#bloodbang chronicles

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles - Chapter 2

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Part 1 | AO3 | Overall masterlist

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Chapter word count: 1,900

Chapter summary: A flashback to how it all began, featuring cosmetics as a charisma modifier, because why the hell not?

Five years ago

The vampire had invited himself into Asmodea’s tent and now lounged, catlike, on a rug nabbed from the druid grove, lazily observing her as she applied her makeup. 

The neckline of the ruffled shirt he wore allowed a peek at the ridges of his chest muscles - the overall image was reminiscent of a drawing one might find on the cover of a sappy romance novel. Or would be, had he been less gaunt. The shirt itself was also quite worn, Asmodea noted, and not just from their last few days of travel. Repaired in places, with thread that didn’t even match its colour.

Magistrate my ass, she thought. A common thief masquerading as a noble, maybe.

She still wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, though she did find his company amusing. 

He certainly had a big mouth on him. …Figuratively speaking. When it came to the literal meaning it was, for all intents and purposes, rather perfectly shaped and sized, she caught herself thinking.

“Now who might you be prettying yourself up for, I wonder,” he purred. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by goblins and gnolls.”

“It adds to my charm even with goblins, I find,” she retorted. “And I don’t see you giving Lae’zel shit for applying her warpaint.”

“Lae’zel was openly glaring at me and trimming a branch into a stake just earlier this morning,” Astarion responded. “She could wear clown paint and a pink tutu, and I wouldn’t question her. No offence, darling, but your lute doesn’t inspire the same level of caution,” he said. “…And I’ve seen how well you aim your spells,” he murmured as an afterthought. 

“Is there no one else for you to bother?” she asked halfheartedly, sighing. “Perhaps you could try cozying up to Lae’zel so she doesn’t stake you? She might be interested - I doubt she’s had elf before.” 

“‘Had elf’?! You say that like I’m a cut of meat,” Astarion said with mock indignation.  

“You present yourself like you’re a cut of meat,” Asmodea shrugged. “With the subtlety of a mallet to the head, I might add.” 

“I suppose I haven’t had githyanki either...” mused Astarion. “But no matter, Lae’zel and everyone else are such bores. But you... I sense a kinship in you, my dear. I think we are kindred spirits.” 

“Kindred spirits?” she laughed. “A bard and a rogue, the biggest cliche in all of Faerun? You can do better than that!”  

“Cliches exist for a reason,” he mused. “Who knows, perhaps destiny has brought us together.” 

“Ah yes... I can see it now...” She snickered. “We will adventure together, gambling, thieving and whoring our way through each pub, tavern and inn on the Sword Coast, only to realise that true love had been before us all along.” 

“Why of course,” he agreed. “All because at the last inn there will be-” 

“Only one bed,” they said in unison.  

Asmodea laughed in delight as Astarion smiled.  

“Oh you are decidedly adorable!” She teased. “Shall we start a book club? I overheard Wyll and Shadowheart discussing some godawful mermaid erotica earlier, perhaps they’d like to join too.”

“Yes, I’m familiar with that one as well,” Astarion wrinkled his nose. “Too flowery for my taste. Anyway, don’t undersell yourself as merely a bard - you are really a warlock, darling.” 

“Only when it pleases me to set someone on fire,” she said, nonchalantly. 

“Well... You have been stirring a fire in me since the moment we met,” he said emphatically, leaning forward. 

“Ahhh!!! That is absolutely awful!” She guffawed. “I will need to remember to write that down somewhere so I don’t forget. Are you sure you don’t want to give barding a go? You’d be fantastic at it, going by the amount of bullshit that comes out of your mouth.”

“I think this world is a dire enough place without me torturing a fiddle or singing,” Astarion said humourlessly. “But coming back to your ah… skillset and its nature. Should we be expecting any further demonic visits in the night? Might you be in breach of your contract, with everything that’s been going on? Not that little horns and a tail wouldn’t suit you.” 

“Why the sudden interrogation?” Asmodea glanced at him with a frown.

“I thought it prudent to ask in advance in case I should expect to be delivered as a blood sacrifice to some demon,” Astarion shrugged. 

“My patron is fey. No sacrifices required.” Asmodea went back to her preparations. “The contract is simple: live under the name they’ve given me, provide them with entertainment, receive powers in exchange.” 

“...That’s it? ‘Be entertaining’?” his eyes narrowed. “That is the term of your contract?”

“That’s it,” she answered. “They have a particular liking for the absurd, vulgar and violent. Renditions of classical works or poetry recitals – not so much.” 

“…No time limits? Penalties? Guarantees? No other conditions?” 

“Look, I know it’s a shitty contract, but I was in a bit of a bind when I entered it. Quite literally,” she said defensively. 

“It’s awful, darling,” Astarion tutted. “I’ve seen more complicated deals being scribbled down on napkins in taverns.” 

“Do I look like a lawyer to you?” Asmodea glared at him.

“No, you look like a foxy raccoon that’s about to devour my soul,” Astarion tried to placate her. “...But quite frankly, you should renegotiate. Let me know if you ever want my help with it, I wasn’t lying about being a magistrate you know.” 

Asmodea only scoffed at that. 

“My patron’s been practically bouncing with excitement ever since I was snatched up onto that nautiloid - I think the ‘entertainment’ condition is very much in my favour right now.”

Astarion continued to observe her as she began pencilling a symbol on her forehead.

“May I ask why..? I do think it’s rather fetching, but... why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” she asked as she concentrated on her reflection, red pencil in hand.  

“The symbol in the middle of your forehead,” he rolled his eyes. “Why draw it? Is it for your patron..? But it can’t be, it’s not even the same every day.”

“It’s just for me,” she replied. Meeting his blank stare, she added: “They’re more likely to stay away from you if they think you’re crazy.” 

“…Who, ‘they’?” He asked, sounding annoyed.

“Everyone,” she said, simply. “Although it doesn’t seem to work on stubborn vampires.” She breathed a laugh, meeting his gaze, before continuing. “You have some real nerve, you know: propositioning me for sex earlier, and acting like you’d be doing me a favour.” She returned her attention to the mirror. “I meant it, you know. You’re not my type.” 

The sheer audacity of the proposal had nearly left her speechless when it happened, though its forwardness was growing increasingly… funny, the more she thought about it. It would have been insulting, had it not been so genuinely candid. The man truly believed that sleeping with him would be a gift bestowed by the gods.

She cursed as she botched and started to erase the symbol with her own spittle for the third time in a row. 

“Oh for the love of... Here, let me.” Astarion grimaced, grabbing the pencil from her hand, and sat up, kneeling in front of her. “Hold still... And close your eyes, I’ll retouch them as well.” 

She took him up on his offer. How many people could boast a vampire doing their makeup for them?

“What is your type?” he murmured softly as he worked.  

“Oh you know...” She replied, pensively. “Tall, dark, burly. Thick beard, tree trunk arms, strong hands. Smelling of woodsmoke. Brutally masculine.” 

His fingers felt cool on her skin as he delicately held her chin, drawing lines around her eyes. She sensed a light scent of bergamot and something earthy as he leaned toward her. 

Despite herself, she wondered how his lips might feel on hers. Were they cold? Were other parts of him..? Perhaps she would find out, later. After all, why not? Why shouldn’t she add a vampire to her list of lovers?  

The pencilwork stopped, but Astarion’s fingers lingered lightly under her chin. Asmodea opened her eyes to see him much closer than was reasonable or necessary. 

“Exquisite,” he whispered, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back, his index finger slowly running beneath her chin, gently tilting her face upward. 

Oh hells no. This was not happening now. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“You didn’t just draw a dick on my forehead, did you?” she asked. 

Astarion blinked, producing a quiet little snort, creases forming around his eyes, adding to the smile that had already been on his lips. 

“I thought about it, but then I remembered that you do have a reflection,” he said, leaning back away from her.  

She considered his work in the handheld mirror.  

“Not bad... Not bad at all,” she said, turning her gaze back on him, with a raised eyebrow.  

“I have sisters,” he offered, by way of explanation.  

The vampire had a family? Curious.  

Astarion continued to linger as she began putting her things away.

“We’ll need something a bit more personal than that pompous name given to you by your patron, if we are to continue to travel together,” he said. “‘Asmodea’ doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. It’s nearly as bad as ‘Shadowheart’.” 

“Patron business,” she shrugged. “Don’t ask me why they chose that name in particular. The contract prevents me from even suggesting anything else you might call me.”

“So I’m free to choose a nickname for you myself then? Hmm... Asmodea, Asmodea... The first thing that comes to mind is ‘Assie’,” he said with a wicked grin. 

“I will blast you,” she warned, with a glare. “Darling.”  

“Shame, it’s all too fitting for your charming personality... What about... Asmo... No. Momo. No...” 

She groaned, throwing her head back as though praying to some god for patience.  

“No, no... I have just the thing for you,” he smirked.   

“By all means, humour me,” she sighed. 

He continued to grin at the half-even woman before him, taking in her intricate eye makeup, the symbol drawn on her forehead, the piercings and wild orange-red locs on her head. 

“My magnificent wild warlock...” He proclaimed, gesticulating with a theatrical flourish. “My darling little bard... I know who you are.” 

She narrowed her green eyes at him as he booped the tip of her nose with his index finger. 

“You’re Oddie.” 

She clicked her tongue but otherwise said nothing, in annoyed resignation, refusing to admit she kind of liked it. 

Wyll ducked into the tent.  

“We’re ready to go.” He gave Asmodea an apprehensive look before continuing. “Do you have any kind of plan for how we’re going to handle this..?” 

“My plan is to wing it,” she replied. “Just follow my lead, I’ve dealt with the fuckers before.” She turned to Astarion, getting up. “Come, ‘kindred spirit’. We’re infiltrating a goblin camp.” 

Astarion made way to his tent to grab his own gear, pleased with the progress he’d made. Oh, this quaint little creature could continue to feign disinterest for a while longer – she would do exactly what he needed her to, in the end. There was no rush – he had days, perhaps even weeks, to reel her in – not the mere hours he was accustomed to. What a luxury.

In the meantime, though he was almost loath to admit it, this little game was... kind of fun.

Tags:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @wingsy-keeper-of-songs @asterordinary

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles

[vixstarria]

Bloodbang Chronicles

Chapter 1

Series summary:

Five years have passed since the confrontation with the Netherbrain. Astarion and his warlock lover, Asmodea, are living it up in Baldur’s Gate, running a cabaret. Their life of decadence and debauchery seems idyllic, until Asmodea’s patron disrupts it with a proposal. One that seems too good to be true. One they cannot refuse.

Pairing: Astarion x Original Female Character

Genre: Humor / adventure / smut (not all in this chapter), with all the usual Astarion-related elements along the way, without getting too heavy

Rating: Explicit

Chapter word count: 2,700

Updates weekly if I can help it

This is a post-game continuation of my bardlock series, which was mostly written in 2nd person POV, with the OC referred to as “Tav” where they had to be named. Rest assured it’s been about Asmodea all along. You can consider the oneshots a prequel. I will still add on to them until I’ve covered the in-game events.

AO3 | Overall masterlist | Part 2

Thank you @brabblesblog for beta reading! ♥

“It’s not my bloody problem you’re bored,” the woman muttered, coming down the backstairs and into the kitchen. 

She wore a silk kimono robe, red hair in a dishevelled bun, traces of yesterday’s makeup still smudged under her eyes.

“And I just woke up, how exactly did you expect me to entertain you while I was sleeping anyway?” she continued.

At times dealing with her patron felt like handling a petulant child. What a disturbing thought… She wasn’t particularly fond of children, petulant or otherwise.

Other times, the patron raved like a lunatic, or lectured her like a child, or just giggled maniacally, or, on occasion, even shared surprisingly astute and helpful observations or advice.

But just then, she wished it would simply be quiet, or better yet - gone from her head entirely, at least until the pounding subsided.

Last night had been… a bit much.

I’m getting too old for this, she thought idly, before brushing the thought aside. Being a half-elf, it was another 100 years or so before she really had reason to worry about her age. Provided nothing killed her by then, of course.

She poured herself some coffee from a pot mercifully brewed by the kitchen staff just earlier. They were used to the hours she kept.

“Can’t you go play with the other fey..? Torture some elves, turn some mortals into trees and then piss on them, or whatever it is your kind do? Shoo!” She hissed at her patron, turning into the bar section of the establishment. It was only mid-afternoon, a few hours still before it opened. Perhaps she could enjoy some peace and quiet there, alone with her coffee.

“…she must work here…” she overhead a hushed murmur coming from a nearby booth. Lifting her eyes from her mug, she saw two faces peering at her in curiosity.

Two young faces, plastered with paints and powders with the vigour, determination and skill of little girls that had just gotten into their mothers’ makeup bags for the very first time. No doubt they tried to sneak in early to avoid paying admission. 

Again? she rolled her eyes inwardly. Very well. Watch this, then.

“Ah! You must be here for the interview?” she asked brightly, approaching the booth.

There was, of course, no interview, and the two girls - a blonde and a brunette - simply looked at each other, no doubt wondering whether this was a good lie to try to latch on to. They weren’t thinking very quickly, as they still hadn’t managed to produce any response by the time the woman made herself comfortable in the booth with them. At least they didn't seem to question the idea of being interviewed by a hungover loon in a dressing gown. It may have been the norm in this establishment, for all they knew.

“Um… Yes.” The blonde finally spoke, taking the bait that was offered. “We’re looking for work in the evenings, perhaps? We’re from the academy, you see…”

“I see…” the woman hummed, sipping her coffee. “First years?”

“Third”, the brunette said proudly.

Old enough to be here then, at least.

“And so you’ve come here,” the woman stated. “May I ask why? Shouldn’t you be tutoring other fine young ladies? Or perhaps scribing? Anything that’s not so lowbrow, really.”

She continued to sip her coffee, waiting to see what they would come up with. Their cogs were turning painfully slow, to her disappointment.

“Oh no, not at all…” The blonde stammered. “We’ve heard such wonderful things about the owners.”

“Have you now?” The woman couldn’t help but laugh. “What have you heard?”

‘Wonderful’ was hardly a word that might ever have been used to describe anything about them.

“Is it true that the proprietor is a vampire?” the brunette blurted out, finally, as her friend glared at her.

Ah, there we go, to the point at last…

“Why do you ask?” The woman smiled into her mug.

A figure appeared behind the bar as she spoke. It moved silently, wrapped head to toe in a maroon silk sheet, searching through the bar’s selection of wines. The girls did not see it, both facing the opposite direction.

“Well…” the brunette perked up. “We’ve heard some rumours… And wanted to know if they were true. …And whether what they say about vampires is true.”

“Oh? What do they say?” The woman leaned in conspiratorially.

The brunette bit her lip, suddenly unsure whether to continue. The woman found herself growing impatient.

“What is it you really want to know?” She asked, leaning a little further in, penetrating the brunette with her gaze. “You can tell me.”

Something in the swirl of the woman’s irises enticed the girl. Yes, of course she could tell her. She was a friend.

At this point the blonde had spotted the telltale bite marks on the woman’s neck, and was quite unsubtly staring at them whilst elbowing her friend.

The brunette ignored her, instead leaning in as well, to whisper.

“For example, is it true that being bitten by a vampire is like…” here she paused, looking a bit flustered. Clearly despite her enthusiasm some words were just too much for her. “Is like… a little death?” she said finally, in a hushed, wide-eyed whisper, as her friend sighed in disbelief and coloured.

“Would you like to find out?” the woman whispered back, before raising her head to call out to the shrouded figure. “Astarion, there are some young harlots here to see you.”

“More harlots?!” Astarion groaned in mock exhaustion, picking up a goblet and making his way to the booth with his choice of bottle. “What is a man to do with all these harlots?”

The squeal both girls let out did nothing for the woman’s headache.

A ray of sunlight snuck past a partially drawn curtain and pierced the air between Astarion and the booth.

“Ugh,” he huffed, pausing before the ray. “Darling, do you mind..?”

“Of course, love,” the woman said, before flexing her mind to pull on a multitude of telekinetic strings. Instantaneously, curtains all around the room pulled themselves closed, shutters slammed shut, and a multitude of candles ignited to light up the space.

Settling in the booth on the other side of the two girls, Astarion finally allowed the sheet to slip off his head and halfway down his torso, revealing his alabaster skin and sculpted muscles. He seemed to be wearing nothing underneath the sheet draped around him. The stunning effect would have been ruined somewhat had anyone noticed the fluffy pink slippers on his feet.

Astarion poured himself the wine, pointedly ignoring the girls, before reaching for the woman’s hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles.

“May I?” he purred. Having obtained her assent, he pierced one of her fingers with a fang, to drip a few drops of blood into his wine.

It was only then the woman noticed that, quite uncharacteristically, the blonde was staring at her rather than at Astarion.

“Madam Asmodea…” the girl whispered, in awe.

“‘Madam’?!” Asmodea scoffed. “This is a theatre, not a brothel!”

Astarion finally deigned to look at the two dolts in the booth.

“Well… These ones are fresher than the musty harlots from yesterday. Unspoiled and virginal…” he mused, sipping his wine. “You are a virgin, are you not?” he directed at the brunette.

The girl merely sputtered and coloured.

“No matter,” Astarion sighed, shaking his head.

“Do we really want to go through all that trouble again so soon, my heart?” Asmodea said, wearily. “All that blood…” she groaned theatrically.

“Hmm… Do you think it will be too soon to order another mattress?” Astarion said innocently, swirling the wine in his goblet.

“Absolutely, the supplier is already getting suspicious, and so are the removalists.”

“We’ll say I couldn’t keep down a boar I’d drained again.”

Both girls were growing increasingly more agitated by the second, on the verge of hyperventilating as much as their unnecessarily tightly laced corsets would allow.

“It’s not just that,” Asmodea said, pushing her coffee mug further away from her. Once the girls finally broke out of their stupor and fled, they’d no doubt run through her side of the booth, and she didn’t want anything spilled on her robe. “There’s two of them again, the blood will leak all the way through the boards, we’ll need to have the entire floor redone as well - do you remember what a hassle that was?”

“You’re right… Shall we take them straight to the dungeon then? That way the incinerator is right there once we’re done,” Astarion said with a malevolent grin.

At last, the girls made a run for it, screaming. Thankfully, they both opted to topple right over the backs of the booth’s seats, tripping over their skirts several times before scampering up and finally making it back out through the door. With another push of her mind, Asmodea slammed the door shut behind them, blocking out the sun. She really needed to start taking it easy, she thought, the exercise took more effort than usual.

Still in their seats, Astarion and Asmodea shared a look of pure mischievous mirth, before bursting into laughter.

“Gods…” Astarion chortled. “This never gets old.”

Five years had passed since the confrontation with the Elder Brain.

Astarion was a wreck once the insane ploy he had been pulled into was over.

Once he could finally stop worrying about survival or what the next day might bring, once he didn’t have to wallow in uncertainty anymore, once he could stop running on pure desperate instinct, he suddenly found himself not knowing what he wanted, or even who he was.

No Cazador. No tadpole. No immunity to the sun. Not a single thing to call his own, and not a clue about what he wanted to do for the rest of the eternity which had miraculously been afforded him. Nothing but the weight of the past 200 years. And, despite all odds, his lunatic bard-turned-warlock love. Still by his side.

The pair had initially travelled with Halsin for some time.

The decision was made not least because they thought it prudent to try to steer clear of the 1,000 or so newly freed spawn which Astarion had personally lured to Cazador, until they had dispersed into the Underdark. His siblings had offered him a spot at the top of whatever hierarchy the vampires would end up falling into, but he declined. It would likely have ended as a death sentence - if not for him, then for Asmodea.

As for Halsin - the druid had proven to be an island of comfort and stability for both of them, having grown close, very close in the time they spent together in the Shadow-cursed Lands and Baldur’s Gate. Asmodea had also simply found it nice to let someone whom she could trust take charge and make decisions for a change, which Astarion was certainly not in the right state of mind to do at the time. 

But, it wasn’t long before Halsin began talking about taking care of orphans, and generally having a bigger and better heart than Astarion and Asmodea felt they had any right to lay any claim to, and it was time to part ways. They returned to Baldur’s Gate.

By that point Asmodea had a plan. As well as all the perks that came with emerging from the group’s final battle as the ‘hero of Baldur’s Gate’.

It started as a dingy, underground (quite literally) gambling den. Anything to pretend that there was life in the shadows, and that keeping to night hours was something people did as a matter of course.

The gambling den expanded into a pub. Which expanded into a tavern with a small stage, attracting ever-changing artists and acts.

The venues continued to move, change and grow, until eventually the pair boasted a sprawling establishment named The Dancing Siren, comprising a bar, restaurant and theatre, with private rooms on the top floors.

Asmodea didn’t much care for the bar and restaurant, but rather operated them out of necessity and for convenience. Livestock with fresh blood was delivered to the doorstep, keeping Astarion sated. They didn’t even need to set up a front for it.

The theatre, on the other hand, was Asmodea’s pride and joy. The pinnacle of what she had once dreamed of, but never thought she would have the means to realise.

The shows were pure debauchery - lewd comedy, song and dance; the performers clad in ostentatious costumes, all feather boas, lingerie and sequins.

Entering the theatre was like stepping onto a different plane, one set in a perpetual haze of smoke and perfume, decorated in vulgar, flamboyant decadence.

Astarion had started as an observer, a bemused witness to his lover’s vision coming true.

Despite his initial scepticism, he was gradually pulled in more and more, perhaps spurred by his own penchant for theatrics and craving for attention.

As time passed, he found himself directing, assisting with costumes, and occasionally performing or stepping in as the master of ceremonies, when the need arose.

He had an undeniable talent for choreography.

He also looked sinfully good in a corset.

If Astarion ever regretted his choice to forego completing the ritual in Cazador’s stead, it only showed in his lamentations at being unable to unleash legions of wolves on disorderly guests, or to turn into mist in the face of tax collectors. 

Throughout the five years, Astarion’s identity as a vampire remained the worst kept secret in Baldur’s Gate. It was never quite publicly admitted, of course, but neither was it denied. The Duke’s personal protection guaranteed that he would be undisturbed, at least by the authorities, and at least as long as he ‘behaved’.

There was never any shortage of fools who were willing to throw themselves at him, should he desire variety in sentient blood, anyway.

Life was a beautiful gilded cage of the pair’s own construction. The door was perpetually left open, but why would they ever leave..?

Asmodea sat at her vanity, getting ready for the night ahead, when an external presence filled her mind once again.

“HOW LONG WILL YOU CONTINUE TO SQUANDER MY GIFTS ON IMPRESSING BUFFOONS WITH CHEAP PARLOUR TRICKS?”

She winced at the intrusion.

“Use your inside voice, dear, there’s no need to shout,” she murmured, continuing her preparations. “You are more than welcome to vacate my mind and take your gifts with you - I don’t owe you anything, and there is sufficient sorcery in my blood for moving curtains and lighting candles.”

Her patron came and went as it pleased. She could feel its presence when it was observing. She knew it could see through her eyes. She knew it was aware of each instance of her calling upon its powers. She chose to speak out loud to it, when she could. That seemed to place a divide between their communication and her thoughts.

Five years with hardly a need to use the magic granted by the fey creature. Still, it stayed with her.

“So you say. And yet, you continue to uphold the contract yourself. Asmodea.”

“How does the saying go? Better two birds in the hand, than discovering you can no longer set fire to the bush?” she countered.

The presence snickered.

“Yes… Always grasping and never quite reaching. Always running. Ignoring. Pretending. Denying. You said it yourself... Tell me, little one, what need have you for the birds, when fire is what you yearn for?”

“Do you even understand what you’re going on about, or are you just saying words?” Asmodea murmured, lining her eyes.

“Your senses dull, your mind frails, your muscles weaken, your body softens-”

“Lae’zel..? Has it been you this whole time..?!” She mused.

“Your powers weaken, your very essence decays.”

Asmodea tossed her brush onto the vanity and locked eyes with her own reflection, glaring at it as she might have liked to at her nameless, faceless patron.

“What the fuck do you want?” she spat.

“A new deal.”

“I am more than happy with our current arrangement.”

“Are you..?” The presence chuckled.“And what if I told you, that I can give you more..? That I can lead you to that, which you desire most? That I can help you resolve your predicament?”

She continued to stare at her reflection, narrowing her eyes, drumming her fingernails on the tabletop.

“I’m listening.”

Part 2

Tags:

Taking some liberties here to include people who I think might be interested - do let me know if you don't want to be on this list

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly

#astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #astarion x asmodea #astarion x oc #astarion x female tav #bloodbang chronicles

[vixstarria]

My Fanfiction Master List

All fics can also be found on my AO3.

The following have accidentally turned into a series, although each can be read as a standalone.

Mostly Astarion x female Tav / reader, although other characters do make appearances.

Most are shameless reader self-insert, too.

To summarise: a take on Astarion's relationship progression with a hectic, unhinged bardlock Tav. Mostly humour and banter, fluff with light angst. And then there's the smut.

Ongoing series

Bloodbang Chronicles - post-game continuation of my bardlock series (see below), Astarion x f!OC [Most recently posted fic, to be updated regularly]

One-shot series:

Fluff

In chronological order, as they would take place in-game:

Where my nice, simple plan fell apart - scenes of Astarion x Tav relationship progression in Act 1 generally

Another Gift - Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion, reflections on vampirism / Astarion's past

Mark me as yours (Astarion POV) - takes place the morning after 'Missionary with the lights off' (filed below under smut) - a day of pining in camp in the life of Astarion

Down by the river (alternating POV) - 18+, takes place immediately after 'Mark me as yours' - Astarion and Tav spend a night by the river, away from camp

Something real (Astarion POV) - An evening in camp, Astarion and Tav are finally alone

Are you mine? (Astaion POV) - just flirty pillow talk and comfort

Gentle Warding Bond - short & sweet, Astarion finds the "true love's caress" and "true love's embrace" rings in the Shadow-Cursed lands and makes a decision

Admit that you love me - Act 2, Gale fucks around and finds out, Lae'zel becomes poetic and Astarion most certainly does not tell you that he loves you

Confession (Astarion POV) - title self-explanatory, love confession, tooth-rotting sweetness

The Morning After - short fic, follow-up to 'Confession', morning in camp - banter, humour, etc

Intimacy - Astarion's struggle with sex and intimacy, includes some fairly softcore smut

Communication - It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next [Most recently posted oneshot]

A night at the inn (part 1) - the gang gets a chance to let loose for a while. Humour, banter, and a lead-up to something smutty to come [Parts 2 & 3 under smut]

Smut

Also part of series.

Missionary with the lights off - Uh. Some really mindblowing sex here. No, really. Porn with plot, fluff to smut

Seeing stars - Astarion is jealous. What's more, he's eager to prove that no one could possibly compete with him.

A remedy for sleeplessness - porn no plot, Tav can't sleep and Astarion takes matters into his own hands

What do you want to do with it? - porn no plot, dirty talk, 'use your words', oral sex (male receiving) (kinda)

A night at the inn (part 2) - porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, dirty talk, oral sex, PIV and more

A night at the inn (part 3) - continuation of porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac edition

The Sheath of Frontiers - Wyll's never been with a man. Astarion and Tav decide this must be rectified. (and yes that was an anal pun)

Challenges, shorts and misc

'Erotic Misadventures' - my entry for the BG3 April Foolishness challenge: 'write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts'. Reader beware.

Untitled - Ask reply HC, Astarion accidentally attacks Tav during a nightmare

A cut - Tav accidentally cuts themselves, and Astarion scampers over like a cat to a can of tuna

Untitled - Ask reply, bonus scene following Seeing Stars - jealous giddy Astarion enacts revenge on Wyll after his failed awkward dance seduction attempt

'Gentle Warding Bond' should rightfully be here also, but it's too relevant to the 'plot' if you can call it that

My OC bard (bardlock) headcanon

(the lady in all the above fics)

OC Questionnaire

OC more in-depth questionnaire

Another 'get to know your Tav' post

OC songs and outfits

Why my Tav fell for Astarion

Why Astarion fell for my Tav

Going strong and planning to do more.

P.S. I am a whore for comments, and nothing sparks joy and feeds further inspiration quite like a simple "HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF" in comments or reblog tags.

P.P.S Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to a taglist. :) And if so, do let me know if there are any categories you would prefer to be excluded from.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion fanfiction #pinned post #I give you my soul #You can give me your HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF