bakerstreet | shipping picture promts

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shipping picture promts

shipping picture prompts

o1. comment with your character and prefs in a top level.
o2. reply to others, complete with pictures and gifs!
o3. cook up something shippy from those inspirational ingredients.

link 'em:

embed 'em:

shrink 'em:

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“You’re risking too much...” he mutters, his lips already slipping along their wrist, mouthing at it with barely contained desire. The way he groans is— lurid, to put it bluntly, spurred on by the tightening of that grip, sparking an intermittent wince that lives somewhere between the pinnacle of sensation and nearly a touch too much of it at times. Electric and overwhelming, and just as addictive as the memory of their taste. Ecstasy, for lack of a better term, each wave of it under the combined pressure they expend so much stronger than the last.

He could go mad from it all. From avaricious wanting, insatiable enough to glut himself on touch, on scent and sight, taste and hunger unsuppressed.

His fingers find their tail where it curls between them, and he pulls, as though reigning in his own desire by sparking theirs in turn.

“...if you’re too weak...”

It’ll be too dangerous, he means, though the words never find their way past his teeth.

Admittedly, Astarion's restraint in this moment is-- perplexing, at first, but it also makes sense. It would not do well to let Raine weaken too much, but truthfully, in the fog of arousal, Raine finds that they could not give a single shit about that. Their fingers pet his cheek, breath shivering from how he mouths at their wrist, but when he pulls on their tail, rutting is all they care about.

The pull itself has a few joints popping, admittedly. Flexible muscles and tendons coaxed into releasing some built-up tension. It's a bit dangerous to pull too hard, but most damage to their body can be repaired, and they believe that Astarion won't pull so hard as to seriously damage them.

At the same time, pleasure sparks up their spine and they shudder and arch into it with a ragged groan, some base instinct stimulated. The only thing missing is Astarion's cock inside of them at the same time; their insides clench around nothing, and they keen slightly to express that aimless frustration as their arousal fully reawakens.

With a shaky breath, they decide to fulfill themself for now with all the practice they have from being alone until recently, tugging on shadows and materializing them in the same way they did to touch Astarion. Instead, they gather into a mimicry of Astarion's size and shape and slip inside of them, making them growl and keen. It takes energy to keep that magic manifested, but not much. And it's enough to keep them from feeling like they might go insane. The slip and slide of the magic-made phallus is far from silent, too, given that their hole has been so well-softened earlier, wet with oil and any precome Astarion left behind.

The friction between them is just too good to interrupt, and loathe are they to interrupt what's working for Astarion right now. Seeing him however barely cling to sense is-- remarkably arousing. As is the anticipation that he might bite at any moment.

Speaking of...

"I can always... mm... bite you back. Take back what I need...." Not want, need. Just enough to make sure they're not left bedridden and unable to move.

"But, mmm, darling-- how naughty, waking up my lust again like this."

There's absolutely no chiding here, their gaze playful, if hazy. Their hips shudder and twitch upwards with want, cock rapidly finding the strength to stiffen in full again.

"Just-- please-- don't leave me wanting."

It’s a strange thought, their offer. Barely working its way in past the fog of his own hunger— physical, instinctive, lustful, even— he hasn’t been bitten since Cazador himself. The act in essence had become, through that anchoring truth, a means of establishing dominion alone. Because for Astarion to bite someone else, it was all instinct. Pleasure and need intertwined. He’s sired nothing. No one. If fate continues on as it has, he never will— and it’s a fair price to pay for freedom.

But to be bitten...

Worked up as he is, his brow creases sharply, pinching tight across the middle in a show of deeper thought. He’s half running on mindless urges by now, punctuated by the way he’s so quick to sink his teeth into Raine’s offered wrist the moment it can be justified.

Yes, in other words.

“...I won’t,” he promises, punctuated by a shorter bite, his back arching, nails digging. He can’t take it anymore, the idea of patience above all else. His tongue lathes across those bite marks, scuffing in short fur, and when he bears his own hips forward, it’s only to release that tail and take hold of Raine’s slickened length instead (as much as he can, at least, given its substantial nature) pressing it to himself with every intention of fitting them inside him, a process that elicits a fitful series of barely puncturing marks along Raine’s forearm, as he struggles— breathlessly— to ease himself down across nothing more than the crest itself. That’s all. Just a touch of it.

One last nip to the arm near his lips, and with a lilting groan he pulls away to tip his own head back, throat long and lean in a tightened exhale. An excuse for the positioning he needs when his hand slides down farther still, arched fingertips slipping in around the strange feeling of that conjured facsimile of his own cock, pressing inside Raine as much as purchase allows.

Greedy.

“As long as you ache for me,” he murmurs, the heat of his own breath shattering the normally high cast of his voice, fingertips working where they're pressed feverishly tight within Raine alone, “you’ll have everything you’ll ever want...”

As the sweet friction leaves, Raine's too focused on how lovely it feels to have their wrist bitten, and then to feel little nips peppering their arm as the wound heals.

Feeling Astarion position himself over their cock punches the air out of them. Raine hurries to use magic to slick the way for him, shuddering as he struggles to seat himself on them. Astarion's fingers find some resistance, and then substantial give, as he presses his fingers inside of them, his touch mingling with their magic as if playing with some sort of mess-less slime. It's not slippery so much as soft, smooth. An echo of the texture of delicate flesh.

Raine feels his touch as if they were empty, and they keen, hands immediately finding Astarion's hips and pulling him down, flush, in one rough, brutal moment as reason leaves them, their magic making sure that his body doesn't come to harm from the intrusion to the hilt.

But now-- the hard part. Or, well, it would be, were it not for Astarion's breathless, murmured words echoing in their ears. Growling, they tighten their grip on his hips, claws digging in hard enough to prick skin.

They lift him up somewhat, the barbs on their cock hooking and dragging on every ripple and ridge of Astarion's insides. The sensation sends minor vibrations through their dick, but it's enough for their breath to catch.

"Ohhh, I ache for you."

Astarion really, truly is on their changed dick. The look of it is novel, their heart racing on top of all the arousal filling their very being.

They're never going to forget this sight. Ever.

Unless he stops them, they start to set a pace for themself, pulling him sharply back down on their cock as they thrust up, into him, trying to reach as deeply as they can go.

"Just feel me-- Know that I am the one beneath you-- Take me until you're sated...!"

Even addled by pleasure, the primary urge is to make Astarion come undone on their prick. To let him relax and enjoy the ride and not have to lift another finger to tend to them. Even if Astarion keeps fingering their shadow-filled hole, it only teases them further. They're so wrung out that every little touch sends almost-painful sparks through their cock. Even this sweet, tight friction of Astarion's body around them is almost painful.

But it's good. And the masochist within them is greedy. Their own brow and the upper bridge of their nose sets and wrinkles with concentration, sharp teeth slightly bared as they pant for breath. Each thrust, they try to give back the same mindless bliss he gave them. Hopefully two-fold.

He’s not a passive thing. Of course he can play the role as needed— as demanded under the imposition of compulsion or the necessities of fetching meals— but when unfettered by the weight of either obligation, no, that isn't his course to tread.

Still, it takes him by no small amount of surprise, the suddenness of that entry. A return on his own earlier swiftness with vivid interest, beautiful in the way of anything so overwhelming as to be nearly unprocessable, and eclipsed entirely by the subsequent pull of those barbs. The plunge of his own crooked fingertips goes fiercer by comparison, dragging harsh and hard, exacerbated by the way his body has to twist to reach when he’s already arched so severely.

His toes curl, twisting against thin sheeting. Those claws bite in their own way, emphasized each time his hips lift (with so much effort) through their combined work. His voice is rough. Gritted, throaty noises catching as though their rutting might well be pushing the air from his lungs, and it’s a shame he can’t take more

That he can’t lean forward to kiss them as he wants to while sinking the fuller span of his own touch deep inside them (once two fingers, now noticeably more), is a tragedy— or so he’d think if he had enough awareness left in him beyond the frantic rise of sensation building high in his chest. He fucks Raine in those achingly narrow beats, fingers grinding against taut muscle and giving heat, but he’s stopped working himself along that cock save for whatever Raine themself presses for: a sign he’s so near to finishing that desperation has him fighting to keep holding on.

To drag one last rush of pleasure out of the beautiful creature he’s taken to his side in this ordeal, mottled fur soft against his touch.

Raine's sense of reasoning takes its leave again, drowning in pleasure and the defined ache of overstimulation. Astarion's fingers fucking them only spurs them on, and they continue to move to dive as deep into Astarion as their combined efforts will allow. And dear god, is it so lovely to hear his voice straining so, as if the size of their cock alone makes his lungs fight to draw breath.

Raine growls and croons at him unintelligibly, if any words were intended in the first place, rutting into him with the paired intents of claiming him, and of making him unravel before their very eyes. And as Astarion leaves every thrust up to them, their claws dig deeper, breaths rasping hot, heart pounding faster than any human's ever should.

Letting out a sharper whine, Raine's hips start to stutter - the combined stimulation to their prick as well as however many fingers Astarion has playing with their filled hole - starting to make them nearly unravel first.

Their mind is too unfocused to keep up every bit of magic - the mimicry of Astarion's cock dissipates in an instant, leaving Raine achingly empty save for those lovely fingers.

With a grunt, they push themself upwards, using their flexibility to their advantage, and do their best to wrap their maw around his cock, barely managing to revert their mouth enough so they can wrap their lips around his tip and suck on him that way, needing to gasp for breath, but otherwise wanting to give Astarion as much stimulation as possible. Their tail jerks and thrashes, and they groan sharply as they reach their end first when it all becomes too much to process, shuddering and fucking him mindlessly through their own orgasm. They barely manage to keep their jaw slack to avoid biting him, but otherwise leave it available for him to claim as well.

All they can think of is making him come, too.

There, they succeed. Of that, there’s no doubt: not when Astarion goes wretchedly taut, chest heaving like an animal run far too hard for far too long— he forgets to keep moving, in those seconds that seem to stretch on for an eternity, grip fierce at a harsher angle than before, fingers jerking high as the rest of his body shudders violently—

Against the curl of Raine’s tongue, hips pressed wickedly flush, he comes entirely undone.

The breath that leaves him afterwards, false and shivering, spills out in erratic patterns (just as he had only seconds before), long lashes fluttering as the world goes from something abstract back, back into reality once more, piece by delicate piece.

First the weight of his companion beneath him, around him, against him— then the sound of the city outside beyond that door half-slung on sticking hinges, then color and light and taste, and he winces against it all as his fingertips withdraw, smiling sweetly. The very picture of bliss itself.

“Well....” a softer sound, neck rolling to one side, effectively displacing his own unspooled curls.

“That was a pleasant way to pass the time.”

It's all an intensely-charged moment that feels like it's too short; Astarion's orgasm fills their thoughts and coils around their groin, pleasing in itself. Raine eventually pulls back a little, clawed hands settling back so they can slide their mouth off of his cock a little easier, swallowing first. Once they feel steadier, even though their senses mainly are still centered on Astarion and nothing and no one else, they find that they don't mind the single-minded sensation. A half-aborted sensation fills them up, their heart skipping a beat, seeing him tilt his head so and hear his words tumble out very much like a pleased panther. They almost want to try again, for more. But fatigue weighs on them; enough blood loss to render them effectively down for the count until next time. Their face reflexively shifts full back to a full-feline shape, as it's less energy to revert the change to their mouth than to fully shift to human again.

He's entirely too fucking beautiful.

"Oh yes, I agree..." Gaze lidding, movements becoming a little more sluggish as they work to catch their breath, they unconsciously regard Astarion as if, perhaps, he might have hung the stars in the sky. Their voice pitches deeper in their contentment, laced with faint, breathless purring. They let themself fall back properly onto the bed, hands gently stroking and smoothing over Astarion's hips and thighs in open affection. Their claws are kept completely at bay, though that doesn't stop the delicate, narrow things from brushing against him, harmlessly touching. Post-orgasm, their body feels much more sensitive, their sense of touch included; Astarion's legs are no exception to this brief fixation of wanting to take in every nuance of his skin and body as a whole.

"I'm glad you think so. And I'm glad I could satisfy."

Raine's ears relax, tilted only somewhat forward, tail creeping up to gently drape against Astarion's thigh. It's a gentle, unassuming thing, but persistent, and, in essence, a rather possessive gesture.

"I hope you liked my little trick at the end."

Their whole expression crinkles with tired, contented mirth.

"I've only really ever had myself to try it on before. Even though my flexibility means it never would have gone wrong for either of us."

Their gaze flicks briefly from his face to where they're still joined, a deeper purr rumbling through them. What a lovely, lovely sight he is. But as much as they'd love to have him just stay seated on their cock all night, plugged up with Raine's spend, that's entirely too selfish an ask at this point.

"I'm happy to do this again anytime," they add, looking up at his face again. "Perhaps with a-- ahh."

A thought occurs to them, and a faint, sheepish laugh tumbles out of them.

"I have something nice I can show you later, at my home. Well, a lot of nice things. It's more secure than this shack, actually. And the beds are nicer. So we can go there in a bit, if you'd like. I'm feeling generous, and... I don't know about you, but I don't like the idea of, by unfortunate chance, being disturbed by an outsider post-fuck."

And it might be nice to just... curl up somewhere that won't easily be broken into. Yes. This seems like an excellent idea.

"Especially with... well." Their ears tilt back a little, briefly. "I'm still reeling a little that you enjoyed me when I look like this. Surprised about it. It's a struggle to process."

His hips still sting from their lingering grip: a tangle of sweet, faint lines where their claws had been that will no doubt vanish by the end of the next hour, given the warming rush of stolen blood still weaving him wistfully into a drowsy stupor. Doubly so when his body hasn't yet forgotten the crescendo of his own orgasm, drawing him down to drape listlessly across them (careful to position his weight more to the side rather than wholly against them, lest the difference in size prove to be either uncomfortable or irritating), arms snaking beneath their shoulders, still fully entangled.

He is a selfish thing at heart, after all.

"You're certain it's safe, this place of yours?" He asks, profile fitted to the subtle warmth of their mane, a few arched fingers brushing along the underside of their jaw.

"That we won't be traced to it?"

The more important thing to be covered. Discussion of appearances between a pair of inhuman creatures afterwards.

"It is." If nothing else, Raine is absolutely certain of this.

"My home lies within a port town that I've called my territory, and my magic has been refined over the years. I may have lost my strength, but my magical reserves haven't waned. Enough that I was able to ward some key locations before I left and found you."

They offer a smile and embrace him in turn, purring at his touch.

"That house kept me safe when I was completely vulnerable and unable to wake, let alone defend myself. The entire warding system only responds to me. And my teleportation spells carry every trace of themselves with them as it moves from point A to point B. And whatever or whoever is carried within it."

They think a moment.

"I'll weave in a stronger command for even the most residual fragments of magic to scatter far enough that there is no trace of our prior exact location, just to be safe. We won't be followed. And anyone who tries has to be a master at my mother's particular brand of magic that she developed herself. Of which, there is only myself and her who can. And her further-reaching territory is adjacent to mine."

For a moment, though Raine can't see it, Astarion's eyes remain entirely open, staring through the scenery around him as though it were nothing but air. Thinking. The tick tick ticking of his mind spinning hard enough to erase all inward thoughts of ecstasy that might have otherwise lingered.

It isn't Raine's fault for drawing the subject forward, just Astarion's need to know everything. To control everything. To be sure of his footing before he takes that first step.

"...all right." He breathes at last, settling down through his shoulders once more. "We'll leave just as soon as you've recovered, then."

Which, admittedly, given Astarion's fervor, might take a while.

"But what did you mean about being surprised to find I'd accept you like this?" Asked idly as he threads pale fingertips through thicker fur, winding it back and forth at leisure. "You're a lovely little thing, my dear. And oh so very well cultivated."

If you catch his entirely licentious meaning...

When Astarion finally relaxes, Raine simply holds him closer for it, purring more deeply. Sluggishly, they tangle at least one of their legs with one of his, tail still possessively curled against his hip.

It's so nice to be touched, to be petted.

The question, however, makes their ears droop a little.

"I've found that the people I've been with have... seen me more as an animal than a willing partner, if I've dared show any of these... more cat-like traits. Particularly, the face and... the dick. Most want to see a partner that isn't too dissimilar, so.... It's easier to hide them. To-- pretend that I'm not as animal-like as I really am.

"And sometimes my looks are so elf-like that I've been unhappily surprised when the fur came out and my partner for the evening was a hunter. So it's just.. easier to hide.

"Even my late husband didn't.. accept that part of me."

Raine's mouth strains a little.

"So it surprised me, that out of hundreds of years of one-night stands and selling myself for a free meal and money, and a whopping two intimate relationships, that I've found the first person who thinks I'm lovely to look like this.

"I never thought it would happen, and.. I have no idea how to feel about it. Other than... happy? And kind of sad? I'm not sure."

"Not all that dissimilar from vampirism itself, I suppose." Astarion sighs, lifting the span of his wrist to Raine's mouth in abrupt offering. "Speaking of which: feed before you go drifting away. And not too much, if you please."

It isn't like Astarion to share anything.

For Raine, he makes an exception.

"Anyway, it's not as if I could ever let the nobles Cazador had me hunting— I use the term loosely— catch on to what I was. They'd have had me killed at first realization, and not only would I then be in an irritating amount of danger, but in a best case scenario of escape, I'd still return to Cazador empty-handed. Without his dinner."

Which, naturally:

"A fate quite literally worse than death, I might add."

The offering alone has their eyes widening, pupils briefly blowing wide. But they don't hesitate to accept, giving his wrist an affectionate lick with their sandpaper-like tongue, and then tenderly sink in a few of their teeth. Their hand gently takes his own, and cradles its back tenderly, letting his fingers sink into their fur if he wishes to. They sip slowly where they can, purring quietly at the sensation even as they listen, processing his words and thinking on how to respond, even as their heart wrenches as they try to imagine living his life, having to deal with everything that accompanies being a subservient thrall.

They don't need blood as much as Astarion does, but they won't question this gift, and they lick attentively to make sure they don't spill a single drop. As requested, they only take enough to feel more lively, to bring back a little of their warmth that had been leeched away. They then morph back their tongue to a more human texture as they lick at the wound while it seals, not wanting to delay Astarion's ability to heal, but unable to help but chase the last few droplets that escape, and also wanting to soothe any ache away. The warmth and pleasure that fills them is enough to make it easier to move. To think.

They know how it felt to be deprived of this sort of strong feeling, even though they did not find themself as a parched husk or something upon waking.

"Admittedly, I never walked in shoes like yours. I can only imagine the life and hells you have lived with Cazador." Raine gently squeezes his hand and nuzzles into his palm, sharing body heat, touch.

"Regardless, I believe you. I hear your pain and I will not forget it."

After a moment, they lean up to gently brush their nose against his. Their's is damp and a little chilly, but there's no denying the warmth in the rest of their body, nor the more attentive glint that's returned to their eyes.

"And we will both come out of this alive. So don't worry about me declaring some self-sacrificial shit like "I'll kill Cazador even if it kills me!" That's for trope and tripe-heavy novels. And while for decent reading when absolutely bored, I'm not about to inflict my worst-lived nightmare on someone else."

They flash their teeth at him, smiling in defiance of the very idea of being left behind, or leaving someone else behind.

"We've both endured too much for that, I think.

"Besides, I quite like you, and I wouldn't be able to do anything more together with you if I'm dead, so there's another pro for the "staying alive: pros and cons" board."

That, and he'd need to find someone else he trusts to protect him.

Raine's gaze softens again, tail curling affectionately, just a little bit tighter, against Astarion's skin.

"I'm glad you chose me."

His sigh is simple in the wake of that feeding. Tired and relaxed, letting his fingertips droop down into soft fur once more. A process of slow degrees and even slower breaths, trying not to get lost in the subtler sound of purring.

"Do yourself a favor and don't imagine them." If freedom's within his grasp now, there's no point in it, after all. Looking back on old horrors— or letting Raine do the same.

"But I'm glad you're not suddenly possessed of stupidity and heroism in equal amounts, given the way infatuation has a habit of twisting common sense into its absolute antithesis."

Pros and cons being what they are, Astarion favors being alive. An extension granted to the only person he's come to know outside captivity.

Though his brow quirks there just slightly, painted with curiosity.

"...chose you?"

In needing a guard? In companionship? In the simplicity of sex? There's too much his mind tries to use to fill in the blanks, and what it leaves him with is nothing in turn.

All of them could easily fit, in truth, and Raine doesn't help matters much at first, ears tilting with their head, and whatever passes for a gentle smile as their eyebrows gently raise in turn. Or, well, the two gray dots that pass for them.

"Most people see a small, frail elf when they look at me. There were a few other people who would have taken up the challenge you offer, based on their weaponry and, frankly, smells.

"Instead, you looked at me."

Their ears fold slightly as they process the memories, and then tilt forward again.

"I've wondered why that is. Not after we started talking, but before. Yes, my looks lend to some element of surprise, but... What made you choose the whore on the street rather than a proper, clearly-armed adventurer? ...Was it because I called out to you the moment I saw you? Or maybe you wanted to see what was behind my cover? ...Or was it because I was the only decently-groomed one there?"

They'd nearly propositioned him, but that would have caused a conflict with another client - one that they'd happily dumped since money hadn't yet changed hands. The moment he'd opened his mouth they knew that he was another variant of vampire (and dear god is his voice lovely to hear.) Thrall or not. They'd wrapped him up in some of their magic since then, to keep his autonomy safe from Cazador's reaches. But the threat won't be over until that man is very, very dead. Well, dead-er.

Their gaze softens, regarding him tenderly.

"But, for whatever reason it was, I'm grateful. Glad. Even with all the trouble we run into together, I'm not taking any of this for granted. Ever. Maybe it's strange, but I haven't had this much fun since my long slumber. And I don't just mean the sex, but the sex is a lovely bonus."

“An adventurer would only have killed me eventually. Well— ” Hand tucked light beneath their jawline, scratching idly, Astarion amends, casual as discussing the weather:

“tried to, anyway.”

Maybe not at first. Not as long as he was passing for the common notion of a living, breathing, mortal elf, but eventually— either through combat or confrontation— something would have given way.

“I might not’ve known what you were exactly, but I knew what I was safer near.” Someone like him. Someone at the mercy of stiff odds and their own tenacity, and a keen understanding of risk inherent.

“So. Don’t go disparaging yourself, my beautiful little lap cat: your talents certainly...satisfy my requirements.”

Satisfy. Get it?

“No more eternal naps for you from here on out.”

If anyone tried to kill them right now, Raine would be pissed, because Astarion is still scritching their chin definitely like a kept pet and it's the best thing ever. Almost better than sex. The wordplay doesn't go unnoticed, but before Raine can even think to retort with something witty, Astarion goes on to say something so sweet that it derails their every thought.

“No more eternal naps for you from here on out.”

Would it be wrong that they hear, "You won't need to sleep off any grief because I'm not going to do anything to make you cry,"?

Raine's body shudders with an urge that it can't produce,purring crackling with stop-starting, and they reflexively cover their eyes with a hand, ears tightly pinned back. Their heart fills to the brim with the warmth of those implied and outright-spoken words.

"Now I can't shift back, ever. I'm going to cry the moment I do," they murmur, voice choked, strained, and perhaps very slightly dramatic. "You're way too sweet to me and I can't handle it. I can't--"

Their thoughts similarly stop, then start again, and Raine's breath shudders again while they try to calm down again.

"I may... joke about it often enough, but... I did only sleep that long out of grief, back then. I couldn't-- couldn't handle the loss of someone dear. The pain. And subconsciously, I let myself escape. No matter what it cost me. Time, self-viewed beauty, experiences, the other bonds of mortals I liked, income."

They drag their fingertips through their own fur, leaving only one eye to peer at Astarion, brow furrowed as best as it can in this shape. Trying to quickly exert some sense of levity, they force a smile, though it quickly becomes natural simply out of fondness alone. It's impossible to stay fully upset around him for long.

"You're lucky I like you. I'd be so, so terribly displeased otherwise with all these emotional upheavals you're prompting out of me."

For now, they've completely forgotten about the satisfy joke.

He listens as they pour their heart into his figurative palm. A wrenching tale of grief and loss, juxtaposed with all present intimacy. The way they both lie there, entangled, unbothered by proximity—

Content to bask in the mercy of whatever shelter they can claim, for as long as they can claim it.

He slips his hand atop the crest of their forehead, smoothing it down to fall along the underside of a long, flattened ear, as though petting an oversized kitten.

“Oh my dearest little thing,” he sighs, smile warm and fitted in place against the edges of his own expression.

“Rest assured, I meant every word I said— even with the newfound benefit of context.”

A beat, before:

“Well, so long as we remain out of Cazador’s reach, that is. Otherwise I can’t make promises regarding abstaining from misery, given that it’s what he deals in.”

Raine doesn't mind being treated like one, regardless of shape. Pleasant touch is always welcome, and they hum a little at the touch to their ears. It's so nice. Astarion's touch draws out more purring from them.

"Oh, we will remain out of his reach as long as we need to. I'll only vouch for getting close once we can kill him, even if I have to call in every favor I have. And the spell I wove for you to keep your will as your own can only be undone by me, or if I die. The latter of which isn't happening. And the former, I never will without your... explicit order."

At the very least, it will leave him immune to Cazador's will once they run into him again.

For now, they rub their head against his hand with a sigh, tongue flicking out to wet their nose and lick up a faint remnant of their earlier activities.

"Mmm, I can't keep it a surprise anymore. In the light of such a heavy topic - because as wise as it is to talk about him, I just need some time to reset my head - when I warp us over, I implore you to admire yourself in the mirrors of my abode when you feel up for it. They work on, well, our kind. My mother was never really bothered by it, but I did get rather irritated at only seeing a hazy version of myself. So I enchanted them - and broke many, many mirrors in the process - over the years until the image was crystal clear.

"I have, after all, caught you trying to take glances at yourself. And I do believe I have some hand mirrors on hand as well with the same effect. If you like any of them, please take one to keep. Or two. I like a few of them so those might be off limits."

So, offering something for Astarion to feel excited about? Why not? Certainly, it's a better topic than Cazador and misery. They've just hit capacity at this point. Not that they won't listen if Astarion still needs to mention something.

"I also have one right. above. my. bed," they add, as if uttering some forbidden secret. "If you wish, you can join me in it when we rest."

Edited (a typo) 2021-12-23 23:51 (UTC)

It's alluring, that promise of safety. Of certainty above all else. Soothes his mood as surely as anything possibly could, rounding out the set of his shoulders, his spine— even the way his fingers tangle in thick fur.

But it's the latter that draws his attention all too quickly to be ignored.

How long he's wanted, more than anything else, to remember his own face.

A pity it'll still be altered so. That there's no undoing what's been done, and no retracing the years Cazador cruelly took— but if he cares to be so picky when faced with the opportunity to finally know himself once more, it certainly doesn't show. His tone soft. Careful, in fact, as he tentatively settles into something akin to hope.

"How long?" Astarion asks, sounding almost petulant for his own impatience. "Until you're ready to leave?"

Ohh, how eager he is, though his tone carefully hides it. It's telling in how readily he asks that question. Raine gives him an affectionate squeeze.

"Whenever we're ready to get up, we'll go immediately. I only need a moment to write the spell on the floor."

Gently, they drag their fingertips through his hair, gaze slightly shuttered in happiness.

"I hope that you see yourself in the warm way I see you."

While they focus on Astarion, Raine manifests another shadowy feline, and it's easy enough to channel their magic to have the feline write the spell atop the floor. A vivid violet color emits with each touch of its paw, each foreign stroke of writing holding that glow within the two-person-wide circle it's housed in. The magic gently alights their air with a sensation almost like static - but, fortunately, without any hair-frizzing effect.

Normally he’d opt to bask for a time, absorbing the ease and comfort that slithers in after a nightly romp— but safety, if what Raine’s mentioned is true by way of those wards, is too necessary to pass up: every second spent out in the open is another second where Cazador might yet find them. His eyes and ears everywhere amongst even the most mortal and benign of creatures.

So there’s no initial attempt made to dress when he slowly, gingerly pulls away from his partner, stretching once risen and moving to his pack to start fitting scattered trinkets back into its lined interior.

“Like I said: I always knew you were the right choice, darling.” Shirt shrugged loose across his shoulders, smile easy when he adds.

“And as for the rest? We’ll both just have to see.”

And honestly, there is no entirely dire need to dress. Raine openly watches Astarion get up, shivering slightly at the loss of warmth against their fur. They watch him still, from the stretch of his body to as he starts to gather up trinkets to carry with them.

Raine rises, themself, as Astarion starts putting his shirt on, going so far as to retrieve the catnip ball and stuff it into a skirt pocket. It's been just long enough of a time that it makes their body warm slightly, but short enough that the effect is distinctly dulled, body still lounging an afterglow-like state.

"Is that a challenge?" they idly ask with a soft laugh. making no effort to dress at all, and going so far as to shove every article of their stray clothing into their own pack. There's no real need to dress while they're covered in fur, after all. Getting dressed again is simply a matter of pulling their clothing back out of the, in short, pocket dimension that their shadow contains via magic.

Besides, with the ebbing afterglow of it all, there isn't really anything lewd at all to see when their fur isn't dotted with semen and slicked with their sweat and the still-lovely, gentle scent of lilac.

"I welcome it all the same."

Shouldering the pack, the spell itself is woven. Raine passes by Astarion in their approach towards it, brushing an affectionate kiss to his upper arm just to avoid stopping him from what he's doing. From there, Raine idly stands at one of its far ends, tail swaying idly, arched happily. The magic softly crackles like a fire at the contact, though there's no heat, and Raine idly stretches their back toes, claws lightly scratching against the floor.

"When you're ready, stand beside me, hold onto me for safety, and we'll be off. It's a spell that's influenced by thoughts and memories of places of those using it. Even you can manipulate where we go. But as the caster, I have greater control over it. And if you anchor yourself to me, then our location is set to where I guide us."

They smile at him sheepishly, one canine showing for it.

"But if you ever want to practice taking control of this spell, we can do that after we're safe. I can also teach this magic to you, if you want. Any of it, or all of it."

Once they're ready to leave, Raine takes them. The magic gently crackles, and there's a sensation of being pulled downward. Through the dark, and rippling flickers of color as if one just closed their eyes, but cannot directly see those floating phantoms.

Their feet sink into a plush rug when they arrive, the gentle scents of vanilla and, much more subtly, cornflower, in the air. The guard railing of a spiral staircase is beside them, an area closed off with what looks like black-dyed cotton curtains adhered to the ceiling. With a tiny spark of magic, several oil lamps light at once. The area they're in seems to be some sort of makeshift lounge, with pillows and blankets scattered about, with a trinkets and book shelf lining the wall. It's mostly filled with ten or so books on various topics, but also adorned with various loose jewels, trinkets, bits and bobs, a small black pearl, and even a pair of wedding bands held together on a single gold chain.

There are some windows that are shuttered completely closed, and even a doorway leading outside. It has an old feeling to it, but there's definitely magic at work keeping it both intact and guarded from the outside.

"Well, welcome to my home. Make yourself comfortable as you like. Bedroom and bathing area are behind the curtains. If you want your own space, there are a lot of rooms one floor down, so you can pick what you like if you want. Library's on the floors below. Every room has at least one mirror. Up here, there's three, plus hand mirrors."

They grin cheekily.

As it is, the whole place hums gently with constant magic, even closing the place off from all outside sounds. It's quiet, but not silent.

Raine's scent is everywhere - and at least somewhat more cloyingly so close to the curtained-off rooms. This entire space doesn't have a single hard wall beyond the limits of the building's exterior sides.

Edited (caught some errors. Fixed <3) 2022-01-01 03:46 (UTC)

“Noted, my love.” Astarion puffs slyly, already having gone through the nominal trouble of tugging on his trousers for good measure (boots stuffed into his pack alongside everything else, pants slung low across his hips for laziness alone, shirt left open) when he pads over towards Raine’s side and sets a pale hand across their shoulder as requested.

And then the world itself shifts.

Warps. Fades. Ebbs, gravity itself twisting until everything comes bursting back to vivid life— only changed.

Instead of rotted wood, the air is filled with the scent of parchment and magic, vanilla and cornflower, all overlaid with the now-familiar catch of Raine’s own distinctively pleasant smell.

He doesn’t last a second standing still.

Footsteps quick, he flits in awe from the railings to the shelves, stare darting rapidly from one fixed point to the next.

And when it ends, his meandering journey, Raine will find him stock still in front of a looking glass— slender fingers set and roaming just along the rise of his cheek.

Breathless, he barely blinks.

shipping picture promts

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cw: prostitution mention

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I guess this icon will do hhh. I need to make more/draw more.

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