.8k, 18/30 chapters posted. Cazador's ritual requires his spawn to have spawn. Astarion is captured by the mind flayers with one in tow.

Tale of the Star by AndyAO3. Astarion/OC, Gale/OC, Halsin/OC, lots of other relationships going on. Currently 253k. Multi-part series, with two complete acts and act 3 in process.

The Season by Linnetagain. Gale/Astarion, currently 222.9k, 18 chapters posted. Dancing On Ice AU, where Astarion is an ex-Olympian figure skater and Gale is a famous musician.

The Smallest Changes Have The Largest Ripples by Hyrulehearts1123. Dark Urge and Jaheira, Dark Urge/Astarion, currently 26.7k. Multi-part series, all individual parts complete so far. Jaheira adopts a strange child.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #the pale elf #bloodweave #wyllstarion #bloodpact #hellspawn #wyllachstarion #tadpolycule #fanfiction

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asidian · 4 months

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Deadwinter Warmth

by: Asidian

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Karlach/Wyll/Astarion

Warnings: past noncon, past torture

Excerpt:

In the noble houses, Midwinter is a time of alliances, and Astarion knows better than anyone what that means.

It means that Cazador will dress him in silks that do nothing to keep out the cold – red and black, the Szarr family colors – and off they'll go in a carriage pulled by horses that shy away from their undead passengers.

Over the next tenday, they'll pay visits to the Hollhollyn estate, and the Bormul manor, and that frigid wreck of a tower Lord Petric Amber insists on using to host his galas. Astarion will smile and flirt and bat his lashes; he'll stand in the corner and play the harp as Cazador has bid him, eyes demurely downcast and fingers going numb from the cold, knowing that every missed note will mean a broken bone later the same evening.

#fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 wyll #karlach #wyllstarion #bloodpact #fireblood #karlach/wyll/astarion #firebloodpact

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pentuppen · 2 months

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Writing Patterns Tag Game!

Never done one of these before but I got Tagged by @dustdeepsea so I figured I would give it a go! Also @dustdeepsea i snagged your formatting because I am lazy!

Rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~

The Devil You Don't (BG3 unfinished series. Rapahel/Tav. explicit)

The library was a place in which a thousand journeys waited.

2. Unleashed (BG3 Unfinished series. Book two of The Game series. Tav / Astarion spawn. Explicit)

Warner Gould half stumbled out of the Blushing Mermaid, weaving on the threshold for a few seconds before he bounced gently off the doorframe and half floated down the wooden stairs.

3. Bitter Suns (BG3 one shot. Gortash / Durge. Explicit)

Her mind was a spiral of revelation, coming undone at the seams she had roughly tied into place over the last few months, the urge once again circling her body like a shark, waiting for the first drop of her weakening will to fall like blood in the water.

4. Loose The Arrow (BG3 finished series, book one in The Game series. Astarion ascended / tav, i think at this point you can assume they are all explicit lol)

It was a perfect twilight by the time she’d finished setting up the camp.

5. Mid Winter In Moonrise (BG3 One shot. Astarion ascended/tav/halsin. Created as a xmas special for all the people who got me through 50 chapters of Loose the Arrow)

Twas the night before Deadwinter and all through the woods, not a creature was stirring…aside from the druid who sailed through the air and hit the trunk of a tree.

6. The Things We Must Do (DA:I Solas/lavellan angst fluff and smut, old fic)

The old wolf roamed across the Exalted plains and a trembling silence followed, broken only by the sound of dry grass beneath weary feet.

7. See Her Run (DA:I Solas / Lavallen angst fluff and basically unfinished because I ran out of steam)

When he had once sat within the painted rotunda of Skyhold and idly imagined her stepping amongst the ancient shelves of the shattered library, it had not been like this.

8. The Lady Doth Protest (DA:I One shot. Pure Blackwall/trevelyan smut)

He watched her mingle with the sycophantic ranks of nobles and dignitaries alike, a glittering array of strutting peacocks and bejewelled swans, all of them speaking from behind masks, whether they wore them on their faces or behind their lying eyes.

9. In Red (DA:I One shot. Pure Iron Bull / Trevelyan smut )

They meet on the battlefield again, and this time they are on the same side.

10. What You Owe (DA:I 3 parter. My very first fic, a Solas / lavellan angst smut sobfest! I made a lot of people cry)

“It was cruel of you to seek me in my dreams”

~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~

Not sure what any of that says about me other than I am a bit long winded lol

Don't actually know many other authors I can tag because im old and mostly shitpost stupid memes! But I will ask @nusaran and @chewchewman to take a stab at it!!

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unhinged-summer-fun · 2 years

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burning flames or paradise

Written for Danktober 2022 Day 05: Heartbeat, Flame, National Do Something Nice Day. Go do something nice!

Pero Tovar x F!Reader

Summary: The mysterious man who'd taken up residence in the old forge had been drawing the interest of your abilities for some time now. But why?

Warnings: none.

Word Count: 3069

A/N: Soulmates make my knees weak.

[full danktober list here]

"I don't know about that one, girl. Seems awful bad news to me." You only idly listened as the old crone spoke, eyes staying fixed on the old forge. Someone had bought the place from that old crook Kieran, and was fixing it up little by little. There'd only ever been glimpses of this mysterious new owner, but today he was walking around the market doing his shopping like everyone else.

You recognized him from when he'd first come into town, camping on the outskirts several days before the first snowfall. You'd been returning from a long walk gathering herbs in the woods, and had briefly shared the doorway to the tavern with the man while you sought supper. The moment had been brief and sharp in its sudden bite at your attention, but you'd felt no fear the way you had with other men who rode through town. All the tension surrounding his arrival had broken when the barmaid mentioned seeing Kieran ride determinedly out of town, whistling gaily atop the horse the newcomer had come in on.

It was nearly deadwinter, now. He was still quite dour, that much was clear even from a distance. You knew where the old woman's concern came from, implying that the ill intents of man would sometimes hide themselves in plain sight, but your experience told you that it was safer to operate with the belief that the wicked would go to any extent to hide their nature. Many a wolf in your life had hidden beneath the mannered trappings of wool.

You wondered what this man was hiding, if his surly appearance was anything to go off of.

"Just the two today, thanks," you said softly, paying for your usual rashers of bacon. Before you could escape her entirely, she called out to warn you of the coming snow and you went on your way. You didn't need to hear any more of her foreboding suspicions. You had enough of that on your own.

Your shopping was finished after that, so you let yourself indulge a bit in just watching the people in the square. Unfortunately, you could no longer see the mysterious man anymore, and you sighed in disappointment, feeling silly a moment later. At least he's coming out into town at all. Can't expect too much from someone you didn't--

"Perdóneme, dama." You looked up into those eyes you'd been so enchanted by the first time you saw them.

Then, straddling the threshold facing him head-on, he'd glared at you for the crime of looking at him, and though his personality screamed ice, there was a hidden heat in his eyes you couldn't look away from. It felt... not familiar, but almost lonely. Not the heat of a wildfire or a cooking fire, but that of a small campfire, just to keep company by. Perhaps this was why he took over the forge, to have a piece of something warm and alive that only lived as long as you let it. You thought he somehow felt that you could see that, and rushed away into the night.

"That's alright," you said in a rush, catching your breath after a few long seconds of stunned silence. You feared he could hear your heart beating like a drum in your chest. You still were unafraid of him, only surprised to see him so close in much the same way as the first time, mere moments after he'd crossed your mind.

He looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, just like the first time as well, he grunted some pardon and continued on his way, leaving you to yours.

You thought of the exchange the rest of the day.

❖

His name was Tovar, the barmaid said that evening over supper. "Comes in to eat twice a day. Hardly says a word. Just pays for a plate and eats right over there by himself. Didn't come in this evening, though." You were only half-listening, imagining the kind of life this man--Tovar--must lead to stick to such a routine each day.

"He spoke in a different tongue when I saw him last," you said distractedly, trying to see what she knew but giving the air of politely continuing conversation. It had worked well in the city, and triply so out here, where conversation was so rarely satisfying to the soul.

"Aye, my Jan believe him a Spaniard. He passed by when he was making the shit deal with Kieran for the forge. You know it?"

"The deal?"

"No, but it was shit, though." You've said. "The tongue. Spainish."

"I don't," you admitted. But I do know that's not the name.

The barmaid just rose her eyes in mirth, leaning in to talk to you. "I'm sure he'd love to teach you. Seems right personable to be around, fine company." She teased, but you frowned behind your nervous laugh. The man wasn't here to defend himself, and you didn't like the idea of his homeland being something to pick fun over.

"I've got to get back. I'll see you."

"Get home safe. With the wind being as it is, only a fool would dawdle."

You left the tavern, pulling your shawl over your shoulders a bit tighter. She wasn't wrong, it would snow, but not until you got home.

❖

Your divine sense had warned you of the weather that morning, in a much more insistent way than it normally did. These portents typically came when your life needed them most, like a crack of lightning striking the well just before you normally would fetch water, or forewarning of a terrifying beast coming on a rampage through town. Occasionally, they were simpler things, calmer. Urges to walk in the woods, to take this turn and catch the light of a rainbow in the sky, or the passage of a family of deer. They cautioned you over food threatening to rot, sick individuals to avoid. Sometimes, they would hint about a new friend arriving to town.

In the case of Tovar, your sense had given you none of the warnings you were familiar with, only a deep interest surrounding the man. This, of course, sparked your curiosity and intrigued you even more than a newcomer to the village already would have. Even now several weeks after his arrival, the sense surrounding the snowstorm felt just as deeply meaningful, intense and vague toward you in the way Tovar himself had been, and you found yourself taking a fools' route back to your home, walking by the forge to see what you could make of it.

The cold nipped at your nose, prompting you to pull the shawl over your head and face to protect from the icy wind. The forge was dark and quiet when you approached. The last few days, you knew he had been working on cleaning the flue to the forge itself, the last and darkest task before the lighting of that blazing hearthflame. It was extremely foolish to attempt this with winter approaching so quickly, but despite this, he asked nobody for help, and nobody offered it.

The door swung open easily when you pressed on it, confirming your suspicions. The entire place was like ice, still and unsettling. "Hello?" you called. "Tovar?" The name felt unfamiliar on your tongue, but not unpleasant. Silence chilled and shook your composure more than the temperature, until you heard movement approach.

The man filled the doorway to the back room the way a damned door should. He was shadowed almost completely, but not enough to hide his shivering. He made a questioning noise of you and you became aware that you didn't quite know why you were here, only that you should have been.

"I... it's going to snow soon, do you have a fire?" It seemed polite enough to ask.

He scowled. "The previous forgemaster, he..." he waved at the darkened hearth and made a sound of disgust. "There is mold in the firewood pile he sold to me. Rats have eaten at the bellows. The trough holds more cracks than water. It is all useless." He huffed a frustrated breath, the air clouding before his face in the scant light.

"That's terrible, and you must be so cold," you said, eyebrows raising expectantly. If you were to leave now, you had no way of ensuring he would survive the night.

"Quite." Apparently, Tovar had run out of ideas, for a desperate man would have disclosed even one, here. He looked down and away, like this icy fate was meant for him, and he welcomed it like the judgment of heaven, knowing his destination anyway. Your mouth moved for you.

"Stay with me this night."

"What?" he said, looking up in suspicion.

You doubled down. "It's likely you'll be snowed in by morning. If you have no fire, you won't be found until spring. Stay with me, at my house."

He warred with himself over your offer. Were kindnesses proffered so rare in his life that he had to test each for poison? Your sense gave a gentle nudge of both confirmation and approval, and you felt yourself buckle down into your decision, ready to drag this man by the ear to your home if you needed to. He saw you set your jaw and sighed.

"Fine. Just until daybreak. Then I'm going to the wood to chop a tree." He disappeared behind the wall, presumably to grab his things. In a lull of the wind, you could hear him say, "...so I don't chop that man's head off myself." It made you smile, which you covered with your shawl when you heard him return. "I am ready."

"Let's hurry."

❖

The snow fell in earnest by the time you crossed the threshold to your small cottage. The small collection of walls and roofing had been handed down to you from some old dead relative who never even lived here, and you'd jumped at the chance to move away from the bustle of the city to someplace quieter, somewhere you could hear yourself think for the first time in a long while. In the city, the divine warnings had come several times a day, leaving you in a constant state of anxiety. You lived your life as if it was something to survive rather than enjoy.

Your fire built up quickly, the wood dry and healthy. When it reached its peak, you turned to look at Tovar, seeing him standing far away from you, like you would scream for help if he approached. "Come closer, you're trembling," you said gently, welcoming him toward the warming hearthstone.

It took a long, frozen moment, but he took one cautious step forward, then another, until he fell to his knees before the fire and held his hands close enough to the flames to alarm you somewhat. But he must have had no fear of fire, to choose to work a forge. "I can repay you for this," he said in a solemn tone, an air of vows and repentance about him. "I am in your debt."

"Enough of that," you muttered, shaking your head and removing your shawl to replace it with a warmer blanket off your bed. You threw the other blanket at his head. "Hasn't anyone done something nice for you just to do it? No expectations or repayment?"

He scowled at you when he pulled the blanket off his head. "No." The fabric had mussed at his hair a little, and with the snow having melted into the black locks, he looked properly disheveled. "Nobody."

You were astonished by his conviction. It must have shown enough to affect him, because he attempted to explain.

"I am... I am not a good man. I did... wicked things for money and war-glory for many years. Most of my life, in fact. You should not trust me."

"You were a mercenary," you translated.

"I was."

"You're a blacksmith now."

"Fine job of one, no?" he sighed, looking down and away.

Instincts spoke. "You've never done a wicked thing to me, nor anybody in the village. We've needed a forgeworker for a long time, and Kieran would never sell the place to anyone in town. Why wouldn't I trust you? You've given me no reason not to."

"My soul is damned, dama," he whispered, pleading with you to understand that which you refused to see.

"Yet you remain alive."

"A penance," he grumbled. "Do not trick me with riddles."

"You're very determined to live an unhappy life, aren't you?" you said with a laugh, standing and going for a small cellar and pulling out a loaf of bread you'd made that morning.

You jumped slightly when you turned and came face-to-face with the man again for a third time. Tovar was very clearly trying to intimidate you into changing your mind about him. Few had succeeded in scaring you off, though, and they'd tried everything to get you back. You looked up at him and saw the fire in your hearth reflected in his eyes, hot and full of depth you were sure you weren't imagining.

He looked just as he did when you first saw him, outwardly angry but unable to control the loneliness inside of him. He looked as he did the second time, confused and curious about you in the way you assumed wolves wondered if they could eat a new kind of prey. This third time, he looked mostly as though he had given up trying to hide himself from you. He expressed discomfort in being praised and assured, and frustrated at the self-imposed denial of his wishes to seek answers of you. He was never going to speak without you making the first move.

"Yes, you're very scary, Tovar. But are you hungry?"

He pulled a face of confusion and hardly moved as you walked past his large frame. If he didn't join you at the table a moment later, you would have wondered if the fire had proved useless and he'd actually frozen in place. He looked at you with a peering interest, eyes squinted at you like you were a puzzle he wanted to figure out. It made your heart skip a little to have such attention on you. You wanted him to know you, to solve you and enjoy mixing you up again.

"Here." You pulled off a piece of bread for him and took another for yourself. "There's more in the pantry you can help yourself to. "Romina said you weren't there for supper this evening."

"I've been struggling with the situation in the forge since midmorning." He sighed in frustration.

"Keeping a good forge running is basically a one-man job. Even in the cities, it takes a team of men to start one up."

"You've lived in cities?"

You looked away. "For a time. I've been on my own for quite awhile. Out here problems seemed smaller. Mistakenly, I believed myself to be the only harbinger of my own luck. I was dissuaded of that notion fairly quickly. If you would accept any help, I can offer it."

"That is doubtful," he said with a scoff.

What gall.

You quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Doubtful that I would accept it, not that you would offer. You offer help very... forcefully."

You laughed. "That's a word for it. Why would you doubt yourself? You've accepted my help once already." You motioned to his place before you.

The longer you talked in front of the fire, the more comfortable he grew, watching you describe your stories with a sort of tentative amusement. You told him stories of the city, your first years out here in this nameless village in a nameless land. How you thought, at one point, you would have to shed your own name just to prevent drawing attention.

Throughout it all, his eyes sparkled like the spitting fire sucked up the chimney, but the most he offered by way of humor were scoffs, sarcasm, and a face full of expressions to convey what he thought. You wondered when he'd laughed last, or if it had ever been something he'd done.

"I lied to you earlier," he said later on. You were dozing off in your chair as the wind howled and shrieked past the glass of the windowpanes. His proclamation came extremely close and quite suddenly, the way he seemed most comfortable around you. Were it any other, you would have filled with dread, but instead you were intrigued. When he didn't continue, you sat up straighter, gave him your full attention.

"There was someone I knew who did things for me without expectation. Kindnesses. They always felt misplaced. The company we kept was consistently that of liars and cheats and bad men. To have somebody... To know that he... His loyalty to me was... I did not understand it. I still do not understand him."

He looked troubled, recalling his time with his friend. It sounded like they were the only friend Tovar had who was worth awarding that title. You wondered briefly of the fate this friend suffered, whether they rested eternal or just somewhere else. It mattered not to Tovar. Their absence was as simple as death.

"Some friends just are."

"Are what?"

"Friends."

"Yes, some friends just are what?"

"Some friends are just... They're just friends to you. That's what friends do, what friendly people do. They choose to be nice to you because that's what they want to be. It's for no reason or holiday or ulterior motivation. It's for no promise of repayment or currying favor with the almighty, it's because they take pleasure in doing kind things."

He looked bewildered, and you expected some incredibly insulting, yet grateful thing to come out of his mouth next.

You were right.

"You are very strange."

"Thank you," you smiled. "I prefer the word friendly."

"Strange, and friendly." The barest hint of a smile crept across his lips, before disappearing again. "Thank you."

"For being strange and friendly?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you a secret, Tovar." You leaned in a little, beckoning him closer. He rolled his eyes and leaned in when you didn't continue instantly. "I think you're pretty strange and friendly, too."

He looked surprised, a look that only intensified when he laughed aloud. Quite suddenly, though beyond your awareness, the storm outside felt just a little further away.

#unhingery #danktober 2022 #pero tovar x reader #f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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anarchyborgir · 1 year

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Celebrate the death of winter with a 20% off your entire order at www.AnarchyBorgir.com

🌺🌸Code DEADWINTER 🏷️ Also have very little King Diamond patches left just saying 🤘🏼sale end Friday

#merch #horror #king diamond #halloween #spooky #anarchyborgir #heavy metal #the simpsons #mickey mouse #disney #patches and pins #enamel pins #embroidered patches #alternative #alternative fashion #punk #sale #first day of spring

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zombiesun · 9 months

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I was tagged @cadavermonument (j’adore) to shuffle my on repeat playlist and post the 10 songs that play

1. sever the blight by hemlocke springs

2. Eyes on Fire by gold souls

3. ingydar by adrienne lenker

4. something sweeter by LUME

5. ASCETIC by DEADWINTER

6. SNOWBLIND (slowed & reverb) by arael

7. The End (Of a Dream) by Shlohmo Cover by tomemitsu

8. If I Lead by Kiltro

9. Death of Me by PVRIS

10. Crossfade - Slowed + reverb by HXVRMXN

tagging: @kanizsacollage @jesustease @boymartyr @saintflint @genderwizard @mushroomcaphat @striffyisme

#tag game #playlist #all I repeat is phonk I am just some guy who loves bass amen

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pinktief · 5 months

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@seeasunset said:

❝What do you do to celebrate? Any celebrations to uphold during these times? I know everyone celebrates it differently.❞ Vasco tilted his head. As if he's a cat being curious about something and ready to study, except with piercing eyes like a hawk and a calm expression. Even then, curiosity burn in those eyes of his. ❝Plus, I don't engage too much into the holidays outside the fact that the Nauts use it as an excuse to drink and party all night.❞

“well... it depends.” zuriel answers plainly but honest. subtly apologetic of the nature of her response. she immediately realizes she is not exactly the most qualified person to reply to this question. having been brought up in a temple, zuriel is fairly educated in comparison with farmer folk and the like. but her education is not as extensive and all encompassing as to remember the holidays of every region, race and religion within faerûn. “there are some holidays that celebrated across the continent pretty universally, i believe. but most of my celebrations come from the dalelands or my faith, so i don't celebrate a lot when i'm on this side of the continent. there is the mid-winter festival, though! different faiths celebrate deadwinter day differently, but it is something to look forward to if you waiting for feast and party.”

misc prompts 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.

#seeasunset #˗ˏˋ 🩷 ˎˊ˗⠀mailbox.

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oathwilled · 4 months

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paerin, do you have any winter traditions?

this ask has been sitting for a couple days bc i wanted to give it some thought because it's such a good question !!

his winter traditions are probably heavily set in old nostalgia and the past by now, because he's been basically unmoored from any particular place for so long. but where he grew up, the winter holidays were in a place where the winter was cold, snowy, and beautiful, lakeside and near the mountains.

the lake would freeze over, they'd get a few yetis drifting down from the mountains, and there were hot springs not far from the town that was a popular destination. one of his first jobs as a young soldier was minding the paths to make sure the travelers between the springs and the cities stayed safe between wildlife and yetis.

much tradition there was heavily centered around food, with a lot of large communal dinners and shared food and drink that were often only made that time of year because of the difficulty of making them or in obtaining the ingredients. so the sharing of food and meals and such is always important to him to some fashion.

they were on a trade route but due to ice and snow it often would slow down towards winter, so often any gifts for midwinter would get exchanged from things that had been traded during the year, or something handcrafted — or, again, food and drinks. gifts weren't a particularly important thing.

he grew up mostly amidst other commonfolk, and so actual midwinter/deadwinter day wasn't celebrated much, because it was right in the middle of the hardest time of year. but — when the days started lengthening and the ice started melting and the yetis began retreating back up the mountain, the younger folk ( and some of the elder ! ) would often scatter down to the docks and be idiots and drink and strip and jump into the lake and climb out gasping and freezing and laughing, and it became kind of a — greet-the-new-year kind of thing.

#;; & headcanons.#( this is long and rambling but i love this question hi )#anonymous

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nosoyivana · 2 years

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Astethic

these things are wonderful 😣🍫📺📺

#vintage #Spotify

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independentartistbuzz · 2 years

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Favvkes Gets Personal on "What You Said"

Favvkes (pronounced "fox") is a fierce Toronto-based artist, guitar player and songwriter with a magnetic stage presence. Combining pop-punk guitars with her love of modern pop music, she creates an alternative style reminiscent of artists like Courtney Love and Paramore, while leading the way with charisma and fresh fashion like Gwen Stefani and Grimes.

Fed up with a relationship, “What You Said” is a nostalgic pop-punk anthem produced by Mike Tompa (Silverstein, Cindë, Deadwinter). It’s about all of the things that weigh you down when you’re putting so much energy into making it work when it just doesn’t anymore, and having a hard time accepting that.

Listen in here: https://soundcloud.com/wtfavvkes/what-you-said/s-Y2LBYI7T1Nz

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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What would it be like going on a road trip with poly Bucky & Wade?

A living nightmare. Bucky is usually pretty quiet and patient on road trips. He enjoys sitting back and watching the scenery with some music playing. He doesn’t talk a lot and will sit in the back even if it is cramped without too much argument, just making the best of it. Bucky is also a very neat person, so the car isn’t getting trashed.

Wade, however, is the complete opposite. He is loud and talkative. He always wants to be sitting where he’s most comfortable. He wants to stop every two minutes and there’s a lot of are we there yet. He throws all the wrappers from his candy on Bucky.

It would be exactly two hours and seventeen minutes before Bucky snaps and the rest of the trip you’re playing the role of barrier between Bucky who wants to see exactly how good at healing Wade exactly is and Wade who’s enjoying the reaction.

#bucky barnes #wade wilson #deadwinter #avengers asks #headcanon #head cannon #anon #answered

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aureyed · 3 years

Audio

(deadwinter)

#SoundCloud #music #deadwinter

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whatiwantwillneverbe · 6 years

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Edgy Album #001

Artists: deadwinter, XXXTentacion, JPEGMAFIA, Death Grips, Sidewalks and Skeletons, 93FEETOFSMOKE, epsyle, Shiro, Surf, forest

Genres: Emo, Rap, Punk, Grunge, Sea Punk, Experimental, Rock, Hip-Hop

#deadwinter #xxxtentacion #jpegmafia #death grips #sidewalks and skeletons #93feetofsmoke #epsyle #shiro #surf #forest #rap

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rhiannon-a-christy · 7 years

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omg I didn't know Molly/Bucky was a thing!! I'll take whatever kind of western you think would work best for them :)

Only The Lord Knows

Bucky pulled his hand back and shook it,willing the pain to dissipate. It wasn’t the worst pain he had ever been in. Hehad been in the war and had caught several bullets to the arm. He had beenfully awake when they had sawn through him, removing his arm almost up to theshoulder. At times he still felt the burn of the blade. Sometimes at night hewould wake screaming, expecting the feeling of his fingers digging into thesheets.

Ducking as a fist came towards his face, hecould only laugh. The people in this town had no use for men like him. He haddone his job in the war, but now that he was back and less than what he hadbeen before… he was seen as a burden. What use was a man with one arm? Whowould hire him for surely he couldn’t work a ranch. Thankfully Vision Valleywas the home to Mr. Tony Stark.

Tony Stark was a wealthy man. His father hadcome from out east when Tony was just a boy, he was one of the first to settleVision Valley. The Starks owned over half the town, and Tony also wounded fromthe war was known for hiring all manner of men no matter what they weremissing. Of course that didn’t mean that men like Bucky didn’t deal with hisshare of problems.

Today was no different than any other daywhen he ventured into town. He had gone for a drink at the Broken ShieldSaloon, spend a little time with one of the girls, and head off to purchasesome supplies for the ranch. Only one of the local men had taken exception toBucky talking to what he termed as “his girl.” Not that ol’ Darcy would havegiven Rumlow a second look, she only had eyes for Marshal Rogers.

“What you laughin’ at? Stubs, huh, what youlaughin’ at?” Rumlow swayed on his feet, his left eye already swelling andturning purple. Not that he let that bother him; he swayed forward and tookanother swing at Bucky.

“Your ugly mug, Rum.” Bucky swerved out ofthe way, turning before the other man could come at him again. He let his fistfly again, this time the crunch of Rumlow’s nose was unmistakable.

Rumlow screamed, blood and snot pouring downhis face, slipping between his lips and turning his teeth an unsightly red. Hegrowled and went headlong into Bucky, only to find himself with a fist in hisgut and his head knocking against a table.

Shaking out his hand, Bucky surveyed thescene before him. A couple of Rumlow’s friends lay draped across tables andchairs, a few others slipped outside. Most of the other patrons went ondrinking their whiskey; this was just another normal Thursday afternoon forthem. He jerked at the hand on his shoulder, but he stilled. Thankfully asDarcy slipped into view.

“If you don’t stop tearing up my place everytime you come in here, I’m going to have to ban you.” Darcy shook her head, asmall smile on her face. “Come on, let’s get you to the Doc.”

Bucky swallowed hard, but allowed her toguide him outside. She yelled over her shoulder for one of the other girls toget things cleaned up, and then the two of them were on their way. He knew shewould not take him to old Pierce. The man had a practice down by thewhorehouse. Most of the people in town went to him, mostly just because he wasa man. That was about all he had going for him. Pierce was a quack if he eversaw one. His office was a mess, his tools rusted and covered in dried blood.Many died after being treated for something as simple as a bad tooth by him.No, Darcy would never take him there.

They passed by Pierce’s place, going furtherout until they arrived at a small cabin on the outskirts of town. The cabin wasowned by the Holmes brothers, two men from England who now worked for thegovernment. Not that anyone knew what they did, only that those who crossedthem always ended up dead. Neither of the men lived in the cabin, they had lentit out to the Doc.

Miss Molly Hooper had arrived in Americaalongside the Holmes brothers. For years it was believed that she was marriedto one of them, or possibly both. So it had been a shock when both men had comeback from a visit out east with wives on their arms. No matter what herrelationship to the brothers, Miss Hooper had been set up in the little cabin.

Not long after both men had moved away, shehad opened the place up as a medical practice. Most in the town refused to goto her. She was a woman, and one with a history if the church women were to bebelieved. Soon a few women went to see her, mainly the ones that Pierce, in allhis self-righteousness, refused to treat. Namely the saloon girls and soileddoves from the Red Room. This was where Darcy was taking him now, and the oneplace that Bucky wished not to be.

"Is there anyway that I could convinceyou to just let me go on my own way? There is no need to bother the Doc, I’mjust a little bruised up.“ Bucky smiled down at the woman at his side. Thesmile was the same one he had often used many years ago to charm the ladiesinto saving him a dance. Now though, since the end of the war the smile lookedless charming and a lot more awkward. As though someone had been standingbehind him, pulling the skin at his cheeks back from his teeth.

Darcy sighed and shook her head. She had beenone of the lucky ladies to have been on the receiving end of that smile in its heyday.She had even allowed that smile to lead Bucky back into her room; not thatanyone but the two of them knew that. To see the twisted way his mouthstretched across his face now tore at her heart. Looking away from him shedidn’t speak, only pushed open the door to the little cabin and stepped inside.

"I’ll be with you in a moment.” Asoft voice trailed from one of the back rooms following the ringing of thehanging bell at the door. The patter of hard soled shoes tapped a rhythm out onthe hardwood floor as a slender figure entered the main room.

Molly took one look at her guests andgroaned. There was no need to ask what Darcy was doing there with Barnes at herside, it was a common enough scene. She directed them into a small room off tothe side, and stood waiting at the door until Barnes lifted himself up onto theexam table.

Darcy gave a firm pat to the man’s thighbefore stepping back. It was upsetting enough seeing that smile, it practicallyhurt seeing him once again in a doctor’s office. At least this time he wasawake. She slipped out the door, giving a short nod to the Doc on the way. Sheknew that he would be in good hands with the woman, and she needed to get backto her saloon before Rumlow woke. Rum was a mean old bastard, and a dumb one atthat. He never could understand the difference between one of her girls and awhore. Even after finding himself on the wrong side of a gun more than once.

Molly waited until she heard the bell abovethe front door ring before she moved to stand before Barnes. She lifted asingle hand, her fingers brushing over the lines of his face. She knew thesewere lines that had been brought on by war and death, not by age. She wonderedmany times what he had looked like before he had become a soldier, smoothedfaced and with bright eyes. She hadn’t known him then, only of him.

"One of these days you’re going to getyourself killed.“ Molly smiled sadly at him.

"Maybe that’s a good thing.” Buckyalways felt wrongfooted around Doc Hooper, and he always seemed to say thewrong thing. He realized he had done it once again when the woman hauled herhand back. He closed his eyes expecting to feel the sting of a slap, onlyinstead he heard a small, shaky sigh. He opened his eyes to find the womanbefore him with her head bowed.

"For all my learning, all the years Ispent studying medicine with the hope to heal, I have never felt more helplessthan I do when I’m around you.“ Molly took a step back towards thecabinet, her face never meeting Bucky’s. She gathered a handful of cloth and asmall bottle of a faint yellow liquid before returning to the man on the table.

Bucky remained silent as the small womandampened the cloth and carefully dabbed it over the cuts along his face. Hecould see tears in her eyes, and it pained him to know he had been the one toput them there.

It hadn’t been the first time that particularsentiment had left his lips. For the first year after the war he had thought ofnothing else. He fully believed that he should have died in the war. There hadbeen so many young boys, so many better men out there that had lost their liveswhile he lived. It didn’t seem fair to him. He had the unfortunate luck tomention this to Miss Darcy, the woman had just flung her arm back and wallopedhim good for even thinking such a thing. Still, it didn’t stop him from feelingthat it was the truth. Now he stood before another woman, this one taking hiswords not with violence, but with quiet sadness. It hurt more than losing hisarm had.

“Look now, you shouldn’t take what I say toheart. I’m just an old fool.” Bucky reached out, a single finger going under tolift Doc Hooper’s chin.

“If I believed that I would be the fool.”Molly sniffed a little and took a single step forward. “You are not the firstsoldier I have worked on, nor are you the first man I have known to think suchthoughts…..” She fought down a lump in her throat before continuing. “Do younot understand how much you mean to your friends? How much they would miss you?How much it would hurt…”

“What friends I got wouldn’t care a lick whathappens to me.” Bucky allowed his hand to go slack, his arm falling down intohis lap. He swallowed hard when the woman stepped up fully to him, and disregardingall decorum, leaned her head against his chest. Not knowing how to react, hissimply placed his hands on each of her shoulders.

“I would…. I do…” Molly knew that what shehad just done would have been seen as scandalous by most of polite society. Thething was, she didn’t care. She had longed to find herself in this man’s armsfor a long time now, to know what it was like to be surrounded by his scent.

She sighed when Bucky slid his arms slowlyover her shoulders and into her tightly pinned hair. He lifted her face up, hisfingers spanning the entirety of the base of her neck, his thumbs restinglightly on the edge of her jaw.

“The good Lord only knows why.” Bucky leaneddown with every intention of kissing the woman. At the last moment, he tiltedher face down just far enough that he could easily press his lips against herforehead. Doc Hooper was too good for the likes of that, she deserved a propercourtin’. Even if he didn’t deserve such a thing.

“Maybe one day he will tell you. Until then, promiseme you will be careful with your life.”

Bucky gently took a hold of her ear lobe, asmall, sad smile gracing his whiskered face. He gave a careful tug.

“I promise.”

Abab

Author’s Note: Ok, so thistook a long time. So sorry about that. Starting a new job and moving (again)makes it hard to be able to write. I just started being able to actually writeagain a couple of days ago.

This is for jadziabear who wanted anythingMolly/Bucky western. I hope this is alright, it is a bit earlier in the period ofthe old west than I normally I write, but I thought I would give it a try.

Well, except for one Anon, I have finishedwith my prompts. (That one will take a while as it is a bit more detailed) NowI plan on working on trying to get TLoF and Greenwaves done, mostly as I haveso many ideas just floating around in my head for both Sherlolly, andDarcyland. Some even collide like this fic. I might open prompts again in a fewmonths, perhaps more towards the holidays.

Disclaimer:All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of theirrespective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of theauthor. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, orproducers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

#molly x bucky #jadziabear #bucky x molly #deadwinter #at least that is what I call this ship #that might be a ship name for something else #if so sorry #prompt fill #western au

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