i have been pondering why angst is my comfort. why do i circle back to it over and over? why can't i shift my focus over to something more positive or at least neutral? why is angst my base?
and the simplest truth is that happiness is earned, never freely given, otherwise it slips right through your fingers.
it's been a rollercoaster in terms of writing because my own life and emotional state have been in a constant flux. for once i'm pretty steady, and fractionally braver. the first tentative step back into writing is always (for me) the most terrifying. but the second step is with muscle memory, and i'm propelled forward almost always at top speed
so yes, im finally fucking writing again. crossing my fingers for no pitfalls. i've had enough cautionary tales over the years to hopefully avoid them
ch 26 aka what the fuck are they going to do when no one in this pairing has a functioning heart
rating: explicit
pairing: astarion x f!dark urge
It’s half past midnight when Astarion returns to the quiet streets of Rivington, a hefty pack pulled along. He’s not tired—far from it—and he’s surprisingly eager to return to a house full of faces that don’t impress much approval on him.
He hopes they’re all asleep. He could do without the questions and piercing gazes.
Gurona on the other hand…
Her first message had been two hours ago, a mixture of urgency and annoyance hanging on every word.
Where are you? It’s important.
Admittingly, he did not first take her seriously in his reply. He had been on the hunt, stalking his prey when her words had caught him off guard.
I’m out shopping for the bloodiest of meals. Give me two hours.
Piece made for @bg3-winter-big-bang where authors and artists were paired together for collaboration~ My collaborations partner for this piece was @dalarans / grimparadigms on AO3, with their piece Precious Seconds <3
just a small snippet from a widojest fic where caleb is a vampire trapped in a mansion, and jester is the stranger that's quite content on never leaving.
perhaps one day i will finish it... maybe...
----
“Are marriages ever about happiness?” Jester asks him genuinely. The only happy marriages she’s ever heard about were in books. Once upon a time she even looked forward to it, but after her mother had asked her to marry for politics and not love, she learned that rarely were people ever joined together for love.
“They can be.”
“Were you married before or something?” She sits up on her elbows. He retracts his hand from the spiral he’d been tracing.
“No. I never married.”
“But… you wanted to? You had someone you loved?”
“I never got that far but, yes, there was someone. It was never going to happen, but if it had… It would have been for love.”
Her interest is piqued. He’s loved someone before, which shouldn’t surprise her, but it does. She wants to ask him about this person, wants to hear about a love story that’s real and not written in a fairytale. But it dawns on her that his story would only be a sad one. And what was the point of a love story that only ended in pain and heartbreak? Love just seemed so stupidly painful.
“I’ve never been in love,” she states, kicking the heels of her feet against the bed. “I once ate a really good donut, and it was so good, that I bought ten more. That was probably as close to love as I’ll ever get.”
He’s fighting this goofy smile, like he thinks she’s just said the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time, and he tries to cover it with a cough.
“What’s so funny, Cayleb?”
“You are just surprising.” She can see the glint of his fangs as he tries to cover his smile. “In a good way.”
“Listen, if you’d tried those donuts, you’d be on your knees proposing to the baker. That’s how good they were.”
the book thief quote in your bio - so real, so heartwrenching, so hopeful! and I'm glad you choose these wj words to share with us
look the book thief changed my life as a kid when i first read it. and i carry those words with me as i go.
and thank you for saying so! that snippet is from a wj fic i started writing back in the height of c2, but never finished. i actually just went down the rabbit hole of my old writing and found that little gem and it made me miss them dearly.
just a small snippet from a widojest fic where caleb is a vampire trapped in a mansion, and jester is the stranger that's quite content on never leaving.
perhaps one day i will finish it... maybe...
----
“Are marriages ever about happiness?” Jester asks him genuinely. The only happy marriages she’s ever heard about were in books. Once upon a time she even looked forward to it, but after her mother had asked her to marry for politics and not love, she learned that rarely were people ever joined together for love.
“They can be.”
“Were you married before or something?” She sits up on her elbows. He retracts his hand from the spiral he’d been tracing.
“No. I never married.”
“But… you wanted to? You had someone you loved?”
“I never got that far but, yes, there was someone. It was never going to happen, but if it had… It would have been for love.”
Her interest is piqued. He’s loved someone before, which shouldn’t surprise her, but it does. She wants to ask him about this person, wants to hear about a love story that’s real and not written in a fairytale. But it dawns on her that his story would only be a sad one. And what was the point of a love story that only ended in pain and heartbreak? Love just seemed so stupidly painful.
“I’ve never been in love,” she states, kicking the heels of her feet against the bed. “I once ate a really good donut, and it was so good, that I bought ten more. That was probably as close to love as I’ll ever get.”
He’s fighting this goofy smile, like he thinks she’s just said the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time, and he tries to cover it with a cough.
“What’s so funny, Cayleb?”
“You are just surprising.” She can see the glint of his fangs as he tries to cover his smile. “In a good way.”
“Listen, if you’d tried those donuts, you’d be on your knees proposing to the baker. That’s how good they were.”
if you’d like to start from the beginning and see gurona and astarion’s torturous beginnings, go here!
rating: explicit
pairing: astarion x f!dark urge
chapter warnings: smut, inappropriate usage of spells, voyeurism (kinda), blood drinking
Astarion’s existence has been nothing short of wretched lately— one disaster after another, heartbreak stacking upon heartbreak. Sleepless days. Long, vacant nights. The ever-present darkness has become his only companion, and his very nature itself. He wears it as a second skin, layered thick to protect himself from the world’s unbalanced scales. When one grows so used to the sun’s retreat and the blanket of night, they forget that the sun might ever return. After all, it’s been dark for so long.
He’s still a cynic. The arbitrary world does not change. Yet when he looks down at his lover’s face, dappled with moonlight, he sees it all. Everything he’s longed for. Everything he’s missed.
The sun rises again.
“I’ve a few ideas, all with your permission, of course.”
They’ve been wrapped in one another’s arms for the last five minutes, mouthes put well to work. He’s teased her lower lip ceaselessly with teeth and tongue, and now it swells with the warmth of her blood. He’s excited about all the other places along her body he might leave his mark.
“Let me guess,” he replies, kissing her bare shoulder. “Are they of the magical variety?”
It’s a gentle somber haze that sifts around her as she stirs to life. Wrestling free from the claim of darkness, she blinks slowly up at the barren wood ceiling above her, fragmented breaths on her tongue. She’s still bound by sleepiness, and the strange tingling of her limbs. Everything feels just as it should— which isn’t right at all, right?
No, there had not been a minute of peace in the before. She had been kneeling, bound, bleeding. Her mind had been filled with horrors painted blood red, entrenched in the sickening misery that only death can bring. She had screamed and screamed, her voice caught in the wires of her throat, unending. The release had been a permanent state of affliction of both body and mind. And the pain, oh gods, the pain.
That room. The prison. The stench of old blood had been burned into her senses. The steady dance of forever burning candlelight trapped against the walls. The rattling of her screams as they bounced off of wall after wall, in endless despair. That’s how it was and would be, forevermore.
But this— this place? Gurona pushes up onto her elbows, straining to make sense of the shapes within the blanket of shadows throughout. There’s a heaviness across her legs, and first she tries to stir against the restriction, only to realize it was not simply just a blanket thrown across her, but a person.
All the emotion is locked in the thick of her throat as she presses her lips closed. Astarion— here— at the foot of the bed, resting quietly against her legs. He looks serene in the darkness, even with the complete stillness of his body.
Could it all be a dream again? Or a nightmare? Some horrors conjured up from the depths of her mind’s hell. It couldn’t be anything else at all, because then she would have failed, and failure…
chapter 21 continues off from astarion's reaction to the message gurona sent in chapter 18! here we watch astarion grapple with desperation and obstacles that prevent him from saving the person that he loves.
if you’d like to start from the beginning and see gurona and astarion’s torturous beginnings, go here!
rating: explicit
pairing: astarion x f!dark urge
no chapter warning lol. just read what's on the tin baby!
Astarion’s companions surge awake to the sound of his voice, their eyes clearly leaden with exhaustion. They stare at him with dismay.
“What? What is it?” Cricket hisses, her voice still weak with recent slumber.
“Get up and I’ll explain it as we go!” Astarion doesn’t wish to waste any more time idling. He begins to gather what remains of his things, which is to say not much at all.
Gale throws his arm across his wife’s lap, preventing her from rising. “Astarion, the sun has not even set yet. We’re due at least another couple of hours.” Astarion doesn’t pause to answer, his mind barely present at all. The messages from Gurona were the only sounds that pressed against his mind, over and over.
“Astarion?” His back is turned to Cricket, but he’s learned to recognize the soft notes of concern that color her tone. “We’re happy to go wherever you need us but you’ll have to explain it to us.”
“We’re no longer mind readers, as it were,” Gale adds.
He pauses, his bedroll packed up and put away. Everything he needed, ready to go. Only the sleepy pair left to deal with.
“I received a message mere minutes ago.” The words are a flurry behind his eyes, her voice a weapon against the tenderness of his mind. "She- she… She’s bleeding out, in some city or town named Renvarn.” Gods, he hates the way his voice stumbles through the fear of loss. “Is that enough for you? Enough of a reason to listen when I say get up, we need to go— now!"
chapter 20 is really a culmination of so much that's been building since gurona's return, and man is it a fun one-- narratively speaking. if you’d like to start from the beginning and see gurona and astarion's torturous beginnings, go here!
rating: explicit
pairing: astarion x f!dark urge
chapter warnings: suicidal ideation, graphic depictions of wounds, and uhhh the dark urge being, well... themselves
Gurona wakes with a nagging pain in her arms; a pinching sensation, followed by a sickening warmth that makes her shiver. A groan rises from her throat as she shifts into a seated position. It’s unpleasant, but worse is the offset burning that blossoms beneath the fresh wounds across her arms. I didn’t do this. I didn’t. I wouldn’t have— She stares at the lazy stitching, barely holding the skin together.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Both arms torn open with some sharpened tool, the skin puckering to a darker purple. “The fucking cunt.”
She feels ridiculous, and furious. Of course it was her. Who else might consider such a moronic choice? All that was at her disposal, and still she chooses to harm her own body, her level of creativity punishing. How does one manage a war within themselves? How do you fight an enemy that wears your skin, inhales with your lungs, ruminates in your brain? The longer she stares with fury, the more she considers herself lucky that she was the only victim. Had she anyone she loved nearby, they may have fared far worse.
She’s no healer, and the damage done to herself is far past her own capabilities. She keeps mumbling a slew of curses, uncertain on what she could do, or how to fix it. Her fingers gently press against the outer shell of the wound, and it’s warm. Great. Likely infected.
yay i've made it chapter 19! nervous but excited to see all the places this story will go next. if you’d like to read from the beginning, go here!
rating: explicit
pairing: astarion x f!dark urge
chapter warnings: aftermath of violence and dead bodies
“Night’s such as these are nigh as exquisite as the holy relics in the Hall of Wonders.” Gale walks a step ahead, ruminating on the midnight sky as if he’s never seen it before. “I always felt that a sky full of stars was a blueprint of the weave; extraordinary, and beyond measure.”
Astarion rolls his eyes, staring at the back of Gale and Cricket’s head as they walk in tandem. He doesn’t want to dignify any of Gale’s outlandish speech with a reply, though he had plenty to say about it.
“Watch the sky long enough and we may catch a shooting star,” Cricket muses. “There would be no better time to make a wish.”
Gale practically coos in reply, “And what is it that my esteemed wife of many talents would wish for? Perhaps, I could call forth a star just for you, so you might make as many wishes as your heart desires.”
Astarion gags behind them, more than appalled by their insatiable need to show their undying love and commitment to one another. Honestly, had they nothing better to do? This night has already felt long and unending, with little progress made. He’s had to suffer through hours of aimless flirtations that made him all the more resentful that these two in particular had come along. Nothing made him more sickened by the concept of love than the fact he could not have it for his own.
“Oh come now, Mr. Dekarios, you ought to know me well enough by now.” Cricket continues this terrible foray into their unambiguous relationship. Gods, nothing could stop them.
Gale’s tone remains confident and upbeat. “You are right, of course. I do all I can to attain your wishes on the daily, though these formidable circumstances have us caught so deeply in the darkest trenches of our heart. You wish as we all do, to find our friend, and return her to us. Not the easiest of feats to achieve, but I’ve strived to greater heights than this before. We can surely—”
“Gods, would you shut up?” Astarion snaps, all his self-control gone out the proverbial window.
rating: teen and up
pairing: astarion x f!durge
tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, short & sweet
the second fic in my mini series that includes missing scenes from my fic: shall we renounce
Astarion hasn't had a proper home in centuries. Now he has the chance to imagine what home could really mean to him.
read on ao3 or below
↓↓↓
1492 Nightal 11th
“Here put this on.”
Gurona holds the blindfold out to him, two parts eager and impatient. Astarion takes it gently into his hands, holding it there with suspicion.
“Brought me all the way down here for a bit of fun, love? You only had to ask.”
She smiles reflexively. Blindfolds weren’t a typical part of their repertoire, but if it was something Astarion was up for, she was always one for trying. But his idea of fun is the very last thing on her mind. She won’t ever give a moment to the passing thought. Nothing was going to undo all her hard work.
“I am asking, rather nicely. I’ll even say please.” She nudges him lightly. “Now, put it on.”
He stares down at the blindfold in contemplation, and she assumes he’ll give her lip about it. There’s likely a hundred or so things he could say about it; all salacious jokes meant to amuse her— and they would. She knows very well that when he got started, she would be stuck in fits of laughter, drawn into him, and neither of them would make any progress at all. He was far more dangerous for that alone rather than the violence of his vampiric nature.
“You know, it’s already dark down here. This,” he holds up the blindfold, as if it is a point of contention, “is hardly necessary.”
“Astarion.” Gurona is feeling rather impatient now. “Blindfold, please."
He opens his mouth before promptly closing it, thinking better of himself. With a drawn out sigh, he pulls the cloth to his eyes and ties it as best as he can manage at the back of his head. “This better be good,” he says.
She feels the bubbling of excitement rising through her chest and to her cheeks. He hadn’t put up as much of a fight as she expected. There had been other ploys in the works just in case he would only refuse her. But it had been made easy. Perhaps then everything would go far better than she had played it out in her head.
“Here, take my hand.” He reaches out aimlessly and she gives a light laugh as she takes his hand in her own. “Trust me?”
“I do.” He squeezes her hand gently in reply. “So don’t make me regret it.”
She leads him with cautionary steps deeper into the Underdark, the path already traveled time and time again in secrecy. She minded the raised mushrooms, shimmering with vibrant blues and dreamy purples. There was always enough life from the unearthly fauna to navigate the dark beauties all around her. It would always be her home, even if she hadn’t lived here in several decades.
“Watch your step here,” she warns when the ground slopes upward, old rock embedded into the dirt.
“If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”
“You’re not going to fall.”
He squeezes her hand a bit tighter. “Oh, is that a promise, darling?”
“It is. If you fall, I’ll be the first to catch you,” she smiles, watching his wobbling steps up the rocks that fared as tentative stairs. “Promise.”
That seems to be enough of a comfort for him. His trust in her is not wasted. She guides him with ease, and no limbs suffer dirt nor damage. She even sees in the set of his shoulders and the shift of his gait, there’s no hesitation, no tension. He moves whole heartedly with her.
The destination itself is not much farther. She can already see the unpainted wooden building slanted to the right, the roofing depressed with several small holes. The dirt beneath their feet softens, the pathway smoothed out with spots of mushrooms and blooming sunless flowers. She’s more careful not to crush the plants beneath her feet. Astarion not so much.
“How much longer?” He asks, the lilt of impatience on his tongue. “As lovely as it is to wander in complete darkness with you, I’d much rather see your lovely face.”
“Miss my face that much already?”
His toothy smile is enough to send bursts of affection to every limb. “It’s my favorite sight of all.”
“Well, you’re just in luck then, as we’ve just arrived.” She tugs him a bit further, the building in question completely in sight now. “Are you ready?”
“To take this damned blindfold off? A thousand percent.”
She stops him at the perfect distance from the front door, so that he might take in the view all at once. She moves behind him, gently undoing the knot he so quickly managed before, and taking the blindfold into her hands. She rests her chin on his shoulder. “Surprise!”
He stands there, arms resting limply at his side before waving a hand in the general direction of the house. “It’s an abandoned shack… You’ve surprised me with an abandoned shack.”
“It’s a house!” She wraps her arms around his midsection and holds him tightly, his unimpressed demeanor unaffected.
“Is it?” He squints mockingly. “What is it then, a home for cravens and scavengers?”
“Maybe at one point or another but— you’re missing the point, Astarion!”
“Is there a point here?”
“Close your eyes.”
“Gurona—”
“Come on. Close your eyes.” She tilts her head to be certain he listens. He makes out that he’ll stubbornly refuse but with a deep exhale, his eyes flutter shut. She says quietly, “Now imagine with me. A home, sitting at the peak of a hill, overlooking the cavernous beauty of the Underdark. There’s a little garden out front with bluecaps, barrenworts, foam flowers, and more. A painted door of deep violet, inviting in friends and keeping out enemies.”
“Sounds like a fantasy, darling,” Astarion interrupts, though his eyes remain closed. She holds onto him a little tighter, needling her chin further into his shoulder.
“Shh, I’m not finished.” He relaxes into her and she continues, “When we enter, we’re met with the sweet smell of burning incense and a well-kept hearth. Princess Lollihops greets us at the door. Along the walls are portraits of us, and our friends, and all our adventures. On the shelves and mantle are pieces of us and our hauls, to remind us where we’ve gone and where we’ve yet to go. Books upon books so we never grow bored. A touch of you, and a touch of me, throughout every corner of the home..”
She pauses to let the imagery sink into his mind. She sees it so clearly, and she wishes he might see the same. The home looks like not much of anything at all, but the potential is grand. It could be everything they’ve ever hoped for. Everything they’ve all but lost.
“Do you see it now, Astarion?” She whispers into his ear, and she feels him shiver against her.
“Maybe.” He opens his eyes, resting his hands atop her own. “But that doesn’t make any of it real, love. This place, it’s-it’s…”
“I know it needs a lot of work.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Oh, it needs far more than that— far more than either of us can give.”
“You’re wrong, and I’ll prove that to you.” She doesn’t wish him to see her pout, so she frees herself from the coolness of his body and takes a step towards the home. She waves for him to follow. “You just need to see the vision.”
“I see more than clearly, darling. It’s you who may have hit her head one too many times. We ought to get that checked one of these days.”
Gurona rolls her eyes, pausing at the closed front door. She turns to him, pulling on one of her more sweeter smiles. With enough heart and encouragement, he would see things a shade different than usual. Time. That was what he would need, and they had nothing but time.
“Astarion.” She rests her hand on the doorknob. “Welcome home.”
She pushes the door open behind her, the lock broken from her first foray into the amusements of the abandoned home. She would fix that later (along with the most pressing of issues like the roof full of holes). Gurona steps in slowly, her back to the home, inviting Astarion in with a glance.
“And if I can’t enter, what then?” He’s stopped right at the entrance, the tips of his shoes pressed against an invisible barrier that none can see. She’s quite happy to dissuade all his fears.
“You can enter, Astarion. This is our home now.” She takes his hand and pulls him through with no resistance. “No one can keep you from it.”
They take a tentative walk throughout the home. There’s much to be desired in the decay. The furniture that remains is all but ruined and destroyed, and the smell that lingers is of rot and dust. To her, the small pieces of the home come together to create the possibility of sanctuary. To Astarion, the home is nothing more than worthless pieces of wood barely holding together.
Astarion presses her into one of the weakened walls; it groans from the weight of her. His hands rest on her hips, his mouth just inches from her own. He slips into the smooth tone that always sends goosebumps up and down her spine. “Dream bigger, darling. A mansion, with a room for every vice and depravity. Now that sounds up our alley.”
She moves her hands to his shoulders before threading one hand to the soft flesh of his neck, and the other gently dragging through his curls. “Astarion, I want us to have something. Something for us and us alone. I don’t need a mansion to love you in. I love you here, and now.”
“We might not need a mansion, but we’re more than deserving of one. I mean, for all we’ve done for Faerûn, you would think some god would send us a hoard of riches and barrels of fresh blood.”
“Astarion.” She says his name softly, to draw his attention back to the present. “Do you really hate it so much?”
“It’s…” He sighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles into her hips. “I don’t hate it but— it’s been abandoned for a reason, darling. It’s not worth our time.”
She smiles sadly, staring up into those heartened, crimson eyes. He’s the only one who sees her so clearly: her dreams, hopes, and fears. She says, “Even things long forgotten deserve love, Astarion.”
His lips quirk into a half-smile. “And a little love will save a place like this?”
She nods ardently. “Love can save anything.”
To stop a silly argument from unfolding, or any other way he might readily disagree with her, she leans forward to press her lips against his. It feels important, to seal her love for him in this very spot, to add this moment to their precious small vat of memories. She wants him to feel the power of them both combined, settling into the walls and floorboards. She needs him to feel it.
She clings on tighter, chest flush against chest, both pressed hard against one another, the home singing from the shifting of their weight. She smiles against his mouth, the heat of her own body melding so comfortably with the coolness of his own. His hands are eager at her waist, knotting in her dress.
“If this place was ours, we could do this in any room at any time,” she barely manages with sparing breaths against his lips. He eyes her hungrily.
“Is that so?”
“Mhmm.” She kisses along the edges of his lips with a faint giggle. “No one to interrupt us. No curious animals, no sunlight, no sudden dangers.”
His body weight moves against her and she gasps lightly when he shifts his hips into her own. “I do love the sound of that.”
“Make a home with me then, Astarion.” She kisses him again and again. She can taste the hopeful future on his tongue. It stirs her heart with unabashed excitement.
She waits, their hands moving with vigor from clothed skin to exposed. They’ve always allowed their wants and desires to carry them fully from one moment to the next, always hand in hand. It feels as if he hears the hammering of her heart and answers the call with all the adoration and love she so desperately craves. He kisses her like they’re the last two people in all of the Underdark.
“Alright,” he says when he gives her a moment to catch her breath, her hands trembling against his chest. “I want this, love. I want all of this. You, this home, this life. And all that comes with it.”
The tears are instantaneous in her eyes. “You mean it?”
“I do.”
When their mouths meet again, it is made in promise that they’ll finally give each other what they so readily deserve. Something that’s theirs. Something that no god or master could take from them.
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