Withers' party is here! And the difference between Ascended and non-ascended Astarion is once again strikingly apparent.
Spawn Astarion is simply delightful to talk to, romanced or not. You can just see it in his eyes; peace. Calm happiness. You can see how genuine his smile is when you hug him. He tells you he's taken up the life of a somewhat hero-ish adventurer, is contended with his fate despite not being able to walk in the sun, he's so glad to see you and the other companions, he wishes you the best and says it openly that they all deserve happiness. And the bliss and gratefulness of having his love by his side if you romanced him is incomparable.
And what about *Ascended*Astarion?
Of course he tries to assure you everything's going according to his masterful plan and he's living his best life. Decadent balls, opulent parties, spinning his vampiric web of connections, building his power, all that bullshit.
But if you take as much as a look into his eyes, you will see that he is unhappy. Frustrated, bored. That joyful spark is simply not there. His eyes are hollow. Just as his life and his soul is.
Draw you own conclusions. Enough has already been said on the subject.
before
"look, if you change the camera angle, you'll see that he doesn't even look into his eyes, he's really disgusted!"
now
"well, you can definitely see from his eyes there is no spark and he is unhappy"
girl, these endings just depict two different kinds of happiness. Are you going to look for a spark in the eye textures? God help us
I love how you desperately try to prove "this is bad" when you literally don't have a single argument, and then you start making them up
I don't understand this level of obsessive outrage against him, if you don't like ascendant astarion then don't waste your time with him. Enjoy the thing that you like. Why so obsessed. 恐ろしい
At the same time, outrage can be addicting, I guess?
I must admit I do not see in my own post anything "outrageous", I am passionate about my thoughts but I do generally try to put them into words with some overall decorum.
And yes, referring to the eyes of a fictional in-game character was not the most solid argument on my part; but I could just as easily change that expression to describing the general vibe of the conversation, how it feels to the player to observe how Astarion is now after everything that's happened, and everything I wrote would stand.
First, let me preface this by saying I have no horse in this race. I don't really care if people like spawn or ascended Astarion. It makes no difference to me because it's a fictional character and I'm an adult, but I keep seeing Ascended!Astarion fans voicing the sentiment that if others don't enjoy that version of the character, they just shouldn't talk about it?
That feels so silly to me.
When you have a game that allows you to make decisions that actually divide the future of a character into a strong dichotomy, people are going to analyze the differences. Everyone and their grandmother should see this coming.
Now, you can agree with the analyses or not, and engage appropriately if you really feel the need to. (But remember that these are just other humans you're talking to that happen to have a differing opinion than you about a video game character.) To tell someone to not even discuss the comparison of possible outcomes though? It's just kind of weird tbh.
That's what fandom is. Blorbo analysis and headcanons and more blorbo analysis. Connecting with people that share your hopefully not outright hostile opinions, which you can't do without discussing them to begin with.
People like analyzing characters. I wouldn't call it obsession. It's just a hobby like any other. And hell, maybe some people are obsessed with a character, that happens. The point is, people find it fun to pick apart the differences between potential endings and discuss them, and yes, sometimes people end up with preferences and views that are different from your own and that's okay. It doesn't mean they shouldn't be allowed to share their thoughts. That's the internet, baybee. People aren't going to just not discuss the thing you don't like.
Oh? You mean his perfect nose? A mighty makeshift chair, if you will? A clit's bestie? Like be serious. For once in your life. Be serious. That's a nose you go to war for. That's a nose that makes or breaks relationships. Are you crazy???????
finally got the post Sebastian dialogue with an Astarion who doesn't know about the ritual!! The first sentence just made me realize that he ended up freeing so many people who hurt him, basically.
A scene from the wip fic, in which Astarion sees what he can do about making the process of feeding a little more comfortable for his generous friend, Ashe.
Pairing: Tav/Astarion
Rating: idk, not E
Word Count: ~5,700
(For context, this is after the Act I Gur encounter. Astarion has been consistently feeding on Ashe, but they've otherwise not outwardly expressed any romantic interest apart from his incessant flirting, which Ashe can't trust since he does it with anyone. She's positive her crush on him is quite unrequited.)
Beside the crackling fire, a comfortable silence settles over camp as everyone winds down from a long day of unfortunate but necessary violence and deception. Ashe still doesn’t feel cut out for these things, but she bumbles her way through them nevertheless, and she hasn’t died yet—not permanently, anyway.
Bumbling is better than dead, she supposes.
With another sunset come and gone, she sits cross-legged on her bedroll, fiddling with the corner of a worn page as she reads a fun little tale about life in The Nine Hells. She wasn’t expecting a slice-of-life story when she looted the book off an infernal corpse, but it’s been page-turningly delightful so far.
Astarion, on the bedroll adjacent to her, flips through his usual much larger and dustier tome. Ashe doubts his is nearly as fun, but she’s curious about it all the same. Someday she’ll ask about it, but for now she’s engrossed in reading about how much chain devils enjoy karaoke.
While some of her other companions usually take advantage of the fire’s warmth to bed down, it looks like it’s just the two of them tonight. The air is still quite warm despite the night’s light breeze, so it seems that most are sticking to their tents.
Ashe doesn’t have one for whatever reason, so fireside it is for her.
Astarion always chooses fireside as well. He hasn’t said so explicitly, but Ashe suspects he enjoys the heat in the same way a lizard might. She’s positive he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, so she’s kept this hypothesis to herself.
As the hour grows late and Ashe’s eyelids grow heavy, all is peaceful for a single, rare moment. So much so that even the low, sudden hum of Astarion’s voice startles her. “I saw that, you know,” he says.
Ashe snaps up from her book, brows knitting together as she meets his gaze, which is startlingly on her, by the way. She wonders how long it’s been like that. “Wh-what?”
He barely elaborates, “Earlier.”
She blinks, clearing her throat. “Sorry, let me rephrase that… what?”
“Back there with the Gur,” he elaborates more with an incline of his head. “That little move you made—stepping in front of me like some sort of bodyguard.”
“I—” she stalls out, tamping down the wave of heat rushing to her cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to pick up on that. Clearing her throat, she gathers her wits about her and blusters out what she considers a very reasonable retort. “Well of course I did. He was after you. What did you expect, that I’d just step aside and hand you over?”
“Oh, don’t make it sound so ridiculous. I’m sure it’d be tempting for some,” he muses, waving his hand about in the air, “on a platter even.”
“Please. I doubt they even make platters that big. Be reasonable, Astarion,” Ashe scoffs, trying to keep the amusement from her voice as she imagines an entire Astarion folded up cartoonishly on an oversized platter with an apple stuffed into his mouth. A little garnish on his hiney. “Regardless, no. It wasn’t all that tempting. Despite your concerning penchant for chaos, I happen to want to keep you around. So yes, I stepped between you two.”
“Mm. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted, dear.” Judging by the look on his face, it’s definitely the former. He loves this. “You don’t think I can handle a single Gur?”
She gives him a tired look. “It’s not about that.”
“No? Do tell. What’s it about then?” Of course he wants her to indulge him.
“I-I don’t know, Astarion,” she huffs, marking her page with a dog-eared fold and clapping the book shut in her lap. “I didn’t really think about it, I just kinda moved, okay?”
Did she mention he loves this?
His brow arches and his face settles into something charmingly arrogant–which is annoying, by the way.
“Oh? Feeling a bit protective, are we?”
To deny it outright would be silly at this point. Best to just be difficult about it, Ashe decides.
She takes a beat to stare before clicking her tongue. “Perhaps. Is that acceptable to you?” she asks, feigning concern like she’s just performed some sort of grave clerical error. “I can certainly refrain from all protective or otherwise favorable behaviors towards you in the future, if you so wish.”
He smiles and lingers an amused look on her. “No, no. I suppose I’ll allow it.”
“My, so very gracious of you. Thank you, Astarion. Thank you so much for letting me shield you from monster hunters and whatever other scary things might come crawling after you.”
“You’re most welcome, darling,” he hums, looking pleased as blood punch with himself. “I suppose it was rather cute, in a way. You volunteering to be my darling little meatshield.”
“Yes, well, just so you know, if a Shadowheart hunter showed up, I’d have stepped in front of her too. There are plenty of people I would meatshield.”
“Ah,” he pouts—dramatically so, “and for a moment there you had me thinking I was special.”
“Oh, I could tell. Hence my clarification.” With a shake of her head, she shrugs and lets out an overly apologetic sigh. “I’m sorry to say, Astarion, but you’re entirely ordinary. Not special. Boring even. It simply can’t be helped.”
“Boring,” he balks with an incredulous laugh before angling his head to tip low. Like this, his crimson eyes glint playfully in the shadow of his brow as he levels a dangerous look at her. A certain predatory quality seeps into his words, smooth and low. “Do you find it dull whenever my teeth sink into your neck as you slumber, dear?”
“Dull? Oh, no. No, I find that quite sharp, actually,” Ashe retorts, blinking at him innocently, tamping down an expectant little smile because she knows just how much he loves a stupid play on words.
And by ‘loves’ she means ‘despises eternally’.
He does indeed look offended, which pleases her greatly. “You think yourself pretty clever, don’t you?”
She hums thoughtfully. “I’d consider myself a medium amount of clever, depending on the day. Why do you ask? Oh dear,” she clutches her hypothetical pearls, “was that too close to a pun for your liking?”
“Entirely,” he deadpans, not quite keeping his smirk at bay.
“I’ll admit, it was low-hanging fruit. I was feeling a bit audacious. In my defense, you do make it fun.”
“So my suffering amuses you, does it?”
“Only when I inflict it,” Ashe clarifies. “Anyone else will be immolated, of course.”
“I see. Well,” he pauses, fingers idly pulling across and playing with his bottom lip as he watches her intently, clearly enjoying himself in their little back-and-forth, “any more of this rampant audacity and I may have to take drastic measures. Best be careful, darling.”
“Oh, that shouldn’t be necessary,” she assures with the utmost confidence and a pat of the book in her lap. “I think I got it out of my system. I doubt I’ll blight this world with another pun until tomorrow morning at least.”
“Do try then, dear,” he says, his tenor slipping into something dreadfully concerned. “I’d hate to have to bleed you dry tonight.”
“Ah, the price of a pun?”
“Steep, I’m afraid. Delicious too, but that’s beside the point.”
With a soft smile, she just looks him over for a thoughtful moment. “You know, Astarion, I will give you this.” He holds her gaze with amused anticipation and a raised brow. “That truly is a remarkable talent you have—making death threats sound so very charming.”
“Mm, you flatter me, dear. My years of experience are finally paying off.”
“Yeah, yeah—masterful delivery,” she yawns, setting her book aside and tugging off her outer layer of clothing to get ready for bed. The shirt that remains beneath is a simple cotton tank top. It reveals her neck and the faintest of wounds from the night before—mostly healed now due to a cure wounds cast on her during the day’s battles.
She can practically feel the weight of his gaze on it though. How it lingers there like he’s counting the beat of her pulse, now more rapid than it had been only a moment ago. As much as she enjoys and has grown comfortable with his company, he still manages to make her nervous with just a look sometimes.
Earlier in the evening she’d told him he could ‘visit’ her that night, and he graciously took her up on the offer as he always does.
With his very elven lineage, he doesn’t really sleep. He simply rests in a state of deep meditation for about four or so hours, and gets up refreshed, good as new—she’s jealous, by the way. It’s usually at that point in the night that he wakes her, by way of opening a vein. Not the most pleasant of wakeups, she’ll admit.
He’s gotten much better at knowing when enough is enough at least. Credit where credit is due, or something.
“Did you want to just do this now?” Ashe hesitates to ask, looking over at him. She knows it’s early, but this way she can sleep through the night unbitten. This way, she can be more aware during it.
Why she wants to be is something she doesn’t dwell on too much. The answer might prove concerning on a personal level. Ashe likes to ignore that level.
“Hm?” He blinks, humming in questioning like he didn’t quite catch what she said, mind elsewhere.
Her small fingers climb up her shoulder and find the strap of her tank top. She pulls it to the side and lolls her head the opposite direction, neck elongating. A delicate curve with a thumping pulse. Keeping her eyes on him—tired as they are—she says, “I just figured now seemed as good a time as any? The camp is quiet. You… did want to feed, didn’t you?”
Realization quickly gives way to a look of heady satisfaction on Astarion. Anticipation. She is offering herself to him, albeit early, and the expression on his face alone tells her yes, he’s appreciative of this. “Of course, of course, far be it for me to deny your… generosity. I was simply taken aback by the early hour is all.”
“I—I mean it’s not a big deal either way,” she says quickly. “If you wanted to wait for some reason, that’s fine. I just figured since everyone seems to be asleep or occupied anyway, we could just do it now. Sometimes waking up like that can be, mm… a little jarring?”
“Oh?” This actually puts a crease between his brow as his eyes flit over her. It’s almost unnerving, the rare occasions his concern seems genuine like this.
“Which is fine!” Ashe fumbles to assure. “It’s nothing I haven’t agreed to.”
His head tilts to the side, eyes appraising her carefully now. Studying her. “Should I be going about it differently, darling?”
“I… I don’t know… maybe? I wouldn’t mind trying something else, anyway,” she admits, picking at her cuticles. “I-I think if I were a little more alert when you actually bit me, it might be less, erm, alarming?”
“Well, I certainly don’t mean for you to be awoken in a fright. I’ve only done it the way I have for the sake of discretion and timeliness for you, but I’m more than happy to… revise the process—with your input, of course.”
“Okay,” Ashe agrees. “Thank you, I—yeah, we can try that.”
“Good.” He smiles. “Now, how would you like me to go about it then?”
Ashe blinks at him. “I—" Her brain is entirely, annoyingly blank. As it turns out, knowing what she doesn’t want and knowing what she does want are two very different things. “I’m… not sure...?”
Astarion hums in consideration, gears turning behind those luminous eyes of his. “Well, how about this,” he proposes, setting his own book aside. “Why don’t you lie down. Get yourself all cozy and relaxed as if you were asleep, and we can work through some options together. I do have some thoughts. Think of it as a little… oh, I don’t know, a roleplay exercise.”
“A-Alright,” she agrees with a nod, swallowing thickly as she lies back, not entirely sure what he means, but trusts that he knows what he’s doing. “Yeah. That’s—okay, yeah. That sounds like a good idea, I think.”
“You’re going to hurt my ego sounding so surprised like that, you know.” He gives her a chastising look as he moves languidly to position himself over her.
She’d normally have something borderline rude and/or snappy to retort with. Your ego is that fragile, is it? But right now, he’s leaning far too close for her brain to function on that level. “Sorry,” is all she manages in a whisper, not quite able to look him in the eye.
He lets a breath of a laugh from his nose, looking down at her. “Not to criticize your form, dear, but I’ve seen split lumber more relaxed than this.”
“I’m sorry—I just,” she huffs, grumbly in her admission, “You’re making me nervous. I don’t know.”
“Nervous?” he chuckles quietly, settling in even closer. “There’s no need for that. Your job is simple. I’ll be making some… suggestions, and all your pretty little self needs to do is decide if they suit your liking.”
Her mouth slants to the side as she chews on her cheek, regarding him and not feeling like he’s being terribly disingenuous right now, which is nice. “That’s all?” she questions.
“That’s all. You have my word.”
“Okay,” she breathes, letting the tension leave her as best she can.
“Much better. Now, you don’t normally sleep with your eyes open, if I recall correctly?”
After a quick indignant huff, she shuts her eyes.
Leaning over her, he keeps himself propped up. “Keep them closed,” he murmurs. “For as long as you think you’d stay asleep, keep them closed, darling.”
She says nothing, just continues to lie still in response. The small, approving hum in his throat makes her think it’s the correct response.
“Now…” he whispers, shifting to hover over her even more. “What if I let you know that I was here like this… with a little gentle pressure.” His movements have a cat-like grace as he swings a leg over her, his knee finding purchase in the space between hers. He settles atop her with a saccharine promise, “Nothing painful. Just my body to yours.”
Ashe does all she can to stay calm, lips pressed together tightly, a measured breath shaking out of her nose. Because right now his thigh presses to a spot between her legs and it’s talking all of her to resist the instinct to move against it. To push her hips up and find relief on that leather-clad thigh of his.
A way to ease the fire suddenly burning inside her.
“Well?” Astarion murmurs, and his face is so close to her ear now. “Are we okay with this so far?”
Ashe has to swallow before deciding to just nod. She worries too much about how she’ll sound. What her voice might give away.
“Good,” he purrs, lips just ghosting over the shell of her ear. “You know, I usually try to stay off you as much as possible, but this position gives me much better leverage.”
He takes a moment to inhale slowly. Deeply. Is he… smelling her? If so, the satisfied exhale he looses makes her think he likes it. Nosing at the crook of her jaw, he coaxes it to tilt to the side, leaving her neck undeniably exposed to him.
“There,” he breathes, “that’s perfect.”
Ashe can’t help it. She cracks her eyes open to look up at him. He’s staring down at her just as she suspected, and a smirk crawls across his face as he notices her peek.
“Surely that wasn’t enough to wake you yet, my dear,” he questions.
“I… don’t know.” Her voice is small and airy. Her tongue moves behind her lips in an attempt to find to moisture.
“Well then,” he contemplates aloud, eyes like perfect jewels as the reflection of embers shine within them. “I suppose I’ll just have to continue until you do, hm?”
Her stare latches onto his for a moment longer, wondering what exactly she’s getting herself into, and moreover, if it’s worth it. With a reluctant nod she apparently decides it is, closing her eyes once again.
“Here’s what I’m thinking…” Astarion dips down. She can feel each whisper of breath against the thin skin of her neck. “I’ll linger here like this. Let you feel my weight. Let it slowly rouse you.” He settles further as if to make a point and—
Gods… Gods above, does he realize where his thigh is? Can he understand what it’s doing to her?
He continues on as if he doesn’t, she’s not so sure about that though. There’s something dark in his voice that straddles the line of hunger and fed. Something insatiable.
“Then… I’ll let you know where I’ll be biting you. Mark the spot, so to speak… no surprises, on my word.” Astarion leans in, hovering over the curve of her neck. Her breathing halts entirely as she waits in nervous anticipation. His tenor sinks low, hardly even a whisper, “Right here, darling.” He punctuates it with a slow, sweet press of his lips to her rabbiting pulse.
And this… this is the thing that makes her breath hitch.
It’s slight. She keeps it contained in her nose, holding it there tensely. Her hand moves on its own, twitching to grab at his arm as if to steady herself, despite laying flat and still already.
His lips quirk at this. She can feel them against her, stretching into a smarmy little smirk like he’s just won a bet.
He lingers a moment like this—his cool skin somehow searing like a hot brand against her—and pulls away ever so slightly. “That’s good, just like that, darling,” he murmurs, the simple praise flooding her face and, um, other areas… with a rush of heat. “You hold onto me and keep quiet. I’ll go on, and… once you feel awake. Once you feel… ready for me,” his voice dips into this low, almost-purr, “you just give my arm a squeeze. That’ll be our signal.”
Ashe takes a deep breath through her nose. For a moment she thinks it’s fine. She can do this. Tamp down whatever bodily reactions are rapidly swelling within her. Sort them out later. Alone.
But then he moves back in and opens his mouth against her neck and—
Composure be damned.
The gentle scrape of canines raises goosebumps across her flesh like brail, and she prays he cannot read whatever it says about her. It runs an undeniable shiver down her spine that she only manages to partially subdue and—ah, his tongue, what the hells is his tongue doing?!
It presses to her pulse unabashedly. Flattens soft and lavs it as if begging for entry. Priming her.
Ashe’s breath stutters out in such a way that makes her chest jump with erratic little spasms. She tries so hard to subdue them with only mediocre success.
His teeth tease at what’s to come as he continues to lavish her neck with sweet, suckling affections. It’s like he’s drinking from her already, but no skin is broken yet. This part isn’t for him.
It’s as he said, he’s just marking the spot.
She nearly lets slip a hot, panting breath. Nearly.
Don’t make this weird. Don’t make this weird. Don’t make this weird.
Her lips press into a tight line, forcing a stuttering exhale from her nose instead. No embarrassing sounds allowed. No, sir. She is sleeping—or pretending to anyway—not panting like a dog in heat, thank you very much.
Oh, but it’s taking everything. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he seems amused by her resistance. Like she’s just posed a fun, unexpected challenge, and oh, how he loves a challenge.
Humming low and quiet against her, he sounds coaxing. Soothing. He sucks and nips at her flesh tenderly like he knows she’s fighting to stay in control, and he wants to assure her it’s just fine to lose it.
With a hand laid on his bicep, her fingers curl around it, but don’t quite grasp. She should though, right? Squeeze him? Surely him sucking on her neck like this would be enough to rouse her, as he would say, then he can proceed to drink and they can be done.
But Gods, she doesn’t want to be done.
The way his body feels pressed to hers... His thigh still tempting her hips to roll up just to see what it would feel like. How very kind he’s being with that tongue that so often only gives a lashing.
She’s never felt a thing like this.
So she should stop him, yeah, but she doesn’t. It’s a selfish thing, to want more of this honeyed feeling pooling deep in her abdomen and spreading warm throughout. But he’s always telling her to be more selfish, so….
The weight of his body blankets her even more. Even heavier. He settles atop her further. It should be suffocating, but instead it feels… safe?
Is that stupid? Feeling especially safe beneath the vampire spawn charlaton about to feed from her?
Yeah, probably. But it doesn’t matter because just then he shifts. His thigh rubs deliciously against the heat between her legs and—ah… ahm—
She realizes with no small amount of horror that this little slip of a noise, barely a breath on the breeze, has come from her.
Worse yet, her hips move on their own, tip up to meet the broad plane of his thigh without so much as a fleeting thought. It’s a shy response. Experimental. A barely-there lift of her hips, just wondering at how it might feel.
Very good, by the way.
By the Gods, she needs to get a hold of herself. Shoot some frantic prayers to Tymora. If Ashe is lucky, Astarion will just assume all that was simply her, y’know, adjusting herself or something. As one does. All normal things.
And if she’s really lucky, she won’t do it again.
The last thing she needs is Astarion realizing the intensity of this ridiculous, unrequited crush she has on him. The absolute fool she is for him. How his mouth humming and lapping at her neck has all but unraveled her and so badly does she want to just unseal her lips and let his name fall from them.
Her hand grips his arm in a panic, suddenly in fear of what else her body might do if she doesn’t stop this.
That’s the signal. She knows that he knows because his ministrations come to a pause.
“Yes?” He pulls off enough to whisper against her neck and she feels his absence with a longing ache. “Feeling ready now, are we? Present and in control of our faculties?”
She wants to scoff. He’s awfully presumptuous about her stupid faculties. She certainly wouldn’t consider herself in control of much. Precisely why she needs him to proceed, like, now.
Squeezing at his arm once more, her fingertips sink into his lean muscle and stay like a vice grip, holding tightly in both confirmation and anticipation.
While her neck is still stretched out for him, her head tipped back and angled away for ease of access, she manages to shakily nod.
“I’d like to hear you say it, darling,” he murmurs low. “Just this once. Just to be sure. I only need to hear you say ‘yes’.”
Oh, of course he’s going to make her speak.
He really is evil.
As if her lips haven’t been sealed tight in a desperate attempt to keep any and all noises held at bay. After a thick, audible swallow, she manages to breathe out a flimsy, “Y-yes,” that sounds just as pathetic as she feared.
No time to dwell on it. There’s only a flicker of a second between her consent and his mouth bearing down on her once more. This part she knows well enough.
Or does she?
It’s different this time. He’s not chomping down on her like it’s a freaking timed trial. Some task to cross off his to-do list.
No, his teeth sink.
They ease into her languidly, like she’s something to savor tonight.
The pain is still there, sure, but she’s ready for that. What she’s not ready for is what comes with it—or more accurately, what far overshadows it.
What makes her back jolt into an arch and her chest press against his in surprise. What makes her let out a gasp and do everything in her meager power to hold back the litany of little puffs and noises begging to spill from her.
Astarion groans deeply like she really shouldn’t. Slips a hand beneath the small of her back and keeps her tightly against him as he continues to indulge in her, drinking and drinking like a desert-stranded man to an oasis.
Her hands search for him to hold onto, pawing blindly until they find his arms. The cotton sleeves of his shirt twist between her white-knuckled fingers.
He’s never had her like this. The way he lets the blood pump into his mouth and fill it. Lets it pool and spill a little—decadence—before he drinks it down.
The pain ebbs until she can hardly even find it amongst the waves of gasping pleasure washing over her. Pulling her under. Sweeping her off into the sweetest of undertows.
She’s slipping away and she couldn’t care less. Not of that, and not of her lips that finally fall ajar. The hitching sigh, surrendering from them just one thing—his name.
“Astarion.”
And that might be music to him because he redoubles his efforts. Tugs her tighter. Adjusts his jaw wider. Sinks his teeth deeper. Rolls his body against hers as he rakes his other hand into her hair to hold her still at this perfect angle.
She’s at his mercy—not something he’s known for.
She should be worried. Maybe a small part of her is. This is the most he’s ever drank from her, but it’s also the most incredible it’s ever felt.
As the strength saps from her grip and dark spots dance at the edges of her vision, she paws up his back until her fingertips are met with soft curls at the nape of his neck. Folding her fingers into them, she whispers another soft plea.
“Astar… star…” Her breath grows airy. It’s hard to even get a word out. Her fingertips feel numb as they gently comb through his hair—she’s always wanted to do that. “Star…?” She whimpers once more, scratching tiredly at his scalp. “Stop… please? Star?”
Suddenly he tears back with a startled gasp. Like a drowning victim sucking in their first breath as they come back to themselves.
Her head feels heavy, all swimmy as she stares up at him in a daze.
“Sorry,” he breathes, his face too blurry for her to make out any particular expression. “I… got a little lost there for a moment, but you seem alright, yes?” he asks, not without an anxious uptick. “Ashe?” he prompts when she doesn’t answer straight away, tucking a hand beneath the back of her head, angling her to look at him.
“Hm?” she hums absently, head lolling until he rights it again and pats her cheek to bring her to attention.
“Yes? You’re… alright, yes?”
“Oh, mhm, I’m—sorry, yeah, I’m just… a little light-headed… I think.” She blinks a few times, vision slowly swimming back into focus with Astarion front and center staring down at her. Now, maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but with the twinkling night sky as his backdrop, she thinks this is the most beautiful he’s ever been.
She’s breathless. Speechless. Shameless in her staring adoration.
“You’re sure?” Astarion presses with an odd smirk, his brows knitting with something torn between uncertainty and amusement. She must be making a dumb face, but she doesn’t have it in her to care. “You’ve got this sort of, ehh… lobotomized look about you. Ugh, tell me you haven’t let Volo near you with that ice pick.”
“No…” she whispers absently, clearly distracted.
There’s not a single cloud in the sky that night. The only thing blocking the moon is Astarion’s stupidly pretty head, but the glow still radiates out from behind. Illuminates the wispy edges of his soft curls with this ethereal glow. It makes him look like an angel—damned deceitful lighting.
But right now, even amongst all the stars in the sky blinking down at her, he outshines them all.
“Beautiful,” she mumbles, thoughtlessly reaching out for his face like she’s in a trance and doesn’t realize how fully weird this is.
Astarion chuckles low in his throat. “You’re talking about me?” He questions as her hand clumsily finds him, feeling at his cheek like a blind person prepping to sculpt him. “Mm, well, perhaps you have your wits about you after all.”
Bold of him to assume. For the record, her wits seem to have gone on strike, and who knows when they’ll resume working.
“Ah hah, this really is a gift,” he says, clearly satisfied judging from how stares down at her. “Look how flushed you are for me, even still,” he brushes a knuckle over the apple of her blooming cheek, “even after I’ve had my fill. I must say, this was one of your better ideas, or at least… as long as it was good for you? Did you find this more… palatable?” he asks like he doesn’t already know. Like he couldn’t freaking tell.
He’s either toying with her or she did a better job than she gives herself credit for.
“I—yes,” she whispers with a swallow, still recovering from whatever daze he threw her in. ”It was fine.”
“Fine,” he repeats. Draws out the word with a tone just dripping with heady amusement, his smirk stretching into a smile. “I couldn’t agree more. It was quite fine indeed. We should do it again sometime—up to you of course.”
“Yes, I-I’ll—” she nods with a swallow, trying to string together a sentence with little luck, “yes, I’ll um, I’ll let you know.”
“Well, I look forward to it then,” he murmurs, leveling her gaze with those heavy-lidded eyes of his. “Sweet dreams then, darling.”
And with that he’s starting to shift off of her. She blinks up at him, absently touching her neck. Bringing her fingertips close to her face, they remind of her morning dew on roses. Wet and red.
“Oh? Did I miss some?” Astarion questions, his long fingers wrapping around her petite wrist.
Ashe stares in awe as he pulls her hand close. He leans in. Tethers her hazy gaze. Brings her fingers to his pouty lips and parts them to take her fingertips in his mouth. “Mm,” he hums, using his tongue to reclaim every bit of her that he’d left behind. “Your blood is even sweeter tonight, darling,” he says, finally returning her hand. She lets it fall to her neck once more, absently feeling at the two neat little wounds there. “No wonder I can’t get enough.”
When she glances at her fingertips again, a fresh daub of red adorning them, a thought occurs to her. A stupid, impulsive one.
“Wait.” Her voice is like gossamer silk, nearly floating off in the cool night breeze. Astarion waits.
Flush-faced and heavy-lidded, Ashe holds his gaze as she brings those fingers to her own mouth this time. He watches intently. Slowly now, she finds the corner of her lips. Presses down. Smears a pretty streak of glossy rouge across them.
“Oh,” Astarion murmurs with a roguish realization. “Oh, so that’s what you want.”
“If you want,” she whispers, a tinge of sadness peeking through, even in her mystified state.
He breathes out a laugh. “Why, I can’t think of a reason I wouldn’t want that.”
She smiles slow and somber, reaching out to take a curl between her fingers. She misses and nearly pokes him in the eye, but eventually finds one. “You’re just so beautiful, Astarion…” she exhales deeply, pulling her hand back to clumsily feel at the ugly scar blanketing nearly half her face. “And I’m just me.”
Astarion stares. There’s a flicker of some indiscernible expression tugging his brows together before his face takes on its usual wolfish humor.
“I mean this is the nicest way possible, darling, but for a smart girl, you can be rather lacking.”
She doesn’t respond because suddenly his mouth is on hers. One of his hands rakes through her hair to cup the back of her head and pull her up to better meet him.
Her lips part with a gasp as his tongue swipes languidly across them once. Twice. He cleans her blood from them with a satisfied noise humming low in his throat before pressing his lips flush to hers.
It nearly stops her heart.
He can’t possibly understand how long–how much–she’s wanted this. A shaky breath blusters from her nose as he holds the kiss. Draws it out. A whimpering sigh slips from her, vibrates against his lips, and he answers back with an approving groan.
When he pulls away, she can do nothing but blink at him like a hot-cheeked idiot. Despite her obvious lack of blood, it still manages to feel like it’s bursting in her chest.
“There,” he says, a devilish smirk playing across his lips. “All cleaned up and ready for bed, you precious thing.”
“Goodnight, Astarion,” is all she can whisper. Brain no function.
He lingers on her a moment longer with a thoughtful tilt of his head, expression unreadable, and says, “Indeed it is, my dear. Indeed it certainly is.” With that, he’s pushing to his feet and wishing her sweet dreams.
you ever get sleep deprived on pain meds and decide to draw some spicy angst at 2am and then suddenly it's 11am and you have no memory of drawing at all
"I was a magistrate once, I could see if you missed any loopholes in your contract."
I'm sorry but the thought of Astarion, after 200 years a slave, finally dusting off his legal chops to bust Wyll out of his contract is such a fun fucking idea. I'm in love with this. You can't convince me Astarion isn't also thrilled at the prospect. If he helps Wyll out of his predicament, he'll owe Astarion, which is exactly what Astarion wants--to be owed. For assistance in his own freedom in return. I KNOW he would go so ham on that contract, if not for initially selfish reasons, but I think he would find a joy in it along the way.
"A collapsed tunnel. Nasty way to be buried."
I just love the accidental empathy Astarion sometimes lets leak out in his comments on the world. Like, he did not have to remark on this collapsed tunnel, he could have just walked on by like every other heap of rubble, but he looked at it and felt for the people buried in it. It was something he could relate to, that feeling of being trapped and buried and helpless. I love these little glimpses into the part of Astarion that truly does care for people, in his way.
gamechangershow
dailybridgerton
amandla
gracieabrams
