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Continuing to work through this year's remaining challenges, we have:
Challenge #9
In your own space, create a fanwork.
Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3
Relationships Astarion/Tav
Summary: Standing in the sun, wading through a river, wandering into homes without an invitation... The world abounds with novelty for Astarion after his infection with a mind flayer tadpole, but this? This he could do in his sleep.
Notes: Takes place early-ish in Chapter 2, with spoilers for a specific scene. Assumes a female tiefling Tav urchin from Baldur's Gate.
Title: Away with words
The night arrived when Astarion judged the time was ripe. He sprang the trap as she made her way past his tent to her bedroll. “Here’s my little treat, with their cheeks all flushed.”
The words stopped her in her tracks, as he’d known they would. It had been a long and exceptionally harrowing day, which was saying something given the precedent for stumbling into mortal peril their little group had set in its short time together. She was surely exhausted, and exhausted people were vulnerable and easily led. “You will come to my bed tonight,” he added. “Won’t you?”
He expected she would jump at the chance. They almost always did. “A 'little treat'?” she repeated placidly. “You can do better than that.”
So she thought she knew how to flirt. How precious. “Oh, but I can. It would be my pleasure,” he said, and watched her register the emphasis before launching into some nonsense about feeling alive and dying in her arms. It was drivel, of course, but why expend more effort than the situation required? For an elf or a noble he might have bothered, but she was a commoner. Beneath the bravado she’d be lapping it up.
Her lips quirked. “Is that the best you can do?”
Well of course not, he thought. But you don’t deserve the best. Gods, it was so tiring when they tried to draw out the inevitable as if things were headed anywhere save a foregone conclusion. They both knew she was going to lie down for him in the end, and he wished she’d stop wasting his time.
Time to make her think he was the one begging for it. A false compliment about beauty she didn’t possess, a lie about temptation she didn’t pose, and the suggestion that she was leading him into ruin should do it. Her eyes softened. He smiled. She'd be eating out of the palm of his hand now. That's what he always had them doing, in the end.
“You’re sweet, and sillier than I thought.”
This time he had to work to keep the irritation from his face. She thought he was being silly? Well, he thought, let’s see how you react when you think I’m being serious. “Oh, I could go on all night with the flattery,” he told her. “But is that really what you really want? How about if I said these little words…everyone’s favorite.” He paused, enjoying the moment, a cat toying with its prey. He had her now; he had them all at this point. Time to sink his teeth in. “I love you.”
“Then you’d be lying.” Her response was immediate and sure. He realized with mounting disbelief that she was entirely unmoved; there was no concealed neediness or hidden plea for reassurance in her level tone. She’d meant exactly what she'd said, and nothing more. And more galling yet, she'd said it as if she’d been commenting on something wholly unremarkable, like the crisp evening air or that that githyanki blockhead had managed to burn their dinner yet again. His stomach clenched. You little bitch, he thought. How dare you.
He laughed to cover his confusion, then went on the attack. How dare you. So she wasn’t as easy fooled as most of the others. No matter. It was a minor setback, nothing more. After all, he was Astarion; a noble, a luminary of Baldur's Gate, a deadly vampire. He’d been playing this game for centuries, and who was she, really? Just some peasant—a tiefling peasant, no less—who’d had the good fortune to stumble on a mind flayer that had carried her off from whatever Lower City sewer she’d been spawned in.
“A rather beautiful lie, nonetheless,” he granted. If she was too good for flattery, he’d be happy to lower himself a hairsbreadth toward her level. Let her see how she liked things then. “Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each other’s full portfolio of talents once again.” He let his gaze rake her from head to toe. He'd be damned if he left her with any question as to what he was really after.
“I’ll come find you after everyone is asleep,” she said easily, as carefree as if they were discussing who’d claim yet another dagger from the latest fallen foe, and strode off toward her tent.
He watched her until his eyes could no longer track her through the gloom. So she’d seen through him—through a minor pretense—tonight; there was no cause for alarm. After all, it wasn’t as though she knew anything about his intentions where they counted. And if he’d happened to have wasted some of his more tawdry lines in passing? Those were just words, after all. Words cost him absolutely nothing to say.
これで以上です。
Challenge #9
In your own space, create a fanwork.
Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3
Relationships Astarion/Tav
Summary: Standing in the sun, wading through a river, wandering into homes without an invitation... The world abounds with novelty for Astarion after his infection with a mind flayer tadpole, but this? This he could do in his sleep.
Notes: Takes place early-ish in Chapter 2, with spoilers for a specific scene. Assumes a female tiefling Tav urchin from Baldur's Gate.
Title: Away with words
The night arrived when Astarion judged the time was ripe. He sprang the trap as she made her way past his tent to her bedroll. “Here’s my little treat, with their cheeks all flushed.”
The words stopped her in her tracks, as he’d known they would. It had been a long and exceptionally harrowing day, which was saying something given the precedent for stumbling into mortal peril their little group had set in its short time together. She was surely exhausted, and exhausted people were vulnerable and easily led. “You will come to my bed tonight,” he added. “Won’t you?”
He expected she would jump at the chance. They almost always did. “A 'little treat'?” she repeated placidly. “You can do better than that.”
So she thought she knew how to flirt. How precious. “Oh, but I can. It would be my pleasure,” he said, and watched her register the emphasis before launching into some nonsense about feeling alive and dying in her arms. It was drivel, of course, but why expend more effort than the situation required? For an elf or a noble he might have bothered, but she was a commoner. Beneath the bravado she’d be lapping it up.
Her lips quirked. “Is that the best you can do?”
Well of course not, he thought. But you don’t deserve the best. Gods, it was so tiring when they tried to draw out the inevitable as if things were headed anywhere save a foregone conclusion. They both knew she was going to lie down for him in the end, and he wished she’d stop wasting his time.
Time to make her think he was the one begging for it. A false compliment about beauty she didn’t possess, a lie about temptation she didn’t pose, and the suggestion that she was leading him into ruin should do it. Her eyes softened. He smiled. She'd be eating out of the palm of his hand now. That's what he always had them doing, in the end.
“You’re sweet, and sillier than I thought.”
This time he had to work to keep the irritation from his face. She thought he was being silly? Well, he thought, let’s see how you react when you think I’m being serious. “Oh, I could go on all night with the flattery,” he told her. “But is that really what you really want? How about if I said these little words…everyone’s favorite.” He paused, enjoying the moment, a cat toying with its prey. He had her now; he had them all at this point. Time to sink his teeth in. “I love you.”
“Then you’d be lying.” Her response was immediate and sure. He realized with mounting disbelief that she was entirely unmoved; there was no concealed neediness or hidden plea for reassurance in her level tone. She’d meant exactly what she'd said, and nothing more. And more galling yet, she'd said it as if she’d been commenting on something wholly unremarkable, like the crisp evening air or that that githyanki blockhead had managed to burn their dinner yet again. His stomach clenched. You little bitch, he thought. How dare you.
He laughed to cover his confusion, then went on the attack. How dare you. So she wasn’t as easy fooled as most of the others. No matter. It was a minor setback, nothing more. After all, he was Astarion; a noble, a luminary of Baldur's Gate, a deadly vampire. He’d been playing this game for centuries, and who was she, really? Just some peasant—a tiefling peasant, no less—who’d had the good fortune to stumble on a mind flayer that had carried her off from whatever Lower City sewer she’d been spawned in.
“A rather beautiful lie, nonetheless,” he granted. If she was too good for flattery, he’d be happy to lower himself a hairsbreadth toward her level. Let her see how she liked things then. “Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each other’s full portfolio of talents once again.” He let his gaze rake her from head to toe. He'd be damned if he left her with any question as to what he was really after.
“I’ll come find you after everyone is asleep,” she said easily, as carefree as if they were discussing who’d claim yet another dagger from the latest fallen foe, and strode off toward her tent.
He watched her until his eyes could no longer track her through the gloom. So she’d seen through him—through a minor pretense—tonight; there was no cause for alarm. After all, it wasn’t as though she knew anything about his intentions where they counted. And if he’d happened to have wasted some of his more tawdry lines in passing? Those were just words, after all. Words cost him absolutely nothing to say.
これで以上です。
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To my deep chagrin, I lost the entirety of that postcanon fic when microsoft locked me out of my computer; I need to either double down on trying to get HD access back or just rewrite everything from scratch...