*giggles* #9 definitely!! Poor Tav getting a wtf moment before they remember? Or maybe it never occurred to them? Whatever inspires you ;))))
Prompt: listening to the other’s heartbeat
Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist
It was an odd sensation, feeling the rise and fall of a chest, but not a heartbeat. You could hear the intake and outtake of breath. Your head moved that tiny fraction of an inch in a steady rhythm, but no backing thump to bring it all together. It was like listening to quartet without a base; functional, but obviously lacking in something crucial.
“I can hear you thinking,” Astarion murmured.
You blinked, pulling yourself out of your musings. “The tadpoles?”
“No, but this does just as well.” He pressed a finger to the creases between your brow as evidence. “What’s got that wily mind of yours turning?”
“Nothing devious,” you promised. “I was just wondering, do you have to think about breathing?”
He didn’t answer a moment, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly.
“Not anymore,” he admitted. “It’s not required outside of speech; however, people tend to notice if you don’t breathe. Not immediately, but there is an awareness that something isn’t quite right, puts them on edge. It took me a few years to get back in the habit. Now I have to put in the effort to stop.”
You hummed in consideration, watching your outstretched hand move with his chest.
“What brought this on?” he asked.
You shrugged. “I can’t hear your heart. It seemed odd, your breathing was steady, but not your heartbeat.”
“Oh,” he said, as if surprised.
You glanced up at him. “Don’t tell me nobody else has noticed.”
“Nobody has mentioned it, if that’s what you mean. Admittedly anyone who came close enough to listen never stayed for long, and just as often were more concerned with their own racing heartbeats.”
He said it in a light tone with his usual sultry airs, but it was easy enough to catch the underlying hurt of it all. It was his scars all over again. They were such an obvious sign of mangled torture and yet, in two hundred years, nobody bothered to help. And here again, two hundred years without a heartbeat, and not a word. It was enough to make anyone contemptuous of the world.
“Does it…bother you?” he asked.
You shook your head, giving him a gentle smile. “It is odd, but nothing I can’t get used to. Besides, it’s a sure fire way for me to know it’s you I’m holding. As far as I know, shape changers can’t stop their hearts from beating.”
He let out a surprised laugh, the vibrations spreading pleasantly through your whole body.
“I think you’ll have other problems if you let a shape changer get that close darling,” he said.
“Well, let’s hope to not find out.”
He hummed in agreement, relaxing back into the pillows.
You let yourself do the same, curling your body around him as your head made a home on his chest. He held you there, letting his hands rub absentmindedly up and down your back.
“I can feel your heart,” he said, after a long pause.
“Oh?”
He nodded, leaning down just enough to press a kiss to the top of your head.
“Moments like this, I sometimes mistake it for my own.”
You couldn’t think of anything clever to say and so decided to say nothing at all. Instead, you turned your head, pressing a kiss over where his heart ought to be. You had more than enough heart for two.
oh my god there are so many good choice on the touching prompt list for Ace!Tav and Astarion. But since it’s first numerically may I please request 3?
Summary: You finally arrive in Baldur's Gate and you can't sleep. Normally this would mean taking the nearest instrument and playing until your hands are raw. Luckily for your fingers, Astarion is there to listen.
Prompt: hiding face in neck
Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist
A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I swear to god I wrote like five different versions of this thing. Let's give it up for over writing! Enjoy.
Word Count: 1.8K
The night felt oddly still for Baldur’s Gate. You’d traveled so far, done and seen so much and you were finally here. It should have brought you relief; instead, all you could think about was all you had left to do. There were still the tadpoles to deal with and devils and gods and frankly all the things you’d never given a second thought to the last time you stepped through the gates. Perhaps the city felt it as well, collectively holding its breath for whatever was coming next.
You let out a deep sigh, staring up at the darkened ceiling. There would be no hope of sleep tonight. The best you could do was find a way to pass the hours without going mad.
As carefully as you could, you slipped out of bed, mindful of Astarion resting soundly next to you. For all your troubles, they were nothing compared to the horrors coming for him. You wouldn’t disturb his rare moment of peace for the world.
In easy strides you grabbed your lute and made your way to the balcony where a comfortable enough chaise awaited you.
No lamps were needed. Between the moon and the street lamps below, you could see well enough to play for an audience of one.
You started with something easy, plucking out a handful of scales to warm up your hands. It didn’t take long after that for a melody to form, pushing your worries further and further away. Lyrics slipped their way past your lips in whispers and half remembered hums. You were here. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You had control over your body and the sounds pulled from the instrument in your hands. There was still time. The morning hadn’t found you yet.
Soft footsteps approached from behind you; the obvious padding of bare feet on wooden floor boards given just enough extra weight so as not to startle you. Astarion could be very considerate at times.
You paused your hands, turning to face him.
“Sorry, was I playing too loud?”
“Not at all,” he assured. “How else was I supposed to find you after waking to a cold, empty bed?”
You had to at least smile at his dramatics, which seemed to please him as he stepped further onto the balcony.
The light of the moon gave his already pale skin and iridescent glow. His silver curls were just a little ruffled from their perfect coif as his eyes held you with a tired softness that made you ache. It was in moments like this you remembered why poetry existed; paints, canvas, marble, clay, they were too clumsy of tools to capture all of him.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, pulling you from your musings.
“Just needed to clear my head,” you said. “Didn’t want to bother anyone with my plucking.”
“Perish the thought. I rather enjoy your plucking.” He nodded to the empty spot next to you. “May I?”
You couldn’t think of a reason to argue, so you didn’t try. Astarion had proved himself one of the few people you could enjoy a peaceful silence with. So long as he didn’t expect you to entertain him, there was no harm done.
You scooted over to allow him room.
He took it, only to pull you against him, caging you between his legs.
You gave a small yelp of surprise, only just managing to keep hold of your lute. “What are you doing?”
“Making myself comfortable.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so your back rested against his chest while his chin made a home on your shoulder. “Go on dearest, start plucking.”
You snorted out a laugh. Gods above, he really was a cat sometimes. He didn’t ask for attention so much as demand it and in a way only the most heartless could be upset by.
“It’s rather difficult for me to perform with my back to the audience,” you said as some attempt at protest.
He gave a noncommittal hum. “I’m inclined to disagree. But if it does bother you, consider me a humble patron observing a rehearsal.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Settling back as best you could, you began again, humming a tune to yourself as you worked out the cords.
A different kind of peace settled over you as he held you. You had come here to be alone, something you had gotten used to over the years. Astarion didn’t have to be here with you, but he was. He chose to sit here in the dark and listen as you played your troubles into the air. It was an alien comfort, one that still left you a little unsure, but it was a comfort nonetheless.
“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Astarion observed, gently breaking the silence.
“I would think not, seeing how it’s only been in my head for the last few months,” you teased.
He nodded as you felt him shift awkwardly beneath you. “Far be it for me to speak on your artistic vision, but is it meant to be so repetitive?”
You stopped your playing as a flush of warmth came to your cheeks. There was a reason why rehearsals were usually kept private. “Sorry, can’t seem to find the ending.”
“Might be easier if you wrote it down,” he suggested.
“That would require me knowing how.”
“You don’t know how to write music?” He sounded so genuinely surprised, you had to laugh.
“Love, I don’t even know how to read it.”
“Really?”
You shrugged. “Just not how I learned. They weren’t exactly letting riff raff like me into the conservatory.”
You could all but feel the furrow of his brow as his chin pressed against your shoulder. “So every song you’ve ever played, original or otherwise, you taught yourself, by ear, and stored away in that head of yours?”
“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is. Plenty of bards do the exact same thing,” you dismissed.
He hummed in thought. “Perhaps. It does explain why so many of them don’t seem to have anything going on behind the eyes.”
“I’ll try not to be insulted.”
“Present company excluded,” he amended, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear for good measure. “Why do you think I’m so impressed? Beauty, talent and brains are such a rare combination.”
You gave a small huff, earning you another kiss on the temple.
“I’m sure we could find somebody in the city to teach you,” he offered.
You shook your head. “Not interested. Besides, I’ve found it an effective filtration method. If I can’t remember the tune the next day, it probably wasn’t worth learning in the first place.”
“Oh darling, who knew you could be so cruel to your fellow artists,” he said, full of approval. “But, what about when a song of yours is done? Surely then it would be worth preserving.”
“If I’ve done my job well, then the memories of those who have heard it will be preservation enough,” you said. “It’s how all the best songs are passed on anyway. The specifics of who wrote it and when get lost, but the melody remains. It stays in the world because people want it to stay in the world. I think there’s a kind of poetry in that.”
He let out a long exasperated sigh. “How nauseatingly romantic of you. One little problem though, people’s memories are shit. Give it a few centuries and it will barely resemble the original. At least if you write it down they can’t muck it up.”
“It’s obvious you haven’t met many musicians,” you said, dryly. “People are always going to have their own interpretations. Putting it down on paper doesn’t make it any less a memory. Personally, I’d rather keep it living in the mind than in a stagnant drawer somewhere.”
“Or I can just make sure nothing happens to the original.”
He tried to keep his voice light, but there was promise beneath that tingled at the back of your neck. His arms held you a little more tightly. His body tensed. It was as if he was trying to guard you from something, but who or what you could only guess at.
“Astarion–”
“Don’t,” he said, sharply. “I know you want to say something comforting and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you go on about memory or legacy or things to remember after you’re gone, because you’re not gone. You’re here. You’re here with me, and I don’t care who I have to kill or what bargains I need to make, but I’m not letting you go.”
He turned his face into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. To your surprise, no teeth accompanied the gesture. He just breathed, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs. His touch lingered on your skin as some of the tension left his body; the steady beating of your heart calming him.
“I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “I just want you.”
Your lips parted to speak, but quickly closed. You knew there was a correct thing to say. Letting go was a part of life, whether you liked it or not. Sooner or later, everyone became a memory; but, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and that wasn’t what you felt.
The promise he made wasn’t some collection of meaningless words, but a desperate, blood soaked plea. For the first time in so long, you knew somebody would be upset if you died, not for the loss of income or poetry, but because you would be gone.
You wanted to tell him you loved him. You wanted to tell him you didn’t just want memories either. You wanted to make the same promise and then hide away somewhere safe where the world wouldn’t dare touch either of you; but, you didn’t say that either.
Instead you placed your hand over his, squeezing his fingers.
“You have me,” you said, softly. “I’m right here.”
A shuddering breath left his body, as if all the emotion he had been containing was suddenly pushed from his lungs. His arms stayed around you, but his whole body relaxed as his head found a new place to live buried in your neck.
“Keep playing, my heart,” he said. “Don’t stop.”
How could anyone say no to such a request?
Your hands found a melody, different from the one before; something complete and familiar. As soon as the song finished you transitioned to another and then another, never stopping until Astarion’s hold became slack and his breathing turned deep and steady, signaling his trace. Only then did you set down your lute and curled into his arms to finally sleep.
You would finish your composition another night. The morning would find you, but you had time. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You were here and you were going to stay.
Anon back to say sorry my wording was off!! Did not mean to imply demanding tone when I said I hope part 3 is soon, so sorry about that, just meant you have me on the edge of my seat, this is the good stuff!!
I would love the crack outtakes. But you already know this 😅
My lame attempt:
Reader: haha yep that’s me, cursed, lucky guess?
Astarion: I was joking! cursed pussy. You know, I’m really old but that’s a new one darling.
You're all good! I felt what you meant. And thank you.
And here is some of my bad attempts. Lol
Astarion: Did I do something wrong?
You:
Yes. I don't want to do this anymore.
No. No you were perfect. That's rather the problem...
[Deception] No. I'm fine. Let's keep going.
Remain silent
Astarion examines you closely.
Astarion: You're not cursed, are you?
You:
What?
Yes. How did you guess?
Does poor judgment count?
Remain silent
Astarion: Well my first clue was then you stopped kissing me back. Few, if any are are in the habit of doing that. What is it? Any man who touches you below the belt is smited. That kind of thing?
ALT.
Astarion: You're not cursed, are you?
You:
What?
Yes. How did you guess?
Does poor judgement count?
Remain silent.
Astarion: [laughs] If that were the case we'd all be cursed. Don't tell me this is your polite way of implying you have some disease I wasn't aware of?
ALT.
Astarion: You're not cursed, are you?
You:
What?
Yes. How did you guess?
Does poor judgement count?
Remain silent.
Astarion: Wait. Don't tell me you are! How does that even work? Something, something, any man who touches you below the belt is smited? That kind of thing.
Imma stop here, otherwise this is going to get really long. If you're curious for me to keep it going though, let me know! This was a fun thought experiment.
So it looks like this thing is going to take just a bit longer to wrap up. Blame it on weird work schedules and co-workers requesting time off. Either way, it's looking like I'm not going to have this posted until Monday or Tuesday. Sorry for the delay, but it is what it is. To make myself feel better, here's another snippet to hold you over until then.
(Preview 1) (Preview 2) (Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist)
He found a deer next, performing the same ritualistic slaughter. Blood filled him. He could feel his mind becoming clear, but it wasn’t enough. He moved onto a burrow of rabbits, then a badger, and even a weasel. It was only when he caught himself seriously contemplating gutting a squirrel did he realize how futile it was. All the blood in the world couldn’t make up for his inherent weakness.
He had grown too dependent on you. It was making him sloppy, unbalanced. Maybe you were better off dead. He would be free then.
That was the point of this whole venture wasn’t it? To be free. Free of Cazador. Free of fear. And here he was ready to chain himself to another just because you'd shown him a bit of kindness. What was that kindness worth when the loss of it inspired a terror he'd never known before.
This was all your fault. How could he possibly forgive you?
