#a!astarion

If Gale ever got incredibly sick and Astarion was forced to turn him

Chibi Ascendant with giant fucking fork isn't real, he can't hurt you (he's already on his way to eat whole world)

Thank you for all of the tags @cep-stories, @deianestormborn, @kt-catt, @eliwyntorleth, and @optimisticgrey

At this point, I think I have deleted this draft and started over like a bajillion times already. But, of course, the "I HAVE A BETTER IDEA" bug bit me again and like the sick individual I am, I succumbed to the fever and spit this out.

I hope you enjoy my intro into some Ascended Astarion voyeurism xD

The Patriar’s in the Parliament of Peers had learned, over the past several years, that the surest way to secure House Szarr’s coin was to bring their proposals before Lord Ancunín on a morning when he was already inclined toward generosity. They had no idea what exactly generated that inclination. Most attributed it to some philanthropic streak within the new lord inhabiting the Crimson Palace- the same impulse that had already seen vast sums of House Szarr’s fortune poured into rebuilding the guildhalls along the Wide, funding shelters and orphanages throughout the Lower City, and a dozen other charitable endeavors that made for excellent conversation over expensive wine. Such a generous lord, they would say. Imposing, yet fair. A noble truly concerned with the welfare of the city. Not at all what one might expect from the heir of Cazador Szarr. His reputation had spread so thoroughly through Baldur’s Gate that it had long become an accepted fact, repeated with such confidence and frequency that even the people telling the stories seemed to forget that they had never actually heard of him before. Astarion had never seen any reason to correct them, either. So what if they murmur their gratitude and their relief every time his signature appeared at the bottom of another writ? It cost him virtually nothing. Less than nothing, really, when weighed against the mountains of gold Cazador had spent centuries accumulating only to let it gather dust beneath the palace. The bitter bastard had treated his wealth much the same way he treated everything and everyone else- hoarded obsessively and enjoyed exclusively. If just a fraction of it slated new roofs, paved new roads, or earned him a few hundred adoring opinions, then so much the better. Baldur’s Gate received its benefactor while Astarion received an entire city assured of his virtue. It was, by any reasonable measure, quite an excellent investment. Generosity, he’d found, came rather easy when it cost him virtually nothing to give. Especially when his mind was otherwise occupied elsewhere entirely. He kept coming back to last night, wandering whenever the Parliament’s business slackened enough to bore him- back to the rain-slicked window ledge, his leathery wings folded tight against the wet slate as he peered through the glass like some lovesick boy, too cowardly to even knock. She’d been in such a state when she’d fled his chambers. Stripped down to her shift immediately and gone straight for the basin by her vanity, plunging her face beneath the water with all the desperation of a woman trying to drown a memory rather than simply cool her skin. He’d found himself counting the seconds she remained under, far longer than any sane person should, before finally surfacing with a desperate gasp, wet hair plastered across her flushed cheeks and her chest rising sharply with each breath. It was almost as though she believed she could wash the desire from herself. Scrub away every lingering trace of his hands, every echoed moan he’d coaxed from her lips. He’d nearly revealed himself then- nearly abandoned the ledge altogether- because there had been something strangely unbearable about watching her wage a war against feelings that he had given her. Something that stirred the stubborn, inconvenient thing in his chest that insisted on behaving like a heart. But he hadn’t moved. He’d forced himself to watch instead, wings folded tight against his body, a tense breath held within his chest, because some vicious part of him wanted to see how the war within her was going to end. It wanted to watch her lose to the desire he’d instilled inside of her, again and again, until she couldn’t remember what it felt like to want anything else. He wanted to witness every private, unraveling moment of it. Wanted to know precisely how much of herself she was willing to sacrifice in the name of pretending that she hadn’t wanted everything that had happened in his chambers only moments before. Pretending that she hadn’t wanted his hands on her. Pretending that she hadn’t wanted him.

There's something about a long, winding paragraph that just butters my goddamn biscuit. I swear to GOD.

As the moon glow is a reflection of sun's rays, vampire-consort also possesses a bit of Ascendant's powers.

Oh, the world's all mine

White lightning and wine came on fast

Then you tell him to leave and hes like "You're a bitch anyway, I dont know why you invited me here in the first place."