#primopinku

[anogete]

@primopinku did this amazing piece depicting a scene in Chapter 15 of Mercy Show to Me. Isn't it gorgeous? Taken right from my brain. Chapter 15 is up now if you want to go check it out. There are nine chapters left to post, and I plan on finalizing and sharing them on AO3 over the next two weeks. You'll have a completed fic by or before the 22nd of March (my time). Don't worry; I'm about to turn the heat up after the next couple of chapters for those who like adult content of the sexy variety.

If you want to join me as I post the last nine chapters over the next two weeks, you can go RIGHT OVER HERE TO AO3.

#anogete #mercy show to me #dramione #dramione fanfic #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #harry potter fanfic #wip #fanfic #fanart #dramione fanart #dramione fanfiction #primopinku

[comatosebunny09]

Scenarios I can’t help thinking about [ ft. Asarion Ancunín ]

Following a fun shindig filled with wine and merriment and glittery things, you and Astarion wander into the hallway for a break.

The noise of the party fades as you walk side by side, your fingers idly brushing, and you both nudge each other like two enamored adolescents.

You, warm-faced and smiling like a fool, back toward a stone wall, hands clasped behind you, gazing up at Astarion. The candles in the wall sconce swaddle you both in their sensual glow.

“A lovely way to end the night, ey?” you muse from the tips of your toes.

Astarion studies you for a beat before angling himself closer. His hand presses against the wall beside your head, a smile taking possession of his lips as they pan in.

“Well…I can think of other ways I’d like to conclude my evening,” Astarion croons, fingers creeping over your hand to guide it to his lips for a tender kiss. Your gazes interlock—Astarion’s sultry and yours inquisitive—as he kisses a trail up to the hollow of your shoulder.

Astarion exhales slowly, rooting his nose against your neck, the air thick and dizzying. He husks, “Care to indulge me, my love?” nuzzling along your jawline, little puffs of air huffed against your already fevered flesh.

Your legs nearly give way beneath you. And no, it is not a consequence of the wine.

“As much as I enjoy seeing you on your knees,” Astarion purrs, his grin shit-eating and his eyes half-slit like Cheshire Cat as he peers down at you, “I don’t want you straining yourself for little old me, love. Though I do appreciate the gesture.”

You scoff. Roll your eyes as you finish tying Astarion’s boot, tucking your smile into your armor. What a cheeky little shit he is. You return to your full height after tapping his ankle. You wipe your hands on your thighs, turning away from Astarion.

“You must be a riot at galas,” you say, your voice aching with a grin.

[ Inspired by this lovely piece by @primopinku ].

Behind a goblet of viscous, red liquid, Astarion seethes.

He drums his fingers on the arm of his chair, legs crossed and nostrils flaring. He watches you with silver brows pinched and his canines digging into the lip of his cup. The metal of it bends beneath his crushing bite.

You’re beautiful. An ethereal being amid a sea of socialites all putting on a facade of elegance. You stick out like a sore thumb in your humble garb. Yet you effortlessly command the presence of everyone around you. Your kindness and airy laughter fill every nook and crevice of the ballroom. But that isn’t what has Astarion out of sorts.

He strangles the stem of his chalice, a scowl nestling itself amongst his features. A roguish hand sits at the small of your back—curse your attire for exposing such a delicious slither of skin. It’s slimy as it kneads little circles into your flesh, easing southward ever so subtly towards the curve of your bottom.

You kept shrugging out of its clutch with a nervous titter whenever it crept back onto you. Whenever gnarled fingers slid along the notches of your spine. But this imbecile wouldn’t take the hint. Tonight would surely be his last amongst the living due to his boldness.

Astarion moves without thinking. Tears through the sea of partygoers, gasps and murmurs of Your Majesty muddled by the rage pumping in his ears. He snatches the duke’s hand off your back. Twists it until bone crackles, and the man hisses with pain.

“Unless you want to lose this forever, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”

No one could touch his royal advisor and get away with it.

masterlist

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #baldur’s gate 3 x reader #astarion imagine #astarion imagines

[pursuitseternal]

“His:” Maistacia sates Ascended Astarion’s needs and her own (NSFW)

A gift for @primopinku: her beautiful Durge🗡️✨ and her art that inspired this story.

Ascended Astarion x Durge Maistacia | E | 1.5K

Summary: “There was nothing quite like the silence after a massacre:” Maistacia, Dark Consort, Right Hand of the Vampire Ascendant finds her love… or rather he finds her. And tames her waywardness so she is… his

CW: bloodshed, past Dark Urge sated, possessive A!Astarion, blood kink, rough sex

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤🩸🖤🖤

There was nothing quite like the silence after a massacre. Astarion had once purred such sweet lines to her, wrapping his tendrils of love and charming her with his blinding obsession.

But it was true. The hum of her living muscles, writhing from their exertion thrilled her. Somewhere in the distance, Maistacia could still hear a faint drip, drip of blood. Not one Guild member was left breathing, not one sound filled their great caverns packed with stolen goods. They paid for their treason against her and her love in blood. Blood that ran so quietly now.

“I see you’ve had some fun, darling….”

Slowly she turned, her slippered feet silent on the stairs as she climbed up towards that waiting figure. His silhouette shimmered in the flickering torches, holding court even from the entryway of his cave. Astarion’s lips pulled into that slanted smile, eyes half lidded and head tilted as he watched her flow like water, graceful in every way as she came to stand before him. Her dark eyes sparkled in the flickering light of the caverns, the drops of blood like rubies glistening on her skin.

“I hope you’re not… disappointed,” she lilted, a coy smile darting over her thick and pouting lips. “I don’t take kindly to threats to our rule, my love.”

“Are you worried I would be angry,” one of Astarion’s thick, silver brows quirked. Amused. “The Guild has paid for their betrayal, it seems, my dark consort. My right hand seems to have fed the ghosts of her Urge.”

His pale hand shot out to claw around her chin, a bit of pressure, the dance of a threat in his crimson eyes. Warm and wet, his tongue caressed up her jaw and temple, licking the spattered blood of their enemies as she groaned. “My only complaint is that you didn’t want to share…” whining, hurt… no. He was toying with her, taunting her to rise to his challenge.

“Why make my Ascended Lord sully his hands with such filth as the traitorous Guild, hmm?” Maistacia purred, one bloodied hand creeping into the collar of his jacket, all white and beaded and elegant. Now it would be stained at his neck with the blood of their enemies. “Perhaps you require a different sort of feast, my love.”

His fingers snatched hard around her slick wrist, his tongue warm as he lapped the sticky crimson from her dark and golden skin. A deep throated sigh left her throat, her heart rapped even harder against her ribs, her own set of viscera vibrating inside with each swirl of his tongue in the cup of her palm, each longer suck of her fingers as he cleaned them.

“I liked this jacket, you know…” he hissed, false tones of disappointment coloring his voice as he let her hand drop, favoring those smirking lips for his next meal. He devoured her smile, sucking that grin from her lips and stealing her warm exhales before they left her lungs.

“You can’t blame the right hand that feeds you,” her voice curled into his ear, echoing in the workings of his hungry mouth.

“And little love, don’t you make my mouth water,” his damp mouth slunk down the curve of her jaw to suckle on her neck. Fangs sliced perfectly into her, the flow of warm and fresh blood scenting the air, covering the metallic whiff of congealing, drawing out the heady orange-laden scent of her own perfume. His tall, lithe body wound snug around hers, skin-tight in his embrace. Suck after deafening suck, he took from her, his fingers clawed into her upper arms, holding her firm and steady.

His.

And yet, when she was done with allowing him such liberties, her fingers gripped around his windpipe, shoving him back just enough to unlock those greedy lips from her flesh. “Tut, tut,” he grinned slowly, gazing up through her long lashes. “That’s enough. You wouldn’t want to add one more corpse to this magnificent pile I’ve already made.”

“Never,” he purred, that left bow arching as he licked his lips clean. “But your master is still hungry… still looking for more ways to be fed.”

Maistacia giggled deep in her throat, that music in her voice reverberating over the rocks that held only death and stillness now. Three steps, and crossed the landing to a balustrade. She slid herself to perch on its edge, the stone rail thick enough, far enough from the gaping, bloody void beneath them both. Her hands slowly slid the loose folds of her waistband from her hips, her flowing trousers puddled around her ankles. Dark eyes locked into his crimson ones as he stalked closer. As he watched more and more of her skin revealed for his viewing.

For his taking.

The hem of her silken tunic, dark and black as her eyes, soaked with blood, peeled higher. That invitation to help her quel that bloodlust… or just her pounding lust that matched his raging desire. It was enough to beckon him to her body. Confined at last, arms around her back, hands pulling her flush to the edge of the stone rail beneath her, he began his feast.

She couldn’t breath, lungs burning as every gasp she tried to take was only filled with his own groans. The leather of his own breaches was cold compared to the inferno inside her by now, now that he grinded into her slick between her thighs.

He pressed that hard line of his cock against her, an insistent demand to sate himself with her in more ways than one. Her own fingers locked into the edge of stone behind her, braced for the rigor she knew was coming. But he lingered, tasting her kiss, the slight tang of blood still coating his tongue and filling her nose. That pit in her stomach gnawed harder, a little buck of her hips on the smooth and oiled surface of his breeches giving her no relief.

Most likely on purpose.

“Won’t you feed… take what you want, my love?”

His lips twisted and devoured all at once. “If you think you deserve it, little love… Perhaps you have been rather naughty to leave me behind as you decimated our enemies…”

“I thought you loved a good massacre… letting your right hand do as the gods intended…” she purred in reply.

“Of course, but I wonder what else your right hand might do now to please me…”

“Plenty I can do…” That was enough to spike her inferno to blazing. Her hand reached between their bodies, tearing through the few little buttons that kept him confined. A growl of approval shook her lips, his own hand catching his cock to give it a few lingering strokes. A moment to tease its weeping head up and down her seam, his fangs grit together as he pressed his mouth against her trembling lips.

Always so strong, so fierce, this beautiful murderess of his. But she would melt for him and him alone.

His… he groaned as he took her. Musk from her body, perfume from her skin… there was nothing left to their senses of the bloodbath around them. Only their possession of one another. Only his cock thrusting, only her hips riding his every movement.

Every drag inside her, every dig of his nails into the perfect swell of her ass to keep her from sliding on the rough stone… every ounce of pain and pleasure pushed them further into owning one another.

The Lord and his Right Hand, the Ascendant and his Consort… their pleasured noises were the only sounds to fill a room of death. And with every little death they drew from one another, they never felt more alive.

Hips slapped hard against her, the cries of her own bliss piercing in the heavy silence to thrill his pointed ears.

His.

Every clench around him threw him closer, that way that only she could get under his skin, could unravel him piece by piece. It was too much… too intoxicating, too compelling to be in her thrall.

Not that he would ever admit to it with words.

Only the language of his cock buried between her thighs, the poetry of his hand stayed into those sensuous, raven locks that reached her hips. He would sing only the love ballads of his groans as he fucked her, the percussion of his body slamming against her dripping thighs until he growled and huffed as he came. Her thighs locked around his waist, trapping him until she squeezed every last little drop of his seed.

A few more thrusts for good measure, his hand in her hair roughly yanking her face from his shoulder. Making her dark pools of eyes to meet his stare as he finished. As he made her his again.

He swept his fingers through the stain of her blood from her neck, pressing them against her lips. “Suck,” he commanded with a hiss. “My consort… my right hand…”

Maistacia’s lips sealed around that coppery salt of her own blood, his cock still twitching inside her with every swirl she darted around his digits.

“Mine,” he purred one last time as brought those bloodied lips to his one more time. Even as he was hers, his body sang in reply.

#maistacia #astarion x dark urge #astarion x female dark urge #astarion x female oc #ascended astarion #ascended astarion x dark urge #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion spoilers #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion art #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 spoilers #bg3 art #bg3 #baldursgate3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldurs gate smut #baldurs gate iii

[brabblesblog]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, dearest @pursuitseternal

This is from a latter chapter of Remember ye not the former things, the sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone?

Astarion and Ban, by @primopinku

The Ascension, from Astarion's POV:

I’m sure you’ll make the right decision, she had said that fateful day, as they prepared to face Cazador.  He had, he thinks, but not when it came to her. Not when he saw her expression as he carved Cazador’s back, not when he could feel her fear, her judgment, through the tadpole.  He could smell the blood, the sick-sweet-tang of it rousing his stomach for what was to be the last time, could hear his master’s screams - but none of that mattered. What had was that feeling that passed from her to him: her love receding like the tide, replaced by a myriad of negative emotions: unnamed, fleeting, but all-encompassing; as if her love was so shallow, so conditional, a toe out of line and he was discarded yet again. She had stopped seeing her lover, then; she had seen a monster where he once stood. Then a monster he would be, he thought, as Rhapsody sliced through Cazador’s back.  That sentiment didn’t abate as he took his rightful place, Woe in his grasp. Even as power flowed into his veins, even as his heart began to beat faster, that was still on the forefront of his mind.  Had he lost her?  No. She lost me.  Bitterness and anger had suffused him, as surely as that newfound vigour of his heart and the rush of his now-altered blood did. How dare she - how dare they - wrest this from him? This was his moment of triumph, two centuries of pain leading to this, what he deserves what he is owed - The very first moments as the Ascendant, each full and purpose and power and freedom; it should have been glorious. And it was. Or it would have been, if she didn’t look at him that way. If he didn’t know exactly what she thought of him. Thus the mask went back on, perhaps forever. What did it matter? He was - “- free. I’m finally free! Oh it feels delicious.” Ban approached him, expression wary. “Not sure I like the sound of that.” Immediately he wanted to snap at her, to scream. Freedom, everything he’d ever wanted, and she says that? Instead he smiled, cold and all teeth. “Oh don’t worry, darling. I won’t bite unless you ask very, very nicely.”

Tagging @leomonae @icybluepenguin @tragedybunny @vixstarria @bhaalbaaby @bunnidarling @bludazey

#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion fic #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #ascended astarion x tav #astarion ascended #ascendant astarion #ascended astarion #vampire ascendant #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion angst

[deputyash]

My lovely art commission of Izel & Astarion by the amazing @primopinku! I just love it so much! They look so cute together! 🥰

#I love them so much 🥺 #and ahh the art style is just so captivating! 🥰 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #tavstarion #astarion #astarion x oc #izel x astarion #deputyash's ocs #izel #bg3 ocs

[crownedinmarigolds]

My art trade with @primopinku! They did a much more spectacular job, I just had an idea of a pose and went gunning! This is their gorgeous Dark Urge Maistacia who I was immediately obsessed with at first sight!!! I hope I did her even a sliver of justice!! Thank you for drawing my Ishtar!!

(When I drew the pose my husband pointed out the meme it reminded him of...)

#maistacia #other people's ocs #dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #my art #art trade #elf #hee hee sorry

[mishtomind]

@primopinku was kind enough to give me permission to color this masterpiece! They drew the original, and I took that into procreate to color and play with. A headcanon I like to think about is that Astarion meets his match in a siren with powers to glamour men to a watery grave. They can't/won't kill each other though so it's an endless tug of war between them, full of manipulation, angst, and lust ❤️‍🔥🦇🧜🏻‍♀️

@primopinku if you or anyone else wants to colab on some more Astarion art, I'm so down! I love working with colors and trying to match the style of other artists 🖤

Cheech out the original

#astarion bg3 #astarion #bg3 #vampire #mermaid #siren #angst with a happy ending #lust #headcanon #romance

[wetcatspellcaster]

But have you seen /primopinku/730367216140337152/a-little-hc-i-have-about-ascended-astarion-cont?source=share

Because it made me think of the ball!

Thank you anon!! It's such good art, so I'm flattered that it reminded you of my stuff!! will link below and reblog! Thank you xx

#asks #anons #lovely words from lovely people #wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 2: 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

The gift arrives, and Astarion continues spinning himself into his little web of mistruths. Ban does some sleuthing.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Originally beta'd by @leomonae

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Ban and Astarion by @primopinku

Astarion stood with hands clasped behind his back, watching Roderich’s workers carry the mirror inside the palace. It was huge, and he absently wondered what he would do if it didn't fit through the doorway to the bedroom. He supposed having it in the ballroom wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but it might prove to be an issue when hosting parties; people would inevitably notice his consort’s lack of reflection.

Roderich approached him and gave a small bow. “My lord,” he said. “Which room would you like the mirror to be brought to?”

Astarion regarded the man before him; Roderich was frightened, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Perhaps rumors of the activities that had occurred in this palace during Cazador’s reign had reached Roderich’s ears. He deliberated between further terrifying the man for his amusement or placating him, and begrudgingly settled on the latter, as delectable an idea as the former was.

He draped an arm over Roderich’s shoulder. “Our bedroom, on the far wall,” he replied. “Take two left turns and you’ll find it.” He leaned in. “Would you like to join me for some refreshments, Master Glasscraft?”

Up close, Astarion thought, he could see the family resemblance. The shape of his face and nose were reminiscent of Ban’s - Ban, who had gone to Rivington today to see Shadowheart.

Ban, who had been rather quiet since the day she saw him hiding the contract.

The silence had been unnerving him, bringing out his insecurities at a frankly terrifying speed. While he normally would have sought to explain his feelings to her, he hadn’t this time; the sheer fear of her anger and the thought of losing her winning out over his better judgment.

Roderich flinched, but as the arm over his back was a normal temperature, felt himself relax slightly. Perhaps Cazador Szarr could have been the monster he had been suspecting Lord Ancunín to be, but presently there were fewer and fewer reasons to suspect the man beside him.

“Some tea would be nice, I suppose. But I can’t stay too long. My wife, Arlette… she’s waiting for me.” He doubted vampires ever stocked human food and drink, so that was a good sign, but he still felt the need to clearly state that someone would notice if he disappeared. His throat was a bit dry and scratchy, regardless.

“Tea it is, then.” As Astarion called a servant over and rattled off a request for tea and some biscuits, Roderich quickly instructed his men as to which room to bring the mirror and where to place it. Turning his attention back to Roderich, Astarion shot him his most winsome smile, taking care not to show his fangs this time.

“I’ve asked for the tea to be delivered to my study,” he said, arm still around Roderich, steering him in that direction. “So. Do tell me about dear Arlette. Children? I’d assume a son, considering…”

The shop’s name, yes. Astarion fought back the wave of indignation at the fact that Ban didn’t even seem to merit a mention there. Of course, they likely assumed her dead, and he had no idea why she had left them in the first place, but still.

Roderich, finding the small talk a bit peculiar but not impolite, nodded, clearing his throat. “Arlette and I ha-have a son. Adrien.” He entered the study, following his host, and took a seat on one of the plush armchairs in the room; Astarion took the one next to his, crossing his legs.

As the tea and biscuits arrived on a metal tray, Astarion noted the hesitation in Roderich’s tone. Fear, perhaps? He gingerly picked up his own cup, making a show of finding the tea hot, blowing across its surface, to further disarm the man.

“Arlette and Adrien.” He paused a moment, then offered some information in return, keeping the conversation flowing. “I myself am newly wedded, only about a year or so ago. Alas, the gods haven’t seen fit to bless us with offspring as yet. Grandchildren?”

Roderich shook his head, a heaviness settling over his features. “No,” he said. “It’s… Adrien-”

His voice was rough; Astarion noticed it, but did not comment. Instead he took a long sip from his cup, allowing the man a moment to recover.

“Adrien hasn’t taken a wife.” Roderich settled on saying.

Astarion let the silence stretch, picking up a biscuit with slender fingers. Taking a bite or two; he regarded Ban’s father. A brother, then, with something seemingly causing Roderich distress at the mere mention of his name. Interesting.

Astarion’s chamberlain entered the room, and made a small bow. “My lord,” he said, “they have finished.” At the man’s words Roderich stood, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Lord Ancunín.” He gave a small bow, “I really do need to take my leave. Arlette needs me to weed the garden today, and…”

Astarion waved his hand in a gesture of nonchalance, as if it did not trouble him at all. “Take some pastries with you, Master Glasscraft. I’m sure your wife and son will appreciate them. The kitchen will have a box prepared for you - just let him lead the way.” He nodded towards his chamberlain.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you. I shall be off.” Roderich followed the chamberlain and was soon on his way home, grateful to be away from Lord Ancunín, his questions, and his oddly piercing gaze.

Still in his seat, Astarion mulled over Roderich’s words. How much of this was old information, and how much did Ban know?

And whatever could have happened to Adrien that so disconcerted his father?

Ban stared at the mirror as she slipped her bathrobe off, draping it over the couch. She did so merely as a matter of habit - of course she no longer saw herself or the bathrobe, only the empty room staring back at her. The mirror was large and ornate with gold inlaid into the frame. Leaning against the wall of their bedroom, it gave the impression of a great beast looming over their bed.

She hated it. Not that mirrors have ever been something she liked - they reminded her too much of her past - but this one in particular felt ominous, a little too big and a little too oppressive a presence in their place of refuge. She knew Astarion would have it moved the moment she asked, but for now at least she was willing to let it stay. After all, he’d done a marvelous job introducing her to it earlier today; the memory of him fucking her in front of it so they could see what his cock did inside her - him spreading her apart, coming apart inside her, just for her - was one she thought she’d remember for a while.

Ban spied Astarion’s reflection in the mirror as he walked in from the bathroom, towel still wrapped around his waist. His expression looked conflicted, until he schooled it into something more neutral.

“I see you’re admiring our newest acquisition,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of her shoulder, then slowly trailing a path of kisses up to the base of her neck. He closed his eyes, hands resting on her waist. The fear of her leaving, now ever-present, fluttered in his breast; his brows furrowed briefly, but he managed to smooth them down.

All this, Ban could easily see reflected in the mirror. A small sigh escaped her, and she turned to face him. He fell still, eyes still closed, afraid to see or hear what she’d say next. She cupped his cheek, smiling a little when he leaned into her touch.

“I still stand by what I said. This feels a bit much.”

Her words were met by quiet, soft laughter, and he kissed her palm.

“You did mention that.” His hands shifted forward, fingers knitting together against her back, pulling her in close. Astarion debated between playing up his usual snark or letting his walls down, but there really wasn’t any contest. There hadn’t been any for a while now, in moments like this. “Do you dislike it?”

“Not dislike, I think, it’s just…” She frowned. “It’ll take some getting used to. I won’t mind as much if we do what we did today more often?” A small conciliatory offer, one Astarion grasped without hesitation.

“Of course,” he huffed, amused. Astarion leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “To bed then, love?” He finally opened his eyes, offering her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Astarion’s fingers deftly removed the towel from his waist, throwing it onto the couch nearby; despite her nearness, there wasn’t any stirring of desire in him, the worry overruling every other thought. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to bed. Crawling in after her, he curled his body around hers, holding her close. He tucked his face against the back of her neck, hiding.

Astarion had been waiting. Since she’d come home and seen the mirror, he’d been waiting. For what, he didn’t know - a word, a quick anecdote of her life before, anything. Even a snide comment would have been something.

He hadn’t meant to blatantly state the mirror wasn’t from her family, of course. It had slipped out in a moment of nervousness as he’d tried to reassure her about the new addition to the bedroom.

“Even for you, this is a bit much,” Ban had said as he’d walked in.

Astarion remembered dragging a chair with him, planting it directly in front of the mirror and sitting down. He’d placed it close to the glass; his knees had almost touched his reflection’s. There had been apprehension, a worry that she’d somehow immediately know the origins of his purchase and confront him right there and then. Her pithy comment and the fact that she’d almost caught him with the contract had simply exacerbated his unease. He’d defaulted into his usual defense then, the old act slipping on effortlessly.

“I didn’t buy this from your family, if that’s what you’re so concerned about. And…” He had kept his expression neutral, cooly leaning forward to tilt his face, making a show of admiring his own visage on the mirror. He’d sensed her watching him, likely entranced by his little display, as intended. His eyes had flicked towards hers and in one smooth, practiced move, he’d leaned back to spread his legs.

“Sit.” He’d tapped his right thigh.

Why he needed to do this, to dig at the truth of her past, he didn’t exactly know; after all, the issue of her family was something they’d never spoken of, and which had seemingly no immediate relevance to their life. However, he did see her occasional sadness, saw her pull away when whatever he said or did reminded her of something, and he wanted to understand. He had tried asking her - had done so gently, at times with a little more force, but it always ended the same way.

I don’t want to talk about it, Astarion.

That, usually combined with an angry huff and silence for the rest of the day, even when he acquiesced and let the matter go.

The anger had been a recent thing, an ugly creature borne out of her need to avoid anything even approaching the topic of her past. As their relationship had slowly improved, Astarion had taken it upon himself to learn more about her, figuring that her past would have shaped her; thinking that knowing her more fully would help him predict her better.

That was the logical reason, of course. At the core, all he wanted was to be entrusted with her heart, the whole of her self, in a way that was greater than before, in a way that indicated he’d been fully accepted back, forgiven - permitted to know and love her completely. He sighed, thinking about her most recent eruption.

“Ban, I just-” He’d backtracked, trying to salvage the situation before it escalated into yet another anxiety-filled day of barely being spoken to as punishment.

She’d rounded on him, eyes wild and full of fury and fear - although not of him, if her words had been any indication. “Stop, Astarion. There’s no point in asking, no point in prodding, do you understand?”

“I know...” He had tried to take her wrist and been rebuffed with a quick withdrawal of her hand; his fingers had closed around air. “I merely want to see you.” Like you see me.

“What else is there to see?” Ban had raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I love you. I am happy with you. I am not afraid of you. What more do you need to know?”

Everything else, he’d thought, but that fear in her eyes had stopped him. Small steps. He knew trust to be a delicate thing; earning it would take time.

Perhaps direct questions might help.

“What was it that… caused this?” Cautious, careful words; he’d tried his best to keep his voice neutral.

After all, he still hadn’t even understood why the argument had started. They had been at Wyrm’s Crossing when a merchant had accused Ban of stealing a necklace.

The culprit had been Astarion, of course. The necklace had a pendant in the shape of a rose, and he had thought it would look wonderful on her. His fingers had moved before he could think, the necklace gone before anyone had been the wiser.

The vendor had eventually noticed the missing necklace. A cursory scan had shown it likely to have been the couple who had just passed by: a silver-haired elf, adorned in a beaded, gold-trimmed jacket, and his companion, a human dressed in nice enough, but rather simpler clothes.

Ban had vehemently denied the accusation, her voice rising in time to match the vendor’s, though still reining herself in.

“Rich,” the man had hissed, eyeing her, “and yet with scruples no better than a common thief. Your companion here picked you up from the streets, no doubt.”

Astarion had seen red then, the temptation to simply end the man’s miserable life almost overwhelming. Instead he had taken a step, encroaching on the man’s space.

“You do not speak to my wife in that manner, cretin,” he had growled, his fangs threatening to make an appearance.

Then he had said the thing that he was almost sure had caused her to recoil. “We could buy your wares, your sorry little shop, and even your sorry little self. ”

He had seen her blanch then, her hand disengaging from where it had been linked around his arm. She hadn’t looked scared of him so much as it had seemed like she’d remembered something, and whatever it was had upset her. Unsure, Astarion had dragged her away from the bristling vendor before the argument could escalate even further.

It had gone downhill from there until, hours later, he’d found himself once more trying to find his way through the mire of her anger and her secrets. What was it that… caused this?

Ban frowned at Astarion’s question, the words ringing in her head.

I could buy you!

Her father had loved saying those words, bandying them about whenever some unfortunate soul crossed him. The moment similar words had left Astarion’s lips, all those memories had come flooding back.

Of course, she would never tell him. It was the past, and as much as Astarion had inadvertently reminded her of her father, she knew he hadn’t meant to. She knew he wanted to know; the way those eyes pleaded and his voice trembled told her in no uncertain terms how badly. She worried, though, that if he knew of her past, knew what she’d suffered, his vision of her would forever be altered.

Ban knew Astarion had always seen her as strong. Resolute. Someone capable of protecting others. She wanted to be that for him, to be his rock - forever, if possible.

There was also the fact that she’d always loathed being weak, even for him.

The mirror was, he supposed, his last, desperate effort. He’d hoped seeing the mirror would bring the conversation to the fore… but then what would have happened?

He would have told her that he did indeed purchase it from her family. He’d have begged for forgiveness, explained he only did it to get her to open up, that she needn’t do anything with the information he’d gleaned about her family. That he wanted to understand her like she understood him, and why was that so wrong?

He’d have told her that he’d tried everything else: he’d spoken, he’d pleaded, he’d begged and tried to explain how important this was to him, and it had all fallen on deaf, if not angry ears, until subterfuge was the only option left unexplored. He’d have told her that it ate him up inside to know she still didn’t love him enough - trust him enough - to share all of herself with him, the imbalance a constant reminder of all the things he could never take back, of sins remaining unforgotten and of wounds unhealed.

Astarion shifted against Ban as frustration seeped in anew, a small grunt escaping his lips.

She knew everything about him, from his worst memories to his greatest fears. She’d seen him at his best, and at his absolute worst. What had he seen of her?

A carefully curated facade, which did sometimes crumble to reveal her soft, loving core - but what about all the parts of her that aren’t her love for him? What about her life before? What made her this?

He wanted to know those pieces of her, to pick them like roses amongst thorns; to love them, to help, to soothe where needed. To do what she’d done for him.

It tore him apart to not be allowed that. To not be trusted with it.

How long would she hide herself from him? He’d given her every ounce of himself; every single day he rested his heart upon her palms, ready to be crushed at a moment’s notice, and yet he was given so little in return. Was he to expect an eternity of this, of her holding back, never giving what matters most of herself? Had he been seen and deemed unworthy of her trust, of her?

And if so, how long until she decided this wasn’t worth it? That she could find someone worthy of sharing all of herself? That he wasn’t worth it, after all?

And just like that day in Wyrm’s Crossing and the countless other days before it, Astarion’s plan for the mirror to trigger a conversation had fallen flat on its face.

When she’d come home earlier today and seen the mirror leaning against their bedroom wall, it had stirred something. She’d definitely reacted to it; he’d seen her staring. But there had been no words, nothing to indicate any willingness to open up to him about her thoughts.

Panic had flooded his mind then. He’d slipped into seduction, hoping that would disarm her enough to say something in the glow of post-coital bliss. Instead she’d merely kissed him and stood up, leaving him to clean himself off and scramble for words that wouldn’t come.

He hadn’t been able to say it, the cold grip of fear squeezing his heart until all he could do was watch his own reflection in the mirror.

The man staring back at him had looked terrified.

Ban noticed Astarion’s frustrated noise as he snuggled more firmly against her back.

“You alright?” she asked, feeling the hand resting on her stomach tighten in response. He sighed, his warm breath tickling her nape. She knew he was troubled, knew that it had to do with whatever he was hiding, and also now suspected that the mirror was related to it.

Astarion cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine, if in need of rest,” he said stiffly, but there was no hiding that tone, nor the tension in his body. The fear had fully set in and he didn’t want to risk their forever by admitting his misdeed.

Besides, he reasoned, it’s such a small, irrelevant thing. Maybe she isn’t bothered by the mirror. Maybe those memories are just that - recollections not worthy of further thought. Perhaps there isn’t a need to even bring this up.

“Astarion. Talk to me.” Ban turned to face him; he closed his eyes as she did, refusing to look. “What’s with the mirror, and whatever you were hiding in your desk a tenday ago?”

No. No. His mind scurried for a response, looking for an excuse and finding absolutely none. He forced his eyelids open to meet her gaze. There was nothing for it; he had to at least say something.

“I thought it would jog your memory, and perhaps pry open your mouth.”

“Mem-” Ban swore. “ Gods. How many - I keep telling you. I don’t want to talk about it!”

Of course it had to do with her past. She tried to bite down the vitriol threatening to make its way out of her and entirely failed.

“Why are you so keen on knowing, anyway? Can you not keep your nose out of my business for once?”

Astarion gasped at her poisonous jab. For so long he’d been backing off whenever she snapped at him over this, but his patience had run out. “Because you won’t tell me anything! How can I make things right if you won’t trust me?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them; his jaw snapped shut. She wouldn’t like that; any mention of anything regarding her opening up was met with anger or stony silence. Astarion quickly changed tactics, doing what he usually did at this point: placating her while panicking quietly.

“Ban,” he sighed. “That… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not,” came her clipped response. She moved away, out from his arms, curling up at the far side of the bed.

Astarion watched her, the last embers of that defensive anger slipping away under the endless tide of his fear. He didn’t reach for her; simply drew the blankets over her body, tucking her in.

He pressed one small kiss to her shoulder, sighing as she made no move to indicate she’d even noticed him.

“Goodnight, Ban,” he murmured, as he allowed himself to slowly slip into trance. I love you. He didn’t say it, frightened of what her response would be - or worse, wouldn’t be. He didn’t hear a reply.

Ban waited until he was fully in trance, his breaths slow and deep, before she moved.

The hallways were bathed in moonlight, a beautiful sight that she had always loved. Tonight, however, they barely merited a glance.

A quick left down the hallway, and she was in the study. It didn’t take long to find the parchment Astarion had tried to keep hidden. To find the truth.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

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#astarion #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion fic #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanart #bg3 fic #bg3 art #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanart #ascended astarion x tav #astarion ascended #ascendant astarion #vampire ascendant #ascended astarion #ascension #ascendant #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate fanfiction #baldurs gate fic

[anogete]

Look how bee-u-tee-ful this is. It's a piece I commissioned from the wonderful and talented @primopinku. And it depicts a scene in Chapter 3 of Mercy Show to Me, which was just posted.

You can read the chapter and look at the artwork again by going here:

Mercy Show to Me - Chapter 3

#mercy show to me #anogete #dramione #dramione fanfic #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dramione fanart #dramione fandom #fanfic #wip fic

[crownedinmarigolds]

Follow me on Bluesky if you'd like! (Thank you Primopinku for the initial invite. <3)

#crownedinmarigolds #ladyofsilks #bluesky #i don't have much on there that wouldn't be on here but ya know